39 — Tempest Aboard (2)

Neung Je-gang walked the official road on foot, heading back to Kuaiji Mountain. His plan was to reach Wuhan in Hubei Province, board a boat, pass through Poyang Lake, and continue on to Nanchang.

When he had left Kuaiji Mountain for the Martial Alliance, the trip had been noisy but not dull—Gal Hwi-jeong had been beside him. Now it was too quiet. He even found himself wishing that chatterbox were here.

That was when Cheong Yeon—forgotten for a while—suddenly crossed his mind. Ever since they parted in Beijing, he had heard nothing. He wanted to see him at least once.

He arrived in Wuhan. It was a key hub for river shipping: one great waterway led toward Jiangxi with Poyang Lake; another toward Hunan with Dongting Lake.

He boarded a boat bound for the Poyang route. He intended to get off at Nanchang, but the boat’s final stop was Poyang. As Nanchang lay on the opposite side of the lake, this diverged a fair bit from his initial plan.

Many people boarded after him. As Neung Je-gang walked toward his assigned cabin, he felt killing intent lance for him and turned his head.

“Hm?”

Odd-looking people came into view—seven swordsmen in identical garb, armed with identical weapons.

They radiated sharp, bristling aura as they filed aboard and stood in neat ranks.

“What sect are they from?”

Even in the Eastern Depot he had never heard of a sect with that uniform.

He was curious, but it had little to do with him—apart from how their wildly scattered murderous air grated on the nerves.

Three days passed. Whatever pleasure there had been in river travel now steadily curdled into tedium.

“Three days and we’re still on the river—good grief…”

He thought his restlessness would ease once they entered the wide, open Poyang Lake—but that was still a way off.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang—

A loud clamor rang out on the boat.

“We arrive at Huanggang in half a shichen! We arrive at Huanggang in half a shichen!”

A sailor marched about shouting so everyone could hear.

“Friend, how long do we stay at Huanggang?”

Someone asked—the man was clearly as bored of shipboard life as Neung Je-gang.

“After docking, we depart again in half a shichen. Plenty of time to go ashore and eat.”

The sailor replied.

“Much obliged.”

The man smiled at the answer.

Neung Je-gang nodded; he would go ashore, eat something hot, and stock up on dry rations. Who knew how many more days it would be before he set foot on land again?

True, the boat sold food—but at prices like gold compared to the shore. Some passengers even fished off the stern.

At last the boat stopped. People bustled off and fanned out toward whatever inns or eateries caught their eye.

Neung Je-gang had no intention of going far. Food was food—he only needed to fill his belly.

He chose the nearest riverside tavern—the kind with no signboard, just a flag flapping. A tavern didn’t only sell liquor; by day it served simple fare.

“One plain noodles.”

He ordered somyeon—the simplest dish: noodles boiled in water and salted, nothing else.

Even that was a luxury he appreciated. Back at the Depot Martial Academy he had lived on fish; he had craved even plain noodles.

The price was a single copper. Neung Je-gang drew out one tael of silver and handed it to the proprietor.

“T-this is…”

The man faltered at the sudden sight of silver; how was he to make change for a one-copper bowl?

“Take it—and pack me plenty of dry rations. Keep the change.”

“Th-thank you!”

Delighted at his windfall, the proprietor tucked the silver away, hurried to the kitchen, and returned with a bulging bundle of dry rations—roughly three pre-made stacks combined.

“Will this do?”

“That’ll do.”

He took the bundle and reboarded. Whether he noticed the hungry looks following him or not, more than a few eyes gleamed.

Two more days passed aboard.

“Heh…”

Up on deck to catch the warm midday sun, Neung Je-gang managed a wry smile.

Since Huanggang—since he had flashed silver over a bowl of plain noodles—greed had crept into people’s eyes.

It had been foolish to pay silver for noodles. He had planted desire in perfectly ordinary people.

“Ship!”

A sailor cried. Meeting another vessel on a river was hardly rare.

But this shout sounded different.

“Danpung Fortress! Danpung Fortress’s pirate ship!”

Someone—not a sailor—recognized the flag and yelled the affiliation.

At the name Danpung Fortress, most faces on deck turned ashen. The group was notorious.

The pirate craft closed fast. Oared ships were simply quicker than sail on short sprints. If you spotted river bandits afar, your only hope was to flee early.

“Stop your vessel!”

A thunderous bark came from the pirate ship as it drew near.

The passenger boat’s captain glanced at his clients—then noticed the seven identically dressed swordsmen. Their aura stiffened his spine; he dared to stop.

Hooks on ropes arced from the pirate deck—

Thud!

The two hulls slammed together and locked as one.

“Ke-ke-ke! Captain, I like you—told you to stop and you stopped smartly.”

