Chapter 9

Chapter 9
Following the death of Tae-jeong, an unfamiliar tranquility blanketed the area for several days.

The fallout from his passing continued to work in everyone’s favor, largely because Wang Gon, the man most intimately tied to him, had not yet made his way back.

Because of that absence, the local shopkeepers and traders were finally able to enjoy a much-needed breathing spell.

Im Choong wrestled with his private anxieties, and Beon Saeng harbored his own doubts, though neither gave any outward indication of their distress.

Baek So-cheon, meanwhile, kept strictly to his usual habits.

He spent the daylight hours attending to his assigned duties with quiet dedication, and the moment his shifts concluded, he threw himself entirely into private conditioning.

Every so often, he took his physical trials to an even harsher extreme, and tonight happened to be one of those grueling nights.

At this very moment, Baek So-cheon was ascending the vertical rock face of the highest, most perilous mountain surrounding Mun-seong using nothing but his bare fingers and toes.

Nor was it an unburdened ascent. Fastened securely to his shoulders was the very leather travel pack he had carried with him on the day he first arrived at this posting.

Lacking any internal energy to cushion an accident, a slip from such an altitude meant catastrophic harm or instant demise.

Centering his thoughts, Baek So-cheon directed every ounce of raw muscular power directly into the tips of his fingers.

The world assumed he was a broken wreck, but Baek So-cheon had never for a single second abandoned his ambition to reclaim his martial path.

Throughout the previous three years, he had incessantly driven his physical vessel to its absolute breaking point, progressively pushing past those barriers. While an outside observer might view this behavior as suicidal madness, Baek So-cheon measured every step of the strain with calculated precision.

His flesh and sinew had long since surpassed the condition he maintained prior to his crippling wound; if anything, he was physically more formidable now than before. It was an astonishing feat achieved purely through a desperate, unbending willpower to offset his utter void of internal energy.

Drawing upon that hardened physique, Baek So-cheon steadily advanced upward toward the summit. He lost his footing once, dangling inches away from a fatal plunge, yet he refused to let go.

Ultimately, he dragged his frame over the precipice of the cliff.

He cast the cumbersome bag to the side and collapsed flat against the stone ground.

“Hah… hah… hah…”

Baek So-cheon dragged air greedily into his starved lungs. The stifling tension uncoiled from his muscles, replaced instantly by throbbing soreness and overwhelming fatigue. Dragging such an immense burden up a sheer wall was nothing short of sheer lunacy.

When he had first recommenced his training after finally rising from his convalescent bed, the initial thrill of reclaiming strength and vitality had captivated him. Yet as the days stacked into weeks and months, the labor became pure agony.

It was a gory, torturous pursuit of surpassing physical thresholds. Daily, the urge to throw in the towel tempted him. After every brutal trial, vile curses would slip out of him unchecked.

Nights like this, where a single miscalculation spelled death, only made that bitterness burn brighter.

“Curse it! Damn it all to hell! I am finished! I swear I will never train like this again. If I ever subject myself to this torture another time, I am a mangy cur, an absolute stray hound.”

He remained stretched out there for an unknown stretch of time until his ragged gasps gradually slowed into an even cadence.

Right then, an unforgettable voice echoed through Baek So-cheon’s thoughts, resurfacing from that pivotal moment in his past.

*Three years shall suffice. Once that time passes, you will realize the truth of what I have told you.*

Baek So-cheon’s eyelids flew wide. He let out an actual bark like a hound and sprang upright in an instant.

“Ridiculous. I will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything you said was pure nonsense.”

He pushed himself up and aggressively pulled open the discarded pack.

Inside lay a bewildering assortment of gear and provisions, almost resembling an inexhaustible chest of oddities.

From within, Baek So-cheon pulled forth guards meant for his forearms and lower legs. At a casual glance, they seemed like ordinary protective armor, but they were actually cast from solid iron specifically crafted for weight training.

He strapped them tightly into place, rotating his joints to gauge the fit.

“Ugh, sickeningly heavy.”

His physical progression was now moving into its subsequent stage.

He made an ironclad vow never to take these weights off, even if a blade were placed against his throat. Reaching deeper into the satchel, he retrieved a thick, heavily weathered treatise.

Its cover title had faded into illegibility, making its subject matter mysterious to any bystander, yet its pages held intricate methods regarding internal cultivation and mental discipline. The paper was fragile and worn from thousands of readings.

Taking a seat directly beside the cliff’s drop-off, Baek So-cheon buried himself in the text.

“Would it have killed them to explain this more clearly?” he grumbled to himself.

