The Unknown Ruffians (2)

The night of the second day since the group became trapped within the burning forest, the heavens suddenly poured torrents of water upon Mount Aenae.

The inferno that had seemed ready to devour the world was subdued by the downpour, but the party, with no shelter to hide beneath, was drenched to the bone.

And the rain did not come alone — it carried with it the mountain’s darkness and a biting chill.

“Achoo!”

Song Seok-jin sneezed. Even a martial artist couldn’t help it after being soaked while trying to sleep. There was nowhere to hide from the rain.

“Chief, there are a few burrows ahead — looks like the Miao tribe dug them.”

Majil approached as he spoke.

“Then let’s go there.”

They led their donkey deeper into the forest. It was a place they had avoided earlier because of the bodies of the dead and the poisonous fumes still lingering, but now there was no choice until the rain stopped.

The area that once housed the Miao village was secluded, hemmed in by sheer cliffs. Beneath those cliffs were several small caves.

The group went inside one and huddled together. Fortunately, the rain didn’t reach within.

“Tch.”

Song Seok-jin wasn’t the only one sneezing. The old man Kang did too.

The younger warriors could endure it thanks to their inner energy, but the old man could not.

“We need a fire. Anyone got anything that’ll burn?”

“Nothing…”

Majil conjured a small orb of flame in his palm and held it toward the old man. Kang extended his hands toward it, sighing as the warmth spread through his palms.

The very fire that had nearly killed them now became their salvation. Bae Ji-sang, Song Seok-jin, and Jo Gwang-yeong edged closer toward Majil’s fire.

Majil smiled and made the orb slightly larger. But they couldn’t sit like that forever.

“I’ll go find some firewood.”

Neung Je-gang leapt out into the rain, planning to cut down some half-burnt trees from the forest.

The rain showed no sign of stopping. Yet it no longer drenched him — using Solar Flame Divine Art, he dried his robes and formed a barrier of true energy to keep the rain off. Raindrops hissed and bounced off with a sharp patter.

The ruined forest stretched before his eyes — blackened waters running across the ground, ashes where trees had once stood, and here and there, trunks half-burnt but still intact within.

He drew his sword, Heartless Blade, and cut down several of the charred trees. Though wet, such wood would burn well once ignited.

Then—

He suddenly felt a chilling presence crawl down his spine. The air turned sharp; the back of his neck prickled as a wave of killing intent swept over him. It was enough to constrict his breath.

A master!

The malice he felt this time made the murderous aura of the Black Shadow leader he’d fought before seem like a child’s play.

Neung Je-gang dropped the logs and slowly turned, drawing in his qi.

About thirty feet away stood four figures: a bearded brute with a face full of hair, a sharp-eyed elderly man with a fierce gaze, a middle-aged Taoist in his fifties with refined features, and a man in black robes wearing an expression as stiff as carved wood.

A strange mix — yet even from a glance, Je-gang could tell they were all formidable.

“So, stronger ones keep showing up. Makes me curious — just how strong will the next ones be?”

Among the four, Je-gang could sense the power of one — the man in black. His aura was that of a killer. The same stench he had felt from countless assassins who had fallen by his hand.

“Who are you?”

Je-gang truly wanted to know why such masters had gathered here on Mount Aenae — and why they wished to kill him and his companions.

“Well, we’ve been spotted. Should I put on a mask now?”

The bearded man spoke first.

“Idiot, what’s the point? We’re killing him anyway.”

The old man scowled at him.

“Amitabha, both of you, silence.”

The Taoist’s tone was cold. The bearded man and the old man clamped their mouths shut.

The Taoist smiled faintly, seemingly satisfied, and began walking toward Je-gang — each step slow, deliberate, and heavy with intent.

He stopped just two paces before him — something only a man confident in his skill would dare. The other three followed and stood behind him.

“Amitabha… what is your name?”

The Taoist asked gently. His voice carried a strange persuasion, as if compelling one to answer.

But Neung Je-gang was not a man to be swayed by cheap tricks.

“I believe I asked first.”

At that, the Taoist’s expression remained calm, but the other two widened their eyes. They clearly hadn’t expected anyone to defy the Taoist’s question.

“Ah, yes, you did ask first. Forgive me… My name is—”

Thud.

The man in black tapped the Taoist’s shoulder.

“Step aside.”

His voice was low, yet it made the Taoist stagger backward without resistance.

That alone revealed the hierarchy among them.

The man in black swept his gaze over the logs Je-gang had cut.

“Not bad with the blade. Skill like that doesn’t belong to a nameless wanderer… You’re not that ‘Secret Shadow’ assassin I’ve heard of, are you? Then who are you?”

His words carried an oppressive weight.

Je-gang snorted.

“Do you have the memory of a chicken? I already said I asked first.”

A vein twitched on the man’s forehead — his stoic face cracked with irritation.

“My name is Wan Su-ryeok.”

“And the rest of you?”

The others glared.

“You insolent brat!”

“Amitabha!”

Their curses mixed with sacred words.

Wan Su-ryeok stepped forward, the other three subtly moving to block Je-gang’s escape route.

‘I’ll take the head first.’

Realizing that a fight was inevitable, Je-gang made his choice — he advanced straight toward Wan Su-ryeok.

Wan Su-ryeok’s brow twitched. He had read Je-gang’s intent.

At once, the saber strapped to his back spun into his grip, its edge flashing coldly toward Je-gang’s skull.

“Die!”

The short saber gleamed between them like lightning.

From behind, the bearded man roared and threw a heavy punch, the air itself trembling.

Je-gang leapt upward, kicking off the wet ground.

“You’re rushing to die.”

