To Touch What Is Mine

The martial robes of the Iron Soul Unit were periodically collected, sent to the washhouses in the outer fortress, laundered, and redistributed. Wi Geum-seong and Dokgo Jin took advantage of this mundane routine, using a covert agent embedded in the outer ward to exchange messages. Conversely, if Dokgo Jin ever needed to initiate contact himself, they had agreed upon a specific tavern situated within the outer castle grounds.

Until tonight, however, Dokgo Jin had never once used that emergency channel.

Once the evening meal was finished, alliance members were generally free to venture into the outer fortress unless special duties demanded otherwise. Thanks to this routine freedom, no one harbored the slightest suspicion when Dokgo Jin stepped out into the bustling outer sector for the first time in weeks.

The outer fortress was immense, home to dozens upon dozens of taverns and eating houses. Among that vast sea of establishments, Dokgo Jin made his way toward an isolated corner.

The Stone Hearth Tavern.

Tucked away in a quiet alley, it was a modest drinking house furnished with merely four tables. While its tranquil, unhurried ambiance was not unpleasant, the exorbitant prices kept most patrons away, leaving it almost perpetually deserted.

As Dokgo Jin stepped across the threshold and took a seat, an elderly man—evidently the proprietor—shuffled over. In an establishment this small, the old man seemed to run the entire place on his own.

"What'll it be?" the elder grunted, looking thoroughly disinclined to serve anyone.

"A bottle of Gold Tribute Clear Wine. No snacks."

Gold Tribute Clear Wine was a premium liquor produced predominantly in Guizhou. Though fiercely potent, it was renowned across the realm for its heady fragrance and exceptionally clean finish.

At Dokgo Jin's words, the old man started.

"Asking for Gold Tribute in Shanxi? Have you lost your wits? A backwater joint like ours doesn't stock that."

"Then bring me a bottle of White Dry Liquor."

White Dry Liquor was the exact antithesis of Gold Tribute—the cheapest, harshest swill to be found.

The old man offered no further reply. Retreating into the kitchen in silence, he soon reemerged carrying an earthenware bottle and a small dish of seasoned wild greens.

"Gulping down cheap rotgut on an empty stomach will ruin your guts," the old man muttered, setting them down. "Take the greens on the house. Eat up."

"Much obliged."

Left alone at his table, Dokgo Jin tipped the bottle and filled his cup to the brim.

Right at that moment, a voice brushed faintly against the drums of his mind via sound transmission.

[I greet the Young Master.]

The speaker behind the secret transmission was Nam Ho, one of Wi Geum-seong's most trusted retainers. Dokgo Jin had been introduced to him before ever setting foot on Sword Selling Street, and remembered him well.

Keeping his expression entirely neutral, Dokgo Jin lifted his cup and drained the fiery liquid. A searing burn clawed at his throat, drawing a subtle, involuntary furrow to his brow.

[Forgive me for reaching out so abruptly, Young Master. The truth is...]

Dokgo Jin poured another measure and sipped slowly as he listened to the voice in his mind.

[...Master Wi strictly forbade me from uttering a single word. But I judged that this is a matter the Young Master must know.]

Dokgo Jin answered without a flicker of outward movement, his voice slipping soundlessly into the air.

[You did well.]

Perched unseen amidst the rafters of the tavern's tiled roof, Nam Ho flinched in sheer astonishment.

‘How could he...?!’

To return a secret sound transmission, one had to pinpoint the precise location of the listener's internal energy signature. For Dokgo Jin to respond ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so casually and accurately from beneath the ceiling was nothing short of miraculous.

‘He truly is the Young ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Master!’

Refilling his empty cup, Dokgo Jin projected his voice once more.

[Return at once and make preparations. I shall reach the Golden Frog Money House within three days—no, within two.]

[Your command will be obeyed.]

With that, their exchange drew to a close. Dokgo Jin drank down about half the bottle before rising from his seat. Through it all, not a single other patron had crossed the doorway.

