Myeongshin stared wordlessly at the coin Geom Mugeuk offered.

He had said to the Blood King:
―You said the Little Pill Master resembles me? Then you have grossly overestimated me.

That wasn’t something to say to the Blood King—there was someone here who overestimated him enough already.

Myeongshin refused the coin.

“I am not an assassin who takes contracts for a single copper.”

He resumed walking. Geom Mugeuk followed.

“Ah, but I know you are the second most expensive assassin on the Registry.”

Yet in Mugeuk’s mind floated a different thought.
‘No—you are exactly that kind of assassin.’

Someday Myeongshin would accept the fee of a single copper coin. He would leave the Organization and wander the Central Plains, accepting a child’s penny to avenge injustice. He would kill villains for a handful of rice or in exchange for a song. And ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) ultimately the Blood King would kill him.

He left the Organization because he had been forced to break his principles on the Blood King’s orders. The Blood King was merciless. He tricked Myeongshin into killing a man of pure virtue—someone beloved and honored by all. Myeongshin had investigated the target as always, but no research could expose the Blood King’s deliberate deceit.

After that, Myeongshin had disappeared, profoundly shaken. He lived as an assassin out of an innate goodness compounded by guilt for having slayed an innocent. The Blood King tracked him down and finally killed him.

What had the Blood King said as he dealt the final blow? Had he inflicted even deeper wounds on Myeongshin’s heart before killing him? Or did he speak some other words? No one knew.

In the past Myeongshin died and the Blood King lived, but now the one who should live was Myeongshin—and the one who should die was the Blood King.

They walked in silence for a long time. Myeongshin was torn. It was an opportunity: in this awkward moment, no matter where he went, Geom Mugeuk would follow.

‘Should I just bring him along?’

Even if he did not follow, he could plan for next time.

Yet Myeongshin hesitated. It was because of what Geom Mugeuk had said:

―Somewhere in this world, I wish there were a cool assassin who accepts a penniless child’s single copper coin to kill villains.

His heart had leapt at those words. Did he truly wish to live as such an assassin? Or was he angry at Mugeuk’s attempt to seduce him with that notion? For an instant his emotions had wavered—had there been another assassin he would have attacked then.

But Mugeuk seemed oblivious to his turmoil.

“Well then, to ease this awkwardness we must share a drink. Let us go.”

Mugeuk strode ahead. Myeongshin followed.

‘If I bring him there… today the Little Pill Master dies.’

If he failed this mission,
‘I will die.’

He would ruin the greatest assassination in history, one that even lured elite external killers. And since relations with the Blood King were already strained, he could not avoid the blame.

“What occupies your thoughts so?”

Whether to kill him or not.

“Couldn’t I just leave?”

“Why such talk all of a sudden?”

The Little Pill Master has fled.

He wanted to report that to the Blood King. He did not wish to kill the only person who had ever shown him the depths of his own heart.

Not only that—if he killed the Little Pill Master, he would have to hide forever. The Blood King might have a clear reason for this, but he did not. It was not something he wished to do.

“Did you receive orders to kill me?”

Mugeuk’s abrupt question made Myeongshin flinch inwardly, but he showed no sign and continued to walk.

“So it must be true.”

Myeongshin halted. “I said nothing.”

“Most people, to avoid misunderstandings, would say if it wasn’t so.”

“What harm if I’m misunderstood?”

Mugeuk would not let the comment pass.

“People who say misunderstandings don’t matter are often the ones who hate being misunderstood most. Like those who love to criticize others yet dread criticism themselves.”

He saw it precisely: Myeongshin despised being misjudged. He loathed those who spoke rashly without knowing the truth.

“Your experiences don’t encompass the whole world.”

Mugeuk nodded firmly, as if conceding. The more Myeongshin spoke with him, the more furious he became—an assassin whose job was to observe others now found himself observed.

Yet Mugeuk continued stirring his emotions without pause.

“By your principles, am I someone you must kill?”

Myeongshin remembered the Blood King asking the same.

―You said you do not kill the innocent. Am I innocent or evil?

To both the Blood King and Geom Mugeuk, Myeongshin had no answer. From all intelligence, Mugeuk was not evil. The only justification for killing him was his identity as the Little Pill Master.

But if the Little Pill Master were not evil? Then Myeongshin would break his own principle. Perhaps he hoped the matter would simply pass once over.

“Tell me: Am I evil or not?”

Without hesitation, Mugeuk answered: “I am someone you must not kill.”

“Why so?”

“If your principle is not to kill the innocent, then mine is to kill the evil. I go one step further. In that sense, we are the same.”

Mugeuk’s principle, impossible to believe yet true—the core detail in Myeongshin’s dossier. A Little Pill Master who forgives no evil.

He had assumed deception and disguise, but what if it were genuine? That thought took root; the dossier became a curse. Had he not doubted even approaching the Little Pill Master without such foreknowledge?

They reached the market street.

“Now then, as you said, today we go where you choose.”

Myeongshin’s heart pounded.
‘Should I bring him there? Or endure a little longer?’

If the time would come, why postpone? Still he hesitated.