Wan Su-ryeok unleashed his power, his saber howling through the rain with a thunderous cry.

In an instant, the clearing was engulfed by a storm of blade light. The arc of the saber painted the air white, swallowing everything between them. Nothing could survive that space.

Half-burnt trees exploded and crumbled into dust. The power was incredible — reminiscent of when Je-gang had unleashed the Second Principle, “Whirling Wave,” from the Seven Saber Principles of Empty Spirit.

Satisfied, Wan Su-ryeok smirked.

“I went too far. That was more than enough.”

Je-gang was nowhere to be seen — apparently reduced to dust like the trees.

“Vice Chief, look out—!”

The Taoist’s sudden shout split the rain.

“Huh?”

Wan Su-ryeok instinctively raised his saber — and saw something blurred darting through the debris toward the bearded man!

‘He’s alive!’

Wan Su-ryeok realized his mistake too late.

“Damn you—!”

He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t obey. His saber froze midair. His mind screamed, but his limbs refused to follow.

Then—

A dull thud, followed by a strangled groan. The old man’s shout echoed, and the world tilted.

Wan Su-ryeok’s body slumped sideways as his forehead split open, blood mixing with the rain.

“Vice Chief!”

The Taoist and the old man cried out, horror in their voices — and then saw nothing.

Je-gang stood over the fallen man, turning his gaze toward the bearded brute who had thrown the earlier punch.

The bearded man froze. He didn’t even realize Wan Su-ryeok was dead until the others screamed the title Vice Chief.

“How—who are you?”

“That makes you twice the fool — didn’t you hear me before?”

Je-gang closed in.

The man thrust his fist — but Je-gang’s Heartless Blade pierced through it, slicing his fingers like reeds before driving into his temple.

The brute collapsed soundlessly.

“You bastard!”

“Amitabha!”

The old man and Taoist attacked from both sides — the Taoist’s whisk sweeping sharp threads of silver energy like rain, each strand of Heavenly Silken Whisk slicing through the air like blades.

The old man’s hand flung three White Jade Coins, spinning like lightning through the rain.

Their pincer assault was flawless, leaving Je-gang no room to dodge.

“Unlucky for you — meeting me in the dark and rain.”

His tone was calm, almost mocking.

“What trick is this?”

“Amitabha! You die here!”

Then—Je-gang’s form blurred and vanished, melting into the rain.

“It’s illusion arts!”

The old man shouted, his voice trembling.

Indeed — Phantom Shadow Illusion, a technique once used by the assassin Secret Shadow himself. They had only heard of it in rumors, never seen it in action — until now.

“So you’re Secret Shadow!”

The old man and the Taoist gathered their qi, searching for his trace. But the constant rain muffled all sense.

“Did… did he leave?”

The old man fiddled nervously with iron spikes in his palms.

The Taoist shook his head — unclear whether he meant no or I don’t know.

“Maybe. Even illusions can’t hide their presence forever.”

Though he tried to sound sure, fear had crept in. The realization of what kind of man could kill Wan Su-ryeok chilled him more than the rain.

Minutes passed. No movement, no sign.

“Amitabha. Looks like he’s gone.”

The old man exhaled in relief.

“Why’d he just leave? He didn’t seem afraid of us.”

“Perhaps he was wounded when he killed the Vice Chief. The Saber of Heaven’s Longevity is no weak technique.”

“Maybe… What do we do now?”

“We return to Heavenly Poison Grove and report to the Chief. The Vice Chief’s death must be known.”

“Right… Though I doubt we’ll survive his wrath — that was his only brother…”

The old man approached the bearded corpse, closing its open eyes —

Suddenly, something burst from beneath it, impaling his abdomen.

He looked down in disbelief as his life energy scattered — Je-gang stood there, smiling faintly.

“Kept you waiting too long.”

The old man’s eyes went blank.

“What—what are you?”

The Taoist screamed, forgetting even his Buddhist chants.

“It’s me.”

Je-gang advanced, dragging his blade along the ground.

The Taoist backed away in panic.

“I heard you call him Vice Chief… So you’re part of an organization. Where?”

When they had mentioned returning to Heavenly Poison Grove, Je-gang realized these men were connected to the Black Alliance — one of its hidden factions. But not the leaders. If Wan Su-ryeok was a Vice Chief, then there must be a Chief — and above them, someone pulling the strings.

Those were the true culprits.

The Taoist tripped over Wan Su-ryeok’s corpse, falling backward in terror.

The dead man’s eyes met his own, and he sprang to his feet in panic. He raised his silver-threaded whisk, glowing faintly.

“You’ll only get answers if you kill me.”

“Then I’ll kill you. I’ll find the rest at Heavenly Poison Grove.”

Je-gang’s voice was cold, unhurried.

The Taoist lunged, shouting,

“Amitabha! You’ll regret crossing such a power!”

Je-gang’s blade flashed once — Heartless Severance — cleaving the Taoist cleanly in half.

He sheathed his sword and stared silently at the corpses, then walked off to gather the wood he had come for.

Something glimmered in the Taoist’s limp hand — Je-gang bent and picked it up. A whisk with silver threads.

“This is made of Heaven-Silk Fiber…”

He cut the handle free and coiled the threads into his pouch. The fibers were tougher than steel; weapons forged from them would be priceless.

“To think such fine silk was wasted on a dusting tool… Whoever you were, you lived rich.”

He thought briefly of the Assassin Pavilion and Soul-Summoning Temple — sects he had already destroyed.

“You’ll meet the same fate. You came after me first, after all.”

No matter what happened, he swore to cut down the leaders of those who had provoked him — whether they were of the Necromancer Cult or something else entirely.