Chapter 67 - Jang Cheon's Scheme
Yeon-hoo received Songyeong's report in his residence.
"The families that enrolled in the Martial Academy first were the quickest to pay up. The Jo family led with twenty thousand nyang in silver, followed by... All told, it's come to about forty-five thousand nyang."
"And the others?"
"They're still eyeing each other warily. If someone stepped up with a massive donation right now, it would smooth things over nicely."
Yeon-hoo thought of Jang Cheon. How much would he pony up?
The Jo family gave twenty thousand nyang, so he'll at least match that—probably more.
"How much do you expect?"
"As much as possible."
"And if the results fall short?"
"Whatever we predict, it'll exceed it. No need to worry."
Yeon-hoo was utterly relaxed. Songyeong wondered what gave him such unshakable confidence but held his tongue. Yeon-hoo had never failed at anything he'd set his hand to—best to trust and follow blindly.
"What about the hundred thousand nyang in silver for the Southern Defense Army?"
"We converted it to a bill of exchange yesterday morning and sent it via a reliable courier. The old man's help made it easier than expected."
"Good work. Once the bows and swords are ready, prioritize distribution to the Dongbang family's warriors."
"Understood. We'll put extra care into those."
That was when it happened.
"It's me."
Dongbang Ri's voice rang out from beyond the door. Songyeong jumped up and opened it, letting her in.
"Come in."
"I'll fetch another cup of tea."
As Songyeong stepped out, Dongbang Ri extended what she held in her hands. It was a small golden box, exquisite at a glance.
"What's this?"
"Dragon's eye jewels. I don't know the current market price, but I hear they're worth at least ten thousand nyang in silver."
Yeon-hoo met her gaze squarely.
"For the weapon forging?"
"Yes. I want to help more, but this is all I have..."
"I'll gratefully accept the sentiment. Put it away."
"If I don't do this much, I won't be able to rest easy. Please take it."
"Still uneasy?"
"I'm trying to think of it as my own home, like you said, but it's not easy. Still, everyone's making an effort, so it'll get better with time."
Yeon-hoo started to say something else but stopped. From her perspective, it made perfect sense.
"I'll put it to good use."
Songyeong returned with the tea just then.
"Lady Dongbang, we need to take measurements for the warriors' physiques. If you could gather them all when you have time, I'd appreciate it."
"...Measurements?"
"Bows are far more effective when tailored to arm length than grabbed at random. Same for close-range weapons like swords and blades."
"Ah, yes. When should we meet?"
"The sooner, the better. My lord gave strict orders to prioritize yours."
Yeon-hoo added awkwardly, "Weapons are best mastered quickly, aren't they?"
"Then... tonight. I'll gather everyone."
"Perfect! We'll visit your residence this evening. Oh—and does the lady have any special requests? Just say the word; I'll make the very best."
"Thank you."
"Eaten yet?"
"No, not..."
"Then let's grab a bite together."
Three men gathered in Jang Cheon's residence: Jang Cheon himself and his two most ardent middle-aged supporters. Both were heads of their own clans and sects, spending half the year at the Iron Blood Family to aid Jang Cheon's grand ambitions.
One middle-aged man spoke first, incredulous. "The Jo family jumped in first with twenty thousand nyang. That bastard's suddenly proclaiming his support, and now he's going all out to stand out."
"Let him."
"The new weapons are like giving the kid wings—how can you stay so calm?"
Jang Cheon only smiled enigmatically. The other man asked, "How much are you planning to donate, my lord?"
"With your position in the north... surely more than the Jo head."
"Heh heh heh. Indeed."
Jang Cheon's smile deepened, though he never specified an amount.
"The White Night Cartel's Earth Sovereign has changed. Shouldn't we formally declare our lord without delay?"
"Agreed. With the political landscape shifting, we need to solidify leadership now to brace for chaos."
"Rumors are swirling in the markets that if you become lord, you'll be a tyrant and rush into war with the Northwest Murim. It's making everyone nervous. This is the perfect time for a grand assembly to claim your place."
Despite their urgent pleas, Jang Cheon remained unhurried. He took another sip of tea before speaking. "I've changed my mind."
"Pardon? What do you...?"
"The Cartel's Earth Sovereign has changed—to a bastard son who was less than dust. The ensuing chaos is inevitable. What we must consider is the high chance of a major Northwest offensive. It could even escalate to all-out war, unlike before."
