#20: Why One Must Become A Killer — Immortal

‘This is bad. Why is there no move from them?’

Traveling with Gal Hwi-jeong, Neung Je-gang’s insides burned.

The corpses had yielded nothing. The murders lay beyond the bounds of what he knew.

The cause of death lay in the brain. No lethal acupoints had been pressed, the heart had not been destroyed, and it wasn’t poison—so the brain must have been stopped.

That was all he had. But how had the brain’s activity been halted? He could not tell.

One thing was certain: the number of dead was too large for a lone killer. Whether the victims resisted or not, killing so many at once without leaving wounds would have required more than one person.

‘First suspects: the Black Alliance. Next, our “own side,” the Martial Alliance. Erasures done by one’s own organization aren’t rare in the Jianghu. It could even be the authorities.’

The Alliance troopers were at least first-rate. Even using poison, wiping them out at once was unlikely. That pointed to a group or unit—naturally making the Black Alliance, now at odds with the Martial Alliance, the prime suspect.

But the Black Alliance had categorically denied involvement. Words alone were hard to trust, yet since the two blocs were running a joint inquiry on the broader matter, the Black Alliance had little reason to sabotage it.

‘By freezing the bodies, we can’t tell whether they died all at once or in sequence. If the freezing was intentional, then the murderer has feelers inside the Alliance itself.’

So Neung Je-gang acted as if he had discovered something—his talk of “ways to kill without a trace” was bait.

He knew someone was shadowing him and would be prompted to move if he looked like he knew.

But they were nearly at Hanzhong, and still no provocation.

‘So… unrelated to insiders at the Alliance? That would be a headache…’

If he postured like he knew and no one came, there was little else to do.

Gal Hwi-jeong, bored stiff while Neung Je-gang brooded, spotted what looked like a village.

‘A village—good. I’ll say we stop here. A drink will clear my head.’

He decided—even though it was early—to rest there.

“Sir Secret Shadow.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s stop in that village. Looks like dusk will be on us soon.”

“Very well.”

Neung Je-gang agreed without fuss. Reaching the scene a bit later might even be better; in such things, leaving a day late could gain a day.

The village was small, barely a dozen households of farmers.

A shabby inn-cum-tavern stood at its center, nameless.

‘Well now—finally they bite.’

As they entered, Neung Je-gang felt restrained killing intent and inner force in the “ordinary” folk.

Even the woman pulling weeds in the field and the farmer driving his ox leaked hidden qi. It was something only someone who had pierced the Gate of Life and Death could sense—the breath of nature itself shading wrong.

He smiled to himself. At last, the moment he wanted.

Inside the inn he scanned the faces: “merchants” with bulging bundles stacked beside them; “farmers” whose hoes and sickles lay tossed by their tables; a “proprietor” and two burly “boys.”

Crowded, for a tiny hamlet.

“Welcome!”

One of the boys ran over.

“Rooms?”

“Yes. What kind—?”

“Two singles. And bring wine and simple side dishes here first.”

Gal Hwi-jeong plopped into a seat with relief; Neung Je-gang sat opposite.

Soon the boy returned with wine and steaming roast duck.

“Rooms Four and Five upstairs, honored guests.”

“Thanks.”

Gal Hwi-jeong poured, filling both cups.

“Please.”

He lifted his cup and offered.

“My apologies. I’m not fond of wine that’s been poisoned.”

Gal Hwi-jeong jolted.

“W-what? This wine is poisoned?”

He set the cup down and shook out his signature weapon, the iron whip. Like a black serpent it uncoiled across the floor.

The patrons stared at him as if he’d gone mad.

Flustered, he glanced at Neung Je-gang—who was staring steadily at the innkeeper. The silence stretched; the host spoke first.

“Heh heh… impressive. How did you know? I didn’t poison the wine.”

Drawing a knife from beneath the counter, he asked his question.

“It wasn’t about the wine. I simply prefer not to eat what assassins serve.”

“So you already knew we were assassins? Our disguises were perfect.”

“Perfect? Ha! In a hamlet this size, two ox-shouldered boys in one inn? ‘Merchants’ with all that stock, lingering over drinks when they should be on the road? ‘Farmers’ drinking at work-hour, their tools spotless and tossed any which way? If this is what passes for perfect among assassins these days, the craft has declined.”

“Mm… The eye of the former top assassin’s son, indeed. No one has nitpicked like that before. But you’ve made a mistake—sitting right at our center. That seat is death.”

The innkeeper smiled—then lost the smile.

“Relying on the contact poison you dusted on the chair? Ah—sorry. I already wafted it to another table.”

Neung Je-gang looked over at the disguised killers. Startled by his gaze, they scrambled for antidotes and circulated their hidden inner force.

“Gah—!”

“Ugh!”

They spat blood and collapsed.

“This—this isn’t our poison…”

One, stronger than the rest, groaned through blood—then toppled.

“Hah! Returning in equal measure is not my way—I added a touch of my own.”

Neung Je-gang rose and walked toward the innkeeper. The two boys hastily backed off, knives glinting in their hands.

“Kill them!”

Flash—

Whish— hiss!

Gal Hwi-jeong only blinked.

