Chapter 201: If Not for the Occasional Crazies
Chapter 201: If Not for the Occasional Crazies
“Please, I beg of you! Spare me!”
The 3rd Immortal reached down and helped the kneeling, pleading young man back to his feet.
“Now, now. Seeing you like this makes my heart ache.”
“If you suddenly demand I pay it all back now, how am I supposed to find that kind of money?”
The 3rd Immortal let out a long, weary sigh.
“I have no choice; the order came directly from the association. You know how it is, don’t you? People like us simply do as we’re told.”
“But I can’t sell my house! If I lose my home, where will my parents live?”
The young man’s weakness was his filial piety. The 3rd Immortal didn't hesitate to twist the knife in that very wound.
“You’ll just have to find a relative willing to take them in.”
“What relative would welcome two elderly people with nowhere else to go?”
The 3rd Immortal sighed again, the picture of feigned sympathy. “That’s why I told you not to borrow more than you could handle, didn’t I?”
The young man slumped, his breath hitching. “I never imagined it would come to this.”
He had left home to master martial arts and returned with a single dream: to open a training hall in his hometown. While he was working himself to the bone to save up, the 3rd Immortal had approached him, offering a loan through the Immortal’s Debt.
Naturally, the young man had been suspicious at first.
However, the promissory note was perfectly standard. Furthermore, the 3rd Immortal had been incredibly kind, treating him like a blood brother. He hadn't even forced the loan; in fact, he’d advised the young man to wait, warning him that carrying too much debt at a young age would be a heavy burden.
But when the 3rd Immortal made a show of offering the Immortal’s Debt to someone else, the young man grew anxious. He took the money that very day.
He bought an old manor and began renovations. Then, the "accidents" started. Workers were injured, construction was delayed, and he had to borrow more to cover medical costs. Later, his materials were stolen. He borrowed again.
He had held onto the hope that once the hall opened, he could work hard and pay it all back. But then, the completed martial arts hall was reduced to ashes in a fire.
The young man felt his world collapsing. To make matters worse, the 3rd Immortal had arrived, demanding immediate repayment and telling him to sell his parents' roof from over their heads.
“I’ll do anything! Please, just don’t make me sell the house!”
“Anything? What, are you going to commit murder? Don’t say such useless things.”
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll try to plead your case with the association. Let’s discuss it further later.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much!”
“I’ll see you again soon, then.”
As the 3rd Immortal turned away, a thin, predatory smile played on his lips.
It’s almost time.
All it took was getting them to commit a single crime. The moment they took that first step into the darkness, he could exploit them for the rest of their lives. It was especially easy with someone like this—kind, naive, and devoted to his parents. It was like taking candy from a baby.
Ambition, dreams, hope, youth, family…
These bright, warm things were the perfect bait to lead young men into hell. Fuel your ambition! Dream while you’re young! Hold onto hope! You’re still young! Think of your family! How could hot-blooded youths possibly avoid such traps?
The 3rd Immortal wore a cold smirk as he climbed into his waiting carriage. He glanced at the subordinate in the driver’s seat. “Next?”
“Someone looking for a new loan, sir.”
“Who?”
“The son of the Righteous Fist Sect Leader.”
It was a name he recognized. One might wonder why the scion of such a reputable sect would need to borrow money, but in his experience, those who truly needed money rarely borrowed it, while those who didn't need it couldn't get enough.
The 3rd Immortal leaned his head back against the seat. He had been incredibly busy lately.
The Dark Merchant World was operated by four sworn brothers who committed every atrocity imaginable. When they started this venture, they discarded their names and became the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Immortals.
The 1st Immortal, the founder, was cunning and ruthless—a man born without a shred of empathy. It was he who had suddenly secured a massive amount of capital and proposed this business. He never revealed the source of the funds, but there was undoubtedly a separate financier providing that vast sum.
Regardless, one thing was certain: as long as the ruthless 1st Immortal was determined to turn a profit, they would all become obscenely wealthy.
To maintain secrecy, they kept their subordinates to a minimum of elites and strictly divided their labor.
The 4th Immortal led the elite warriors, moving only when force was required. If the 4th Immortal was the fist, the 2nd Immortal was the feet—responsible for scouting potential victims.
The 1st Immortal decided how to use the prey. He made them do everything from assault and murder to stealing secret manuals from their own kin. If a secret threatened to leak, he silenced them and made it look like a suicide.
If the 1st Immortal was the head, the 3rd Immortal was the mouth.