Approaching the counter, Dokgo Jin addressed the old proprietor. "How much do I owe you?"

"Twenty copper coins."

For a single bottle of harsh swill, it was a highwayman's price. Yet Dokgo Jin paid the coins without a word of protest and stepped out into the night air.

Yeom Baek's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Your master's... death anniversary?"

Dokgo Jin put on a somber countenance and offered a slow nod. "Yes. I wish to make a brief journey to pay my respects before my master's burial mound."

"And where would that be?"

"In Gansu Province, near Lanzhou."

Yeom Baek stroked his bearded chin with a troubled frown. "Hmm. I certainly understand how you feel, but... Lanzhou is terribly far, isn't it? Disciplinary regulations make it rather difficult to grant extended leave to a newcomer who only just returned from an assignment."

His hesitation fell well within Dokgo Jin's expectations.

Assuming a solemn, deliberate expression, Dokgo Jin leaned in slightly. "Truth be told, the memorial is merely a pretext... My real purpose lies in an old cultivation cave near that area."

"A cultivation cave?"

"Yes. It is the sanctuary where I lived and trained alongside my master. For me, it is the place where my heart is most at ease, and my thoughts are at their clearest."

A flicker of keen interest ignited in Yeom Baek's eyes. "Does that mean..."

"The truth is, my journey to the Namgung Clan yielded far more than expected. I came away with a profound new insight regarding the sword, and I require undisturbed time to consolidate it."

At that admission, Yeom Baek's rugged face brightened into an open grin. "Hahaha! So that was it! Why didn't you just say so from the start?"

"The realization had not yet settled into certainty, so I was hesitant to speak of it prematurely."

"Aye, you're right about that. The Iron Heart Hall is crawling with hot-blooded brutes who never shut their traps; quiet, secluded meditation is near impossible here. When one's martial senses are raw and primed for a breakthrough, there's no better forge than familiar ground."

Yeom Baek nodded vigorously, granting his consent without an ounce of reluctance. As a warrior of the spear himself, he understood better than anyone how sacred and fleeting moments of martial enlightenment could be.

"How long do you think it will take?"

"Approximately fifteen days should suffice."

To Dokgo Jin's surprise, Yeom Baek shook his head.

"Just making the round trip to Lanzhou would push fifteen days to the brink. That won't do."

"..."

"If it were entirely up to me, I'd give you a full month. But if you disappear for that long, the upper ranks will have my hide... So I'll give you exactly twenty days. Will that do?"

Dokgo Jin bowed deeply. "Thank you, Squad Leader."

"If you're truly grateful, make sure you come back that much stronger, Dragon Tiger Plaque Master."

"I shall keep that in mind."

"I'll be waiting to see what you've forged."

Without wasting another breath, Dokgo Jin departed the Northern Heavens Fortress. Once he passed beyond the towering fortress gates and reached a deserted expanse where no prying eyes lingered, his figure blurred into a streak of black lightning and vanished into the distance.

Clang! Cl-clang!

Wi Geum-seong's blade traced a sweeping silver crescent, deflecting the concurrent thrusts of two charging Ghost Demon Sect martial artists in a single motion. But his steel did not stop there. In a seamless, fluid pirouette, the razor edge reversed, cleaving through the empty space between them.

Squelch!

"Ghk!"

"Aargh!"

Grievous wounds split their chests wide open. Both men collapsed heavily to the stone pavers, dead before they hit the ground.

"Haaah... haaah..."

Wi Geum-seong gasped for breath, his trembling fingers tightening their grip on the hilt. His once-neat white hair was wildly disheveled, matted with sweat and grime, and fresh crimson oozed steadily from deep gashes across his shoulder and thigh.

Scattered across the bloodstained courtyard lay the corpses of a dozen Golden Frog guards mingled with those of ten Ghost Demon Sect assailants. Yet even with their fallen brethren littering the flagstones, dozens more sect zealots tightened their encirclement around the old master, radiating suffocating killing intent.

