Chapter 7

Chapter 7
“Word has reached me that you submitted another petition?”

Jong-bae served as the violent muscle for the Taejeong Faction. Garish ink covered his skin alongside jagged sword marks, and an inherently vicious grimace made him look downright terrifying. In spite of that menacing presence, the elderly vendor refused to shrink back.

“Indeed, I did. You miserable parasites! I intend to keep submitting them until the day I draw my last breath.”

No matter how tirelessly he labored to earn a living, the Taejeong ruffians extorted thirty percent under the pretense of collecting protection fees. It had started at a tenth, but over the course of the current year, the extortion had escalated threefold.

No merchant could endure such draining terms. Every drop of honest sweat merely ended up sustaining those thieves.

“Go right ahead and lodge them. Keep crying to your superiors.”

Jong-bae brought his open hand down against the nape of the old man’s skull over and over in a vile display of contempt.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The blows were not meant to drop him, but rather to break his spirit through public degradation. Even so, the fragile senior tottered unsteadily.

“File your complaints, ancient wreck. Come along, let us go submit one side by side. Pen it right under my nose!”

Smack! Smack!

The vicious strikes grew heavier until the old vendor lost his balance and collapsed onto the ground.

Jong-bae hovered a heavy boot directly above his head in an overt threat.

“Tch, I am not even permitted to crush your skull outright.”

Slumped on the floorboards, the shopkeeper kept his face lowered. Intense physical ache mixed with a burning sense of unfairness and bitter heartbreak.

He had held his tongue and endured until now, but his patience had run dry. His remaining days in this world were dwindling regardless.

Rather than fading into nothingness, he had resolved to offer his final days for the sake of the marketplace vendors. The local magistrates, hopelessly tangled up with the Black Society, turned a blind eye, leaving him no alternative but to petition the Murim Alliance branch. Yet despite several formal pleas, nothing but dead silence had returned.

Jong-bae dropped into a crouch beside him, pitching his tone to a deceitfully gentle purr.

“You have lived through plenty of years already—why stir up trouble now? Let go of your greed, assist the younger generation with generosity, and pass your remaining days in quiet obscurity.”

“What? Greed, you say?”

The old merchant reached out and grabbed Jong-bae by the fabric of his collar.

“You insolent dog—by what right do you utter such filth? How dare those words spill from your throat?”

Roughly ripping the frail hands away, Jong-bae stood back up.

“Pay attention, decrepit fossil. You can deliver a hundred petitions if you wish. Have you ever seen a single warrior from the Murim Alliance step foot around here?”

“If the regional outpost refuses to act, I will march straight to the central headquarters myself!”

“You stubborn old fool! I treat you with gentle words and you choose defiance? Are you that eager to die?”

“Take my life, then. Do it!”

“You assume I lack the nerve? That foolish assumption is why you dare pull this nonsense.”

Wham!

A ruthless kick crashed straight into the old man’s features.

The sheer impact tossed him backward, leaving him crumpled in the dirt.

Seeing their chance, the rest of the gang began tearing into the shop’s merchandise, smashing inventory without restraint.

The surrounding marketplace vendors stomped their feet in helpless fury, yet none dared intervene against the bloodthirsty Taejeong cutthroats.

Suddenly, a resonant shout cut across the street.

“You worthless dogs! Cease this at once!”

Every thug in the Taejeong crew snapped their heads toward the source of the voice.

It was Beon Saeng, sprinting into the fray.

Recognizing the arrival, Jong-bae curled his lips into a mocking smirk and strolled out to meet him.

“Well now, look who decided to show up—Squad Leader Beon.”

Sauntering over familiarly, he draped an arm across Beon Saeng’s shoulders as if greeting an intimate companion.

“It has been quite a while, and you look sharper than ever. Who is the youngster behind you? A fledgling recruit? Ooh, Squad Leader Beon, wandering around with your very own underling now? Quite the stylish display.”

“Take your arm off me.”

“Why such a sour attitude all of a sudden?”

“I warned you to take your hand off me, brat.”

Bristling with irritation, Beon Saeng shoved Jong-bae’s arm away and knelt to assist the battered senior to his feet.

“Are you all right?”

“I can manage.”

The words were hollow. One of his eyelids had swollen completely shut like a plum, while crimson streamed freely from his split lips.

When Beon Saeng tried to escort the elder toward the street, the circle of Taejeong ruffians shifted to bar their path.

“Where do you think you are going?”

Still burning from being shoved aside, Jong-bae pressed the confrontation. Men belonging to the Black Society survived entirely on terrifying bravado—maintaining a fierce, brutal presence at all times, especially in the presence of junior thugs eager to take their place.

“To find a physician, obviously.”

“The old fossil barely has a scratch on him. Move aside. I will have the boys wipe away the red.”

“I told you to clear the path.”

With courteous words failing, Jong-bae leaned into his ear, letting his voice drop into a low, sinister rasp.

