Chapter 5

Chapter 5
Im Choong looked down at the reassignment papers in utter disbelief.

“He actually served as a squad leader in the Iron Sword Unit?”

The document recorded only his most recent post within that prestigious division, but that detail alone was enough to stun Im Choong.

Standing right beside him, Beon Saeng was even more dumbfounded.

The legendary Iron Sword Unit?

Joining their ranks had been his ultimate childhood ambition—an ambition that had long since slipped out of reach. Inevitably, Beon Saeng turned his eyes toward Baek So-cheon, staring at him with intense focus.

“The Iron Sword Unit represents the absolute peak of headquarters. How on earth did someone like you get discarded all the way out here?”

Baek So-cheon offered an entirely indifferent reply to Im Choong’s inquiry.

“Most likely because my diligence was lacking.”

“Are you truly expecting us to buy that explanation?”

Rather than backing down, Baek So-cheon redirected the inquiry straight back at the man.

“Then how did you find yourself cast aside out here, Branch Leader?”

Im Choong’s eyes widened as he peered upward at Baek So-cheon.

This fellow certainly has nerve!

The unblinking, brazen manner in which the man held his gaze made it obvious he was far from standard stock.

“I applied myself completely, yet here I am anyway.”

“In that case, you simply lacked the necessary gifts.”

Under normal circumstances, such an insult would have incited immediate fury, yet strangely, it stirred no genuine rage in him.

Why was that? These insolent remarks felt entirely natural coming from Baek So-cheon. Perhaps it came down to his delivery. Even though the statement openly mocked the listener, his placid tone bore no actual malice or contempt. It sounded less like an attack and more like an unrestrained exchange with a wandering traveler.

He really is something else.

Neither Im Choong nor Beon Saeng possessed the slightest insight into Baek So-cheon’s past.

He was a figure known solely among the highest echelons of elite martial artists back at headquarters. The moment his string of demotions commenced, strict secrecy orders had been mandated regarding his background, ensuring the fighters stranded in a remote outpost like the Mun-seong Branch remained completely in the dark.

Even without that silence, not a soul would have ever guessed that a warrior of his standing could tumble down to such an insignificant place.

Im Choong’s attention then froze on a specific line of the scroll—a detail guaranteed to astound anyone who read it.

“Hold on. Thirty-eight?”

Beon Saeng let out a stunned yelp from beside the desk.

“That can’t be real!”

This single revelation proved far more shocking than learning about his time with the Iron Sword Unit.

Beon Saeng was twenty-six years old. Seeing him initially, he had assumed the newcomer was younger than him, or at most the exact same age.

“Surely someone made a clerical error, right? Couldn’t it be twenty-eight?”

Baek So-cheon calmly addressed Im Choong’s skepticism.

“If assuming that puts you more at ease, you may think so.”

That unbothered attitude only served to reinforce that the age was entirely accurate.

“Unless you’ve somehow mastered the Youth Preservation Technique, you owe your parents immense gratitude.”

Im Choong pressed further with an additional inquiry.

“Where do your martial arts skills currently stand?”

It was not something he typically pried into, but the man’s former title as an Iron Sword Unit squad leader made the curiosity unavoidable.

“In my earlier years, I was quite formidable.”

“And these days?”

“Hopeless.”

Lurking nearby, Beon Saeng chimed in with a dry scoff.

“What use is boasting of earlier days? If we rely on past glory, back in my golden youth, I rode astride a golden calf and traded blows with the Black Heaven Alliance Lord himself.”

Baek So-cheon nodded along in calm concurrence, treating the ridiculous boast as a profound truth.

“Precisely. Yesterday is nothing more than yesterday.”

That seamless agreement instantly softened Beon Saeng’s defensive posture.

“Well, it’s fortunate we see minimal bloodshed in these parts. Let us ensure we get along well from here on.”

The newcomer could hardly be described as submissive, yet his initial impression did not leave a sour taste. A blunt, unfiltered individual was vastly preferable to some nervous sycophant constantly reading the room with shifting eyes. A man of this nature was far more inclined to carry his own weight.

“Very well, that concludes our introduction. Squad Leader Beon will familiarize you with the daily responsibilities.”

Beon Saeng motioned for Baek So-cheon to follow him on a walkthrough of the grounds.

Left alone, Im Choong sank back against the wood of his seat, muttering under his breath.

