Chapter 15
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Beggars' Sect Division in Dali
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No matter where in the world you went, finding a branch of the Beggars' Sect was never that difficult.
After all, to scrape by on begging, they had to plant themselves at bustling thoroughfares where crowds passed through constantly—that was essential.
And beggars, that rootless bunch with no homes to speak of, rarely drew any meaningful line between their workplace and their sleeping quarters anyway.
Which naturally led to the wide culverts under bridges—prime begging spots—devolving into beggars' dens as a matter of course.
And among those dens, pegging the one under the biggest bridge as the local Beggars' Sect branch usually panned out nine times out of ten.
'At a place like Dali, it's more fitting to call it a division than just a branch.'
Gwang-il trudged casually down under the bridge, and the sheer absurdity—and rising irritation—of it all only grew sharper for it.
Across this vast expanse of Yunnan territory, studded with Beggars' Sect branches, the only ones beefy enough to qualify as divisions were right here in Dali—the old Dali Kingdom's capital—and Kunming, the provincial seat off to the east.
How could they have been utterly blind to the Sichuan Tang Clan slithering all the way to Dali to work their schemes?
They'd been pulling strings on the Yun Merchants for decades now, a ploy handed down from generations past.
'Even if it's merchant-world business outside the martial fray.'
This was gross negligence on a scale where they'd have no comeback even if cursed to high heaven.
"Hoo."
At least Gwang-il's past-life memories gave him a pretty positive view of the Beggars' Sect, so he was holding back— as much as he could—from assuming they'd ditched their sense of justice and gone rogue.
'If that's really the case... then even I won't have a choice.'
Was it because it'd been ages since he'd last set foot in a reeking beggars' den?
The nostalgic mug of some old beggar kept flashing unbidden before his eyes, and Gwang-il found himself muttering unheard excuses under his breath.
He moved with the easy familiarity of stepping into his own home, right up to the tattered tent smeared in mystery grime, when—
"Eeeh?! Stop stop stop!"
A few beggars who'd been lurking in the bridge shadows, eyeballing him hard, came charging out in a pack to block his path in a panic.
"What's this? Huh? What kinda bungled stunt is this? Yeah? Gwang-il, third-gen disciple of Point Cang Sword Sect?"
'They know me?'
It'd barely been half a day since he'd come down from the mountains.
Yet spotting his identity on sight proved these guys weren't as useless as he'd feared—a point in their favor.
"......"
His train of thought inevitably veered toward grim assumptions, his face hardening colder by the second in the ripple effect.
Unaware or not of why, one of the beggars who'd rushed to bar his way bulged his googly eyes and erupted in a bellow.
"Hey! A fresh-faced rookie barely dipping a toe in the jianghu—how dare you hold your head so high in front of your martial seniors! Huh?!"
"Huh? What? We're the seniors?"
"That right? Isn't he the eldest disciple? Sect Leader's disciple's disciple...?"
While the frontman threw his weight around, the ones behind buzzed among themselves, swapping doubts.
For the Division Leader, itching to play the big shot in front of some greenhorn for once, it crumpled his dignity in an instant.
"You beggar bastards?! Shut it! How dare you bare your empty heads when the Division Leader speaks...!"
He whipped his head around and spat the words in a froth.
The beggars flinched, one by one sealing their lips behind sullen scowls.
They knew from bitter experience: poking that hair-trigger temper just got your own bowl smashed.
"Ahem! Kh-hm! Ahem!"
He'd just wrapped up the housecleaning and squared up to drone on sternly again when—
A soft murmur drifted into the Division Leader's ear, crusted with dried snot, something utterly out-of-left-field for him.
"I'm here for information on the Sichuan Tang Clan."
"Huh? Tang Clan? Why's a Point Cang third-gen suddenly after the Tangs?"
"......"
It hadn't even been an hour since he'd hashed things out with his master at Iron Sword turf.
News not reaching here yet was no surprise—he'd ditched the snooping beggars there early and bolted ahead precisely for that.
Considering beggars gathered intel but the rank-and-file were endless-sack newbies or one-knot rookies, he still had a slim time buffer.
And he'd ghosted all the way from the Tang safehouse to Iron Sword turf avoiding people just for this moment.
So now was the time to nail down if this beggar was stonewalling with a poker face or genuinely clueless.
"...Why the scary glare?"
"......"
"No wait—I'm not into guys! If you're eyeing my handsome mug for something..."
"Spare me the nonsense. Information on the Sichuan Tang Clan. Got any?"
Gwang-il sliced through the Beggars' Sect classic cheeky probe and seized the conversation reins again.
No solid proof yet in hand.
With beggar scouts from Iron Sword turf due back anytime, he had to force some closure one way or another.
"Look, that's why I'm asking—why the sudden Tang hunt?"
"You dodge my question and keep yapping irrelevancies."
"...No, but our young hero here's been half-tongued since..."
"Guess Shadow Gate's the faster route."
"Wh-what?!"
He turned on his heel, cold as if done here.
The Division Leader's face twisted in frantic alarm.
No trace left of leveraging jianghu hierarchy for dominance.
He had no choice but to panic.
