Phone Express (1)
A middle-aged man climbed down from the truck.
“Boss!”
“Phone.”
The man called Phone had a stern face and a muscular build that evoked Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Terminator. His short hair and black sunglasses only amplified the resemblance.
Dressed in casual work clothes like he'd just stepped out of a moving company, he was a mix of Western and Eastern heritage.
The two exchanged no further greetings. Phone's polite bow was the extent of their reunion.
“Take care of it.”
“Got it.”
Phone opened the truck's cargo bay, and four men in matching work clothes hopped out, tools in hand. They too were of mixed Eastern descent.
The quartet gave Jang Cheon a quick nod before getting straight to work cleaning up the site.
Two of them stuffed the bodies into leather body bags, while the others scrubbed the blood from the ground. The truck even had a water tank— a hose connected to the cargo bay sprayed water effortlessly.
Lee Yeon watched in astonishment.
“You're not thinking of disposing of these bodies in secret, are you?”
“That's exactly it.”
“You can't do that!”
“We can.”
“Hiding a body is a serious crime. We're innocent here—we'd get self-defense.”
“Innocence? This place only has six silent corpses as witnesses.”
“I've got you. I'll testify.”
“Then they'd come after the sole witness—you. I'd be stuck in a holding cell during the investigation, unable to protect you.”
His unexpected words startled her.
Jang Cheon spoke with utter seriousness, like a line from a thriller flick.
“These are people who sent six Murim fighters to kill in broad daylight. Do you think the law you mentioned can protect you from them?”
Right—he was spot on. The scene before her eyes wasn't some drama. The fear crept in, real and chilling.
“I don't think so. When facing evil, you need methods that match its level.”
Lee Yeon's eyes trembled at his firm declaration.
“I need time to think.”
“Battlefields don't give you time to think. That's why green recruits die first.”
By then, the men from the truck had cleared all the bodies, and the spilled blood was wiped clean with water and chemicals. Their practiced efficiency spoke of countless jobs like this. In under ten minutes, the site strewn with six corpses looked pristine, as if the fight had never happened. Not a drop of blood remained.
Phone finished up and flashed Jang Cheon a thumbs-up.
“Boss, the pancakes and makgeolli were damn good!”
His accent was a bit off, but still fluent enough. Phone and his crew piled back into the truck and drove off, one of the four taking the van the thugs had arrived in.
The lot returned to its empty state. Staring at it, it almost felt like nothing had happened.
Lee Yeon looked at Jang Cheon—the man who kept a body disposal crew on payroll.
She should have been too scared to meet his eyes, but she stared straight at him and asked,
“Is this the Murim I didn't know about? Is this why you told me to take the BST and enter this world?”
“Murim has many faces. Yours will be a different one. Just don't cross the line.”
“What does your Murim look like? What happens if you cross the line?”
“Instead of agonizing over guilt from killing, you'll worry about disposing of the bodies and getting revenge on the ones behind it.”
It was a scary statement one way, heartbreaking another—but Jang Cheon delivered it calmly.
Lee Yeon let out a sigh.
“Congrats, Jang Cheon. You've just claimed the top spot in my danger category.”
Tae Jin-gu sat in the corner of the restaurant, nursing a drink.
As always, the place was packed. It was a hotspot in Gangnam, much like his own turf inside Guwolmun.
I need to show him what I'm made of.
Park Gwang-cheol wouldn't be a problem. The guy was a textbook spoiled chaebol heir—no loyalty there. If things went south, he'd deny everything and flip.
Then Didi hurried over, his face grim. His report matched the tension.
“The Iron Sword Faction guys in Yangjae-dong are all gone.”
Tae Jin-gu jolted.
“Gone? You mean they got hit?”
“Looks like it.”
“You bastard! Can't you report straight?”
His shout drew stares from nearby diners, who quickly looked away.
Tae Jin-gu stood and strode toward the kitchen.
This restaurant was the crown jewel of Guwolmun's Gangnam branch. The room salons raked in more cash, but this place symbolized their legit front. Even Guwolmun higher-ups valued it, so Tae Jin-gu guarded it like his life.
In the empty back hallway, Didi continued.
“All vanished. People, cars—gone. Phones go unanswered. Checked everywhere that matters; no one knows.”
“They got taken out?”
“If so, bodies would've turned up. No police reports.”
“Or dumped in some ER.”
“Hospitals too—nothing.”
“So this psycho killed 'em all and buried them? Where's Jang Cheon now? Gone underground?”
“No, confirmed he's back at his lodging.”
“This fucker wiped out Iron Sword and strolls home?”
“If true, he's no ordinary guy.”
Of course, Tae Jin-gu knew he wasn't ordinary either. Just hadn't expected this level.