“Ah!”

A sudden flash of realization caused him to gasp in quiet wonder. Even though he had scrutinized this exact book countless times over the course of three years, he studied it tonight as though encountering its wisdom for the very first time.

At that exact moment, the moonlight parted the veil of clouds overhead, casting a gentle luminescence that illuminated his unbroken determination.

Baek So-cheon’s quiet devotion carried on uninterrupted until the first light of dawn broke across the sky.

—

“What did you say? Tae-jeong is dead?”

Wang Gon, having just returned from several days away alongside Heuk Su, was met with the startling intelligence regarding the Tae-jeong faction.

“It is true. Tae-jeong lost his life, and a number of his subordinates were taken into custody.”

The sudden revelation caused Wang Gon more sheer bewilderment than actual shock.

“How on earth could that happen?”

The subordinate proceeded to recount the events, but the narrative simply failed to make rational sense.

“So his lackeys were rounded up by the local Murim Alliance office, and then…?”

He could not even comprehend that initial development. Since when did a flock of chickens manage to capture a pack of wolves? Even assuming they had somehow overpowered them by surprise, the remainder of the story was entirely preposterous.

“Tae-jeong marched right into their post to reclaim his men, only to end up dead? Slain by some low-level subordinate rather than the branch chief himself?”

“Precisely so.”

“Are you certain of this?”

“Absolutely certain!”

“Ha.”

The whispers on the wind held truth: Shin-hwa-bang was indeed the power operating behind the Tae-jeong faction.

While most self-proclaimed righteous factions avoided underworld dealings to safeguard their untarnished reputations, Shin-hwa-bang had quietly seized control of various regional rackets to nourish their own influence.

To the grand, prestigious organizations, the coins circulating through back-alley enterprises might seem like trivial pocket change, but such arrogance overlooked reality.

The wealth generated by a single territory’s dark markets was staggering. It sank its roots into every minor transaction of daily commerce, draining resources like a swarm of parasites. Through these means, Shin-hwa-bang had thoroughly bled Jeol-gang Province dry.

“Who was the one that killed him?”

“A fresh recruit who was recently reassigned to that post.”

“A raw recruit?”

“Indeed. Word has it that the whole thing was an accident. He tripped over the newcomer’s foot, lost his balance, and shattered his head against the ground.”

“What, as if he took a direct strike from a Mu-yeong Foot?”

“No… simply an unfortunate tumble. His skull struck the floor hard.”

“You verified this?”

“Without question. There were multiple onlookers who saw the same thing.”

“What an utter fool. Unmatched misfortune.”

Molding Tae-jeong into a dependable puppet had required years of delicate maneuvering. Underworld ruffians never offered true fealty merely because of physical intimidation; they were constantly waiting for an opportunity to sink a dagger into your back. He had only just arrived at a point where he felt he could rely on the man, and now this catastrophe had unfolded.

“Still, what triggered this mess in the first place?”

“It all began when an Alliance officer called Beon Saeng suddenly apprehended members of Tae-jeong’s gang.”

“That wretch kept his head down for years—what possessed him to cause a scene now?”

“That remains unclear.”

“First and foremost, we must extract the survivors of the Tae-jeong faction. Is there an obvious successor to take his place?”

The specific face sitting on the throne was irrelevant to Wang Gon. So long as they proved obedient and kept the tributary payments flowing into the coffers, even a street mongrel would suffice.

“The most qualified second-in-command accompanied him to the branch and perished there as well. The next candidate in line would be an individual named Jong-bae, though he is currently held in a cell at the Mun-seong branch.”

Wang Gon shook his head in disgust.

“What a monumental headache.”

“Furthermore, during your absence, Branch Head Im Choong came by in person.”

“Just how incompetent is that man at keeping his subordinates in line? It truly turns my stomach.”

He should have anticipated friction the moment that arrogant hypocrite dared to decline the offering of century-old ginseng.

Heuk Su, who had remained quiet up to this point, finally spoke.

“I shall deal with this.”

Wang Gon was well aware of his companion’s methods: intimidate Beon Saeng, break his bones until he was half-dead, and force him to hand over Jong-bae. The prospect was undeniably appealing, yet the timing was wrong.

“We must avoid causing a major commotion before the primary task is concluded.”

The critical undertaking scheduled in Mun-seong was rapidly approaching, an affair that would determine his personal elevation. There was simply no room for messy complications right now.

“What is your plan, then?”

Wang Gon narrowed his small, cunning eyes, weaving together an underhanded stratagem.

“Moments like these require a far more sophisticated approach.”

