Chapter 30
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Exemplar - 2
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"How the hell did it come to this?"
The misty steam hung thick over Osek Mountain, but no one answered. The room felt ice-cold.
In the underground chamber beneath Blue Flower Pavilion, Yong Heuk-sal hurled the pure gold cup he'd been holding. Thud, clatter... The golden cup punched straight through the wall, a testament to the Flying Heaven Golden Blade's fury.
Some questions had no answers. No matter how clever or quick-witted anyone was, this was a riddle beyond solving.
Why had the Slaughter Squad died?
They were the elites. A force that could stand toe-to-toe with the famed Wind Division of the Huangfu Clan without suffering major losses. It had taken them nearly a decade of making names for themselves in the underworld just to qualify as the lowest ranks.
They weren't deployed for drawn-out battles where losses were expected. They struck for assassinations, moving only when a brutal example was needed to remind everyone who ruled the night. The face of the Dragon Star Clan could not be shattered so disgracefully.
"Little one. Did I misjudge the enemy's strength?"
"No, sir."
He ran through the possibilities. Banheon-sang, the vanguard of the Dragon Star Clan—could he really have been so weak as to fall to some nameless foot soldier without even a title?
No.
Then had there been a flaw in their intelligence network? The Huangfu Clan, bloated beyond measure since clashing with them—had they dispatched an expert?
"That's highly unlikely."
The voice of the Ten Thousand Ghosts Prodigy trembled. Yong Heuk-sal was all too familiar with that reaction. Fear—the emotion he so loved to savor.
Those who prided themselves on sharp minds always reacted the same. When everything flowed according to plan, they could brush off minor errors within the margin with bold nonchalance. But the moment predictions started to falter, their voices began to shake.
Doubting themselves. Denying reality. Yong Heuk-sal relished seeing his enemies crack like that. It had been the same when he'd first conquered Bul Mountain. The same when he'd threatened that uppity merchant leader who dared rebel. Striking from beyond the frame of their thoughts—that was the Flying Heaven Golden Blade's specialty.
"Mountain Lord, just give me a little time, and I swear... I swear I'll uncover who's behind this. Please, trust this Ten Thousand Ghosts Prodigy."
But at some point, the tables had turned. The enemy's identity was murky. Their martial prowess, unknown. Even the reason for gathering the drifters was a mystery. That unpleasant squeeze around his heart made Yong Heuk-sal reach for his cup again.
One more flash of that terrified look, and he'd smash Harung's skull.
"M-Mountain Lord. A guest has arrived."
"Fuck, can't you see we're in the middle of something important?"
"Don't blame him too harshly. I insisted on coming. Sorry for dropping in unannounced."
Until someone cut the tension short.
A swordsman appeared out of nowhere in the corridor. He casually caught the cup Yong Heuk-sal had flung in rage and set it down on the table. A flawless display of skill.
At minimum, first-rate. Only someone on the level of the late Banheon-sang could pull off a trick like that.
"What business does an Anhui ronin have with me?"
Yong Heuk-sal's eyes narrowed. The mysterious swordsman's identity was plain as day. Pitch-black robes, a cheap mask over his face. And crucially, the blue tassel dangling from his sword. It was Black Shadow Sword, the ronin who made a name for himself in Anhui.
He was infamous for obsessively hiding his true identity, but even more renowned for his swordsmanship. Few ronin maintained peak mastery like he did.
"I've come to make a deal."
"Sorry, but we're not in any position to do business right now."
"That's exactly what I came to deal about."
Yong Heuk-sal's eyes narrowed further.
"Hire me."
"How much are you thinking?"
"Money and lives."
A portrait fluttered onto the table. A thin gaze lingered on it. A man in a hat and a girl—the faces he'd seen so bitterly over the past few days. Yong Heuk-sal's slender fingers twitched for a moment.
Thwip. Flying needles shot out, pinning it through the faces to the table.
"I'll cooperate on the condition that you kill these two. We'll settle the detailed payment afterward."
