Sowol Inn - Chapter 1

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 1
Prologue.
It was over.
The man wiped drops of blood from his face and surveyed his surroundings.
Nothing moved.
Nothing lived.
Mountain of Corpses, Sea of Blood.
In the very center of it all, the man stood alone.
He lowered his sword slowly.
Splat. Splat.
With each step the man took, crimson liquid soaked the sole of his shoes.
A single dying word, spoken by someone moments before, echoed in his ears.
‘This monster……!’
The man halted.
He laughed softly to himself.
It was not untrue.
The Heavenly Demon Religion’s foremost killer, Mangryang.
That was the name by which all under heaven knew him.
He bowed his head slowly.
His face reflected in the pool of blood at his feet.
Eyes burned an eerie crimson, meeting his gaze.
To stare into those red eyes was to feel a sickening exhaustion wash over him.
The reek of blood, the sensation of slicing through human flesh—all of it turned his stomach.
Mangryang looked down at the sword in his hand.
Clouded blood dripped steadily from the notched, tattered blade.
Drip. Splat.
Drip.
The sound of blood falling to the floor resembled the patter of rain.
Or rather, it was rain.
Mangryang opened his eyes.
The stench of blood vanished, replaced by the musty smell of aged wood and damp water that clung to the inn.
Outside, rain was falling.
Grunting, he sat up and drained a cup of broth in one swallow.
The lukewarm liquid sliding down his throat dragged him back to reality.
He examined his surroundings carefully.
A spotless floor gleaming with polish. Sparse, simple furnishings.
Not a trace of blood marked the space he had carefully swept and scrubbed every day for the past decade.
Relieved, he rubbed his stubbled face.
On a night like this, hot broth would sell well.
It seemed wise to prepare more thin noodle stock than usual.
He estimated what provisions he would need and headed toward the storehouse.
His face reflected in a puddle of water in the courtyard.
It was not red.
The eyes reflected in the water were an ordinary brown.
1. An Innkeeper of Some Repute
Few inns in the Kangho have unbroken tables.
The food is too salty.
Your eyes met the other person’s wrong.
Your mood soured, and the other person laughed.
Most patrons were the sort to draw blades over such trifling grievances.
But the Suwol Inn was different.
Not only were tables never shattered—even raising one’s voice was rare.
There was but one reason.
The innkeeper’s unusual appearance.
“A bowl of thin noodles here!”
“Y-yes, th-thank you……. Hic!”
A massive build.
A sharp scar visible along the left eye.
Hands covered in knife wounds from sword strikes.
Guests who glimpsed an innkeeper who looked like he’d been through a few battles simply ate in silence and left.
But even an innkeeper of his caliber had his limits.
“Wah, waaah…!”
“All right, all right. Come here.”
Sowol sighed as he lifted the whimpering infant into his arms.
Barely a month.
In that brief span, he’d shed more honest sweat than he had in fifty years of living.
The problem was that the one who’d created this mess was nowhere to be found.
“Beopgong, when exactly is that bastard coming…?”
Sowol muttered in frustration.
Then a messenger pigeon fluttered through the window.
It was the letter Sowol had been waiting for so desperately.
As he hastily unfolded it, a familiar hand met his eyes.
Sowol’s face contorted as he read on.
[Sorry, but I’ll pick up the child next summer.]
…This lunatic monk.
The letter trembled in Sowol’s clenched fist.
He wanted nothing more than to hurl curses toward Songshan, but even that was denied him.
He couldn’t raise his voice while cradling this squirming scrap of flesh.
Sowol’s shoulders sagged as he tried to fathom how things had come to this.
It had all started a month ago, when Beopgong first came looking for him.
* * *
“Aah, fine spirits indeed!”
Sowol shot a sidelong glance at Beopgong, who’d arrived unannounced and seized a seat.
The monk had shown up just as the shop was closing and had already emptied two jugs.
“Pace yourself. How does a monk come to love drink so?”
“At Songshan, I can’t. When opportunity knocks, one must seize it. Besides, I’m an elder—I have disciples to set an example for.”
“Example? You’d do better to shave your head and hold your tongue.”
Sowol snorted and took the seat across from Beopgong, who refilled his cup.
“Business treating you well?”