"Hey, wait! Shadow Gate?! A Point Cang disciple blowing off the Beggars' Sect for those clowns...!"
"No time for games when Point Cang faces an urgent crisis."
"?!"
"You scrape intel in our sect's turf like you own it, then stonewall like this. I'll make sure to report the Beggars' Sect's stance to the Sect Leader..."
"Whoa whoa whoa! W-wait! Waaait!"
Something had gone catastrophically wrong—terribly so.
Sensing doom, the Division Leader lunged forward on frantic legs to block Gwang-il's path solid.
Letting this insolent third-gen walk now felt like it'd shatter the sweet honeypot he'd been supping under Point Cang's blind eye all these years.
But before he could string more words—
"Flying Swallow! Fliilying Swaaallow!"
Crash-tumble-clang!
A figure dropped into the bridge underbelly with maximum racket.
Landing smack between Division Leader and Gwang-il like it was scripted, another beggar flushed beet-red spewed info in a torrent.
"We got it! Turns out the ones who massacred Iron Sword Gang were Point Cang's... Eek?!"
The beggar, babbling his hot scoop, spotted Gwang-il looming and yelped, leaping back in terror.
"Wh-why's that merciless bastard here?!"
"......What a sight. Truly a sight to behold."
Amid the chaotic circus denying any clear judgment, Gwang-il clutched his pounding head and issued his final warning.
"One last time: information on the Sichuan Tang Clan. Have it?"
"No, I mean..."
'What? Why? Why the hell Sichuan Tang out of nowhere from Point Cang?!'
His master Tong-cheon—the thunderbolt geezer—had passed through just hours ago.
Unlike grilling about Iron Sword turf then, now it was Tang Clan out of the blue...
"Truly clueless? Or hiding what you know?"
"...?"
But Gwang-il gave the Division Leader no breather to mull it over.
Just pinned him with icy, ruthless eyes.
"You stay mum, so every calamity hitting the Beggars' Sect from here on is your karma."
"N-no, wait! Just a sec...!"
The Division Leader's face crumpled into outright pitiable ruin.
Calamity?
Karma?!
What fresh bullshit was this?!
He glanced sideways: the trusted scout to Iron Sword wore a look like facing a mortal foe.
'......What the hell's going down in Dali right now?'
Whatever it was, one thing was crystal: couldn't let this guy walk.
Gulping a thick glob of spit, the Division Leader flipped to a affable grin.
"Aigoo! Sichuan Tang Clan info? 'Course we got it! Plenty! We got a division smack in their capital, Chengdu—tight collab on all sorts."
"......That's it?"
"...Huh? What more d'you need? You said Tang Clan, right? Here for Tang Clan dirt?"
Innocent eyes blinking back like a cow, puzzled why the curveball now.
"......"
Gwang-il stared silently into those bovine blinks a beat.
Lips twitching as if weighing odds, he finally threw his gamble to seal the verdict.
"You know Iron Sword Gang snatched the Iron Sword market brats."
"Ah, yeah... we knew, but... Point Cang's face and all, we couldn't just barge in guns blazing..."
Fearing the stain of knowing full well yet standing by, the Division Leader rattled off his prepped excuses in a rush.
"I was just about to send boys up Point Cang to tip 'em off. And if shit really hits, we'd step up first to crush those bastards..."
"Sichuan Tang Clan."
"...do it...? Huh? What?"
The name cut his ramble dead.
As the Division Leader failed to mask his bafflement at the recurring wildcard—
Gwang-il, never breaking eye contact, finally dropped the core bomb.
"Sichuan Tang Clan set up and backed Iron Sword Gang."
"Wh-what?! Tang Clan?! Why would the Tangs prop up trash like that...!"
"Got it straight from Iron Sword Gang, tracked their safehouse myself, hit it. Saw the Venom Dragon Captain and a pack of Tang Clan goons there."
"?!"
Mouth agape, eyes bugged, speechless.
Not just the Division Leader—every beggar around froze in matching shock.
'......Not them.'
Those dopey, slack-jawed faces hilariously eased Gwang-il's tension at last.
A couple could fake it, sure—but a dozen-plus all at once? Impossible.
Especially blindsided by a bombshell like that.
'Beggars' Sect is still Beggars' Sect.'
At least in the justice they held dear.
Separate from that, they were hopelessly inept compared to what he remembered—but still.
Right on cue, a shrill yell pierced from the bridge above, cementing his conviction.
"Division Leeeader! Flying Swallow!! Fliilying Swaaallow!"
A nimble beggar vaulted down from above and unloaded his haul in a rush.
"Sichuan Tang Clan's Venom Dragon Captain showed at Iron Sword market! But he's a total wreck—get this, turns out Point Cang's third-gen did him in... Eek?!"
In his haste to spill the beans, he clocked the intruder late.
Realizing that face matched the guy who'd chucked Venom Dragon Captain like trash at Iron Sword market, the beggar recoiled in ghost-struck horror.
"......Hoo."
Suddenly bathed in queasy, sticky stares again, Gwang-il mused.
To whip these ambiguously inept, rowdy beggars into shape... it'd take a good long while.