Machil arrived at the Apricot Tiger Inn just after midday.
The place was already busy. Merchants, guards, a few wandering martial artists, and the usual assortment of men who had money to spend and no particular place to be. The smell of roasting meat drifted out into the street, and Machil's stomach grumbled in response.
He pushed through the door and found a seat near the back, where he could see everyone who came and went.
"Wine and meat," he said to the serving girl. "The good wine, not the cheap stuff."
She nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Machil leaned back in his chair and looked around. He had spent the past several years of his life being looked down on by everyone with even a scrap of status, and the only pleasure he got was the small one of being served. Here, for the price of a few coins, he was a customer. Here, for an hour or two, he was somebody.
That was worth more to him than he would ever admit.
The wine came first, then the meat. He ate slowly, savoring it, and by the time he was done, the sun had moved across the sky and the afternoon was wearing on.
He paid the bill and stepped back out into the street.
The walk back to the Danri Family estate was long, but he took his time. There was no reason to hurry. Ma-ah-sam had already finished all the work that needed doing. The stables were clean, the horses were fed, and the schedule was clear. Machil had nothing to do for the rest of the day except go back and wait for tomorrow.
He took a detour through the market district, where the crowds were thick and the noise was loud. He stopped at a stall selling dried fruit and bought a small bag of it, then wandered past the weaponsmiths and the leather workers, past the fortune tellers and the street performers, and finally came out at the eastern edge of the city, where the road led back toward the Danri Family estate.
The sun was low by then, painting the walls of the city in shades of orange and red. Machil walked along the road with the bag of dried fruit in his hand, eating one piece at a time, feeling more content than he had felt in a long while.
He did not notice the shadow following him.
Dong Bongsu had been following Machil since the man left the Apricot Tiger Inn.
He had left the Danri Family estate in the early afternoon, leading Yeoro out for the horse's daily walk, the same routine he had followed for months. Nobody had stopped him. Nobody ever stopped him. He was the mute stablehand, the shit-moron, the fool who could not even talk. Why would anyone pay attention to him?
He had walked the horse to the eastern edge of the city, tied it to a post outside a small tea house, and then walked back on foot, keeping to the side streets and the alleys where he would not be seen.
He had picked up Machil's trail near the Apricot Tiger Inn and followed him through the market district, keeping a safe distance, never letting the man out of his sight. He had watched Machil buy dried fruit. He had watched Machil walk along the eastern road, alone, with no one else around.
Now the two of them were on a stretch of road where the buildings thinned out and the fields began, and there was no one else in sight.
Dong Bongsu quickened his pace.
Machil heard the footsteps behind him and turned around.
He saw a shabbily dressed man with a lowered head and a shuffling gait, and he relaxed. It was just some beggar, or some servant, or some fool from the lower parts of the city. He turned back around and kept walking.
That was his mistake.
The next thing he knew, a hand closed over his mouth and an arm wrapped around his throat, and he was being dragged off the road and into the tall grass beside it.
He tried to scream. Nothing came out. He tried to struggle. The arm around his throat tightened.
He caught a glimpse of the face above him and went still.
It was So-sam.
The mute. The fool. The stablehand he had beaten and mocked and used as a servant for months.
So-sam's face was blank.
Not angry. Not triumphant. Not anything.
Just blank.
Machil's last thought was that he had never seen a face like that before. He had seen cruelty on faces. He had seen hatred. He had seen the particular satisfaction that comes from hurting someone weaker than yourself. But he had never seen a face that showed nothing at all.
Then the pressure on his throat became too much, and the darkness took him.
Dong Bongsu held on for another count of ten to be sure.
Then he let the body drop.
He stood over Machil's corpse for a moment, looking down at it. The man who had beaten So-sam to death for no reason. The man who had spent the past several months eating the food Dong Bongsu had worked for, sleeping in the bed Dong Bongsu had been denied, and calling him a moron every time he opened his mouth.
Machil was not a predator. He was not worth hunting.
But he was the first.
Dong Bongsu checked the Experience Bar.
There was a change.
It was a very small amount. A yellow gauge had filled up on the bar, barely visible to the naked eye, but it was there. Before tonight, there had been nothing. Now there was something.
Insects and rats gave no experience points.
Humans did.
That was the first useful thing he had learned since arriving in this world.
The second useful thing was that different humans gave different amounts. He could not confirm it yet, because he only had one data point, but the fact that Machil had given anything at all meant that the system was willing to reward him for killing people. If he killed more, stronger people, the rewards would almost certainly be greater.
That was something to explore later.
For now, he had to deal with the body.
Dong Bongsu looked down at Machil's corpse. He could leave it here and let the city officials find it in the morning. But that would bring an investigation, and an investigation would bring questions, and questions were dangerous.
No. Better to make it look like something else.
He bent down and checked Machil's pockets. There was a small leather purse with a few coins in it, and a knife with a worn handle, and a piece of dried fruit that had fallen out of the bag when Machil had been dragged off the road.
Dong Bongsu took the purse and the knife. He left the fruit where it lay.
Then he dragged the body deeper into the grass, away from the road, to a spot where it would not be found for several days. He covered it with loose dirt and branches. It was not a perfect burial. He did not have the time or the tools for that. But it would be enough to delay discovery.
When the body was hidden, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands.
He looked at the Experience Bar one more time.
Still just that small yellow sliver.
He would need a great deal more than this.
But it was a start.
He walked back to the tea house where he had tied Yeoro, untied the horse, and led it back to the Danri Family estate. The sun had set by the time he arrived. He put the horse in its stall, closed the stable door behind him, and lay down on his bed of straw.
Tomorrow, he would hear the news that Machil had gone missing. There would be a search, perhaps. There would be questions. But no one would suspect the mute stablehand.
No one ever suspected the mute stablehand.
He closed his eyes.
The stable was quiet. The horses were asleep. The moon was high in the sky, shining through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting pale beams of light across the straw.
Somewhere far away, in the heart of the Danri Family estate, someone was playing a flute. The sound was faint and melancholy, and it drifted through the night air like a ghost.
Dong Bongsu listened to it for a while.
Then he fell asleep.
Three days later, the Danri Family noticed that Machil had not come back.
At first, no one cared. Machil was an armory hand, not a family warrior, and he had been known to disappear for a day or two before, usually after a payday. It was assumed he was somewhere in the city, spending his money, and that he would return when it ran out.
But the days passed, and Machil did not return.
The family sent a few servants to ask around the city. They went to the Apricot Tiger Inn, where Machil had eaten lunch on the day he disappeared. The owner remembered him. He had been there, yes, but he had left before dark. He had seemed fine. He had paid his bill and walked out.
After that, nothing.
The servants returned and reported what they had learned.
The family did not mount a large search. Machil was a servant, and servants disappeared all the time. He had probably run off with the money he had saved. He had probably drunk himself into a ditch somewhere. He had probably been robbed and killed by someone in the lower parts of the city.
Nobody would ever know.
The family moved on.
A new armory hand was hired. The stables continued to be cleaned. The horses continued to be walked.
And the mute stablehand, So-sam, continued to go about his day, as silent and obedient as always.
The perfect disguise.