Chapter 191: Perilous Road (2)

The journey was perilous.

The terrain itself was rough enough, but people were far more dangerous.

Soyak understood her situation perfectly well.

A girl barely five feet tall, walking around in Mount Hua’s martial uniform with a sword at her waist.

For better or worse, she stood out.

There was only one solution.

Change clothes and wrap the sword in cloth.

Fortunately, she had brought a few pieces of silver for travel expenses.

This was not a Roaming Pillar Journey, so there had been no reason to leave without money.

“Ma’am.”

A small village.

Soyak quietly called out to a middle-aged woman selling assorted goods from a roadside stall.

The woman had initially flinched at the sight of Soyak’s pristine white martial uniform, but after taking in her overall appearance, she let out a sigh.

“Sweetheart.”

“...Yes?”

The form of address caught Soyak off guard.

Sweetheart...?

She started wondering how many years it had been since anyone had called her that, then suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

She remembered that her late mother had once called her the same thing.

“Sweetheart, you can’t go around looking like that. Do you have any idea how dangerous the world is? Honestly...”

“...I’ll be fine.”

“Do you have money?”

“Yes...”

Still somewhat dazed, Soyak took three or four small pieces of silver from inside her robe.

The peddler stared silently at the fragments resting in Soyak’s small palm.

Her expression turned complicated.

“You remind me of my daughter. If she were still alive, she’d be about your age. She’d be around fourteen by now...”

“...Um. I’m... seventeen.”

“Either way.”

“Yes...”

The peddler looked up at Soyak for a moment, then took only half of the silver from her palm.

She closed Soyak’s fingers back around the rest.

“This much is enough. Here. Take these.”

When Soyak merely stood there blinking, the woman placed several pieces of clothing into her arms.

At least she had picked out the least worn ones.

Peddlers in villages this small generally did not sell new clothes.

They bought discarded clothing in bulk by weight somewhere else, sorted through it, and resold whatever was still usable at a low price.

Cloth was valuable.

Even when people made new clothes, this was an age when most households sewed them themselves rather than buying them.

Merchants in wealthier places might keep a few expensive garments on display...

But neighborhoods where neither seller nor buyer had much money were different.

“Thank you.”

“...And don’t go dying alone somewhere on the road. Understand, sweetheart?”

“...Yes.”

It was a brief and simple encounter.

Soyak accepted the clothes, then quietly studied the peddler.

Unless she was struggling badly, she would not be dressed in such shabby clothes herself.

Bruises showed here and there.

Perhaps her husband beat her.

Or perhaps the thugs who extorted stall fees from merchants did.

Either way, she clearly was not earning enough.

Giving her the other half of the silver she had refused would amount to nothing more than pity.

Soyak was young enough to be her daughter, so she herself would not have found that kind of pity unpleasant...

But perhaps the woman would.

More importantly, those few fragments of silver did not seem likely to solve whatever difficulties she was facing.

Soyak slowly considered what she could actually do.

No one could be another person’s savior forever.

Someone could throw down a lifeline.

But whether one seized it and climbed all the way up depended on the person themselves.

Still, Soyak could offer a lifeline.

She could not give the woman an answer.

But she could give her an opportunity.

“Do you happen to have any paper and a brush?”

“Brushes are expensive. Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“One sheet of paper would be enough. I’m not looking to buy a brush. I only want to write something.”

She was asking to borrow one.

The woman thought for a while before answering.

“I don’t really have any paper worth using. I do have a scrap of cloth I don’t need, though. No brush either. But I have a piece of half-burned wood.”

“That will be enough.”

“...What are you planning to do?”

“...Do you have any ties to this place?”

The woman frowned.

She had no idea why Soyak was asking.

“...No. I’m a traveling peddler. I move from place to place.”

“Have you ever thought about settling down somewhere?”

“Of course I have. I just haven’t found anywhere I could.”

Soyak slowly nodded.

Then she began writing on the scrap of cloth with the charred wood.

A letter.

“What are you writing? More importantly, sweetheart, you know how to read and write?”

“...I do. I’m a martial artist of Mount Hua.”

“Well, I suppose you’d have to know how to read if you’re going to study all those manuals people talk about.”

