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“Where are we going?”
“You’ll know when you arrive.”
“I’m not some five-year-old brat.”
“?”
“I mean I’m not the sort to take the hand of strangers and go somewhere unknown.”
“I’d prefer you think of this as a situation where judgment isn’t needed.”
The man answered bluntly and laid his left hand on the hilt of his sword.
It was a warning that if he refused to follow, the blade would be drawn. It was clearly not his first time, as his voice was calm, but the motion brimmed with malice.
Jin-hyeon nodded.
“No choice, then?”
“None.”
“Refreshing.”
The man, Il-juk, narrowed his eyes.
“I never gave you time for wordplay. Refuse, and I’ll start with your thumb.”
“You’ll cut it?”
“If you dislike that, then follow.”
Jin-hyeon regarded Il-juk coolly, then moved slowly.
Il-juk snorted.
“Should’ve done so fro…….”
It was at that moment.
Jin-hyeon’s hand landed naturally on Il-juk’s shoulder.
It happened in the blink of an eye, so natural a touch that Il-juk only realized he had conceded a move after his shoulder was already caught.
As he tried to brush the hand away.
Crack!
“Graahh!”
With a short scream, Il-juk1 staggered back.
The warriors’ eyes went wide. Il-juk’s right shoulder was dislocated, dangling uselessly.
But Jin-hyeon merely looked down at his hand.
“Still far from perfect.”
Ten days of training were nowhere near enough to master Serpent-Shark Hand. He had expected as much, but still sighed inwardly.
The Black Society’s Five Bamboos, thinking it mockery, glared with deadly intent.
Il-juk shouted.
“Seize him!”
Chaaang!
Four swordsmen drew their blades and rushed in.
At such close range, a single step brought him into reach. As three aimed their blades, Sam-juk’s2 straight sword stabbed toward Jin-hyeon’s shoulder.
Whoosh.
Half a step back, Jin-hyeon twisted his torso aside and seized Sam-juk’s wrist.
Crunch!
“Aaghh!”
The wrist snapped instantly. Screaming, Sam-juk swung his left fist at Jin-hyeon’s face.
Jin-hyeon tightened his grip on the broken wrist.
Crack!
“Graaahh!”
The elbow bent backward, dislocating.
Even with his wrist broken and elbow dislocated, Sam-juk clenched his teeth and tried to hammer Jin-hyeon’s instep with his fist.
Thud!
But his punch struck only dirt—Jin-hyeon had shifted his foot, then kicked Sam-juk in the face.
Crack!
Sam-juk’s head snapped sideways, his jaw shattering as he slumped unconscious.
“?!”
The eyes of the remaining Bamboos wavered.
It had taken only a single breath for Sam-juk to be incapacitated—his efforts reduced to one slash and two wild punches.
Jin-hyeon shook Sam-juk’s limp wrist.
Even unconscious, pain contorted Sam-juk’s face.
“What a thick wrist.”
Tiiing!
With his toe, Jin-hyeon flicked the fallen sword upward, caught it with his left hand, and sliced off Sam-juk’s thumb.
Thuk.
The severed thumb hit the ground, scattering blood.
Jin-hyeon’s gaze turned cold.
“It was the thumb, right?”
“You lunatic!”
I-juk3, Sa-juk, and O-juk4 charged, cursing.
Woom!
Body-Refining Qi surged into Jin-hyeon’s hand. He swung Sam-juk’s body and hurled it.
Their brother’s body came flying into their arms, forcing them to catch instead of strike.
It was then.
Thunk!
A straight sword flew and lodged itself in I-juk’s throat.
I-juk choked, staggering back until he collapsed against the alley wall. Unable to breathe, he instinctively drew his sword—but in doing so only unleashed a flood of blood.
“Urgh!”
Crack!
Il-juk forced his dislocated shoulder back into place, his face pale. Though set, the damaged nerves sent searing pain through him.
“What are you waiting for! Grab him!”
Whoosh!
Sa-juk5 and O-juk rushed in, radiating killing intent.
The alley was narrow; there was little room to move. Retreating would only feed their momentum.
‘No choice, then.’
Ssshhk!