“If you do not want to be humiliated in full view of everyone, slink away while you still can.”

The surrounding crowd could not catch the hushed warning, but the injured senior heard it distinctly.

He whispered to Beon Saeng, “I am fine. Do not entangle yourself in this—you will only end up suffering as well.”

The protective gesture tore straight through Beon Saeng’s already frayed pride.

Guiding the old man to a chair in the back of the shop, Beon Saeng spun around and roared at Jong-bae and the gathered gang.

“Every one of you is under arrest for violent assault and extortion! Cast aside your weapons and drop to your knees!”

Jong-bae and his cohort stared back in stunned disbelief.

“What did you just mouth?”

“You are all detained. Throw down your steel and submit on your knees. Right now.”

Jong-bae displayed no fear whatsoever. He closed the distance with an open sneer.

“Squad Leader Beon, can your little rank shoulder the consequences of this?”

“Can you shoulder what I am about to do to you?”

Beon Saeng drove his clenched knuckles straight into Jong-bae’s face.

Smash!

Taken entirely off-guard, Jong-bae was hurled across the floor. Before he could scramble back up, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Butcher that insolent dog!”

Having taken a beating in front of his subordinates, all restraint evaporated.

In unison, the Taejeong enforcers drew their weapons.

A sudden flame ignited within Beon Saeng’s gaze.

“You dare bare your cold blades against a righteous warrior of the Murim Alliance?”

Unsheathing his own sword, he charged into the crowd.

His primary mark was Jong-bae. Leaping forward, Beon Saeng brought his boot slamming into Jong-bae’s jaw just as the man was rising with weapon in hand.

Thump!

Jong-bae crashed onto his back once more.

A hulking thug nearby swung a massive cleaver in a wide arc. Beon Saeng ducked nimbly beneath the clumsy sweep and slashed in retaliation.

Whoosh, slice.

The keen edge carved deep into the attacker’s leg.

Spurt!

The flesh split wide as blood sprayed in a heavy arc. Completely unaccustomed to severe wounds, the massive brute wailed in raw terror.

The gap in true martial capability was undeniable. None of these Taejeong punks possessed proper foundations—merely a couple of months or at best two years of basic drills at an ordinary martial hall.

Beon Saeng, on the other hand, had honed his arts since early childhood and had officially earned a place within the ranks of the Murim Alliance.

Another thug lunged from the periphery, thrusting forward with decent form—perhaps a year spent inside a training academy.

Clang!

Beon Saeng deflected the incoming blade with crisp precision. As the attacker stumbled off-balance, he mercilessly severed the muscle of the exposed arm.

Splatter!

“Aaaagh! The pain! Aaaaaah!”

Clutching his mangled limb, the wounded ruffian shrieked as though his life were slipping away. As crimson pooled onto the floor, the nerve of an onlooker broke completely, his legs giving out beneath him.

Even amid the violent chaos, a single principle remained clear in Beon Saeng’s mind: do not claim their lives.

“You bastards! Cast your blades aside! Drop them!”

Though he held absolute dominance, excitement surged through his veins. Truth be told, this was his very first time drawing human blood with cold iron. When would a warrior posted to a neglected frontier outpost ever encounter real combat? Even sweeping wars passed this stagnant region by without a ripple.

“Watch your back!”

Reacting purely to the sudden warning, Beon Saeng twisted aside. Jong-bae, having scrambled up from the floor, had launched an underhanded strike from behind. The surprise thrust barely missed his vital areas, leaving a shallow gouge across his shoulder and scattering blood. I was nearly killed, the thought hit him, his vision reddening with fury.

“You miserable cur!”

Beon Saeng lunged forward, thrusting in blind retaliation.

Stab. The wrathful blade drove straight into Jong-bae’s shoulder.

“Aaaagh!”

Screaming and clutching the profusely bleeding wound, Jong-bae rolled across the floor. Beon Saeng pursued him like a specter.

“Filthy dog—I will end your life!”

Whoosh.

His heated steel swept in a downward arc toward Jong-bae’s exposed throat.

Clack.

The sharp edge froze a fraction of an inch from the skin.

Baek So-cheon had seized his wrist, halting the fatal strike. It was he who had called out the warning moments earlier.

“Do not misunderstand my intention. I am not trying to preserve his life. He attempted a cowardly strike from your blind spot, so putting an end to him is entirely justified.”

Guiding Beon Saeng’s restrained hand, Baek So-cheon gently pressed the tip forward until it broke the flesh of Jong-bae’s throat.

Pierce.

A thin trickle of crimson began to run down from the shallow cut.

Only then did Baek So-cheon hold the wrist firm, stopping Beon Saeng from driving the steel deeper.

Paralyzed by sheer terror, Jong-bae began to babble desperately.

“P-please spare me! I will live an upright life from this day on!”

Still maintaining his hold on the wrist, Baek So-cheon said coldly, “Do you honestly believe he will change his ways? Deceitful lies. The moment he recovers, vengeance will be the only thing on his mind.”

