As True as a Dream Chapter 93

Sighing low and relaxing every muscle in his body, Yi Ho lifted his downcast eyes.

 

His golden pupils, hidden by long eyelashes, flashed with the fierceness of an animal, and then, like an arrow being released, his body was gone in an instant.

 

The man who had been watching Yi Ho from behind the trees bordering the clearing blinked in surprise.

 

Suddenly, a man appeared in front of him like a goblin.

 

The man’s body stiffened at the sight of the man’s flesh, which was so pungent that he could barely move.

 

“Who sent you?”

 

“[You, you… how…!]”

 

The man stammered in Japanese, and Yi Ho spoke again, this time in Japanese.

 

“[Who sent you?]”

 

But when the man didn’t speak, as if he had a lump in his throat, Yi Ho said in a flat voice.

 

“[If you don’t want to answer, I can ask someone else].”

 

There was no time to scream.

 

Yi Ho’s long, delicate hand strangled the man’s throat, and with a crack, his collarbone snapped.

 

The man’s whole body went limp and still.

 

That was the beginning.

 

There was a series of gasps from all directions, followed by the question, “Who sent you?” and then the sound of cracking bones.

 

Some of the men quickly realized what was going on and fired their guns in all directions in a panic that spread through their bodies, while others frantically swung their short, black-bladed Japanese swords.

 

But it was only for a moment.

 

The wind picked up, and the katana in the man’s hand was gone.

 

No, it was snatched away.

 

The weapon that had always protected his life and taken the life of his opponent was in the hands of another, piercing the man’s heart.

 

“[Woof…!]”

 

The man’s neck, which was about to scream in agony, was separated from his body and fell to the ground.

 

Yi Ho immediately turned around.

 

A bullet whizzed past where he stood.

 

He disappeared into the ground, decapitating the last two men who had fired at him.

 

It had barely been long enough to get a drink of water.

 

The ragged breath he had been holding burst out of his mouth.

 

At the same time, his erect body buckled and collapsed.

 

Sweat dripped down Yi Ho’s face like rain as he steadied himself with his katana on the ground.

 

His once clean body was splattered with red crimson blood, and his face looked like a demon from hell.

 

“Ha, ha…! Ugh!”

 

Lowering his head and catching his breath, Yi Ho finally couldn’t hold it in and coughed up blood.

 

Just like before, it was mixed with black pellets that he couldn’t recognize.

 

But after he coughed up another batch of them, he realized it.

 

He was falling apart.

 

Little by little, from the inside.

 

That’s a part of him.

 

It could be an organ, or a bone, or the inner circle that every youkai had.

 

Yi Ho looked down at it and laughed low, self-deprecatingly.

 

He’d barely moved it, and now his breath was in his throat and every muscle in his body was screaming.

 

He looked down at his hands, which were still shaking.

 

Nervously, he threw the katana away from his grasp and sat down on one knee.

 

‘I’ll rest a bit, and when I’m strong enough to move, I’ll return to Song Yue.’

 

Vaguely thinking to himself, Yi Ho wiped his face with his hand and stopped.

 

It was the blood on his white hands.

 

It wasn’t just his hands.

 

His face and clothes were spattered with blood from the last three people he’d slit in quick succession.

 

If he went back and saw Hae-Joo, she would faint.

 

Those corpses would be a scratching post if left there.

 

“Jiro Saito… the governor.”

 

Yi Ho wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the inside of his wrist, remembering the panicked cry of “Your Excellency” from one of those who had fallen at his hands.

 

It had been Governor Saito who had sent these men to spy on him and perhaps harm him.

 

He himself said that he was watching Governor Saito because of Guishan Dao, but why?

 

Because of Mao Saito?

 

As he waited for his body to regain the strength to move again, Yi Ho suddenly smirked.

 

It was a massacre today, and it was most likely the will of Governor Saito.

 

Lady Na knew that Hae-Joo was looking for the Guishan Dao, and Hae-Joo is his fiancée.

 

Governor Saito must have followed that connection and realized that he, as the president of Song Yue, was looking for Guishan Dao.

