The Debt Collector
Namgung Yun's confinement ended after a mere three days.
As wildly reckless as his actions had seemed on the surface, the clan had suffered no loss because of them. If anything, they had profited. Above all, since his willful intervention had saved the lives of the Zhuge Clan's scions, the elders could not keep him confined for long without inviting awkward scrutiny from their rescued peers.
Still, I'm bound to get an earful once I return home.
At least he was free for the moment.
Though three days had elapsed since the incident, the clans gathered to scour Yoma's hideout still lingered within the territory of the Anhui Mo Clan. No consensus had been reached regarding what to do with the cavern where the Demon Spirit Dark Robe Formation had been unfurled. A fierce debate seemed to be raging among the elders, but Yun had long since lost interest in the matter.
What point is there in agonizing over an artificial trap laid by those bastards from the Mo Clan?
He was far more intrigued by the Fiend's Secret Cavern Mo Seokdo had mentioned.
Even with my knowledge, infiltrating the Mo Clan's estate undetected is beyond my current cultivation.
Judging by how things were unfolding, the whole investigation would likely be swept under the rug and fizzle out into nothing. He decided to bide his time.
With that thought in mind, Yun wandered down to the inn's first floor, hoping to enjoy a peaceful meal for the first time in days.
"Oh?"
"Hmm?"
A familiar face caught his eye.
"If it isn't the Little Chivalrous Hero! Haha, I never expected to cross paths with you here!"
It was Yang Woo. Judging by the bright grin spreading across his face, he had genuinely enjoyed hitting it off with Yun during their previous encounter.
"What brings you to these parts, Young Hero Yang?"
"Haha, can one truly say they've visited Anhui Province without gazing upon Mount Huang? I came for the sights, but it seems I've walked straight into a storm. I presume that's why you're here as well?"
"You could say that."
"Might I ask what happened?" Yang Woo leaned in with an inquisitive look.
Yun gave a slight shake of his head. "It isn't something I can carelessly disclose to outsiders."
"Ah, as expected." A flicker of regret crossed Yang Woo's features, but he did not press any further. "Still, running into each other like this is fate in its own right. How about a drink?"
"I wouldn't say no to that."
"Haha, today is my treat! I'm not a guest in your home territory anymore, after all." Yang Woo offered a playful wink, drawing a quiet smirk from Yun.
"Then I shall gladly partake."
"Excellent! I didn't think I'd be able to repay your hospitality so quickly."
A spread of liquor and appetizers was promptly laid out.
Just like before, their conversation flowed effortlessly. They traded cups and laughter as the atmosphere grew convivial—until, in the exact same heartbeat, both men froze.
"Say," Yun remarked casually, his hand steady around his cup. "Do you happen to have any close friends? The sort who worry so frantically about your safety that they trail you in secret, hiding their faces?"
Yang Woo chuckled softly. "Haha, I have no such friends, nor would I ever want them. Could they not be yours, Little Chivalrous Hero?"
"The feeling is mutual. Even if someone offered me a cartload of friends like that, I'd politely decline."
"Hahaha, wouldn't you?"
"Hahaha, indeed."
Yun and Yang Woo tapped their cups together.
Whether by coincidence or design, the clamor that had filled the tavern only moments ago vanished into a dead, suffocating silence.
Both youths tipped their cups back and swallowed the liquor in one smooth gulp.
Clack!
The sound of their ceramic cups meeting the wooden table rang out like a thunderclap in the quiet room. In the same breath, their hands shifted to the hilts of their swords.
"Are you lot coming to us," Yun asked, his tone dry as dust, "or should we come to you?"
Crash!
Every single patron in the tavern kicked their tables and chairs aside and lunged to their feet. Each man held a razor-sharp, blue-tinted dagger gleaming with venom.
They surged toward the two youths in a coordinated wave.
Cl-cl-clang!
Blades clashed. Daggers were deflected in showers of sparks as Yun and Yang Woo struck back in unison.
Yun swept his leg out, kicking the table before him. Packed with internal energy, the heavy wooden slab hurtled through the air like a battering ram.
"Gah!"
"Urgh!"
Most of the assailants managed to roll out of the way, but two were struck dead-on. With sickening crunches and muffled groans, they slammed into the floorboards, their ribs shattered beyond repair.
