The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel

The funeral of Im Gapsu, the head of the Gapsu Trading Company, took place.

“Oh dear!”

“What a tragedy to happen on his sixtieth birthday!”

“What will become of the Gapsu Trading Company now?”

The guests who had gathered for the sixtieth birthday celebration quickly turned into mourners. Notables from Chilgok County and martial artists, who had left the previous evening, returned to pay their respects.

Of course, I was among those who came to mourn.

“Good day.”

I approached the servant who had invited me to the company.

“Eh? Aren’t you the Storyteller? If you’re hungry, there’s food over there. It’s busy here.”

The servant pointed to a corner, indicating where to go, his manner implying he didn’t have time to attend to me.

Hey, did he think I came just to eat?

Although I did come to eat as well.

“Sorry to bother you during your busy time. I see other mourners are burning paper money, but I wish to burn this. Would that be acceptable?”

At Chinese funerals, it was common for mourners to burn paper money as a tribute to the deceased. It was akin to placing incense at Korean funerals.

“Eh? What is that?”

“It’s a condolence letter (弔狀), a traditional Korean mourning letter. I understand that here, burning a lot of paper money is seen as a sign of respect for the deceased in the afterlife. In Korea, we also burn letters that commemorate the deceased’s virtues to send them to the afterlife. I owe a great debt to the late head of the trading company, so I felt compelled to do this.”

“Huh, such a custom in Korea? It’s a barbarian custom, but the intention seems very noble.”

The servant appeared touched. In reality, there was no such custom. I had invented it as part of my plan to survive.

“Then, I’ll take that as permission and proceed to burn it with the rest.”

“Just a moment.”

“Yes?”

“May I read it first? If it contains anything inappropriate, it shouldn’t be burned.”

This was inconvenient. Since he was in charge of the funeral, I had no choice but to hand it over.

“Im Gapsu’s virtues are as high as the Baekdu Mountain, always a model of diligence in Chilgok County, always leading by example in generosity. Im Gapsu was like a father to Chilgok County. Oh, you respected the trading company head this much.”

No, I couldn’t have respected a man who died in bed with two women that much.

The servant looked at me, his mouth agape in astonishment.

“My poor writing skills can’t fully express Im Gapsu’s virtues.”

I sighed as if deeply saddened, my hand on my chest.

“Not at all, not at all. Just wait a moment.”

The servant took my condolence letter and disappeared somewhere.

Why was he so worried? Surely, he was not going to show it around for criticism? Suddenly, a sad memory came to mind.

“Here! This man.”

The servant returned with a man in mourning clothes. I recognized him from somewhere. He was the man who had been next to the trading company head during the Prince Hamulin performance.

“Greetings. I am Im Jiwook, the chief mourner.”

Im Gapsu’s son.

“I offer my deepest condolences. I am Kang Yunho, the Storyteller.”

When acting as a Storyteller, I used ‘Kang Mo’ (Kang Someone), but not in personal introductions. I greeted the chief mourner respectfully.

“A young man who knows respect. I wanted to meet you after hearing you wrote a touching message for my father’s journey.”

“I am saddened that I can only express my gratitude to the late head with this letter.”

I pretended to be as sorrowful as if I had lost my own parents. It was hard to eat and greet with so many mourners, even getting to meet the chief mourner himself.

“Though it’s sad about my father’s passing, I’m fortunate to have so many people expressing their condolences. Even a street storyteller is mourning my father. Don’t be too sad, I will make sure to find the culprit.”

Good luck with that. She was not an easy opponent.

The Gapsu Trading Company’s forces, or even the Nine Sects and One Union, would only end up as a pool of blood if they tried to avenge him.

I wished I could just tell the chief mourner, “She will come looking for me.” But I couldn’t.

Who was Cheon Sohee?

She was a woman who incessantly brought bloodshed (血劫) to the martial world of the Central Plains. A villain who could only be defeated with the protagonist’s intervention. And me? I was just a Joseon extra, capable of dealing with local bullies at best.

Summoning the martial artists here to face Cheon Sohee might temporarily save my life. Yet, Cheon Sohee would certainly survive and return. What then? These martial artists wouldn’t protect me forever.

To control the variables for survival, relying on the people here would be more of a hindrance than a help.

“Yes, then I’ll go burn the condolence letter (弔狀) with peace of mind.”

After receiving the chief mourner’s acknowledgement, I went to burn the letter amidst the paper money.

It was hard even to get another bowl of rice.

“Let’s go.”

In the Gapsu Trading Company’s lodging, I was getting ready to leave, adjusting my clothes and gathering my belongings.

Due to the influx of mourners, the lodging had become crowded, and I, a mere storyteller and not a VIP, had to leave.

Shouldn’t the chief mourner, who pretended to be so touched, have let me stay for at least a week? I wanted to extend my life here for another week.

Even though I had earned enough time and money from my storytelling, I couldn’t help feeling bitter.

It felt like the day before I entered the Moyong family. To think I had to do this again.

“Wait a moment! Take this with you.”

The servant stopped me as I was about to leave the lodging and handed me a bundle.

“What’s this?”

“The chief mourner asked me to give you these clothes as a token of gratitude for your condolence letter. It’s not appropriate for someone who stands before others to wear such shabby clothes. We’ve arranged some suitable garments for you; please take them.”

“I’ll accept them gratefully.”

He must have felt pity for my disheveled appearance. That’s why maintaining a good image is always important.

“Sorry we can’t let you stay longer due to the crowd of mourners. If we need a storyteller again, we’ll definitely call you, and you’ll be treated more generously.”