Beon Saeng’s sword trembled under the pressure of his fury. A tiny forward push, and the man beneath him would breathe his last.

Droplets of red fell with every tremor of his hand.

Baek So-cheon loosened his fingers and released the wrist.

“As I said, take his life if you choose—but do so entirely by your own conscious will. Do not slaughter someone simply because passion clouds your judgment. This appears to be your very first execution. Give your reason an opportunity to weigh in.”

The calm, steady counsel acted like icy water over Beon Saeng’s racing heart.

Slowly, the fog cleared from his eyes, allowing him to take in the wider room.

Jong-bae stared up in pure dread, blood pouring freely from his ruined shoulder, his features drained of all color.

Crimson stained the shop. Slashed men groaned in agony across the boards, while those left uninjured gripped their weapons with petrified hands, frozen in place. The toughest combatants were already incapacitated; not a single thug possessed the nerve to charge forward.

Beon Saeng expelled a long, deep breath.

“This will suffice.”

With deliberate slowness, he pulled the weapon away from Jong-bae’s neck.

Every instinct urged him to execute the lot of them, yet he was an officer of the Murim Alliance—bound to uphold its laws and order.

Baek So-cheon gave a single nod of approval, then turned his gaze toward the remaining thugs who were still holding their blades awkwardly.

“Discard your weapons and get on your knees where you stand. One, two…”

Before the count reached three, steel clattered against the ground as every last thug dropped to their knees.

Baek So-cheon glanced at Beon Saeng and asked, “Any regrets?”

Beon Saeng took in the scene once more: wailing men, hands staunching open wounds, bowed heads, and hateful glares aimed from the floorboards. Had that been the entirety of the room, regret would have surely weighed upon him.

Yet past the fallen scoundrels stood the marketplace vendors.

Their faces beamed with rare vitality, warmth returning to expressions that had long looked hollow and beaten.

To witness their daily tormentors thoroughly battered sparked an exhilarating joy among them, almost like an urge to dance. A fragile ember of hope flickered: could they truly be free from this endless abuse?

The elderly merchant, peering out from his single open eye, wrapped a strip of clean white cloth around the cut on Beon Saeng’s shoulder.

“Are you holding up?”

“I am fine—wipe the blood from your own face, elder. You have taken terrible harm.”

“Young man, what does a battered frame matter to someone whose feet are already turned toward the grave? Your long road ahead is what truly matters.”

He finished tying the linen in place.

“…Thank you for your help.”

Those simple words stirred a hot, heavy ache inside Beon Saeng’s chest.

…No, the fault is mine. It took me far too long to step forward.

His gaze dropped to the thin, wrinkled hands that had just bound his wound—the very hands he had looked past and neglected over six long years.

Yes. This was the exact purpose for which I took up the sword.

Turning back to face Baek So-cheon, Beon Saeng finally answered.

“No regrets.”

A faint smile touched Baek So-cheon’s lips—the very first genuine expression he had offered since they met, paired with a soft chuckle.

“Now you carry yourself like a true warrior of the Murim Alliance. Since we have set this in motion, let us carry it through to the end.”

The word “end” brought Beon Saeng back to sharp reality.

He was right. This was not the conclusion.

Far from it—it was merely the opening move.

Jong-bae was nothing more than an expendable street enforcer. If they bungled the aftermath, he, the battered elder, and every merchant here would face merciless retribution. The branch leader and the outpost itself would be dragged into the fire. The Taejeong faction would retaliate in force; even the greater Shin-hwa-bang might mobilize.

A sudden wave of dread washed over him, causing his knees to tremble in delayed shock.

This confrontation had initially ignited because of Baek So-cheon.

He had not been coerced, but the truth remained.

They had been acquainted for merely a few days, yet he had eagerly addressed the man as an older brother, boldly promising to crush the Black Society unprompted. Today, he could have easily turned away and avoided the mess—yet he chose to leap directly into the fire. He had played the drums and danced the entire farce alone, without a formal ritual.

An unsettling realization struck his mind.

It was just like dragging poor-quality medicinal roots to haggle with a swindler, only to end up purchasing the most exorbitant items on the shelf instead.

—Why on earth did you do that then?

Hearing such mocking words from others would have been manageable; his own inner voice was already whispering the question.

Yet hearing it from Baek So-cheon would be terrifying. Everything had started because of him—yet what if he simply turned his back and denied the entire affair? Baek So-cheon would pass by like a brief gust of wind, leaving Beon Saeng alone to ride out the storm he had provoked like a madman.

Completely oblivious to the turmoil churning inside Beon Saeng’s mind, Baek So-cheon dropped into a crouch beside one of the Taejeong thugs who was struggling to halt his bleeding.

“Your very first sword cut, is it? Agonizing, right? Pressing down right here makes it far worse.”

He squeezed the wound.

“Aaaaaaaagh!”