Chapter 4

Chapter 4
Taking Office (1)

A week had passed, outside the perimeter of Mun-seong in Jeol-gang Province.

Standing in the compound’s open yard, Im Choong, head of the local Murim Alliance branch, breathed out a heavy, weary breath as he looked down at the row of corpses arranged before him.

“What lunatic could have done this…!”

Thirteen dead in total—an entire line eradicated in a single stroke. Outsiders often imagined the martial realm as an endlessly chaotic tempest of bloodshed, but reality was rarely so theatrical. Carnage on this scale was remarkably uncommon. Unless an enmity ran as deep as a bottomless chasm, no one with their wits about them would butcher an entire household filled with non-combatants and domestic workers.

The dead were Yang Chu and his kin. Across not just Mun-seong but throughout Jeol-gang Province, Yang Chu had been celebrated as a noble champion of the people, only to have his life snuffed out in a single horrific evening.

“Branch leader.”

Beon Saeng, the squad leader who had gone to scour the neighborhood for clues, stepped forward. His expression was naturally pleasant, his features settled into an easy, welcoming warmth that put people at ease.

The entire roster of the Mun-seong station consisted of just nine individuals, counting the elderly woman who prepared their meals. Stripping away the support staff left merely six martial artists, including Im Choong himself.

A single branch head, one squad leader, and four ordinary combatants. It stood as the most modest post in the entire Murim Alliance—a distant border station barely functioning as a contact point.

“No one caught sight of the killer.”

It was hardly a surprise. To bring down a warrior of Yang Chu’s caliber required formidable martial skill, and an expert of that rank would never be careless enough to leave eyewitnesses behind.

“Did anyone hear unusual noises?”

“Even if someone did catch a sound, would they dare step forward?”

“A fair assessment. Have the corpses transported over to Physician Hwang for the time being.”

“Understood.”

Physician Hwang was the lone healer practicing in Mun-seong, and he routinely examined bodies whenever violent deaths occurred.

“There is one more matter, branch leader.”

Beon Saeng cast a cautious look around the courtyard before dropping his voice to a near whisper.

“Wang, the division chief, sent word that he will be waiting for you at Baek-hwa House this evening.”

Im Choong’s forehead creased deeply the moment the title reached his ears.

“For what reason?”

“He did not mention.”

Im Choong pressed him with a sharp, dry edge to his voice.

“Listen here, Squad Leader Beon. Are you an operative of the Murim Alliance, or have you joined Shin-hwa Bang?”

“What are you getting at, sir?”

“You are arranging an audience with a branch chief of the Murim Alliance. How can you set a meeting without even inquiring about its nature?”

“My apologies, sir.”

Beon Saeng bowed his head low in deference.

The division chief in question was Wang Gon, an influential figure within Shin-hwa Bang.

Following the great conflict, Shin-hwa Bang had experienced an explosive rise, swiftly establishing itself as the undisputed master of Jeol-gang Province. Because its origins were shrouded in obscurity, endless rumors swirled about its true nature.

Certain whispers suggested it was a venerable sect from distant lands adopting a fresh guise to seize control of Jeol-gang; other voices claimed it was spearheaded by a covert master from the criminal underbelly, or perhaps an ancient recluse who had returned from deep isolation. Speculation ran rampant in every direction.

Yet regardless of the truth, Shin-hwa Bang had expanded at an astonishing rate, until not a single soul in Jeol-gang could afford to disregard its existence. The organization had positioned four separate division chiefs to govern the eastern, western, southern, and northern territories of the province. Wang Gon was the South Division Chief, holding sway over Mun-seong and the whole of the southern territory.

Within the borders of Mun-seong, no individual dared defy his will. There were even circulating murmurs that the previous branch chief had been driven out of his position simply for displeasing him.

Common logic dictated that an outside group could never dictate alliance postings, yet standard logic held little sway here in Mun-seong, so completely detached from headquarters.

“Curse it all!”

Having assumed the role only the prior year, Im Choong had found Wang Gon detestable from their very first interaction.

That mocking gaze, that swaggering demeanor, and the veiled barbs wrapped in superficial civility—the man made it painfully obvious that he viewed an outpost chief like Im Choong as entirely expendable.

Why should a frontier officer from the central plains command any respect from someone like him?

“Inform him that my schedule is full.”

“He was quite firm that the matter is urgent, insisting you attend.”

Beon Saeng added an earnest, pleading note to his tone.

“Could you not just meet with him once?”

Im Choong held back a sharp reprimand. If even he felt the suffocating weight of their influence, the pressure on Beon Saeng, caught as the go-between, had to be far heavier.

“Where is this meeting supposed to happen?”

“He has already secured a private chamber at Baek-hwa House.”

Im Choong’s expression soured further.

