Chapter 888: The Plague Wretch Is Hiding Its Strength (7)

“Aigo, Great Hero! That villain’s outrages have gone completely past the line!”

“Great Hero...! H-Hmph.”

“Yes, Great Hero! That villain’s been roaming the village, raiding homes and stripping all the food—during a winter when we’re already desperate, what kind of heaven-defying atrocity is this?”

The Proprietor’s eyes turn red.

“Even when we beg and beg, saying at least let the children eat, that horrible villain flips the children’s bowls right in front of them and stomps them with those filthy dirt-feet, laughing at us!”

“How can such a wicked person exist!”

“And that’s not all! The villain lived because the village showed kindness—how can they be this ungrateful, how dare they...!”

“You showed kindness, you say?”

“That villain was originally a beggar living in our village—didn’t they survive by begging off the warmth of our townspeople? Then one day they vanished, learned martial arts, and came back... and without even knowing that kindness, they started committing these outrages because we didn’t give more...”

Moisture mixes into the Proprietor’s voice.

“Great Hero—this humble one has run a small eatery, and how could the leftovers I set out have been only for a day or two? Even if I didn’t decide to give them to beggars, still, there weren’t just one or two beggars who ate and lived because of me—so how can they do this to me...”

The Proprietor can’t continue.

His face is full of fury, and dampness swells thick over his eyelids, like tears are about to spill in rolling drops at any moment.

It was a face utterly soaked in injustice.

This wasn’t acting.

The Proprietor truly believed he’d been wronged!

Human memory gets edited and stored however a person pleases—how could it not flip around to whatever benefits them?

Of course, if Qing saw and heard it, she wouldn’t just find it absurd—her fist would’ve flown on its own.

But Qing wasn’t here.

And in her place was only a chivalrous hero staring at a weak man steeped in genuine grievance.

“How shameless! That’s too much!”

Of course the chivalrous hero could only explode in anger.

*****

Qing had planned to scold Geonpyeong Tower and leave, but because the Proprietor had run, she was left with time hanging awkwardly in midair.

It was like Geonpyeong had sworn off meat entirely—she wandered around and didn’t catch even a whiff of meat smell.

You could say, Then just leave Geonpyeong—go on to Changbai Mountain like you planned, right?

But how could she just go on her way when that bastard Proprietor ran?

If he came back and she was gone, he’d think he was wise, that he won, that he beat her.

Even out of sheer spite, she couldn’t stand letting him have that.

So there Qing was, sprawled out in a great big X across the giant round table in the middle of the inn.

And “sprawled out” didn’t really begin to cover how disgraceful the posture was.

Her limbs were spread as she lay there, but her head and knees hung out beyond the circle of the table.

Her head drooped off the edge, long hair dragging on the floor, while on the opposite side both shins dangled down, gently swinging.

Maybe you’d think your neck would hurt if you bent it that far back.

But Qing’s body was beyond human—her cervical bones and neck muscles were beyond human too, solid as steel.

And despite how tough her body was, Qing’s head was small, far lighter than other people’s.

So there she was: lying on the dining table, head hanging upside down.

Staring blankly at the inverted tavern entrance, at the curtain that dangled upward.

That was when—

TAT-TAT-TAT, a pair of footsteps came close, heavy with force, and the Proprietor charged in, bravely tearing through the curtain.

Then, with his feet planted on the inn’s “ceiling”—meaning the floor—he stood upside down over Qing and pointed at her with insolent accusation.

A faint hiss of air leaks from Qing’s mouth.

What? Is that guy insane? Who the hell is pointing at who?

“Great Hero! Look! It’s that one right there! Th-That—how can they be lying on a table...!”

The Proprietor shouts, calling to someone.

What? Great Hero? Who did he bring? He said he was going to the interior—wait, what even is “the interior”? Is that like going to town?

Then, from the inverted entrance, someone parts the curtain—no, slips out from under it—a martial artist wearing a sword.

For reference, a curtain is that primitive screen made of many strands—beads strung on thread, or threads weighted at the ends—hung in a row at an entrance.

People outside are usually standing, so the curtain blocks their view of the inside.

People inside are seated looking out, so they can see the outside scenery beneath the curtain.

A primitive barrier with a very scientific design.

So if someone slips in under that curtain?

Curtains usually hang around solar-plexus height, meaning they’re smaller than that.

A tiny chivalrous hero—enters!

And the instant their eyes meet, the kid jolts like he’s going to leap out of his skin and points.

“A-A monster! A monster! There really are monsters!”

“Great Hero! It’s not a monster, it’s the Plague Wretch!”

“A ghost—! It’s a ghost!”

