Geom-myeong Corporation (2)
A large hanok house stood imposingly as a single car pulled up and stopped.
The man who stepped out was Im Yeon-sin. He had an ordinary face and average height.
But the driver stood out. A man who appeared to be in his thirties, he wore a sword at his waist, stood tall, and had a sturdy build.
His aura was sharp, and his steps carried disciplined poise.
He was no ordinary chauffeur—he was Mr. Chang, Im Yeon-sin's bodyguard and right-hand man.
As the two men reached the gate, it opened from within. In the courtyard stood some twenty suited men armed with weapons, each one no ordinary fighter.
Im Yeon-sin and Mr. Chang walked between the men, who parted to either side, conversing as they went.
"Don't use the ones who took out Song Tae-geun for a while."
"Understood."
"Clean Company's all sorted?"
"Yes. The day we got word that Black Heaven was sending an inspector, we took out the agent we'd hired through them."
"No links back to us?"
"Don't worry. It was handled perfectly."
"What's Black Heaven saying internally?"
"Reports say they're satisfied."
"They sure left Park Gwang-cheol alive."
"Killing him too would have stirred up too much noise, wouldn't it? Seems Black Heaven's decided the Guwol Sect Lord was enough."
"Fucking idiots, those Black Heaven bastards."
Im Yeon-sin paused briefly at the entrance.
"We have to eliminate Chairman Park and Park Jin-ho. Make sure the Alliance Leader never tries any more stupid moves."
"Should we handle it ourselves?"
Im Yeon-sin shook his head.
"No. Find another assassin group. We can't leave any trace of our involvement. It's not time to step into the light yet."
"Yes, sir."
Im Yeon-sin pushed open the door and entered.
"Rest well."
Mr. Chang bowed politely at the entrance as Im Yeon-sin disappeared inside.
Im Yeon-sin never allowed subordinates into his home—not even Mr. Chang, whom he'd kept by his side for years, without explicit permission.
Entering the living room, Im Yeon-sin pressed a small remote on the table.
Beep.
All doors locked, and the house shifted into alert mode.
He leisurely lit a cigarette. The air purifier hummed to life amid the smoke. The wall clock read 11:15 p.m.
Then his phone chimed. Checking it, Im Yeon-sin pressed the remote again.
One wall slid open, revealing a large screen.
He entered the password, and it flickered to life.
A man's face appeared—heavy makeup on, like a stage actor.
The voice over the feed was laced with artificial distortion, masking its true timbre.
The makeup and modulation gave the man on screen an eerie, otherworldly vibe.
"Good to see you, Actor. Got a show tonight?"
"It's my job."
The man on screen smiled. Codename Actor, he bridged the upper echelons and Im Yeon-sin, always playing the part.
Im Yeon-sin wondered if he really was an actor—perhaps calling from some dingy dressing room in a obscure theater somewhere in the world.
Actor spoke.
"Yes."
"None."
Im Yeon-sin answered firmly.
"Trust me—when have you seen me slip up?"
"Trust me."
Actor grinned broadly on screen—an exaggerated, theatrical smile he made no effort to hide.
"I've got him under control. No worries."
"Thanks to your steadfast support. Please pass on my gratitude."
The screen blinked off.
Im Yeon-sin lit another cigarette and leaned back on the sofa, exhaling a satisfied plume of smoke.
From the rooftop of a building overlooking Im Yeon-sin's house, Jang Cheon stood watching.
He'd overheard every word of the conversation between Im Yeon-sin and Mr. Chang as they entered.
Twenty men in the courtyard, yet none had detected him eavesdropping from the roof.
Jang Cheon immediately called Bishop.
"This was all Im Yeon-sin's doing. HT Group's backer, Song Tae-geun's killer—everything."
"So it was."
"And Bishop—one of your intel bits was off."
"What is it?"
"Im Yeon-sin. You said he was just a regular businessman?"
"Yes, that's right. Isn't he?"
"He's a martial artist."
Jang Cheon had sensed Im Yeon-sin concealing his skills.
"His driver’s a solid expert too, but Im Yeon-sin’s stronger. Hiding it well, pretending not to be Murim."
"With possible ties to the Alliance Leader or other backers—how do you want to handle it?"
"Like always."
"Timing?"
"Tonight."
Bishop responded to Jang Cheon's resolute decision.
"You once said the more tangled the problem, the simpler the solution."
Meddle clumsily with a knotted thread, and it turns into a spiderweb wrapping around you.
Bishop knew Jang Cheon's mind better than anyone.
"I'll prep Phone and the comms blackout."
Thirty minutes later, Phone Express pulled quietly onto a street not far from Im Yeon-sin's house.
Jang Cheon, waiting, climbed in.
"Boss."
"Phone."