"Do you happen to have an enemy who despises you enough to dispatch assassins?" Yun asked, his sword weaving through the air.
"I do," Yang Woo replied cheerfully. "And you?"
"I have a few myself."
"Then we have no way of knowing who they're here for."
"In that case, let's just slaughter them together like good companions and agree never to ask whose enemies they were."
"Sounds like a splendid plan."
Standing back-to-back, they traded blows with the swarm of cutthroats.
"By the way," Yun murmured, deflecting a thrust, "how did you handle the poison in your drink?"
"I burned it away with internal energy."
"A true master, I see."
To neutralize and vaporize ingested poison purely through internal energy was a feat reserved for those who had stepped into the Peak realm.
He doesn't look much older than me, yet he's already a Peak realm martial artist?
Yun couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration. Compared to Yang Woo, pampered heirs like Namgung In or Mo Unseon—whom their respective clans praised to high heaven—were completely outmatched.
"And what about you, Little Chivalrous Hero?"
Rather than answering in words, Yun demonstrated.
Ptooey!
With a sharp cough, he spat out a thumb-sized globule of coagulated liquid, which hissed faintly as it hit the floorboards.
"Now that's a curious trick," Yang Woo remarked, genuinely impressed.
"Nothing worth bragging about."
The two youths bantered with leisurely ease, but to the assassins watching them, an icy dread settled over their hearts. Neither the poison nor the sudden ambush had worked. Worse, overpowering them in direct combat was clearly impossible.
And the situation was only deteriorating.
"What is all this commotion!"
The doors to the private chambers burst open, and martial artists of the Namgung Clan poured into the hall.
"Assassins?!"
Right behind them were the warriors of the Zhuge Clan. Following the tension surrounding the rescue of Zhuge Chim, the Zhuge Clan had relocated from the Mo Clan's stronghold to lodge under the same roof as the Namgung Clan.
"Tsk, tsk. Truly, not a single day passes without some wretched incident."
Even the Beggars' Sect was present, having taken up residence here because Hong Jong found Yun endlessly fascinating. Naturally, every last one of them was on Yun's side.
The assassins had zero chance of victory. Even if every man threw his life away, they would never reach their targets.
The leader of the assassins made a split-second decision. He snapped his arm upward.
At that signal, the remaining assassins broke formation and scattered in all directions.
"Did you think we'd let you scurry away?!"
"You dare draw steel in our presence?!"
"Tsk, tsk. Even a beggar offers a polite bow before leaving with his alms, you insolent runts."
One by one, the fleeing assassins were cut down. Yet even as they fell, not a single one let out a whimper of pain. Instead, they reached into their robes and hurled objects straight through the tavern windows into the sky.
Screeeeech—!
A whistling arrow?
Though thrown by hand rather than loosed from a bow, the effect was identical: a piercing acoustic flare screaming across the heavens.
That single desperate act was their only successful defiance. Not a single assassin escaped alive. Seeing them embrace death without uttering a solitary cry, it was evident they were seasoned, well-conditioned killers.
Yet no one in the room believed the danger had passed.
The whistling signal they had loosed could only mean one thing: an announcement that the mission had failed.
They might cut their losses and retreat to wait for another opportunity, or they might launch a second wave...
There was no point racking his brain over it now. Time would soon provide the answer.
Screeeeeeech—!
The shrill screech from the whistling flare rolled across the surrounding rooftops. To a martial artist with refined senses, the sound could be detected from miles away.
Failed, have they?
Mobilizing a handful of assassins had proved insufficient after all.
Yet there was no disappointment in the man's heart. The strike had merely been a pebble cast into the pond to test the waters.
A pity, nonetheless. If that had done the trick, I wouldn't have had to expend these ones.
They were assets painstakingly cultivated for nearly a century. He had never intended to discard them so casually.
It can't be helped. Who knows when another opportunity like this will present itself?
The man turned around.
Before him loomed a towering gate, crested by a grand plaque bearing the words: Anhui Mo Clan.
This was the very clan that had brandished borrowed power for over a hundred years, driving the mighty Namgung Clan to the brink of ruin.
He strode toward the entrance.
"Who goes there?!"
"Halt!"