“No—no, not a ghost, it’s the Plague Wretch!”

That reaction made perfect sense.

Qing was a prospective Divine Thief, and her body had inherited all sorts of mysterious Divine Thief secret arts—otherwise known as the many dirty little skills of thievery.

And right now, the human-skin mask she wore was hideous beyond measure: the face-skin of a plague-stricken mother-ghost.

Qing curls her lips into a grin.

That upside-down face—neck bent back to the limit as she lay there—the ghost mask hanging inverted as the mouth splits into a smile...

It was the kind of sight you’d fear even in a dream.

“Hiiik...!”

The poor young chivalrous hero, who’d come to help pitiful commoners, unconsciously takes a step back at the world’s ugliest monster.

Qing beams and tosses out a bright, amused voice.

“What’s with you, kid—acting like you don’t know me, seriously? Don’t tell me you already forgot? We said we’d be secret friends, didn’t we?”

“Huh?”

The little chivalrous hero blinks. Then blinks again.

He seems to think for a moment—and suspicion rises on that young face.

“Um... y-you’re... Beggar Sister?”

“Yeah. I’m Flower Beggar Sister.”

“Huh? Calling yourself ‘flower’ is a bit...”

“Secret friends, though? You’re still so firm about things. You haven’t changed at all.”

“And it wasn’t ‘secret friends.’ We just said ‘friends’...”

That’s right.

Like birds hear daytime words and rats hear nighttime words, this boy is the one who listens for the Moyong Family.

A firm soul who can say no when something is no.

A delinquent boy who sneaks out at night to wander around outside.

Flower Beggar’s secret friend—no, just friend.

Moyong Family’s eldest son, Moyong Jun!

But this kid is unbelievable too.

He only shows up when I’m dressed like a beggar?

Qing springs up with a bounce, sits upright on the table, and plants both soles on the tabletop.

“Wow. How long has it been? Let’s see... three years? Four? Then how old are you this year, Jun?”

“Twelve!”

“Whoa—okay, Jun, you grew a lo—did you, though? Jun, does your family not feed you? It’s okay, tell me honestly.”

“Ah—I grew a chi!”

“Oh. Right. You grew a lot...”

For reference, a chi is the length of one finger joint.

A chi in three years. He’s twelve, so if you stretch the growth years to nine... hmm. Three chi.

Looks like Moyong Juhee won’t be getting overtaken in height by her little brother.

She’s on the small side too...

After briefly estimating Moyong Jun’s eventual height, Qing’s gaze turns very soft.

Height can suddenly shoot up, after all.

Maybe the future isn’t decided yet?

“Okay, so what are you doing here, Jun?”

Moyong Jun answers with a sunny grin.

“Ah! I ran away from home!”

“Oh. Running away.”

“Really proud of that, huh?”

“Yes! That’s right! Our family says we have to be proud wherever we go!”

“Mm. Yeah. You look great. Very proud.”

Qing shelved the scolding—Do you know how dangerous the martial world is, wandering around like this?—for now.

Instead, she dips her head toward the man standing by the entrance as if to say, Sounds like you’ve had it rough.

Red? Green? Black? Yellow? Blue? White? Some color—she remembered the guard had a color for a name, but whatever, that was ages ago.

The guard bows back to Qing.

If the guard came along, it means the Moyong Family already knows about the “running away.”

Not only that—he’d be leaving marks or checking in regularly, so they’d definitely be tracking his location.

Before anything else—

Almost no one has the guts to mess with a young master wearing good clothes and a good sword, with a sturdy guard warrior at his side.

So even if he says “running away,” the Moyong Family probably let him go while pretending not to know.

“So. What is it?”

“Well... they won’t let me go to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy. But you went. I was the only one left behind, and I wanted to go too...”

Qing asked what he was doing here, and he seems to have heard it as why he ran away.

Still... mm, hearing it out, it was kind of harsh.

The Righteous-Proper Martial Academy youth division was less about martial training and more like a kids’ social training camp where they gathered to play.

And if you were the Moyong Family, social connections came automatically—so they probably judged that actual martial training mattered more.

But still—twelve years old, meaning eleven last year.

That would’ve been deeply disappointing.

Then, suddenly—

Qing’s eyes sharpen into a vicious axe-blade shape and lock onto one side with killing intensity.

The Proprietor, receiving that stare, already pale, turns tinged with blue.

“Hiiik.”

The picture was obvious.

He went out to the interior to sniff around for an expert to drive me out—and then he saw a kid in good clothes with a good sword, and even a solid guard warrior beside him.

Of course a kid that age would look like that.

