The west wing of the Moon Pavilion faded behind me, its winding corridors giving way to the open court below.
The faint rustle of my robes whispered against the polished stone as I walked, my mind deep in thought.
The sunset light slanted through the high walls, painting long shadows that danced beside me.
That was when I saw them.
Two of my officials—men I recognized, though not well enough to name from memory—were dragging a third between them.
No. Carrying. Half-supporting, half-lifting.
The third man's feet dragged uselessly across the floor, leaving faint smears of red in their wake.
Blood.
The wounded man wore the same standard brown Murim robes of our investigators—burlap texture, simple in form, tied with black cord at the waist.
But his were stained, soaked in blood and grime.
His arms hung limp, his head slumped forward, and fresh gashes marked the skin of his face, throat, even the back of his hands.
His lip had been split wide open.
Bruises the size of fists darkened his ribs.
It was a beating—no. A message.
My hand found the hilt of my sword.
It wasn't just instinct.
It was a reflex trained into me the moment I stepped foot into this festering institution.
I stepped forward.
"What happened?"
The two men froze, snapping upright in surprise, adjusting their grip on the wounded man.
Their expressions shifted quickly—respect, panic, and something else. Guilt.
"Chief Overseer Nam!"
One of them stammered, lowering his head.
"W-we found him like this outside the storage hall near the eastern barracks.
He… he was like this when we got there."
"Who did this?"
They exchanged glances.
"It was Investigator Han Doyeong."
That name.
Han Doyeong—one of the mid-tier ranking officers in the Pavilion.
A man slightly older than me, arrogant, and cruel in the way only someone with unchecked power can be.
He was under me, but not directly assigned.
One of those men who climbed by dirty hands and blackmail.
"And why?" I asked coldly.
They hesitated again, before one of them muttered.
"They argued about the Cannibalism Case… The one that's been circulating in the outskirts. Near Bando Village."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Argued?"
The other officer winced.
"Yes, Chief Overseer.
We think… no, we know it was to silence him."
Of course it was.
So that's how far it's spread.
Even within the Pavilion.
Silencing your own comrades to cover corruption? Within my walls?
My grip on my sword tightened until my knuckles strained.
A faint light-blue hue flickered in my eyes, quiet and cold.
'This… this is the exact kind of rot I was talking about.'
People always expected betrayal in the demonic faction.
Treachery was currency here.
But this—turning on your own simply to maintain a lie, to bury an investigation that might shine too bright?
That wasn't strength. That was cowardice.
And it was a symptom of something far worse than ambition.
It was decay.
I let out a long breath, steadying the fire inside me before it scorched the room.
"Take him to the Pavilion's physician."
I ordered.
They looked stunned.
"But… Chief Overseer… only the Inner Circle are allowed to—"
"Tell him I sent you."
Their eyes widened, and for a moment, they just stood there.
One of them bowed so low I thought he might collapse, and the other whispered.
"Thank you."
It wasn't the casual kind of gratitude I usually heard.
It was the kind that came from deep within.
Like they'd waited years to hear it.
I studied them more closely. The way they held the man. The quiet, trembling worry in their eyes. The familiarity.
They weren't just coworkers.
They were friends.
Maybe they'd all joined the Moon Pavilion together. Climbed the ranks side by side. Shared late meals and bad jokes between grueling missions.
And now one of them had been broken in front of the others—for doing the right thing.
And not once… not once had anyone shown them kindness.
Not until now.
In this cursed sect of ours, such compassion was rare.
Not because it wasn't needed… but because no one ever offered it.
'But shouldn't we, even as members of the unorthodox path, treat each other as one?
Isn't that what makes us different from beasts?'
This was one of the reasons I knew that the demonic faction would crumble in the years to come.
Not because of war.
Not because of some grand righteous crusade.
But because we were rotting from the inside out. Silently. Slowly.
I clenched the sword at my hip.
My steps grew heavier as I turned from them and continued forward, walking toward the eastern compound where Han Doyeong would be.
My robes caught the breeze as I moved, the ends of my sleeves flowing behind me.
The light-blue glow in my eyes hadn't faded—it sharpened, cool and merciless.
---
The hallway outside Doyeong's chamber reeked of incense—cheap, strong, meant to mask rot.
I stood before the door for a moment, letting my presence be felt.
Then I stepped through.
Han Doyeong's quarters were lined with scrolls and lacquered shelves filled with small jade ornaments, most likely bribes turned decorations.
A brazier glowed in the corner.
At the center was a low table set with three porcelain cups and a fresh jug of dark beer.