The gatekeepers snapped to attention, their eyes narrowing with suspicion at the unknown figure approaching so brazenly.
In response, the man reached into his breast pocket and drew out an object.
It was a ghoul bell.
Cast in the chilling likeness of a snarling demon, the sinister bell emanated a foul, unnatural presence.
Jingle!
The bell rang out with a sharp, resonant chime.
In an instant, the sharp wariness in the gatekeepers' eyes melted into a dull, hollow glaze.
"Open the gates."
At his command, the guards moved like puppets.
Creak—
The heavy wooden doors swung inward. Considering the Mo Clan's renown, influence, and soaring ambitions, their threshold fell with pitiful ease.
The man crossed the threshold as casually as if stepping into his own courtyard.
"Admit no one."
Obeying the order, the guards shut the massive doors behind him and resumed their posts, standing motionless as before.
From the outside, the Anhui Mo Clan appeared utterly unchanged.
Yet just like the gatekeepers whose souls had been stolen away, the Mo Clan was being devoured from within, piece by piece, by an outside predator.
Mo Seok-won.
The current Patriarch of the Anhui Mo Clan.
He had inherited a clan that stood unchallenged as the hegemon of Anhui Province. Yet with the emergence of Namgung Jeongcheon and the subsequent resurgence of the Namgung Clan, he had failed to preserve the towering prestige of his forebears.
Neither the members of the Mo Clan nor the wider martial world viewed Mo Seok-won as incompetent. It was simply that Namgung Jeongcheon's rise had defied all conventional reason—an absolute anomaly of nature.
Yet Mo Seok-won could never accept that excuse.
To him, the world was governed by two absolute truths: Respect for the Strong and The Weak Are Meat for the Strong.
If only he had been as powerful as Namgung Jeongcheon—no, if only he had surpassed him—the Mo Clan would have long since crushed the Namgung Clan beneath their boots. They would have solidified their absolute dominion over Anhui, claimed a seat among the new Five Great Clans, and basked in the awe and reverence of the entire Jianghu.
Ultimately, the blame lay on his shoulders. It was because he and his clan were too weak.
Crushed under the weight of that guilt, Mo Seok-won had clawed frantically to elevate the Mo Clan's standing. He shrank from no vile deed, readily orchestrating underhanded schemes and expending the lives of his kinsmen without a second thought whenever necessity demanded it.
His ruthlessness had borne fruit. Even with an Absolute Master like Namgung Jeongcheon at the helm of their rivals, the Anhui Mo Clan had managed to maintain a fragile equilibrium against the Namgung Clan.
Yet anxiety had clung to Mo Seok-won like a second skin.
Will we ultimately be overtaken? Will our clan's glorious ascent crumble in my hands?
Even so, in all his darkest nightmares, he had never imagined a disaster like this.
"Kuh...! Gahhh!"
Mo Seok-won fought with every fiber of his being to hold onto his slipping consciousness. He forced his leaden eyelids open, struggling to rein in his trembling, limp limbs.
It was futile.
His eyelids felt as heavy as iron weights, as if he had gone weeks without sleep, and his body slumped helplessly across the patriarch's chair. He couldn't even summon the strength to lift a finger.
His thighs and lips were already drenched in crimson. To keep from fainting, he had driven a blade into his own flesh and bitten his lip until it tore.
Even that agony was no longer enough.
Through warped, blurry vision, Mo Seok-won looked ahead.
Standing inside his private office were his own kinsmen, barging in uninvited. Under normal circumstances, he would have roared with fury and cast them out into severe punishment.
Now, he couldn't even utter a command.
And even if he could, it would have changed nothing.
Clouded, vacant eyes. Expressionless, dead faces.
They're being controlled...
What weight could a patriarch's roar carry against men stripped of their minds?
"As expected of a clan head. Quite resilient, aren't you?"
An unfamiliar voice cut through the haze.
Standing among the entranced kinsmen was a man Mo Seok-won had never seen before—the mastermind behind this living hell.
"Who... who are you...?"
Mo Seok-won poured every ounce of wrath and hatred into the question. Yet what spilled past his lips was nothing more than a ragged, powerless rasp.
The sheer impotence of his voice plunged him into an even deeper abyss of despair.
The intruder looked down at him, his voice flat and chillingly detached.
"A debt collector."