The leader looked more mountain brigand than river pirate: a hulking bulk of knotted muscle that would take an entire ship’s spoils to maintain.

“Ahem. I am the Fortress Lord of the great Danpung Fortress—Geum Bak-eo. Perhaps you’ve heard my alias. I enjoy making slaves of those who displease me. So by all means—resist to your heart’s content. The more you do, the more slaves I’ll collect.”

Sliiide—

Raking his gaze over the crowd on deck, the Fortress lord’s eyes—as if by fate—stopped dead on Neung Je-gang.

“Ke-ke-ke! Search them.”

Thud, thud, thud, thud—

At his order, underlings fanned out. He lumbered straight toward Neung Je-gang, the boat shuddering with each step.

“You the one who ate plain noodles at Huanggang and tossed silver around?”

“Heh.”

Neung Je-gang understood: because of him, the passenger boat had become the pirates’ target.

“You laugh?”

“Hard not to—watching dogs chase one tael like their tails were on fire.”

“W-what?”

Perhaps his tone bit too hard. Geum Bak-eo faltered and stepped back, and his men, who had been rifling baggage for valuables, sensed something wrong and slid into a ring around Neung Je-gang.

Sailors and passengers crowded to the edges, avoiding both pirates and Neung Je-gang, and watched with tight faces.

“Leave, and I’ll spare you.”

Neung Je-gang’s expression said he found this tedious.

It truly was. Even if he killed these pirates to the last man, others would fill the gap. If he were still Eastern Depot, he would handle it personally; now, he had neither duty nor desire.

But if they struck first, he would have no choice but to kill them all.

“Cut him down!”

Greed had a way of blinding men to the moment. At Geum Bak-eo’s shout, the ring of pirates drew murderous weapons and charged.

“Waaaah!”

“Die!”

Sreung—

Whooosh—

But their shouts died at once. Without the least killing aura from him, a calm blade-light made one great circle through the air.

Thud—thuk—thuk—

Arms and hands holding weapons—and heads—thumped to the deck together. Sticky blood spattered and pooled.

“Huh.”

Neung Je-gang eyed the scene he had made and frowned, puzzled.

He had surprised even himself. He had used no special technique—just swung the sword where the blade and his mind wished to go. The result, to the eye, was horrific.

“Uweeegh!”

“Gah!”

Retching sounded here and there.

Bandits on the pirate ship, startled, swarmed over—then, scared, lined up behind Geum Bak-eo and stared at Neung Je-gang with taut faces.

“I told you to just leave, didn’t I?”

“C-can we go now?”

The Fortress lord’s booming voice turned small and wheedling, shrinking to a quaver.

“You won’t avenge your dead men?”

“No.”

He practically yelped the word as if his life hung on it—never guessing it wasn’t the answer Neung Je-gang wanted.

“The rest can go. You cannot.”

Neung Je-gang stepped toward Geum Bak-eo.

“W-why…?”

“Your men died and you won’t avenge them? What sort of leader says that? With a boss like you, who could your men trust?”

Tock.

The Mindless Sword shifted and settled on Geum Bak-eo’s shoulder.

“The rest of you—go back and release every slave you’ve chained up on your boat. Do that, and you live.”

The pirates who had swarmed onto the passenger boat scrambled back to their own. Geum Bak-eo, with the Mindless Sword on his shoulder, couldn’t even say “don’t go.”

“Tsk. Your lads just don’t want to die… What kind of leader are you to have men like that? No loyalty at all.”

“W-well, yes.”

“I’ll let you go if you promise to train your men properly.”

“Of course! Spare me and I’ll—heh-heh!”

While he watched the man’s sly expression, the freed captives began to appear from the pirate ship—bewildered, emaciated, filthy. Passengers screamed at the sight.

Neung Je-gang grimaced. Most slaves had already been written off as dead. They had nowhere to return to.

He couldn’t just tell them to go “anywhere”; most would drift like beggars and die sick and alone.

“You got any money on that boat?”

“Sir? Ah—no.”

“If I search and find some, you’ll die… Still no?”

“S-some…”

Neung Je-gang’s face darkened.

“On second thought, I can’t let you live. Leave you breathing and you’ll make more slaves—right?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Will you now? Here’s the thing: I’ve never spared anyone who tried to kill me. Goodbye.”

The sword perched on his shoulder flashed—blood spattered the deck again.

Silence fell over the passenger boat. Relief at living was swallowed by fear of Neung Je-gang; people shivered.

“Captain.”

“Sir?”

“Can you take these people aboard?”

“Er… that…”

The captain looked pained; many passengers wore faces that begged him not to.

‘Damn it. I knew it would come to this. What was I thinking, taking a river cruise?’

Neung Je-gang let out a bitter smile, went to his cabin, and gathered his belongings. In truth, all he had left was the bundle of dry rations.