‘D-damn it… I saw nothing.’

For a man proud of his skill, it was a shock. He had known he could not match Neung Je-gang—but to miss even the assassins’ strike was mortifying.

Thud-thud-thud!

Three bodies flew and crashed across the floor.

“Hm. Three is my limit like this?”

He glanced over the dead; unlike the boys, the innkeeper’s mouth and nostrils bled slowly.

Gal Hwi-jeong peered too, trying to see what Neung Je-gang had seen—then remembered those other corpses.

He blanched.

“Th—these…?”

He stepped back, fear in his eyes.

“With my skill, dropping three into brain-death without marks is about the limit. But thirty… If this was done by martial skill, we’re talking the number one under heaven.”

“S-so it was a martial technique?”

Only then did Gal Hwi-jeong realize Neung Je-gang had been imitating the culprit and shed his fear.

“I don’t know yet. Only that it’s possible by martial skill. If so, we’re likely looking at a forbidden art; but I don’t know enough of the geumgong to be certain. Worse—if it’s not martial skill at all, that’s an even bigger problem…”

“How could that be worse?”

“If it’s just one practitioner, you guard against one person. If it’s a device or other means, then you must guard the whole world.”

“Ah…”

“In any case, let’s clear the rest outside. Be careful—these are assassins of the Assassin Pavilion.”

“W-what—Assassin Pavilion?”

Gal Hwi-jeong trembled.

“I—I’m dead.”

The Pavilion was relentless; even if he escaped the village, they would hunt him to the grave.

Neung Je-gang ignored his panic.

“Assume everyone in this village is dead. Do not show mercy. And—up there—would you lend a hand?”

He looked up and called to someone on the ceiling.

From the first moment in the Ice Vault, Go So-jeong had thanked the heavens that her father had assigned her to this mission. She had even decided to give up the promised trip to the pleasure house.

‘He’s too handsome. I’ll follow him my whole life!’

Unluckily, Neung Je-gang had no idea that yet another leech had fixed to him.

Go So-jeong had crept closer and closer, forgetting proper tailing distances—until she pinged his senses. She didn’t care. So what if she’d been spotted? As long as she could be near him.

The instant Neung Je-gang and Gal Hwi-jeong left the Ice Vault, she had dashed to report to her father that he seemed to have found a lead.

“Father, I’ll give up the pleasure house this time.”

Before he could say anything, she declared she was busy and flitted away, leaving Go Won-gi dazed.

She had tailed people before, but never with such joy. Her “tailing” consisted of darting ahead to look at his face, then darting ahead again to look more.

Naturally she reached the village first—and realized it was a den of assassins.

The problem: as the tail, she couldn’t warn the man she adored.

‘What do I do? Do I tell him?’

At some point, “that man” had become “my man.”

Then—what was this? She knew he was handsome and capable—but his martial skill was supreme. He handled Assassin Pavilion killers like children.

‘He’s mine now. Anyone else who tries to approach—dies.’

Lost in fantasy and dark vows, she peeked down when someone called out—and met Neung Je-gang’s eyes. His gaze.

Whoosh—

“D-did you call me?”

In the blink of an eye she alighted at his side, twisting shyly: the picture of a demure maiden.

“H-ha… ha ha…”

Sweat beaded Neung Je-gang’s brow. A woman—of all things. He had only called the Alliance shadow, thinking Gal Hwi-jeong might not withstand the Pavilion; and it turned out to be a woman—an… unusual one.

He couldn’t shake the sense he had made a mistake.

‘If I’d known it was a woman, I’d have feigned ignorance to the end…’

Too late to regret.

“Lady, you are…?”

“Me? Go So-jeong. The Investigation Unit Chief is my father. He ordered me to shadow you. When did you notice? And why did you pretend not to?”

She out-chattered Gal Hwi-jeong.

“Lady Go, now’s not really the time…”

“Oh my! You mean we’ll make time later for a private talk? Of course—we can talk anytime. I have lots of time.”

She glued herself to his side.

“Please—watch over Xiangzhu Gal for a bit.”

He gently peeled her off and asked.

“That one?”

Gal Hwi-jeong felt killing intent from her gaze and quailed without knowing why.

He knew her—terror of the Investigation Unit; even the Unit Chief, her father, couldn’t handle her; she called the Alliance Lord “uncle.” And now she was glaring at him. More frightening than Assassin Pavilion killers.

“I—I’ll be fine.”

‘Worst case, I die.’

Forcing bravado, he spoke; the killing intent vanished.

“He says he’s fine.”

She smiled sweetly and turned back—

“Huh? He’s gone.”

The person who ought to be there—Neung Je-gang—had vanished without a trace. She moved to dash out—then stopped. If she left and Gal Hwi-jeong was hurt or killed, what would “her man” think?

Grit-grit-grit!

Her teeth ground; Gal Hwi-jeong’s iron whip quivered like a poplar leaf.

The inn was fully surrounded. Dozens of “farmers” bared grim faces: assassins all.

“Kill them!”

With their ambush blown, only open battle remained.

Ssssht!

Neung Je-gang moved first.

“Urgh!”

“Ghk!”

Thud-thud-thud!

Shk-k-k-kkt!

“Gah!”