Apparently the woman had picked up at least a few stories about the martial world.

It was hardly surprising.

Masters fighting over manuals containing supreme arts was nothing new.

Storytellers had long since turned such things into tales they performed for money.

Soyak wrote a short letter, only three or four lines long, then signed her name beneath it.

The people of Mount Hua knew her handwriting.

Once they saw this, they would help the woman.

“Take this to Mount Hua. They’ll help you.”

“...Sweetheart?”

“My name is Cheon Soyak. If you bring this to Mount Hua, they will help you.”

Soyak rolled up the cloth and placed it in the woman’s hand.

Then she began gathering up the things she had bought.

The sun was already beginning to set.

She would have to spend the night here before leaving.

“...Thank you, sweetheart. But will this really...?”

“Please trust me. I’m... fairly well loved as Mount Hua’s youngest disciple.”

Her ears reddened considerably as she said it herself, but it was still better than boasting about her strength.

There was no point telling the woman she was in the middle stage of the Transformation Realm.

She would not understand, and it would only make the conversation awkward.

“If you’re grateful, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me whether there’s somewhere nearby where I can stay.”

“I know a place. It’s cheap, but decent enough. I was about to close up for the day anyway...”

Soyak nodded slowly.

There were unlikely to be three or four inns in a village this small.

At best, she would choose between two places...

Or perhaps she would not even have that much choice.

Going with someone familiar with the area was better.

Besides, the woman was a traveling peddler.

Someone who wandered everywhere, enduring every kind of hardship, weather, and miserable circumstance.

If a person like that said a place was decent, then at the very least its roof probably did not leak.

It would not be luxurious or comfortable.

That did not matter.

After her parents died, Soyak had lived under constant contempt until she entered Mount Hua.

Life at Flower-Haze Hall had been peaceful...

But the Roaming Pillar Journey had required her to sleep outdoors many times.

And that was not all.

For nearly three years, she had slept on stone.

She had spread blankets beneath herself and covered herself with bedding, but the cold from the floor had never disappeared completely.

Soyak had developed a certain tolerance for discomfort.

“Thank you.”

“...Still, I don’t know whether it’s the kind of place where a child like you ought to stay.”

“It’s fine. I’m not so helpless that I need to be particular about where I lie down.”

“All right...”

A spotless Mount Hua martial uniform.

A polished sword that looked valuable at a glance.

Well-kept hair and a forehead without so much as a bead of sweat.

The woman slowly looked Soyak over, then nodded.

She was a martial artist.

Even one of those Second-Rate martial artists people casually talked about in marketplaces could probably take better care of themselves than she could.

The woman was just about to rise when—

“Hey, woman.”

A harsh, weathered voice came from behind them.

It was half-hoarse, though not from drink or shouting.

There was a scar running across the center of the man’s throat.

It looked as though an old wound had passed straight across his vocal cords.

“Why are you leaving without paying today’s stall fee?”

“...I’ll pay. Isn’t that enough?”

The woman reached into her pouch and took out the pieces of silver Soyak had just given her.

The thugs roughly snatched them from her hand.

Then one of them glanced at Soyak.

“...Mount Hua?”

“Yes. I’m from Mount Hua.”

Soyak answered quietly.

They were armed as well.

Most carried clubs carved from birch and rubbed with oil.

A few had iron bands fitted around the ends.

Clubs were simple weapons, but not ones to underestimate.

Carve one into a long staff and reinforce it with iron rings, and a single blow could cave in a tiger’s skull.

There was a reason herb gatherers favored sturdy birch staffs.

They gave a person a fighting chance even against dangerous beasts.

And if such a club could smash an animal’s skull, a human head would fare no better.

One blow from those weapons could easily crush someone’s head.

That was why the peddler had been unable to say anything as they took her money.

“You planning to stay in this village too?”

“Yes. Just for one night.”

“Then you need to pay a stall fee too, don’t you?”

Soyak narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.

She was staying at an inn.

She had not sold anything.

Why would she owe a stall fee?

But thugs were thugs precisely because ordinary common sense did not apply to them.

Today, though...

They had been stupid and unfortunate enough to choose the wrong person.