Chapter 162 - Hunt the White Ghosts (1)
If the legendary paradise of Mu Ryeong Do Won truly existed, it might look something like this.
In the heart of an impenetrable gorge, a massive pavilion thrust upward through the forest canopy. Atop it sat two men facing each other.
One was a Blood Cloak member exuding an eerie aura; the other, Wang-jeok, head of the Golden Merchant Group.
"Those damn northern bastards!"
Wang-jeok's face flushed crimson as he tilted his cup again and again.
The Blood Cloak member's gaze upon him was deep and serene, like a lake shrouded in morning mist.
Jeokhon. Lord of the Blood Family.
Thud! Wang-jeok slammed his cup down and demanded of Jeokhon, "Why have you been silent this whole time?!"
"What words do you wish to hear?"
"...!"
"We've requested mediation. Let's wait for the results."
"Doesn't it wound your pride as lord? We had no choice but to request it to protect our branches scattered across the land, but we can't just let those northern dogs get away with this!"
"Of course we won't. But now is not the time. Nothing is more foolish than clashing with an enemy at the height of their momentum. Calm yourself."
"Calm down? How, when I've got every reason to rage? We poured ten million nyang into the northwest alone! It all vanished overnight! And that's not all—every one of our branches operating in Northwest Murim fell into their hands. The money there alone... damn it all!"
Gulp, gulp! Wang-jeok's face grew even redder.
But Jeokhon remained utterly impassive. Only a faint flicker of contempt lurked in his occasionally flashing eyes.
Then—
"My lord."
A voice cut through, and a figure ascended to the pavilion. It was Garak.
Wang-jeok exploded at the sight of him. "Where the hell have you been all this time, showing your face only now?!"
"I was carrying out your orders, my lord."
"My orders? Are you saying I gave you some secret command without knowing it?"
The arrow turned toward Jeokhon. But he remained utterly composed.
"This doesn't concern the cartel head."
"Listen here, lord—!"
Spittle flew from Wang-jeok's mouth, a few drops landing on Jeokhon's face. Jeokhon's eyebrow twitched faintly upward.
"Don't cross the line, Cartel Head."
"...!"
As Wang-jeok fell silent, Jeokhon turned to Garak. "What of it?"
"After checking, it seems nearly all forces except the White Ghosts have surrendered to him. Bae Yeom's defection—given his thick trust among the warriors—likely swayed them."
"Signs of resistance?"
"None... so far."
Twitch. Jeokhon's eyebrow curved again.
"The whelp's got some skill. In that short time, he's rallied the people's hearts and seized every potential rebel... impressive."
Fsssh. Smoke rose from the table where Jeokhon's palm had rested.
The smoke wafted toward Wang-jeok's face on the breeze. He clamped a hand over his nose and mouth, jerking his head back to evade it. The earlier fury in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a subtle tension.
Jeokhon's piercing aura had wrought the change.
"Garak."
"Yes, my lord."
"Find the White Ghosts by any means necessary and bring them to me. There's no weapon as potent as the vengeance of those who've lost their lord. I'll bring them under my command."
"Understood!"
Garak vanished like smoke.
Jeokhon drained his cup and fixed Wang-jeok with a stare. "Has your anger subsided now?"
"A bit..."
"Then return. What good is it if the cartel head stays away so long?"
"When you devise a plan to annihilate those northern scum, inform me first."
"I will."
Wang-jeok lumbered down from the pavilion. Jeokhon sank deeper into his chair and snapped his fingers.
Snap.
A Ghost Corps member materialized like a specter.
"You called?"
"How goes the Blood Vault investigation?"
"Not only our family but the cartel as a whole has launched a full probe, yet we've found no leads whatsoever."
"No one has breached it?"
"Yes. Unexpectedly, all the mechanisms are intact, making entry impossible. A few attempted it but failed to pass the second gate and lost their lives."
"The mechanisms are intact..."
Jeokhon furrowed his brow, his gaze darkening.
"Whoever it is, they're devilishly cunning. They left traces of the breach but kept the traps active... as if daring us to try breaking through."
"We've expanded the witness search to a hundred li in all directions. A little more time, my lord."
"What of the Ghost Corps dispatched to the northern war?"
"...Only three returned."
Twitch.
"Thirty went, and only three came back?"
"Most were committed to the fiercest, farthest northern battles. With time, more will return."
"If they were fit to return, they would have by now. Fools..."
"My apologies. It's my failure for not training them properly."
Pour. Jeokhon fell silent, refilling and downing three cups in quick succession.
The north had withdrawn all other forces upon accepting the northwest's demands, but the Ghost Corps had been left behind—a minimal courtesy to the Golden Merchant Group.