“Can’t complain. Enough to keep food on the table.”
The two men laughed softly and clinked their cups together.
They’d met around twenty and were now both past fifty.
Unlike Sowol, whose face had grown lined and whose hair was streaked with gray, Beopgong hadn’t changed a day since they’d first met.
Not in temperament, nor in appearance.
“Listen. I need to ask you something.”
“What sort of favor?”
“I need you to take a child off my hands.”
Nor in sense.
At such a preposterous statement, Sowol furrowed his brow and pressed for clarification.
“Take what off your hands?”
“A child. A newborn.”
“…Monk. Have you finally lost your mind?”
Sowol set down his cup with gravity, but Beopgong pressed on undeterred.
“A follower of the Demonic Cult died giving birth in Maeng’s Underground Prison. My master ordered me to take the child in.”
“Your teacher?”
“So I need somewhere to place the infant.”
“Take her to Shaolin.”
“I would, if it were a boy. But it’s a girl.”
Sowol’s expression grew serious.
Beopgong’s master was the previous abbot of Shaolin and currently held the position of leader of the Murim Alliance—a monk of such stature.
If someone rumored to read the Heavenly Secret had taken notice, this was no ordinary child.
But that was Beopgong’s concern, not reason enough for Sowol to shoulder this burden.
Sowol waved his hand in refusal.
“I understand your position, but find someone else. You’ve got plenty of people around you. Why come to me?”
“Our master has his eye on this child. The moment I place her anywhere, he’ll use her for his purposes. Sega especially—I don’t trust them.”
“But the Demonic Cult is fine?”
“You’re better than any of them.”
“Nonsense. Who in their right mind would leave a newborn with a fifty-year-old bachelor? I can’t do it.”
Sowol was scoffing when something struck him as odd.
“Wait. Don’t tell me that bundle you brought earlier was…!”
Sowol sprang to his feet and rushed toward the bundle Beopgong had brought.
It was exactly what Sowol had expected.
A baby.
An infant no more than a month old lay nestled inside the bundle.
“You lunatic! What are you thinking, treating a newborn like luggage?”
“See? I told you you’re the right one for this. There’s no one else who’d care for the child the way you would.”
Sowol fought down the urge to strike Beopgong across the back of the head as he carefully lifted the baby from the bundle.
Fortunately, the infant was sleeping soundly.
“You madman, take it away this instant!”
“What, you’d throw a newborn out into this bitter cold? Just keep the child for a month.”
“And you plan to come back for it after a month?”
As Sowol’s scowl deepened and he glared at Beopgong, the monk grew nervous and hastily changed the subject.
“Right, about the child’s mother—her name was Number 83. She seemed to know you.”
At the familiar name, Sowol went very still.
“……Number 83? She’s……dead?”
“Yes. I saw to the body myself.”
……
Sowol’s mouth fell open silently, and he pressed a hand to his throbbing brow.
He gazed down at the baby’s face.
Now that he looked closer, he thought he could see a familiar cast to it.
“The father?”
“No idea. She never told me.”
Seeing Sowol’s agitation, Beopgong quietly placed a Gold Monetary Gift on the table.
“Raising a child costs money. I’m leaving it here.”
Sowol’s brow furrowed.
The sum was far too substantial to have been offered on impulse.
He’d come prepared from the start.
The monk had never intended to honor Sowol’s wishes—he’d planned to foist the child on him all along.
“Waaah!”
“The baby’s awake. Ugh, what a stench. I think it’s soiled itself. Go wash it.”
Pinching his nose, Beopgong rose quietly to his feet and bolted from the inn before Sowol could grab him.
“Soiled? Sniff-sniff—what do you expect me to do about it……Beopgong! You mad Buddhist wretch!”
Sowol gave chase, shouting after him, but the monk had already vanished over the ridge.
“Waaah, waaah!”
Left alone with a soiled infant, Sowol felt a murderous urge to drag Beopgong back and thrash him senseless.
“Bastard. If he shows his face here again, I’ll shatter his core.”
Sowol vented his frustration before taking a deep breath.
Beating Beopgong could wait.
First, he had to wash the child.
……But how exactly did one wash a baby?
A look of helplessness crossed Sowol’s face.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————