“Conceited bastard. If he seeks a conversation, he ought to present himself at the branch. Does he believe fine wine and women can settle every difficulty?”

He might be overseeing an isolated outpost in a quiet corner of Jeol-gang, but he remained a legally appointed officer of the Murim Alliance. It rubbed him the wrong way that a regional faction’s division chief could summon him like an errand boy.

He longed to put the man in his place, yet harsh reality required him to swallow his pride.

Smothering the fiery irritation rising within his chest, Im Choong shifted the topic.

“Aside from that, our incoming personnel transfer arrives tomorrow.”

“Really? The first reinforcement we’ve had in years?”

“Make sure you treat the newcomer with care. Do you imagine anyone would request to be stationed here? He was likely cast out after offending someone influential. We shouldn’t make things harder for him in a desolate place like this.”

“I shall handle him with kid gloves. Ah, our workload will certainly lighten now.”

Beon Saeng’s face broke into a broad, satisfied smile at the thought of the extra help.

“Accompany me to Baek-hwa House tonight.”

“Me as well? Splendid! I will see to it that everything runs smoothly!”

His eyes practically sparkled at the prospect of the glamorous entertainment. The meager coin he earned on duty would never allow him to purchase even a single drink in such an establishment.

“My sincere thanks, branch leader.”

“Go on ahead for now. Wrap up your current duties and join me later.”

“Understood, sir.”

Because Beon Saeng managed nearly all the daily operational labor of the outpost, Im Choong needed to keep him in good spirits. The station simply could not function without him.

When night settled over the city, Im Choong and Beon Saeng were ushered into the private room reserved at Baek-hwa House.

“It has been far too long, Branch Leader Im.”

“Division Chief Wang, I trust you have remained in good health.”

The man awaiting their arrival was none other than Shin-hwa Bang’s South Division Chief, Wang Gon.

Beside him sat a severe-looking warrior named Heuk Su, the division chief’s closest enforcer. Rumors suggested that in terms of sheer martial skill, he had already surpassed the man he served.

Heuk Su carried the immense pride characteristic of elite combatants, yet oddly enough, he carried out whatever commands Wang Gon gave—even those dark deeds no honorable martial artist would willingly touch.

Instead of offering a proper greeting, Heuk Su offered only a curt, dismissing tilt of his head toward Im Choong, drawing validation from his own open disdain.

Wang Gon, conversely, took hold of Im Choong’s hands with an effusive show of cordiality.

“I must apologize for pulling such a hardworking official away from his duties.”

“Think nothing of it. It is always a privilege to see you, Division Chief. You need only send word whenever you wish to meet.”

They were empty pleasantries, but Im Choong possessed too much worldly experience to let his real displeasure show on his face.

“I hear the cellar holds rare vintages tonight. Let us share a proper drink.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Surrounded by attentive courtesans, the four men drank and laughed through the hours, emptying jug after jug. Even though Wang Gon had crossed the threshold of fifty years, he matched the younger men cup for cup without slowing down.

Im Choong sipped his drink with calculated restraint, refusing to let alcohol loosen his guard.

‘There is no such thing as a free meal in this world.’

Lavish generosity was always an opening bid for a transaction.

He could barely stomach Wang Gon. When entirely sober, the man was merely tolerable; once alcohol entered the equation, his arrogant impulse to subjugate those around him flared to life, filling Im Choong with revulsion.

Yet what other choice did he have? If he hoped to cling to this humble outpost, he had to laugh all the louder as the situation grew more unbearable.

“Hahaha. Truly, Division Chief, your energy is boundless.”

“It is all made possible by your steady backing, Branch Leader—both your good will and your practical help.”

“Your praise is far too generous.”

Through the entire exchange, Im Choong chose to disregard the derisive glare coming from Heuk Su. He had caught wind of numerous dark stories: extortion, brutal beatings, and even murder. There was more than enough justification to mount a formal inquiry.

‘If the power were mine, that scoundrel would be the first one dragged in for interrogation.’

Im Choong emptied his cup in a single swallow.

‘This is not the life I had planned.’

He had stepped onto the martial path hoping to defend justice and champion righteousness, bending his knee to no man.

Yet somewhere along the road, he had chosen to compromise with cold reality.

‘What am I truly… just a petty man who folds when pushed.’

Could principles that anyone could compromise away ever truly be called righteousness?

Swallowed by rising self-contempt, he drained yet another cup. The liquor tasted exceptionally harsh tonight.

Only when the revelry began to wane did Wang Gon clear out the space for a private conversation, directing Beon Saeng, Heuk Su, and the women into an adjoining suite. With the room quiet, he made his real intention known.

“I sought this meeting for a singular reason.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“The main sect has decided to launch a modest new enterprise right here in Mun-seong.”