His phone buzzed. The name on the screen hardened his face—Iron Sword Sect master's call.
“Fuck. What does he want now?”
Grumbling, he answered politely.
“Sect Master, I was just about to call you.”
No trace of his earlier irritation—pure deference.
“Yes, I've heard. No, impossible. Don't get worked up. Yes, yes. We're investigating internally, so let's talk later. Alright, rest well.”
Hanging up, frustration etched his face.
“That old bastard won't let it slide.”
“What can he do?”
“Don't underestimate. Losing his aces—he won't sit idle. If he starts flapping his gums, my position gets shaky.”
“So what now?”
He didn't ponder long. Someone needed meeting first.
“Park Gwang-cheol.”
Time to nail down exactly who this Jang Cheon was. Should've done it before sending Iron Sword.
Park Gwang-cheol's car pulled up to the Korea Murim Alliance entrance.
“Fucking idiot!”
He recalled Tae Jin-gu's bandaged, collapsed nose from their recent meet. Nearly burst out laughing right there.
But he held it in. No point provoking a black-path thug at his limit.
Had to feed him info on Jang Cheon. Play along, soothe the beast.
Murim fighters with swords guarded the entrance.
“Where from?”
“Meeting Elder Song.”
“Park Gwang-cheol of Choi Enter, right?”
“Yeah, that's me.”
He treated them like underlings, but they feared him here. The Alliance wielded real power. Leader Cheon Myeong-jin was Korea's top expert.
Even the president treaded lightly around him.
Today, Park Gwang-cheol sought Elder Song Tae-geun.
Most companies tangled with Murim somehow. Song was tight with the Park family.
“Uncle Song. Keeping well?”
“Gwang-cheol! Long time. Heard you're up to fun stuff?”
“Yeah, diving into entertainment.”
“How's it?”
“Looks fun from afar—turns out it's work.”
“Haha, life's like that.”
“And you, Uncle? Looking healthier than last time.”
“Made a breakthrough in martial arts.”
“Congrats.”
“Times change fast—we old-timers gotta train harder.”
“Heard the Leader's in seclusion.”
“That martial maniac? Who knows what he'll gain next. Anyway, what's up?”
“Got a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Know anyone named Jang Cheon?”
“Jang Cheon? Who's that?”
Song Tae-geun tilted his head.
“Murim guy. Passed BST young, I heard.”
“Kid passed BST young? Ah, yeah—that was Jang Cheon.”
“You know him.”
“Sure. Holds the youngest BST pass record.”
“Must be skilled.”
“Not skill—talent. Passed at eight.”
“Can you dig into him?”
“Why?”
“Nothing big. Hiring someone connected to him for the company.”
“You could handle that yourself.”
“Locked info. Need your help, Uncle.”
“Alright, let's see.”
Song Tae-geun dialed.
“Look up someone. Jang Cheon, 34. Yeah, BST passer. Really? Huh. Got it.”
He hung up, shaking his head.
“Can't crack it.”
“What? Even you?”
“Yeah. World Murim Alliance lock—top security. Only one can open it.”
“Who?”
The name dropped like a bomb.
“Tae Cheon-gi.”
World Murim Alliance Leader Tae Cheon-gi.
The legendary expert who'd unified Chinese Murim and claimed the world throne. Acknowledged as the era's greatest.
Curiosity and dread mixed in Park Gwang-cheol's eyes. He'd guessed Jang Cheon was no nobody—but this scale?
What the hell is this guy?
Unmanned fighters gathered at an outskirt furniture factory.
They were Guwolmun Gangnam branch, under Tae Jin-gu.
This was one base—they assembled here for big ops.
Tension hung as they watched Tae Jin-gu on calls.
He hung up, face twisted.
Didi asked cautiously.
“What'd Park say?”
“Couldn't get shit on him.”
“Brought in a total unknown? Think he's playing us?”
“Nah, Park's not that bold. Watched him years—no mention of Jang Cheon.”
“Still, squash this before rumors spread.”
Unknown, uneasy, ominous—but momentum was theirs.
White-path cared for rep; black-path, whispers. With his nose shattered and rep in ruins, failing to kill meant his career ended here.
“Round up more. You hit Bundang branch for backup. I'll handle Gangbuk.”
“Yes.”
Didi rushed out with a few fighters.
Tae Jin-gu grinned wolfishly at the rest.
“You fucked up picking the wrong guy!”
Then Didi's voice echoed from outside.
“Who parked this huge truck blocking the entrance? Hey, asshole! Move it?”
“What's going on?”
Tae Jin-gu's question got Didi's yell.
“Moving truck's jammed the gate. Hey, crazy fuck! Move your ass or die? Get out now!”