The 3rd Immortal’s role was to soothe and comfort the victims, whispering that a better life was just around the corner if they only endured a little longer. In their private gatherings, the brothers often joked that the 3rd Immortal was the biggest bastard of them all.
“We have arrived.”
The meeting place was a quiet inn. The subordinate pointed to a young man sitting in a corner. “That’s him.”
The 3rd Immortal approached while his subordinate waited at a distance. He sat across from the young man and offered a warm, practiced greeting.
“My apologies. Have you been waiting long?”
“It’s fine,” the young man replied, his voice low and gravelly.
Usually, those coming to borrow money were nervous and stiff. However, this young man didn't seem anxious; instead, he radiated a dark, oppressive aura.
“What is your name?”
“Jeong Yang.”
The man introducing himself as Jeong Yang was, in fact, Geom Mu-geuk.
“I heard you are the successor of the Righteous Fist Sect?”
The Righteous Fist Sect was a real organization located nearby. Their youngest son was indeed named Jeong Yang. Of course, the sect was one of the Demonic Cult’s fronts managed by the Tongcheon Pavilion. If anyone investigated, they would find a sect leader with a son who looked exactly like Geom Mu-geuk.
Just like the West Blade Sect used during the Young Dragon Tournament, the Righteous Fist Sect was a cover created for exactly these situations.
“Why would someone of your standing need money?” the 3rd Immortal asked, testing the waters.
Instead of answering, Geom Mu-geuk looked up. “I heard you lend money without interest.”
“That’s right. The Immortal’s Debt does not charge a single copper of interest.”
Geom Mu-geuk studied the 3rd Immortal. Unlike his usual self, he was projecting an air of deep, simmering depression. He could have acted like an arrogant noble, but Go Wol had specifically requested this persona for the target.
“How much can you lend me?”
“How much do you need?”
“One hundred thousand nyang.”
The 3rd Immortal flinched. This was the first time someone had asked for a hundred thousand nyang upfront.
“What do you plan to do with such a fortune?”
Geom Mu-geuk lowered his head, remaining silent.
“Look here. It’s your business what you do with the money, but a hundred thousand nyang is a staggering sum. Shouldn't I at least know the purpose?”
The 3rd Immortal felt a prickle of unease. I have a bad feeling about this.
Just as he was about to decline, Geom Mu-geuk suddenly slammed his fist onto the table—not hitting it, but the sheer pressure of his rage caused the floor beneath him to dent inward.
The 3rd Immortal was stunned. What was more impressive was the silence of the act; the patrons at the next table hadn't even noticed. This youth’s internal power was profound.
“Fine. Let’s forget this ever happened.”
As Geom Mu-geuk stood to leave, acting as if he regretted coming, the 3rd Immortal quickly stopped him.
“Wait! Why so hasty?”
Geom Mu-geuk paused, looking as though he were still debating the choice.
“Come, sit back down.”
The reason the 3rd Immortal held him back was simple: talent.
He’s exactly the kind of master the 1st Immortal is looking for!
The 1st Immortal was scouting masters for a major operation. Orders had been given to secure any high-level martial artist they encountered.
“Alright, I’ll lend you the money. I won’t ask any more questions; your business is your own.”
A flicker of grim satisfaction crossed Geom Mu-geuk’s face.
“I’m lending you such a massive sum, and not even a word of thanks?”
At that, Geom Mu-geuk muttered under his breath, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch. You’ll get what you want out of me eventually.”
He glared at the 3rd Immortal with a look that said, You can’t fool me.
Of all the people the 3rd Immortal had met, this one was unique. He was unsettling, yet strangely compelling. He seemed like the type to cause a massive incident—which meant he was the type to generate a massive profit.
“Fine! Let’s draft the promissory note.”
Geom Mu-geuk examined the document with agonizing detail. “It really doesn't have a repayment date, just like the rumors said.”
“If we wanted a quick profit, we would have invested in a merchant guild. We are investing in your youth.”
Geom Mu-geuk snorted at the mention of "youth" and continued his inspection. “If I dip this in water, the ink won't change, will it?”
“If you’re that suspicious, go ahead and check.”
Geom Mu-geuk actually splashed water on it and held it near a lamp’s heat. The note remained unchanged.
The 3rd Immortal snorted inwardly. He’s paranoid.
Did that make him harder to use? No. Suspicious people were easy to exploit in their own way. Once you bypassed their defenses, they tended to offer absolute, unwavering trust. If you were determined to deceive someone, their personality was irrelevant.