The servant spoke with an apologetic tone.

No need to apologize. As long as my subscription fee was transferred, I had no complaints.

“Haha. Please call me anytime.”

With the money and bundle of clothes in hand, I left the Gapsu Trading Company.

The day was turning to dusk as I stepped out of the Gapsu Trading Company.

Instead of heading straight back to the slum, I delayed my return.

To create the situation I needed, I couldn’t go to the slum where the assassin could easily find and attack me. She might be on my trail at this very moment.

“Welcome!”

I entered a moderately busy inn where Jeom So-i welcomed me.

“I plan to stay for about a week. Do you have a room?”

“Yes, we have plenty of rooms. Our rates are cheaper than those of other inns, but we charge meals separately. Would you like to book one?”

“Yes, please. I’ll sit here for a while, so bring me some mild liquor and snacks.”

Having received ample money from the Gapsu Trading Company, I needed to ensure my survival through the night.

I picked the most conspicuous table in the inn.

Typically, the protagonist in an inn sat in a corner, akin to a fantasy version of a mercenary office. Merely occupying that spot guaranteed that an incident would find them.

While sitting there, someone might divulge information about a significant event in town, which later intertwines with the protagonist’s journey.

Alternatively, if a young lady entered the inn and was harassed by thugs, I would feel compelled to intervene.

Or, should I opt to ignore the commotion and drink in solitude, a confrontation might erupt, inevitably drawing me in to resolve the situation.

None of these scenarios were what I desired.

Occupying a corner would leave me vulnerable to a surprise attack from behind, with a knife at my back and a whispered command to follow silently.

To prevent such a scenario, I chose to sit in the middle where people constantly passed by. Foreigners need consistent attention. Please keep an eye on me.

“About the Gapsu Trading Company…”

“Those sons these days…”

“My wife…”

I listened to the voices of people while sipping moderately on my drink, and before I knew it, it was time for everyone to leave.

Feeling pleasantly tipsy, I looked around. Has she arrived? Or was she still outside?

There she was.

The buzz from the alcohol disappeared instantly. She wore a hat, but it was unmistakably her.

Didn’t she know you’re supposed to take off your hat indoors? Why was she standing in front of an ATM wearing sunglasses and a mask, as if she was about to withdraw money? It was like she’s openly declaring, ‘I am suspicious.’

She seemed to be employing some special martial art, appearing masculine, but a strand of black hair escaped her hat. Such a conspicuous strand of black hair in these circumstances. It was too obvious who she was.

Couldn’t she move a bit more slowly? She seemed in a rush.

I had planned to head upstairs when the night deepened, but it looked like I had to change my plan.

“Oh, I’m too drunk,” I mumbled.

Pretending to be excessively intoxicated, I stood up and began to stagger. I needed to act as drunk as I possibly could. Weaving between the tables with a zigzag step, I struggled up the stairs holding onto the railing and entered the guest room.

She would be here soon, right?

I shouldn’t be awake. Yet, I also couldn’t lie down in bed. I sat on a chair at the desk in the guest room and took out a book I had written for my survival.

Please help me. Save me again this time.

I tried to fall asleep, clutching my pounding heart.

A woman disguised as a man watched intently as a man, seemingly inebriated, made his way to his guest room.

Cheon Sohee of the Heavenly Death Star.

The past few days had filled her with doubts and suspicions.

‘Who is he?’

Salmaek’s No. 5 Assassin. First-class assassin. Heavenly Death Star. There were several names by which to call her, but the name ‘Cheon Sohee’ was known only to her in the Central Plains.

‘An ordinary storyteller.’

The information gleaned from the Salmaek was sparse.

A storyteller had appeared in Chilgok County one day, with no known history. He didn’t have the air of a martial artist, making it highly probable that he had no ties to the Salmaek.

‘Black hair. Korean.’

It had been ages since she had seen someone with the same black hair as hers in this land. Could he be Korean and know her name?

No, that was impossible. There couldn’t be anyone in Korea who knew her name. So, who was this man?

The more Cheon Sohee dwelled on it, the deeper she felt trapped in a labyrinth. She didn’t wish to ruminate on it any longer. After some time had elapsed since the man vanished, she slowly made her way up to the guest room.

Cheon Sohee surveyed her surroundings to ensure privacy before swiftly unlocking the guest room door.

Creak. The ancient door groaned, a reminder that she had neglected to check its condition.

Such oversight was not characteristic of a top-tier assassin. Yet, Cheon Sohee didn’t regard her negligence with gravity.

Her master had often rebuked her for not yet reaching the pinnacle of assassination, but Cheon Sohee shrugged off the criticism. If she could eliminate targets and evade capture, why bother with stealth?

She had felled those whom even elite assassins could not. A minor slip in stealth was inconsequential.

‘Is he asleep?’

Could he be in a drunken stupor? The man lay slumped over the desk, fast asleep. Should she rouse him to demand his identity?

She was certain she could extract information about his distant kin through torture if necessary. Cheon Sohee wavered for an instant.

Let’s wake him up. Why hesitate over such a matter?

Cheon Sohee advanced to jostle the man’s shoulder.

Just then,

A book caught Cheon Sohee’s attention.

[Diary]

A diary lay next to the man’s head.

She didn’t know the man’s identity. She might have had to torture him. But he was someone who knew her name. Should she torture such a person right away? A moment of hesitation brushed past Cheon Sohee.

“Let’s look at the diary.”

Cheon Sohee didn’t keep a diary. However, information gathering was one of an assassin’s virtues. She had infiltrated the house of an assassination target and found the optimal place for the assassination through the diary.