Two blades shot toward Jin-hyeon’s thigh and arm.
Jin-hyeon moved.
Il-juk’s eyes widened. Jin-hyeon’s movements flowed like a serpent’s.
Jin-hyeon slipped between the blades, seizing Sa-juk’s left arm and pressing in behind him.
Thud!
Sa-juk buckled, struck behind the knee.
Jin-hyeon struck Sa-juk’s left elbow.
Crack!
“Khk!”
Sa-juk, falling, twisted and swung his blade.
But Jin-hyeon was gone from his reach. He rushed O-juk instead, grabbed his collar, and slammed him into the wall.
Bang!
O-juk’s face flushed red.
Stars burst before his eyes. The back of his head split, and warm blood trickled down.
O-juk lashed out desperately, trying to smash Jin-hyeon’s head with the hilt.
Jin-hyeon raised his left hand.
He seized the sword hand and surged Body-Refining Qi.
Crack!
“Graaahhh!”
At that instant, sensing killing intent from behind, Jin-hyeon twisted while still holding O-juk, pressing him back against the wall.
Stab!
Sa-juk’s mouth fell open. He had aimed for Jin-hyeon’s shoulder—but stabbed O-juk’s back instead.
“O-juk!”
“Ghhhk! Y-you bastard…….”
Jin-hyeon exerted strength with both hands.
Bang!
With O-juk’s body, Sa-juk slammed into the wall headfirst, crumpling unconscious from the impact.
Jin-hyeon turned to Il-juk.
“!!”
Il-juk swallowed hard—he had already retreated five steps from the fight.
Jin-hyeon frowned.
“Weren’t you the one in charge?”
“Damn it!”
Il-juk spun and ran.
Jin-hyeon bolted like lightning, snatched a fallen blade, and hurled it.
Thwack!
The sword struck Il-juk’s thigh, sending him sprawling. He clutched his head where it hit the ground, writhing pitifully.
But only for a moment.
Jin-hyeon was already there, twisting the blade in Il-juk’s thigh.
“Gyaaaahhh!”
The agony was blinding. Il-juk screamed frantically.
Wham!
Jin-hyeon pressed his foot into Il-juk’s back and spoke.
“Shall I start with the thumb?”
Il-juk’s face turned ashen.
This was the man who had cut off Sam-juk’s thumb without a change of expression, who had felled all his brothers with movements too simple to even be called footwork.
“Wait!”
“Alright.”
“……”
“I’ll wait. Speak when you’re ready.”
Il-juk swallowed hard and spoke.
“T-torture me all you want, you’ll never get what you seek!”
Jin-hyeon silently placed his hand on Il-juk’s left shoulder.
Wuuung!
A chilling surge of Body-Refining Qi filled each of his fingers.
Panic flashed across Il-juk’s face.
“Wait! Wai—!”
Crack!
“Gyaaaahhh!!”
A horrific scream tore from Il-juk’s throat.
His right shoulder’s dislocation had hurt, but this was twice as excruciating—like icy needles scraping against shattered bone and nerves.
“I’ve driven a mass of cold poison into you. If I don’t retrieve it within a quarter-hour, it’ll burrow into your heart meridian.”
A heart meridian injury meant, at best, crippling internal damage—at worst, death.
This was the Body-Refining Art’s hand technique, Beggar Bone. Originally meant to reshape the practitioner’s own skeleton, when used on others it became a gruesome torture technique.
By adjusting Body-Refining Qi, one could slowly batter the skeleton of their opponent—or compress it into cold poison.
In Il-juk’s case, it was the latter.
“If you’ve something to say, spill it.”
Thud.
Sitting casually atop Il-juk, Jin-hyeon looked out over the battlefield.
“!”
For an instant, his eyes flickered.
“Tch.”
When the moment came, he hadn’t thought—only struck first, dropping the novices one by one.
Some were dead, some merely unconscious. The rest hovered between life and death.
In the end, it was the same as killing them all.
Merged with the Eight Wastes Alliance Leader, he had slain thousands, tens of thousands. Those memories were so vivid that his responses defaulted to slaughter.
Jin-hyeon looked down at his hand.
