The Nature Of Betrayal (2)

Sasasa—

It was the right call to leave Majil behind. If someone like him had to stomp the ground and dash, that wouldn’t be infiltration—it would be a frontal assault.

Their target was the largest building among those that formed the village-like compound—the most likely place for a leader.

Go So-jeong moved the most quietly. Spycraft arts were her foundation. She had recently taken up Cold-Ice Inner Art, but spycraft would be her lifelong comrade.

Neung Je-gang shadowed Bae Ji-sang without anyone noticing. He had expected to help, thinking Bae Ji-sang’s lightness might be poor, but surprisingly his Swift Body Technique outclassed the rest.

The most worrying was Jo Gwang-yeong—he had no concept of stealth at all.

Even so, they all slipped safely into the shadow of the largest building. There were signs of life—people were inside.

Je-gang circled the structure and found a window through which he could peek in.

Srrrk—

He slipped through the unlatched window.

[Enter through the rear window.]

Hearing Je-gang’s silent transmission, the party came to the back and climbed in one by one. So far, everything had gone smoothly without a hitch.

Inside looked like someone’s bedchamber—a woman’s room, arranged like the main wife’s chamber of a grand household.

While Je-gang cracked the door to survey the interior, Go So-jeong searched the room. She hoped for information, but found only a jewelry box that looked valuable.

She opened the box—not from greed. Her home already held ornaments to rival anyone’s. It was simply a spy’s habit. Spies lived to pry up the hidden things.

Puff!

The jewelry box detonated with a loud bang and a cloud of black smoke.

“Cough, cough!”

Go So-jeong squeezed her eyes shut and hacked. She snatched an antidote from her robe and tossed it into her mouth. If that black smoke was poison, she’d taken a direct hit.

“Down!”

At Je-gang’s command, everyone dropped flat. Thankfully, the smoke didn’t sink to the floor.

The others also bit down on antidote pills.

No one blamed Go So-jeong. If any of them had found the box first, they would have opened it too. She had only been the unlucky one to find it.

The smoke vented out the window and door.

“It isn’t poison.”

Bae Ji-sang steadied his breath and spoke. Hearing that, Go So-jeong sagged with relief.

But the problem had grown—men of the Heavenly Poison Grove would swarm here after seeing the black smoke.

First, they had to take whoever was inside this building.

Je-gang flung the door wide and sprang toward the source of the presence—

Crash!

He smashed through—and froze, eyes widening.

“Elder?”

The old man Kang was there—unbound, unsealed, completely free!

And Song Seok-jin, still unconscious, lay comfortably on a bed.

“How are you here…?”

“Sigh… No sooner had I parted from you than several men came to the Miao village. The Miao greeted them warmly—as if on the same side—and handed me over.”

The old man believed the Miao had betrayed him.

It was understandable. He had trusted them and stayed behind, only to be turned over to the enemy by their hands.

That was betrayal—being struck from behind by the one you trusted most. That was the essence of betrayal.

Yet the Miao’s position was comprehensible. They hadn’t sold him out for wealth, but for the tribe’s survival.

They simply had no power to oppose the newly entrenched Heavenly Poison Grove.

“And this one?”

“He was here when I arrived—already captured. The people here seem to know many paths I don’t. I’ve walked Mount Aenae all my life, and yet there are routes I never knew.”

There was no time to dwell on the old man’s lament.

“My apologies—you suffered on our account.”

“Chief!”

Cheong Yeon called. When he turned, her expression was badly shaken.

Je-gang moved to her side and saw through the front window: people pouring in like clouds. Likely almost all the fighters of the Heavenly Poison Grove.

Given the number of buildings they’d seen, there were far too many men—there had to be more quarters elsewhere.

“There’s nothing special in this building. But I found three more boxes just like that jewelry box. This whole place is a decoy.”

Go So-jeong showed him three more boxes she’d discovered.

Anyone sneaking in would aim for the largest building. Setting this up as bait meant the builders had anticipated exactly that.

“Whoever designed this place isn’t a fool.”

Je-gang swept his gaze over the party. Thankfully, he saw no fear that would get in the way. So long as no enemy informant was among them, he could cut a path and they could sprint for the tunnel Majil was digging.

“I’ll repeat what I said back at Yangga Manor. You must be ready to stake your lives.”

To survive. Missions were meaningless now. Missions could be considered only so long as one lived.

They steeled themselves to risk their lives—to keep them.

“When I start running, you follow. Don’t think about the pursuers—just run forward. That’s the only way to live.”

Je-gang stepped through the doorway and faced the circle of men.