"The cost and time to raise one..."
"...My deepest apologies, my lord."
Thud!
"We must identify the one who cracked the Blood Vault first, no matter what. Even if others discover it before us, we'll silence them with total extermination to guard the secret. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Dismissed."
"What of Yeon-hoo?"
"You suggest an ambush?"
"If you command it..."
"Wi Yeon-gwang surrendered his head to him in his own bedroom. The likes of you stand no chance."
"..."
"Dismissed."
"Rest well, then."
The Ghost Corps member withdrew. Jeokhon finished the last of his wine and rose.
As he stood, the surrounding forest shimmered like spring haze. Then, a ghostly whisper emanated from the woods, chilling and eerie.
"Will you truly leave the north's lord be?"
"Of course not."
Jeokhon's eyes flashed coldly.
"Because of him, so many of my plans have gone to ruin. Full war is ill-advised, but an ambush... that we can attempt."
* * *
Southwest stabilization proceeded swiftly, but one thorn remained: the White Ghosts, Northwest Murim's supreme assassin order, had vanished without a trace. With many Blood Ghosts— their underlings—also missing, Yeon-hoo had issued strict orders to bolster security for all leaders.
Yet within days, several southwest figures were found brutally slain. One had been decapitated alongside his wife in a gruesome spectacle. Group corpses turned up here and there as well—all surrendered Northwest Murim affiliates and their families.
Yeon-hoo activated an emergency alert, strengthening escorts not just in the southwest but across the north for all commanders. He also summoned key southwest personnel—those weak in self-defense or tied to intelligence—along with their families to Wall Thunder Manor.
But his measures didn't end there.
* * *
Strange rumors began circulating near Wall Thunder Manor around the time the assassinations started.
The north's lord, smitten with Hwalyeongchae's splendor, had yet to leave.
Hwalyeongchae was a pleasure garden Wi Yeon-gwang had built with vast sums for his indulgences. Its beauty was hailed as the northwest's finest, matched only by the dozens of stunning women in residence—beauties handpicked by Wi Yeon-gwang himself. They attended him and beguiled visiting dignitaries with honeyed traps, their special training an open secret.
The rumors rang true.
Yeon-hoo had been at Hwalyeongchae for days, hosting nightly banquets in a drunken haze of wine and women.
* * *
"Ho ho ho!"
"Uahaha!"
Seductresses' giggles and men's roars echoed from dusk without cease.
Servants ferried endless drink and food; even guards abandoned posts for revelry. The debauchery beggared belief, unfolding across Hwalyeongchae.
"May this girl dare offer my lord a cup?"
"Accept this girl's cup too!"
The shadows on the windows showed heaving bosoms—upper garments surely shed. On guard, the warriors gulped, eyes hungry.
"Lucky bastard."
"Bury my face in tits like that, and I'd die happy."
"Heh heh. Just watching has my loins burning."
Their eyes glazed from drink. Unthinkable with Yeon-hoo in mind, yet every man indulged.
One burly warrior especially—a massive frame leaning against the banquet hall wall, swigging straight from the jug.
"Fuckin' hell. This booze hits different! No wonder that dog Wi Yeon-gwang lived like this. Ptooey!"
The foul-mouthed brute was none other than Bu Cha, vice-commander of the Demon Corps.
Yeon-hoo's own guard, drunk? Sama Song or Cheol-u would have struck him down ten times over.
Whoosh!Hiss...
The encircling woods rustled ominously in the wind, but no eyes turned their way.
Shadows slipped ghostlike over the walls into the unlit gloom—unnoticed, it seemed.
But one man noticed.
A warrior dozing squat beside Bu Cha rose silently. As he did, Bu Cha's bleary eyes sharpened, reverting to their savage gleam. He grinned at his "subordinate" and sent a transmission.
[Shall we begin?]
The silent nod came from Cheol-u, of all people.
The "envious" guards ogling the silhouettes? Baek Mu Yeong, Seobaek, and Songyeong. The one seeming truly jealous: Jo Yeong.
In an instant, all eyes gleamed like blades.
Cheol-u glanced at Baek Mu Yeong, who nodded. Cheol-u staggered toward the shadows—drunkenly bound for the bushes.
A figure ghosted behind him: Noegeom.
[Fail to deliver, and you'll forfeit your Special Mission Unit command—then endure a year of hellish training. Remember that.]
[Yes.]
Noegeom melted back into darkness.
Bu Cha raised a fist. Reveling warriors across the grounds shifted toward the walls en masse.
Demon Corps members.
Shing. Baek Mu Yeong drew a long iron rod that extended into a spear.
"White Ghosts..."