Doyeong sat like a pig content in his sty—round-bellied, cheeks puffed from drink, posture relaxed as though the Pavilion were his playground.
Two underlings flanked him.
One sharpening his nails with a dagger, the other lazily chewing a candied fruit.
Doyeong's eyes flicked to me, a mock-smile forming on his lips.
"Chief Overseer Nam," he said, rising and bowing slightly.
"What a rare honor—"
"Anything to report regarding the canibalism case?"
I said, stepping in.
The air in the room turned.
Doyeong blinked. Then grinned. Then glared.
He didn't answer for a long moment.
"That?"
He finally said, voice calm but dripping with disdain.
"It's nothing of worth.
I've already closed it.
Not something a man of your rank should trouble himself with.
Dirty matters, really. Beneath you."
He gestured to the table.
"Join us. Drink?"
I sat, placing the Yureum blade beside my seat—within arm's reach.
My gaze didn't leave him.
He poured the beer into one of the small porcelain bowls, the liquid amber and foaming.
His hand lingered on the jug too long before handing the cup to me.
I didn't drink.
Instead, I asked.
"You said the case was closed.
Who was the last to investigate?"
He blinked.
"Ah, that would be Investigator Yoon."
I nodded.
"Strange.
Because you reported just last week that Investigator Yoon was in charge of the smuggled Qi powder operations near Mount Okseong."
A brief falter.
"Yes, well, before that. He was handling both—"
"And you didn't deem this one worth reporting up?"
"I didn't think it necessary. It was a false trail.
A wild animal had been misidentified as… well, you know how villagers talk."
I set the untouched drink down.
"I saw someone being carried through the courtyard not long ago. Bloodied. Robes torn. Beaten half to death.
He walked out of this direction."
My tone sharpened.
"His hand—the left one—was curled inwards unnaturally, broken at the knuckle.
The back of it had an imprint. A crescent-shaped indentation like a ring was slammed into it."
I looked directly at Doyeong's fat hands.
And the ring.
He wore a large copper ring with a crescent wolf's tooth carved into it. An heirloom. Distinct.
"I also saw five parallel bruises on the man's chest, like he'd been pressed against a table edge."
I tapped the edge of his table.
"Same height."
Doyeong's smile froze.
I continued, quietly.
"The blade on your table—the one near your left hand.
The metallic inlay along the guard?
That same pattern was etched into the bruising on his ribs.
Almost like he was hit—repeatedly—with the flat side."
Doyeong's hand twitched toward the sword.
He stopped himself.
"That blade was used," I said.
"Doyeong..."
Sweat began to form on his brow.
He grit his teeth.
Still, he tried to smile, lifting his own cup.
"Why?"
I asked.
"That official. He was only trying to follow the case through, wasn't he?"
Doyeong took a sip, swallowed thickly.
"He was a fool..."
He said with a chuckle.
"That idiot couldn't even keep his notes straight.
It's moslt likely one of his own family members fell victim to the incident.
No wonder he was so desperate!"
He waved his cup dismissively, spilling some on his sleeve.
"Some cases… Chief Overseer, aren't worth solving.
You dig too deep, you find things that shouldn't be touched.
The Pavilion's too delicate. One bad story and they'll say we're beasts.
Untrustworthy."
His subordinates chuckled along with him.
He grinned, teeth stained.
"You understand, right? It's better this way.
Not everything deserves the truth.
In the demonic faction… it's not about justice. It's about surviving with what coin we can scrape."
He leaned back, raising his cup.
"Besides, isn't this what we do? Petition money, bribes, looking the other way?
It's a cycle."
One of his men laughed, louder than the rest.
"The Moon Pavilion doesn't have much going on, right?
Might as well pocket what we can.
Commission here, stolen case there—we spend it, we drink it.
It's not like we solve anything anymore, right?
Right, Chief Overseer?"
"..."
It was slow.
Almost no one saw it.
One moment the man was grinning.
The next—
Shk—THNK.
His laughter died mid-chuckle.
His eyes widened.
And then the top half of his face slid off, jaw still frozen in a half-smile as the rest of his head collapsed forward.
Blood sprayed like a fine mist across the table.
It coated Doyeong's hand, soaked his cup.
The other subordinate across the table fell into silence.
A few droplets of blood trembled on his cheek.
Doyeong sat frozen, cup halfway to his mouth.
My arm was still extended, the Yureum blade humming faintly in the still air.
I lowered it slowly.
"Speak again..."
I said, voice calm.
"...and I'll test how much fat shields your heart."