A few drops of blood stained his knuckles.
‘Is this the first time?’
It was the first life he had taken in this body. He had threatened Lee Yong-do and the warrior who harassed Do-min, but never truly killed.
Though killing was second nature, the word “first” weighed on him, and his mood sank.
‘As I thought.’
He realized it again. The fact that he was truly no longer Gyeong Se-hwi. He had stepped into an entirely different realm.
Staring at his hand, he clenched it.
On reflection, it wasn’t surprising. Recognizing his change, there was no need to recall the purity of his past.
Jin-hyeon looked up at the sky.
From the alley, the sky was narrow, stifled by walls on either side.
“How gloomy.”
“Khk!”
Il-juk suddenly spat a mouthful of blood, his face pale, his body trembling.
Jin-hyeon propped his chin on his hand, his gaze still on the battleground.
“…Spare me.”
At last, the plea slipped from Il-juk’s lips.
Jin-hyeon yawned, smacked his lips, then rested his chin again.
Il-juk’s teeth chattered; the cold poison was creeping toward his chest.
‘Th-this madman!’
If he wanted something, he could have asked, one by one.
But he hadn’t. Beyond asking who had sent them, he’d said nothing.
Rolling his eyes, Il-juk finally confessed in a trembling voice.
“I—I belong to the Black Society.”
“……”
“We’re the Black Society’s fixers! We…”
“……”
“We are—”
“Yaaawn.”
“……”
“Mm, I could go for some dumplings.”
“We don’t know anything! We just followed the orders handed down!”
Il-juk shivered down his spine. The cold poison was quickening its spread.
Il-juk screamed hoarsely.
“We don’t know the client! But we were ordered to bring you to Small Valley Pavilion ! It’s true! Believe me!”
“……”
“Khkk! My superior is a man called Dam Jun! Looks barely past twenty! Said to be the youngest Stone Pillar of the Black Society! A money demon who won’t take a job unless it’s worth a fortune!”
“Could go for a drink, too.”
“Listen! I’ve told you everything I kn—kghhk!”
“……”
“D-damn it… spare me. I know nothing more.”
“……”
“You bastard! Khhk! You promised to spare me!”
“When?”
“What?!”
“When did I ever say I’d spare you?”
“Just before, you—?!”
“I said I’d wait. I said if you had something to tell me, to speak.”
“!”
“I never said I’d let you live.”
Jin-hyeon rose.
He looked down at Il-juk, tilting his head.
“Counting to twenty should do it.”
“!!”
“If you don’t want to die, give me the client’s name. Then I’ll spare you.”
“I-I don’t know…”
“Then die.”
Jin-hyeon strolled down the alley.
Il-juk trembled, eyes bloodshot, until with a pop he wept tears of blood—his vessels bursting.
Was he really to die, so vainly, so bitterly?
“…Gwak Pyeong.”
Jin-hyeon stopped walking.
“It’s Gwak Pyeong… that’s all I know… Gwak Pyeong…”
Srrrk.
Jin-hyeon approached and seized Il-juk’s left shoulder.
Chiiiik!
Il-juk felt his whole body plunge into fire.
But in moments the heat vanished—the fleeting burn of the cold poison dissipating.
His shattered shoulder and thigh still ached, but the threat of death was gone.
“Hff! Hff!”
Il-juk’s face twisted with the rapture of survival.
Then Jin-hyeon lowered his hand into his view.
Wooooong!
A gust so cold it stung his face swept over him. Jin-hyeon had pulled up his Body-Refining Qi again.
“Shall we start over?”
“?!”
“This time, half a quarter-hour.”
Tears streamed from Il-juk’s eyes. The blood-tears of moments ago turned clear.
Jin-hyeon waved his hand and asked:
“Tell me who Gwak Pyeong is and where he belongs. You say you take orders—how does a pawn know the client’s name? Oh, and I’d like to know where that Dam Jun—or Dam-whatever—can be found.”
“……”
“Answer all my questions, and I’ll spare you. I’ll even guarantee your freedom.”
“……”
“Still thinking? Want another trip across the River of Three Crossings?”
“I’ll tell you everything… just stop the cold poison…”
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