"Bishop says comms blackout isn't fully ready—wants twenty more minutes."
Phone opened a small rear compartment door, revealing the four-man team's faces. They greeted Jang Cheon in unison.
"Boss!"
"Good work."
Jang Cheon handed them black bags.
"Picked these up nearby."
The team's faces lit up as they peeked inside—dumplings and tteokbokki. They were starving, so it hit just right.
"Let's eat too."
Jang Cheon offered Phone another bag, packed with the same.
Phone grabbed chopsticks with a grin. Lately hooked on Korean food, he loved tteokbokki especially.
Spicy for someone unused to it, yet he devoured it happily.
Phone noticed: "Nearby," he'd said, but the wooden chopstick wrapper was from a shop pretty far off.
Jang Cheon had gone out of his way for them—taxi or lightness skill, who knew.
"You eat too, Boss."
"Yeah, dig in."
Munching dumplings and tteokbokki to Aria on the G String from the car stereo had its own charm.
"Grabbed a drink with Night recently."
"How's he holding up? Worried he's all work lately."
"Night's fine—no need to worry."
"Good."
"And Queen sends her regards."
Phone's eyes, behind sunglasses, flicked to gauge Jang Cheon's reaction.
Jang Cheon pretended not to hear about Queen and stepped out.
"Time's up. I'm heading in."
"Yes, sir."
Watching Jang Cheon's retreating figure, Phone killed the audio.
"Let's gear up."
Jang Cheon vaulted the wall effortlessly.
He soared silently, no whisper of wind, and landed without a sound. A sentry spotted him mid-flight.
This guy was no mere watchman.
But for a split second, he froze.
'How's that possible?'
Such lightness skill—graceful yet blindingly fast. No wind noise? Unbelievable.
'Maybe fishing line on his back...'
His thoughts ended there.
Shiiik! Slash!
The man's throat split; he crumpled backward, silent. But the sound alerted another fighter a dozen paces away.
Pfook!
Something sharp pierced his throat before he could turn.
As the two fell, garden lights flared with a thud.
The remaining men drew swords in formation—an impressively swift response, proof of rigorous training.
Two more emerged.
First, the annex door opened. Mr. Chang stepped out slowly, sword in hand.
Then lights glowed in Im Yeon-sin's house. Curtains parted, revealing Im Yeon-sin—calm, cold-eyed, no trace of surprise at two dead men.
Mr. Chang locked eyes with Jang Cheon.
"Who sent you?"
Jang Cheon glanced at Im Yeon-sin in the window instead of answering. Mr. Chang's face hardened, taking it as a slight.
"Kill him."
His men moved like clockwork—well-drilled fighters, as their initial response showed.
Three nearest lunged at Jang Cheon simultaneously.
He twisted aside from the frontal assault.
His sword flashed from seven to one o'clock.
Slash.
The man collapsed diagonally bisected.
Jang Cheon's blade swept horizontal.
Shiiik!
Splurt!
It cleaved the chest of the one slashing down from the left.
In a blink, two down. He ignored the right-flanker, charging another.
The man, stunned at being targeted over the closer foe, thrust wildly.
Swords crossed—but Jang Cheon's struck first.
Pfook!
Impaling the chest, he shoved the body as a shield backward.
"Urk!"
As shock burst from the rear man, Jang Cheon's sword yanked free and pierced his throat.
Stepping on the falling body's chest, Jang Cheon surged further back.
Shrrk!
Splaaash!
A single line slashed two more charging from behind.
Jang Cheon's moves defied prediction. You'd swear he'd strike here—then he'd whirl opposite. Aim low? He cut high.
Each white trail through the air felled another man.
Mr. Chang panicked. His men were dropping faster than expected—blink, and they were gone.
"Hold!"
He shouted. A fatal mistake.
His men flinched; Jang Cheon accelerated.
Shrrk! Splaaash!
Shiiik! Slash!
Two more down in sequence.
Ten gone in seconds; by the time Mr. Chang leaped in, twelve total.
Despite the losses, Mr. Chang was confident—he could take him.
Fast, yes, but not beyond his sight. Up close, he'd end it.
Wrong.
Dodging Mr. Chang's incoming blade, Jang Cheon slashed another on the left.
Up close, Jang Cheon's speed and power felt different—overwhelming.
For an instant, Mr. Chang met his eyes. His heart sank.
'Gasp!'
Jang Cheon's gaze was utterly serene.
Moving like a demon, sword a blur—yet eyes clear as a still pond.
Even after fifteen kills, his breath steady.
'A true master!'
Not showy, not half-baked—a real one.
Several—no, dozens of levels above, yet fighting as if just one step ahead.
Fishing for complacency or peak efficiency—either way, one truth.
'We're fucked.'