“If you know of another good tavern nearby, we can go there.”

A storm raged in his mind, yet his face remained calm.

“There’s a place a little way off you might like.”

If Mugeuk suggested staying here, he would not forcibly bring him.

Instead Mugeuk approached and tugged his sleeve.

“You should have said so sooner. Come on—we deserve a drink at a truly fine spot.”

As if he had crossed from the Iron Workshop to seize his hand and pull him forward, Mugeuk determined his fate once more.

‘Yes, this is the destiny you chose.’ He should have felt comforted—but instead, his heart churned as they left the town.

He could not forget the coin on Mugeuk’s palm.

‘I must not be drawn in.’

That coin was nothing but a demon’s lure, aimed at his heart.

Lost in thought, he halted when Mugeuk spoke again.

“Soon your leader will trick you into killing someone you must not kill. What then? Will you strike? Or will you abandon the Registry?”

“Why would he do that to me, the Registry’s second-in-command?”

Yet despite his certainty, he recalled the Blood King’s words:

―If you set such pointless rules and later make a mistake, will you wash your hands of it? Or take your own life?

In truth, that mistake would be the Blood King’s—misjudging a saint as a villain. But the Blood King was no fool. Why speak thus? Myeongshin dismissed it as another ruse.

‘They discovered our conflict and now probe relentlessly.’

Standing still, he glared.

“Are you trying to drive a wedge between me and him?”

He expected denial, but Mugeuk admitted it.

“Yes. To bring you to my side, I must sow discord.”

The bold wedge was potent because it was true.

“Was it truly him who saved you?”

Myeongshin’s face hardened. “In childhood you were the sole survivor of your clan’s massacre. Trapped beneath a fallen wardrobe, you were rescued.”

Myeongshin was stunned. The Little Pill Master knew the Blood King had saved him—and in intricate detail.

‘No one else knows that.’

Curious, he asked how.

“I am the Little Pill Master of the Demon Sect. If I wish, I could learn whom the Martial Alliance Leader had a crush on at age seven.”

Myeongshin was not surprised at the knowledge, but at the implication.

“So you’re saying it wasn’t him who saved me?”

“Suppose someone shoved you into a river, then pulled you out. Who saved you?”

Myeongshin’s eyes widened. “Your sect accepted the contract to annihilate my clan.”

This wedge worked because it rested on truth. Trained to maintain calm, Myeongshin could not suppress the torrent of betrayal and doubt for this moment.

He recalled the childhood scene: darkness, the weight of the wardrobe, then a pale boy’s emotionless gaze looking down.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

No—he had not. He was only seven, living in gratitude, not vengeance. He’d never asked the Blood King why he passed by that spot, why he saved him. Perhaps he feared the answer—that the massacre was a contract to him, nothing more.

‘What are you thinking? Don’t fall for his tricks!’ It was mere cunning from the Demon Sect—exploiting the schism between him and the Blood King.

‘How vile!’ He directed his metaphorical blade at Mugeuk, but his own hand gripped the hilt.

‘Am I fleeing from the matter at hand?’

Mugeuk asked, “Has the wedge taken hold?”

Myeongshin forced a half-smile, though emotions flared.

“The thrill of deception is intense. But do you know? In that moment’s thrill, you lost my trust forever.”

He strode onward; Mugeuk beside him.

“There are old Registry contracts regarding your clan. If your leader didn’t destroy them, perhaps he hoped someday you’d see them.”

Myeongshin ground his teeth—he could not fully deny it, because it aligned with the Blood King he knew.

Why had that hollow man alone saved him? Why had he placed him upon his frozen precipice?

The answer still eluded Myeongshin. Yet their quarrel had one benefit: he could lead Mugeuk here easily.

The short street bustled with travelers.

“I never knew this place existed,” Mugeuk remarked.

Myeongshin replied in a softened tone, “I come sometimes.”

But inside, two desires warred: to complete his mission swiftly, and to crave the tavern’s wine—yet hope Mugeuk would leave.

‘Go now!’ But Mugeuk strode ahead with buoyant steps toward the trap of death.

“New silks arrived yesterday. Come see!”

A stall clerk.
A groggy innkeeper.
A woman calling a running child.
A merchant hawking bolts of cloth.
In countless guises, the assassins melded perfectly into the street—elite masters of their deadly craft.

Could Myeongshin withstand this carnival of killers? He looked at Mugeuk, who seemed exhilarated.

“I received your dagger as a gift, so today I’ll buy the wine. Next time you will. Let’s reconcile and drink heartily.”

I’m sorry, but there is no next time.

“There—that tavern?”

“Yes.”

“The atmosphere already feels right. You should have suggested it sooner.”

They entered. A genial innkeeper chatting with patrons welcomed them.

“You’re here!”

He greeted Myeongshin by name. “Please sit wherever you like.”

Geom Mugeuk turned to the host. “I know an inn by its owner’s face. I can taste from his expression if the wine is good.”

He studied the innkeeper, then declared, “This looks like a flavor I’ll never forget.”

The host beamed and clapped his hands. “Tonight I will serve you splendidly!”