“Oh? That is wonderful news.”

“It is quite modest, really, so there is no need for grand praise.”

“What kind of endeavor might it be, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We are preparing to erect an iron house.”

“An iron house?”

The response caught Im Choong entirely unprepared; it was the very last thing he had anticipated hearing.

Wang Gon volunteered no further particulars.

“You understand how these things go. Fresh commercial projects inevitably generate wild talk and restless gossip.”

If the fallout were confined to mere idle chatter, they would be fortunate indeed. Considering Shin-hwa Bang’s past behavior, bruised victims and official grievances would surely mount.

A deep sense of dread tightened in Im Choong’s gut.

“Should any unpleasant noise happen to reach your ears, Branch Leader, I ask that you simply let it pass by. That is precisely why I requested your company this evening.”

Applying soothing salve before the wound was even inflicted made it abundantly clear that their proposed ‘iron house’ was no standard blacksmith forge.

In spite of the growing knot of unease, Im Choong maintained a polite expression.

“I understand your meaning entirely.”

“With you stationed here, my mind is completely at rest. Please, accept this as a token of my regard.”

Wang Gon pushed forward a small, carefully crafted wooden box.

“What could this be?”

“I understand that your young son has begun his martial training. Give this to him to consume.”

Im Choong lifted the latch, peering inside, and an involuntary gasp escaped his lips.

“Is this…?”

“Precisely. Century-old He Shou Wu.”

Im Choong’s eyes went wide.

A miracle herb capable of bestowing anywhere from five to ten years of pure internal energy upon a practitioner.

“This is far too extraordinary a treasure for me to take.”

“That is the whole point—it is exceptionally hard to come by. Which makes it the only fitting gift for our esteemed Branch Leader Im.”

Im Choong felt his resolve waver. If the medicine was authentic, it could completely rewrite the trajectory of his son’s martial journey.

‘Even so, I cannot accept it.’

This was naked, unvarnished bribery. It was an entirely different beast from accepting a night of shared wine and songs at an entertainment parlor.

Wang Gon was a man who detested taking losses. For an herb of this magnitude, he would eventually demand a millennium’s worth of concessions in return.

“My boy lacks the natural ability to make proper use of such a divine gift.”

Wearing a strained smile, he moved the container back across the wood.

“Do not discard my goodwill so readily.”

“Haha, knowing the warmth behind the gesture is more than enough for me.”

The wooden container slid directly back in front of Wang Gon.

At that moment, the warmth in Wang Gon’s gaze completely froze over. An icy sheen of undisguised irritation and naked displeasure replaced his smile—a heavy, menacing chill that went far beyond subtle persuasion.

‘No, absolutely not!’

Im Choong understood with absolute clarity: the moment he took this bribe, his independence would be extinguished forever. If he fastened the very first button incorrectly, the final opening would lead straight to his own burial.

“That is no treasure—it is lethal poison.”

—

The following morning, within the halls of the Murim Alliance Mun-seong branch.

Im Choong sat staring blankly at the steaming bowl of hangover medicine that Beon Saeng had placed before him.

“Is there something weighing heavily on your thoughts, sir?”

At Beon Saeng’s gentle inquiry, he simply shook his head.

“It is nothing.”

“Your expression tells an entirely different tale.”

It was Wang Gon, naturally.

‘Perhaps I should have simply taken the He Shou Wu after all?’

He had stood his ground and turned down the gift. By all rights, he ought to feel proud of his clean hands, yet an oppressive weight hung over his spirit. The memory of Wang Gon’s chilling, resentful stare made his chest feel unbearably tight.

“You…”

“Yes, branch leader?”

The urge rose to ask if Beon Saeng had accepted some private bribe behind his back, but Im Choong bit the question back. Even a subordinate deserved a measure of dignity. Shifting direction, he asked:

“Did you learn anything from Heuk Su last night?”

“Regarding what matter?”

“Shin-hwa Bang’s plan to construct an iron house.”

“Ah, that. It seems it will be massive, dwarfing ordinary structures several times over.”

“Several times larger?”

“They boast it will stand as the grandest facility in the central plains. It makes one wonder how vast their fortunes must truly be. Why do you mention it?”

“It is nothing important.”

Im Choong drank down the restorative brew and pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples.

The butchering of Yang Chu’s household, Shin-hwa Bang’s ominous new project, and the poisoned gift he had turned away. The headaches were multiplying without pause.

And now, one final complication had arrived.

The wooden entrance swung open, and a traveler stepped across the threshold, a weathered travel sack resting across his shoulder. It was Baek So-cheon.

Moving with measured, deliberate strides, he advanced toward the desk, offered the official transfer document to Im Choong, and spoke in a clear voice.

“I have arrived for duty. I am Baek So-cheon.”