Even so, Wi Geum-seong's gaze did not waver.

‘Come, then,’ he resolved silently, glaring through the red haze in his vision. ‘Until the breath leaves my lungs, I'll drag ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as many of you mongrels into the underworld as I can.’

As he stood his ground, glaring down the circle of blades, a mocking voice drifted from the deep shadows.

"Not bad at all, Bank Master Wi."

The ranks of assassins parted, yielding passage to a man wearing a grotesque ghost mask that exposed only his cruel lower jaw.

It was Doksimma, the Vice Sect Leader of the Ghost Demon Sect.

The damp, clammy demonic qi rolling off his frame was so oppressive that the nearby torches flickered and sputtered in fear.

"I took you for nothing more than a withered old ginger root who only knew how to flick an abacus and balance ledgers," Doksimma sneered, his lips curling beneath the lacquered visage. "To think you could actually wield sword qi. I wondered what gave an old merchant the insolence to poke his nose into the Kunlun Demon Palace, but it seems you had some petty martial skills to back your arrogance."

"Hmph."

Wi Geum-seong wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a rasping chuckle. "Do you truly think that is all you are ignorant of?"

Ever since Dokgo Jin's return and his subsequent entry into the Northern Heavenly Alliance, Wi Geum-seong had pursued the investigation into the perpetrators with reckless fervor. He had longed to provide even the slightest shred of useful intelligence to his young master, who had thrown himself directly into perilous territory.

Wi Geum-seong had focused his inquiries primarily on the Kunlun Demon Palace. His reasoning mirrored that of Namgung I-hyeon: if someone wished to fabricate treasonous collusion between the Dokgo Clan and the Demonic Cult, the Western Hegemon had been in the most advantageous position to orchestrate the lie.

Yet his zeal had proven his undoing.

His clandestine movements had crossed the path of the Ghost Demon Sect, a violent outfit that prided itself on being a secular subsidiary of the Kunlun Demon Palace.

Initially, he had bought their silence with substantial bribes. But the Ghost Demon Sect was an insatiable beast; their demands swelled exponentially until the sums they extorted were far beyond what the money house could reasonably sustain.

When Wi Geum-seong dug his heels in and refused further payouts, the extortionists finally unsheathed their claws, culminating in tonight's blood-soaked raid.

He had foreseen this outcome, of course. But the overt combat strength of the Golden Frog Money House had never been suited to wage open war against a ruthless martial sect. Thus, Wi Geum-seong had deliberately concealed the organization's true covert personnel, resolving to stand at the vanguard alone and face the onslaught. Even if he perished tonight, the foundation he had built would endure in secret, allowing his surviving subordinates to continue aiding Dokgo Jin from the shadows.

"You certainly are an old codger with many secrets," Doksimma said, rolling his shoulders casually. "I'll grant you one final opportunity, Wi Geum-seong. Hand over the deeds and full ownership of the Golden Frog Money House to our sect."

"...What?"

"Do that, and I'll spare your miserable life. Keep your head down and obey our orders, and I might even keep you on as our head accountant. Your commercial talents aren't half-bad, after all."

"You wish to devour everything I have poured my life's blood into without lifting a single finger."

"Precisely. But isn't a ruined livelihood far better than a cold grave?"

"Shut your filthy mouth."

"Is that your answer? Well, I anticipated as much."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Doksimma chuckled, a wet, rattling sound, as he drew the heavy saber resting at his hip.

Shing!

A wave of frigid, murderous intent rippled across the courtyard.

"Then die."

Whoosh!

The moment the syllable left his lips, Doksimma vanished.

Wi Geum-seong's pupils shrank to needlepoints. With his eyesight, tracking a martial artist of Doksimma's caliber was near impossible.

‘I will not go down easily!’

Relying purely on honed warrior instincts, Wi Geum-seong raised his blade horizontally across his chest.

BOOM!

The thunderous collision forced a shrill shriek from the vibrating steel.