"Everyone's deeply worried about that. Wi Yeon-gwang is just the type to exploit the turmoil for his ambitions."
"Even if war breaks out, the north won't crumble easily. But the casualties would be horrific. In this situation, I see no reason to claim the lord's seat now."
"So you're passing the burden back to the young master?"
"Exactly. A full-scale war with the Northwest is a weight no greenhorn can bear—leagues beyond his local skirmishes."
"Then we wait for him to buckle under it and enter bloodlessly."
"Precisely. We won't have to honor promises to supporters, saving astronomical sums—and we can install our own in key positions, gripping the future regime completely."
"Oh!"
"Ah! Such profound intent..."
One man let out an awed exclamation. But the other hesitated.
"I'm worried we'll give him another chance like before and things tangle worse. If he somehow overcomes the chaos, we could lose everything, my lord."
Jang Cheon continued calmly. "The situations are worlds apart now—no need for concern. If you can't bear the worry, feel free to bow out."
"No, that's not... Understood. As always, I'll trust and follow you."
With the man relenting, Jang Cheon smiled triumphantly. "A few tens of thousands of nyang is pocket change to us now. Have everyone donate generously. It'll shield us from later accusations of half-hearted support. Heh heh heh."
"Then you should lead by announcing first..."
In lieu of words, Jang Cheon spread his fingers wide.
The two men's eyes bulged. "Fifty thousand nyang?!"
"With my stature, anything less would be unseemly, wouldn't it?"
As dusk fell on a northern city in the Northwest Murim, a man cloaked in pitch-black robes entered the bustling marketplace.
Separated from the Northern Murim by a single mountain range, the area teemed with Northwest troops even in peacetime. The evening streets overflowed with revelers, oblivious to the world's chaos.
The man took a dim corner seat, ordering a bottle of liquor, some beef jerky, and a bowl of thin noodles. He scanned the inn slowly, his gaze lingering on three burly, heavily armored men drinking near the entrance.
They bore the emblem of the Wall Thunder Family—rulers of the Northwest—on their uniforms. Warriors filled half the inn, but they were the only ones with that mark. Perhaps that's why no one frowned at their loud banter and guzzling; all stole nervous glances their way.
"They say the north's new lord is no pushover. Everyone's whispering, but we've taken some hard hits already."
"I heard something weird too."
"Weird how?"
"Well..."
"Spit it out, you bastard."
"Word is, the Elder Council Chairman left for a distant place citing illness—but really, he was taken out by a northern assassin."
"What?!"
"Who told you that?"
"My buddy—he's head chef for the leadership banquets. Overheard it from the bigwigs during drinks."
"You misheard. No sane man would provoke us like that, and the Chairman wouldn't fall to some assassin."
"Where'd you hear that crap? Shut up and drink, idiot."
The talk soon devolved to vulgar jests. The man lost interest and looked elsewhere—until his eyes flashed at two yellow-robed figures behind the trio, near the exit path.
One rose and headed out. The other glanced at the burly men and silently sipped his drink.
A furrow creased the man's brow. The waiter arrived with food and drink; he picked up his chopsticks.
Some time passed.
"Huh? What's that?"
"Why're they blocking the door?"
The inn stirred. About twenty yellow-robes sealed the entrance.
Not just that—every lamp snuffed out, and people collapsed here and there with soft thuds.
The man set down his chopsticks precisely then.
Clack! He stared at the door.
The yellow-robe who'd gone out reentered.
Then—
"P-Poison!"
"What the fuck?!"
Foam bubbled from the fallen as they convulsed and went limp. The three burly men leaped up, drawing swords.
Shing shing shing!
But the two yellow-robes were faster.
Thud! A sinister aura flared; two heads flew clean off.
The lone survivor recoiled in terror, tripped over a chair, and sprawled.
Crash!
He thrust his sword up from the floor, bellowing, "I-I'm Wall Thunder Family! You think you'll get away with this?!"
"You heard what you shouldn't and dared speak it. That's why you die."
"...!"
The yellow-robe's sword sliced air.
Thump! The head separated, blood fountaining.
Some splattered the man's table.
Drip drip.
Only then did the two notice him—still seated, uncollapsed— and approached slowly.
"Your fate ends here. I'll kill you painlessly as apology."
The man drained his remaining liquor and stared them down. In a voice as impassive as Yeon-hoo's, he muttered, "From the looks of it, your Elder Council Chairman really is dead. Not that killing more brings him back."