After a long silence, Geom Mu-geuk finally nodded. “Give me the money, and I’ll leave my print.”
At the 3rd Immortal’s signal, the subordinate brought over the bank notes. After receiving the funds, Geom Mu-geuk pressed his thumb onto the note.
“Then, I’ll be going.”
As Geom Mu-geuk walked away without a backward glance, the 3rd Immortal turned to his subordinate. “Deploy a surveillance team. Find out exactly what he spends that money on.”
“Understood, sir.”
*
Three days later, the subordinate returned with a report.
“Jeong Yang took the hundred thousand nyang to a shadow merchant in this region and purchased poison.”
Shadow merchants dealt in hidden weapons and toxins banned by the Murim Alliance.
“Poison? What kind?”
“He bought Formless Poison.”
The 3rd Immortal froze. Formless Poison was astronomically expensive and nearly impossible to track.
“He bought that with a hundred thousand nyang?”
“It seems he bought just enough for a single dose.”
“Who on earth is he trying to kill?”
The subordinate didn't know, leaving the 3rd Immortal deeply troubled. He had lent money for many things, but never for Formless Poison. That unsettling feeling from their first meeting returned with a vengeance.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
There was a non-zero chance the poison could be intended for the 3rd Immortal himself.
“How did he even find a shadow merchant?”
“There is a capable information broker in this region. It seems he made contact through them.”
“Dammit! Tell him I want to meet again. Immediately.”
The 3rd Immortal sighed. He truly loved this job. The joy of coaxing someone toward ruin provided a pleasure greater than any woman’s bed. Even as they were dying, his victims usually relied only on him.
He believed there was no fun more primal than this—if not for the occasional crazies like this one.
The next day, the 3rd Immortal met Geom Mu-geuk again.
“Why did you want to see me?”
Knowing he possessed poison, Geom Mu-geuk looked even more dangerous and unstable to the 3rd Immortal’s eyes.
“I have one question for you.”
“What is it?”
“What did you do with the hundred thousand nyang?”
Geom Mu-geuk’s brow furrowed. “Didn't we agree you wouldn't ask?”
“We did. But a rumor is circulating. Someone said a man bought Formless Poison for a hundred thousand nyang.”
Geom Mu-geuk flinched. It was a reaction so visceral that no further interrogation was needed.
“It wasn't me.”
“Then show me the money. Or tell me what you spent it on.”
Geom Mu-geuk fell silent, his jaw tight.
The 3rd Immortal shifted to his soothing, persuasive tone. “The moment you bought that, we were in the same boat. If you cause trouble with that poison, it becomes our problem too. Talk to me. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”
“You can’t help me.”
“Just who are you trying to kill? If you use Formless Poison, the Murim Alliance will descend on this place. The fallout will be massive. If you want someone dead, you’d be better off hiring an assassin or…”
Then, a name he never could have imagined escaped the young man's lips.
“Is there an assassin who can kill the Fist Demon?”
The 3rd Immortal’s heart nearly stopped. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this shaken.
“You… you don’t mean the Demonic Cult’s Fist Demon, do you?”
“Why wouldn't I? That bastard deserves to be torn limb from limb.”
The 3rd Immortal was speechless. He realized he had stepped into a nightmare.
Ah! This guy is a lunatic. A complete and utter lunatic.
If they got tangled up with the Demonic Cult, they would all be slaughtered.
“Why do you want to kill the Fist Demon?”
“The Fist Demon touched my woman.”
“Why on earth would the Fist Demon touch your woman?”
After a moment of hesitation, Geom Mu-geuk spat out a family secret, as if he had already crossed the point of no return.
“Our Righteous Fist Sect belongs to the Demonic Cult. We were under the Fist Demon’s jurisdiction.”
The 3rd Immortal almost screamed. They were already entangled with the Cult. This madman was blurting out a death-sentence secret just like that? But there was a reason he had lost his mind.
“The Fist Demon visited our house. He saw my fiancée and… he raped her. Damn it! My father knew and still told me to endure it for the sake of the sect!”
Geom Mu-geuk’s eyes burned with a reckless, suicidal rage. “I’m going to kill him.”
The 3rd Immortal reached a cold decision. He quickly sent a silent voice transmission to his subordinate waiting in the shadows.
— Contact the other Immortals. We need to eliminate this madman and vanish before the Cult finds out.