“The Iron Sword Unit…”

True to their fearsome reputation, the man’s lingering aura was undeniable. Had this outpost possessed merely five warriors of that caliber, Wang Gon would never have presumed to look down on him with such brazen disrespect.

A familiar sting of bitter remorse crept back into his thoughts.

Beon Saeng guided Baek So-cheon into the facility’s secluded rear courtyard, where an abandoned set of living quarters sat quietly.

“You may have more years on you and hold senior status within the Murim Alliance, but… the reality is that you remain an ordinary soldier while I am a squad leader. Therefore, protocol requires me to act as your superior officer.”

In the Murim Alliance, rank undeniably took precedence over chronological age.

“Do as you see fit.”

“I appreciate the cooperation. Tell me, what caused your demotion from being a squad leader in the first place?”

“I gave my superior a beating.”

Beon Saeng stiffened mid-stride, whipping around to gawk at Baek So-cheon. The newcomer merely nodded with complete sincerity, prompting Beon Saeng to pick up his walking speed with sudden, nervous urgency.

“When you think about it, what do titles like superior and subordinate even mean in an out-of-the-way post like this? Under this roof, we are practically family and close comrades.”

Moving past the open ground, Beon Saeng halted before a massive training post set upright for martial practice.

An urge tugged at him to demand a strike, eager to witness the martial prowess of a former Iron Sword squad leader. Yet, the words caught in his throat, and he could not bring himself to issue the challenge.

Only at that moment did Beon Saeng notice an oddity: Baek So-cheon possessed no blade at his waist.

How did I miss that until now?

Habit normally compelled him to inspect another warrior’s weapon before anything else. Yet, without thinking, he had subconsciously assumed the man carried a sword.

“Is your foundation built on bare-handed strike arts?”

“It is not.”

“Then what style of martial arts do you practice?”

“None whatsoever.”

He gave the response with the obstinate detachment of a petulant child refusing a meal, forcing Beon Saeng to look back once more.

Just what kind of bizarre individual is this?

By that point, the two had reached the residence nestled in the rear yard.

The condition was noticeably better than anticipated. A thorough sweeping and dusting would make it more than adequate for a single occupant.

“These will serve as your lodgings. It may appear slightly neglected on the outside, but it faces south and catches ample sunlight throughout the day. Take the rest of today to unwind.”

“I thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. You are part of our group now.”

Turning around to head back, Beon Saeng cast a quick look over his shoulder.

Baek So-cheon remained stationary in the heart of the courtyard, his eyes lifted toward the open sky above. For some unexplained reason, that motionless, vacant outline carried a profound sense of solitude.

No, what nonsense am I imagining?

Beon Saeng’s original intention of subjecting the new recruit to a firm hazing routine had completely evaporated the second he discovered the man was thirty-eight and tied to the Iron Sword Unit. He knew he ought to have established his dominance straight away.

Starting tomorrow morning, I will make sure he learns his proper place!

At sunrise the following day, Baek So-cheon’s routine within the Mun-seong Branch officially got underway.

“The primary duty of any fresh recruit involves sorting through all these archived records.”

Truthfully, managing Baek So-cheon felt distinctly intimidating to Beon Saeng. Nevertheless, surrendering authority at this early stage would only invite another commanding presence over his head later on. For that reason, he placed heavy emphasis on the word “recruit.”

Once Beon Saeng demonstrated the filing method, Baek So-cheon mastered the task almost instantaneously.

Just as anticipated! He has sharp wits.

Beon Saeng felt a wave of satisfaction. Inconvenient dynamic or not, working alongside someone capable was always an advantage.

However, the gulf separating what Beon Saeng perceived as “capable” and what Baek So-cheon actually demonstrated proved to be monumental.

Poring through the documents, Baek So-cheon’s gaze caught on a particular piece of parchment.

“Examine this.”

“What have you found?”

It was a bundle of formal petitions.

“Multiple grievances alleging constant harassment by the Tae-jeong Sect. This is not a isolated report—several exist, all submitted by the identical complainant.”

The Tae-jeong Sect served as the local black guild in these territories. Far removed from legitimate martial sects, black guilds were criminal syndicates of roughnecks who shook down local taverns, pleasure houses, and shopkeepers for extortion fees, meddling wherever money could be squeezed out.

“Ah, those records? Simply combine the identical submissions into a unified report and forward it directly to the Jeol-gang Branch.”

“And once it arrives there?”

“Their officials review intelligence gathered across all regional branches and dictate corresponding directives from the upper level. They instruct us on the proper response—or whether we simply disregard it.”