—

Later that afternoon, an unexpected guest arrived at the gates of the Mun-seong branch.

“Sister-in-law!”

The visitor was none other than Ju-ssi, the lawful wife of Branch Head Im Choong. The instant the report reached him, Im Choong came sprinting out of his personal quarters.

“What reason brings you all the way here?”

It was extraordinarily rare for her to set foot near the branch premises.

“Because of this.”

She held forward a compact wooden container. The moment Im Choong laid eyes on the familiar chest, his features turned to stone. He had no need to pry the lid open to recognize what rested inside—it was the century-old ginseng that Wang Gon had previously attempted to bribe him with.

“A rather menacing-looking martial artist came by and left this at our residence.”

Fearing that the parcel might contain something dangerous or corrupt, she had immediately carried it straight to the office.

Noticing the dark, rigid expression clouding her husband’s face, Ju-ssi inquired with obvious concern,

“Has something gone wrong?”

“Not at all. Do not let it trouble your mind; simply return home. Leave the container with me.”

“Are you entirely certain everything is all right?”

“It is. Do not worry.”

Ju-ssi turned to leave, her heart full of unease. Her pace was hesitant and heavy; her instincts warned her that grave trouble was mounting.

“No matter what situation this is, please stay safe, husband.”

“I shall. Return home with care.”

Though he managed to maintain a composed exterior, Im Choong was inwardly seething, his fury threatening to boil over.

Showing up at his private residence was an explicit, brazen threat. Handing that century-old ginseng directly to his wife presented a crystal-clear ultimatum: accept the gift and bend the knee, or witness your household suffer the consequences.

*That wretched scoundrel. He truly believes he can walk all over me.*

He could stomach many things, but dragging his innocent family into danger was an unforgivable offense.

Beon Saeng stepped up toward him.

“That carries a wonderfully sweet fragrance. What might that be?”

“It does not concern you.”

Im Choong grabbed the wooden case firmly in his grip and stormed away toward the exit.

“Where are you running off to?”

No reply came. Im Choong simply vanished through the doors. To see Im Choong display such blatant agitation was completely unprecedented.

“What in the world could have set him off like that?”

Baek So-cheon, who had quietly observed the entire encounter, glanced toward Beon Saeng.

“Are you particularly close with the branch chief?”

“I am.”

“Then go after him.”

“For what reason?”

“When a seasoned martial artist flies into a silent rage over a chest containing century-old ginseng, it guarantees that a terrible storm is brewing.”

“Wait, what?! That was century-old ginseng?!”

Baek So-cheon had accurately identified the rare medicine solely by catching a trace of its aroma.

“Can you deduce who delivered it?”

Beon Saeng gave a slow nod. He had recently crossed paths with an unsavory character who matched that description perfectly. It was an attempted bribe from Shin-hwa-bang—when Im Choong turned it down, they took the liberty of delivering it directly to his doorstep.

Im Choong’s entire world revolved around protecting his family; bringing them under threat was the singular trigger capable of sparking such raw wrath.

“Then you should know precisely where he is headed right now.”

“I do.”

“Then move.”

Beon Saeng stood frozen, paralyzed by hesitation.

What could he possibly accomplish going alone? Even if he managed to gather every martial artist stationed at the branch, it would likely prove futile.

Wang Gon’s faction vastly outnumbered their meager forces and held no fear whatsoever of low-ranking Alliance operatives. Above all else, that monster Heuk Su was horrifyingly formidable.

The only person present whose capabilities Beon Saeng truly placed faith in was Baek So-cheon.

“Are you truly not coming along, brother?”

“Why under heaven should I get involved?”

“Our fellow colleague is walking straight into danger, isn’t he?”

“We have worked together for barely a few days, and already you consider us comrades?”

“You and I are practically brothers.”

“While you stand there lost in your delusions, your superior is marching straight into the flames.”

“Curse it, how can you be so utterly heartless?!”

Beon Saeng spun around and sprinted out the doorway.

Yet mere moments later, the frantic sound of his returning footsteps echoed down the hall.

He burst back into the room, shouting at the top of his voice. In his desperation to drag Baek So-cheon along, he had seized upon the only leverage he possessed.

“I am not asking as a sworn brother—I am commanding you as your direct superior officer! Prepare for mobilization!”

Beon Saeng’s gaze brimmed with sheer, desperate pleading.

*I beg of you, please lend a hand.*

At long last, Baek So-cheon pushed himself up from his seat.

“An official order, is it…? Very well. An Alliance martial artist is obligated to follow orders, after all.”