Even though he had intercepted the trajectory, the chasm in their internal cultivation was simply insurmountable. Wi Geum-seong's frail body was hurled backward like a cannonball, crashing violently into the courtyard wall.

Crash!

"Guh...!"

Before the cloud of powdered brick and plaster could even settle, Doksimma tore through the dust. Wi Geum-seong gritted his teeth and staggered back to his feet, swinging with desperate frenzy.

Clang! Cl-clang!

Three rapid exchanges.

Wi Geum-seong poured every remnant of his strength into his defense, but Doksimma's blade cleaved viciously through every parry, hounding him like a phantom. On the fourth clash, the heavy spine of Doksimma's saber battered down across the old man's wrist.

Smack!

"Khh!"

A sickening crack echoed as his wrist gave way. Numb fingers involuntarily unclasped, sending his sword spinning into the air before it impaled the ground several paces away.

Completely disarmed and defenseless, Wi Geum-seong felt the biting frost of an edge press directly against his throat.

"Not bad, but your battlefield reflexes have grown terribly dull," Doksimma chuckled, resting the blade firmly against his skin. "Though I suppose the outcome would have been the same regardless."

"..."

"Shall I sever your head right here? Or should I extend one last mercy?"

The razor-sharp saber qi nicked the taut skin of Wi Geum-seong's throat, drawing a crimson rivulet down his collar.

"Our Sect Leader did instruct me that if possible, we should keep you alive to run the trade. Fine, then. I shall ask for the very last time: will you hand over the money house, Bank Master Wi?"

Wi Geum-seong clenched his jaw until his gums bled.

‘Is this as far as I go?’

He closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, the calm, resolute countenance of Dokgo Jin surfaced.

‘Forgive me, Young Master... This foolish old servant shall depart first and wait upon the late Lord Dokgo in the afterlife.’

Opening his eyes once more, Wi Geum-seong glared straight into the grotesque visage before him and roared, "In your dreams, Doksimma! Even if you strike me down, you dogs will never possess the Golden Frog Money House!"

A cruel, disdainful grin pulled at Doksimma's exposed lips.

"So terribly predictable. You really do underestimate us, Wi Geum-seong."

Doksimma hoisted his saber overhead. The virulent blue-green sheen of saber qi clinging to the steel flared with ravenous intensity.

"Watch from the yellow springs as we swallow your precious bank whole."

The steel screamed through the air, plunging toward Wi Geum-seong's exposed neck.

Yet in that razor-thin fraction of an instant—

Every sound in the world abruptly died.

"...?!"

Doksimma's descending saber froze midway in the air.

Wi Geum-seong's ragged gasps, the rustle of clothing, even the predatory shifting of the Ghost Demon Sect fighters—all of it ground to an impossible, suffocating halt. It was as though an unseen hand had reached out and frozen the flow of time itself, draping the courtyard in absolute, suffocating stillness.

No, it was not mere stillness.

It was an overwhelming, primordial terror.

It was a spine-chilling cold so absolute that even Doksimma, an assassin who had slaughtered hundreds in cold blood, felt his muscles lock in sheer animal dread.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps sounded from the gloom.

Not a single soul present had sensed the faintest trace of a living presence, yet the steady cadence of leather striking stone echoed with terrifying clarity.

"...!"

Before anyone could turn, someone was already standing directly behind Doksimma.

It was a man cloaked in an abyss of pitch-black darkness, as though night itself had gathered into human form.

"You dare lay a hand on my person."

The voice was low, devoid of inflection.

Yet it pressed down upon Doksimma's chest with a weight heavier than falling thunder, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

"I trust you are prepared for the consequences?"

"...?"

Wi Geum-seong strained against the agony racking his frame, slowly turning his head.

Beyond his blood-blurred vision stood a figure at once deeply familiar and dearly missed—yet exuding a dreadful, unfathomable shadow that made the entire Ghost Demon Sect seem like harmless gnats by comparison.

Dokgo Jin had arrived.