If he slapped some gold paint on him—called him “Great Hero” and all that—he’d puff up immediately, easy to lure in.

If the Plague Wretch gets driven out, great.

And he’s obviously a young master from a good family—so wouldn’t the Plague Wretch be unable to dare talk back?

The problem is—what if I were truly living a trash life?

Almost no one would touch a precious young master, and if he even named the Moyong Family, even more so—practically nobody.

But what if he met a demonic master who’d truly snapped?

Or someone who held a grudge against the Moyong Family?

No—this bastard dragged him here without even knowing Jun was Moyong Jun!

“You—you bastard...!”

Qing was just about to snarl when Moyong Jun pops up and throws himself between the Proprietor and Qing.

Of course, Qing was sitting on top of the table and Moyong Jun was short, so he didn’t even block her line of sight—but still.

“Wait! You can’t bully a weak person!”

“Huh?”

“That’s not right. A chivalrous hero is supposed to value righteousness and protect the weak. So you can’t bully a weak commoner who doesn’t even know martial arts.”

“Oh. Our Jun is saying something really admirable. I’m... juuust a little moved.”

“Heehee...”

“But Jun—if this guy, no, this man is beating up an old person. Who are you supposed to help?”

“Then you help the old person—so... does that mean a weak person can be a strong person to someone else?”

“Listen. But then—wow. Turns out the old person was this man’s mortal enemy. If it was the enemy who killed your parents, then what? Do you still help the old person?”

“Avenging your parents’ mortal enemy is obviously the duty you have to do, so you can’t help the old person.”

“Then what if the old person wasn’t a mortal enemy but a thief? He stole money from this tavern and won’t give it back. So the owner’s whipping him, telling him to hand it over.”

“Uh... mm. Stealing is a crime, and not giving it back is even worse...”

“But what if the old person stole because his granddaughter was sick? If he had no choice but to steal to save his granddaughter? If giving the money back means his granddaughter dies, so he’s desperately holding out?”

“Mmm... then that’s so sad. An old person wouldn’t be able to gather a huge amount of money, and he couldn’t just let his granddaughter die.”

“But then—no way! Turns out the owner was also gathering treatment money to cure his wife’s illness. If the old person doesn’t return the stolen money, the wife can’t get treatment and dies. Then who do you help?”

“If it were me, I’d compensate the owner for the stolen money—”

“But what if Jun doesn’t have money? Our secret friend is rich, but not every chivalrous hero in the world is rich. No—people say chivalrous heroes should be poor, right?”

“Uh...”

Moyong Jun’s eyes roll around.

Qing urges him on with a mischievous smile.

“Come on. Who do you help, and who do you save? Since the money belonged to the tavern owner originally, you should help the owner, right? Then you kill the granddaughter? Poor and sick anyway—she was destined to die, right?”

“That... no.”

“Then what? Help the old man and save the granddaughter? Then you kill the wife? The granddaughter is a kid with a long future, she’ll live longer, so it’s right for the older wife to die, yeah?”

“That... that too...”

Moyong Jun trails off, completely at a loss.

“That’s so weird. Then what would Beggar Sister do?”

“Me? I’d storm into a Therapist’s place and threaten them with a sword. First, I make them save both.”

“That’s—uh—that’s cheating. When I said I’d give money, you said that wouldn’t work, but if Beggar Sister does it like that—”

“I said what I’d do. Meaning, if I knew all those circumstances.”

“What if you didn’t know?”

“Then you get a catastrophe. You punk! How dare a strong adult bully a weak old man? Bullying the weak is unforgivable! I’d knock him down in one hit. The old man’s granddaughter lives, and the poor owner loses his money and his wife. And I feel super proud because I did something chivalrous.”

“That’s not chivalrous.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t even look into the situation. Only the poor inn owner ended up miserable.”

Was he an inn owner? Qing wasn’t sure.

Qing grins, impish.

“Yeah? Then how long are you going to keep standing in the way? Is it because Flower Beggar Sister is such a strong expert that she can’t bully a weak tavern owner?”

“Ah.”

Only then does Moyong Jun’s face redden.

Embarrassed, he drops his head.

Still, the kid really is sharp—he catches on fast.

Even before, when they first met, he was this future-generation pervert sapling—then once she explained it properly, he understood immediately and became a new person, didn’t he?

And while Moyong Jun hangs his head, far behind him at the doorway the guard bends his waist respectfully toward Qing—

Qing looks down at the Proprietor.

“Hey. You. Head to the floor. Now.”

“Y-Yes—yes.”

“Answer. Is that how we agreed you’d answer?”

“I will bow! Great Beggar Venerable!”

And just like that, the Proprietor’s true ordeal began.