“Why rely on the upper branch instead of resolving the issue ourselves on the spot?”

“Why? Because those are the established protocols, plain and simple.”

Baek So-cheon rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes locked onto Beon Saeng. That unyielding gaze caused the squad leader to shift backward in discomfort.

“I am not the author of those regulations. Things have functioned this way since the beginning.”

“Such a process is profoundly counterproductive.”

“The upper branch looks down on us as insignificant vermin, which explains the whole situation.”

Then, without warning, Baek So-cheon made an abrupt remark.

“A mere black guild holds no real weight. Our existing personnel could easily suppress them.”

Common thugs and true martial artists were separated by an insurmountable divide. Even a third-rate martial artist still possessed martial cultivation, whereas a black guild was fundamentally an assembly of street brawlers.

“You only speak so lightly because you remain ignorant of what the Tae-jeong Sect is capable of. Their numbers are extensive, and their supreme leader is an experienced practitioner of the martial path. Whispers suggest he earned considerable notoriety across the realm during his prime…”

As Beon Saeng’s long-winded clarification carried on, Baek So-cheon intervened cleanly.

“Do you accept monetary payouts from this syndicate?”

“What did you say? I would never lay a hand on tainted coin from wretched scum like that!”

Beon Saeng sprang up defensively, before letting out a subdued exhale.

“We would gladly obliterate their organization, but… word has it that the Shin-hwa Merchant Guild provides their financial backing.”

“The Shin-hwa Merchant Guild?”

At that, Beon Saeng launched into a detailed breakdown of the influence wielded by the Shin-hwa Merchant Guild.

“…Consequently, we are entirely unable to make a reckless move against the Tae-jeong Sect throughout this region.”

He had spoken at length purely to preserve his dignity before the newly arrived warrior. He refused to be viewed as a useless superior who could not even suppress a local criminal ring from his very first interaction.

Yet, despite his elaborate justifications, the outcome caught him entirely off guard.

Baek So-cheon delivered his judgment without hesitation.

“If fear is what prevents you from addressing this grievance, you might as well take their silver.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are we not supposed to be warriors under the Murim Alliance? Abandoning helpless townspeople purely out of terror reflects far worse on us than pocketing illicit funds. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Baek So-cheon discarded the paper onto the table surface.

“Point out the person who authored these complaints. I will instruct them to stop sending petitions, as it serves no purpose. Leaving them with false hope when we refuse to step in is simply too cruel.”

As dusk settled, Beon Saeng found his way into Im Choong’s personal chamber.

“Are you not preparing to retire for the night?”

“I must soon. And yourself?”

“The same.”

“The scent of wine is strong on you. Did something occur?”

Beon Saeng was visibly intoxicated. Swallowed by distress over the day’s conversation, he had sought solace in strong drink. Incapable of enduring the quiet frustration alone, he had sought out Im Choong.

He laid out the entirety of the incident.

“Hearing that bastard lecture me set my blood on fire. What understanding does he have of our reality?”

“Why didn’t you push back against him?”

“I was unable to. Words simply failed me.”

“Do not allow his former prestige in the Iron Sword Unit to intimidate you, Squad Leader.”

“That is not the reason. It had nothing to do with him coming from the Iron Sword Unit…”

“Then what paralyzed you?”

Beon Saeng let out a weary breath.

“It was because his words were undeniable… I had no rebuttal to offer.”

Warriors of the grand Murim Alliance, powerless to defend civilians tormented by underworld filth simply because the backers in the shadows caused them to tremble? Perhaps the man was right—it might truly be less shameful to be labeled corrupt than to be proven absolute cowards. A profound disgust with himself churned within his chest.

Im Choong rose from his seat, retrieving a concealed flagon and a pair of drinking vessels from behind his desk.

“Have another pour.”

Tipping the liquor, he sought to soothe his subordinate.

“Do not let it weigh on your spirit. How much could a rolling stone that just arrived yesterday possibly comprehend?”

Yet that very stone had wedged itself painfully into Beon Saeng’s conscience.

“If we fail to stand up for them, where else can those victimized souls seek salvation? My heart aches for them. Dammit all.”

It was a grievance he had locked away for years, letting it gnaw quietly at his soul. He had smothered his inner conscience beneath a pile of practical rationalizations, only for Baek So-cheon to ruthlessly rip away the cover on his very first day.