Cheong Yeon hefted the old man onto her back; Bae Ji-sang slung Song Seok-jin over his. Go So-jeong had both daggers bared. Jo Gwang-yeong gripped his blades so tight the steel seemed ready to vomit killing intent.

“Hahaha! Impressive. We meant to catch you before you reached us, yet you broke in.”

A man stepped from the ring to speak. Je-gang had seen him somewhere; the voice, too, was familiar…

He rifled through his memories—but the name wouldn’t come. He knew that face and voice, yet couldn’t place them.

“So then—who killed my younger brother?”

The speaker’s cheek twitched; his molars ground as he held down his rage.

“Younger brother”—Je-gang’s eyes flashed. Now he remembered. Shave the beard off that burly man he’d killed, and this one could be his twin.

“Beard—!”

“Was it you?”

The man’s gaze stabbed into Je-gang’s face, as if to etch it there for life.

“Then you’re the Chief.”

Je-gang glared back.

“Chief of which den, though?”

“How did you know I am the Chief?”

“Your brother told me—said his big brother was Chief and would avenge him. He was crying when he said it.”

“Y-you cur!”

Crying. The word rattled him—so he cared about manliness.

“If you want revenge for your brother, come and take it.”

Je-gang’s hand slid to the hilt of the Unfeeling Sword.

“If you’re too much a coward to do it yourself, crawl away.”

“Graaah! I’ll kill you!”

Like Jo Gwang-yeong had baited foes in the Black Alliance, the Chief stumbled into the coward’s snare.

Strangely, many martial men were simple—unable to endure contempt.

He used the same weapon as his brother—his fists. But even when two practiced the same art, their levels changed the art itself.

The elder’s skill was indeed different. The younger had merely carried wind on his punches; the elder poured hard qi from his fists.

Ssk, ssk—

He closed in, upper body weaving wildly; in a blink he was right before Je-gang.

That body sway was a footwork art that made targeting difficult. Had the younger brother used this, that fight would have been harder.

Whiff-whiff—

The fists were blurs. Each pass by Je-gang’s face raised gooseflesh.

Je-gang shifted from defense to offense. If he only defended, he’d be driven back. He slipped past the minimum line of the punch and quietly drew the pale blade of the Unfeeling Sword.

Shfft—

“Urk!”

The man hadn’t expected a slash at such close range; he recoiled in panic.

At distance, a sword beats a fist.

Pip-pip—

The Unfeeling Sword moved without even the sound of cleaving air.

“Mm!”

The man wove dazzling footwork, dodging each edge by a hair. He was no half-wit underling to die in a single stroke.

Sssk—

Je-gang widened the gap further—then slid the sword back into the scabbard.

Torso tilted slightly, left foot forward. Right hand on the hilt, eyes fixed on the foe.

It was the classic one-strike-to-kill stance used by masters of lightning sword and saber—one blow to decide life and death.

Silence fell. No one knew who would win. Success meant life; failure meant death.

Papapapap!

The foe moved first—wild footwork still unreadable, launching a fist-force blast from afar and then darting in after it toward Je-gang’s chest.

Fwaaash—

Flash!

A searing brilliance burst forth—bright enough to blind the onlookers.

Then—stillness.

As the light faded, the two men faced each other. The Unfeeling Sword seemed never to have left its sheath. The man’s right fist trembled beside Je-gang’s left ear.

No one yet knew the result.

Then, as if a painting were sliced by a blade, the man’s body split in a straight line from right waist to left shoulder. His sundered upper half slid to Je-gang’s left and toppled.

Thud.

So quiet had it been that the impact against the ground sounded thunderous.

Je-gang staggered back a few steps. To win with Heartless Severance, he’d had to let the first fist-blast glance by; his right waist bled red.

It had been a while since Je-gang bled. He hadn’t bled even against Yuk Cheon-u—yet now he had, against someone far inferior.

“C- Chief?”

Several men sprang forward—underlings, given how they addressed the fallen.

That meant their skill was at least on par with the old man and the Taoist from before. None of Je-gang’s party could handle them easily—behind them stood easily three hundred fighters of the Heavenly Poison Grove, blades out.

“Kill them!”

So much for tactics. Maddened by their Chief’s death, one man howled, and the entire force took a step as one.

A rabble, yet massed—its momentum was terrifying. Je-gang took one step back. Behind him, his companions watched with anxious eyes.

“Stop!”

Just as the wave of three hundred was about to crash down, heads turned toward the voice. At the basin’s entrance, three figures strolled in—two men and a woman.