 

They had offered a large bounty for Guishan Dao in the past, and if Governor Saito had been paying attention, the meaning of these men’s pursuit of him was clear.

 

Governor Saito wants to kill him for looking for the Guishan Dao.

 

It seems the day will not be long before they tear the veil over each other’s faces.

 

Jiro Saito is none other than the Governor General of the Joseon Dynasty.

 

Hongo has been trying to hide himself so much, but a clash is inevitable.

 

He wondered how long it’s been.

 

When Yi Ho felt some of his strength return, he stood up and dragged the bodies everywhere and threw them into the pit the Japanese had dug.

 

They’ll never know.

 

They never dreamed that they would be thrown into the huge pit they dug to bury the Koreans.

 

After throwing all fourteen bodies into the pit, Yi Ho slipped under a nearby tree and slid down on his back.

 

He moved around a bit, but his stamina was low again.

 

‘I’m so pathetic.’

 

He looked up at the still-black night sky with an exhausted face.

 

In the middle of the clear, cloudless sky, there was a moon, not a half-moon, not a full moon, but a waning moon.

 

It was a moon that did not look like him.

 

***

 

Yi Ho didn’t return until late at night.

 

He looked up from his newspaper at the sound of Hae-Joo’s voice and looked toward the door.

 

But again, she must have misheard.

 

She sighed softly and turned her attention back to the newspaper in her hand.

 

Just then, she heard footsteps at the door.

 

Bam!

 

Hae-Joo’s eyes lit up again and she looked toward the door.

 

Soon, the door opened, and Hongo Wu walked in with a kind smile on his face.

 

“Ah… Mister Hongo.”

 

Muttering in a mildly disappointed tone, Hae-Joo picked up the newspaper and stood up.

 

Hongo also looked around the study with a puzzled expression and raised his eyebrows.

 

“Where is the master?”

 

“He hasn’t come back yet. Isn’t it normal for him to leave like this?”

 

Hae-Joo asked in frustration.

 

As she waited for him in the study, well past the nighttime curfew, she realized that she didn’t actually know much about him.

 

All she knew was the half of him she’d seen since the graveyard.

 

She knows that he has a gentle smile, but he’s also sarcastic, direct, and unforgiving.

 

He doesn’t have a favorite food, but he doesn’t have an insatiable appetite either.

 

He suffers from a genetic disease, but he’s not particularly pessimistic.

 

That he’s highly intelligent and insightful, but emotionally stunted.

 

She could describe Ban Yi Ho in a lot of words, but when it came down to it, she knew nothing about him.

 

She wanted to know what his parents were like, if he had any close friends, what he was like as a child, what his favorite season was, if he had any objects or places that held memories, what he wanted to do when he got well…

 

She wanted to know his past, she wanted to share his present, and she wanted to be a part of his future.

 

“Sometimes he’s gone for a few days, but not often.”

 

After a moment’s pause, Hae-Joo was jolted back to reality by Hongo’s answer, which rang in her ears.

 

“…Then what happened to him, not coming back until now?”

 

“That’s right. My master is not feeling well, and I’m worried about him.”

 

Hae-Joo raised an eyebrow at Hongo’s next answer.

 

“Mister Hongo, you know about the boss’s illness, right?”

 

To be fair, there’s a pretty good shaman next to her. Mister Hongo.

 

She remembered what Yi Ho had said one day in a joking way.

 

He said that it was Mister Hongo who told him that he needed Guishan Dao to cure his illness.

 

“I heard from the boss that Mister Hongo is a shaman… or something like that, and that you told the boss about Guishan Dao. Is it true that Guishan Dao can cure the boss’s illness?”

 

“…What?”

 

Hongo’s face flashed with many emotions for a moment as he was speechless at her question, but as an experienced caretaker of the Song Yue Pavilion, he quickly recovered his composure.

 

“That’s… yes. I informed my master about the Guishan Dao, and I… yes, I’ve served the elders of the Ban Clan from generation to generation, and surely my master… he must have the Guishan Dao to… live. Perhaps.”