Im Choong could completely relate to the sentiment.

He had occupied his current leadership role for less than a year, whereas Beon Saeng had dedicated six full years to Mun-seong since earning his position in the Alliance. His emotional ties to the local residents were naturally far deeper.

Im Choong silently tilted his cup, swallowing the contents.

His own inner state was fundamentally the same.

He too felt the exact same paralysis that was currently tearing at Beon Saeng.

In the quiet of his mind, he had yearned to speak frankly to Wang Gon:

Expanding your commerce is acceptable, but take heed: bring no harm to the people residing in Mun-seong. Should you cross that threshold, I will not stand idly by.

He had recognized that offering precious century ginseng to a cast-aside regional director clearly meant they were orchestrating a massive, illicit undertaking, yet he had actively turned his sight away from the truth.

Having downed several more measures of alcohol, Beon Saeng erupted in a furious shout.

“To hell with it! Why don’t we just march over and obliterate the Tae-jeong Sect right now?”

It was nothing more than hollow, wine-fueled defiance rather than genuine bravery.

“Keep your voice down and drink your wine. The rank-and-file may be common ruffians, but the head of that syndicate possesses martial prowess that eclipses yours. He might very well outmatch me as well.”

“Curse it all. Imagine falling so low that a street boss surpasses us in power.”

Beon Saeng tossed back another cup of liquor. His mounting indignation abruptly redirected its target.

“That miserable arrogant prick! The more I dwell on it, the more my rage boils over. Does carrying the Iron Sword Unit title make him a supreme entity? Does having more years mean he rules over me? Telling me taking bribes would be cleaner? I am going to teach him a lesson!”

Beon Saeng shoved himself up and stormed through the doorway.

“Where are you running off to?”

“I am going to put him in his place once and for all!”

Im Choong made no move to hold him back. He felt this confrontation was something that had to take its natural course eventually. Peculiarly, he harbored no genuine apprehension. Despite having known Baek So-cheon for merely a single day, he maintained an implicit confidence that the newcomer would handle the drunken outburst gracefully. His mature age likely played a role in that assurance.

Im Choong turned his gaze toward the open casement. The radiant moon hanging in the night sky seemed unusually desolate, reflecting the sorrow within his own heart.

The harsh criticisms Baek So-cheon had used to pierce Beon Saeng’s pride weighed just as heavily upon his own shoulders.

Could he honestly declare he was walking an honorable path simply by rejecting that offering of century ginseng?

Beon Saeng marched toward Baek So-cheon’s quarters, his fury burning brightly.

Do you mistake us for heartless cowards? If your valor is so boundless, why don’t you march out and rescue them yourself!

A tempest of venomous rejoinders spun wildly through his mind.

He soon found Baek So-cheon present in the rear courtyard.

The scene waiting before him brought Beon Saeng to a screeching halt, freezing him in place.

Baek So-cheon was inverted, balancing his entire body upon just three fingers. His form trembled violently as though ready to give way at any second, yet he clamped his jaw shut and sustained the balance. The earthen ground beneath him was thoroughly drenched with falling perspiration, resembling soil soaked by a torrential storm. How many hours had he endured in this state?

Even as muffled groans of intense strain escaped his lips, he persevered to the absolute boundary of endurance. Right before complete physical exhaustion forced a fall, he disengaged from the technique and pushed himself back onto his feet.

“Do you require something?”

Soaked in sweat as though he had stepped out from a torrential cloudburst, the sight instantly cleared the drunken haze from Beon Saeng’s head. The liquid arrogance that had governed him moments ago was instantly washed away by overwhelming mortification.

In the dead of night, a thirty-eight-year-old warrior was subjecting himself to agonizing physical refinement—while he, at twenty-six, had arrived reeking of alcohol simply to stage a pathetic tantrum? All to fabricate an excuse for his own gutlessness.

When was the last time I threw myself into cultivation like that, sweating until my clothes were thoroughly drenched?

Memories of his younger days spent striving relentlessly to become a martial artist came rushing back. The brutal preparation to secure entry into the Alliance, driving his body to the brink of death. Those forgotten years surged back into his awareness.

…At what point did I cast aside all my aspirations?

Was the emotion welling up from his innermost depths pure, unadulterated shame?

“If you would permit it…”

Carrying the exact same impassioned roar he had intended to use for a fight, Beon Saeng cried out at the top of his lungs,

“When no one else is around, would you grant me permission to address you as big brother?”