"It's almost too sweet. Makes me wary."
"I took on a commission from the Hua Clan that I can't handle alone. I need your help. And you need mine."
Yong Heuk-sal understood. The offer Black Shadow Sword brought at this moment was suspicious. The timing, the details, even the reward—it was all too perfectly coincidental.
But.
The Flying Heaven Golden Blade thought of his crumbling sect. The authority crumbling away so swiftly.
"Harung, come up with a plan."
"Yes, sir. We'll definitely prove if the Huangfu Clan's scheme is behind this bloodshed..."
"Not that."
If he could fill the void left by the wiped-out Slaughter Squad, he could seize the advantage again. Crush them thoroughly, and he could restore his damaged prestige.
"For now, don't look too far ahead. We can set the Huangfu pigs aside for the moment."
They'd be tearing their hair out over losing their forces in Jiangming too. It wasn't a bad situation to use as leverage against their sacrifices.
The enemy was a laughable upstart group. What did they think they could do gathering starving commoners who didn't know the first thing about martial arts? He just needed to nip it in the bud before it grew. This had been the right call all along.
While he and Black Shadow Sword dealt with those two, he'd sweep the rest aside. Then there'd be no more suspicious movements.
"We'll wage war."
If the chance arose, he decided. Yong Heuk-sal resolved to do it.
The spark had been something trivial. The kind of thing they'd normally just swallow.
Some kids had slipped out to forage without permission and run into the wrong people. They were humiliated in front of everyone by a Dragon Star Clan patrol guard. One boy, unable to bear the excessive abuse, protested through tears—and he became the example.
He was beaten until his facial bones caved in. They barely dragged him home before he stopped breathing.
In that boy's group was a kid named Jeong Yeop. An orphan without parents, he was nimble and spirited, serving as the leader of the orphans. Seeing the gravely injured boy, Jeong Yeop told the others.
We can't just take this lying down.
A nine-year-old had been beaten to the brink of death. All for refusing to hand over eight out of ten parts of their foraged haul. Starve to death or get beaten to death—it was all the same, they all agreed. At least they could die with a clear conscience.
It spread.
Jeong Yeop's words lingered like a ghost over the streets. We can't just live taking this. We can't just keep getting beaten.
It spread.
At the shrine maiden's gatherings, they witnessed grace. They saw blocked meridians strengthen and harden. Those infused with true qi unleashed monstrous strength. Someone even emerged claiming to have beaten a Dragon Star red pole. Everyone prayed desperately for the shrine maiden's blessing.
And the fire ignited.
"Where's that fucking shrine maiden bitch!"
The Dragon Star Clan's red poles rampaged through the streets, claiming they'd disband the shady gatherings. The cowards who would tuck tail and flee at the mere sight of her beat people, struck them, threatened them. Murderous intent mixed into the gazes watching from inside houses.
Some realized it. They'd come too far from their base. Others remembered fragments of martial arts learned back home before becoming drifters. Still others gnashed their teeth.
We can't just take this lying down.
"You gonna move or not, you fucking bastards?"
Red poles, true to their name.
They carried clubs carved from paulownia wood. Whenever something bruised the Dragon Star Clan's dignity, they'd swing them. Once commoners' blood soaked in and turned them red, they became "red poles." As the evil faction's main muscle, they were the ones out front terrorizing people.
Which was why.
If someone rebelled against the evil faction, the red poles would be the first to face them.
"..."
One red pole glanced around. Yusa-ta, the squad leader nearest the drifters' streets. He sensed the mood had shifted. It wasn't the usual. It felt... like that night when his friends had been massacred.
What was different from normal?
The ones who would normally scatter at the sight of a club just stood there blankly. More than one or two glares bored into him from the houses. The shanties of the slums stretched out, and before he knew it, he'd wandered deep inside. No sign of people anywhere he looked.
They'd cleared it out on purpose.
"F-Fuck!"
Whoosh, whoosh. He swung the club wide deliberately. Red poles couldn't show fear. Couldn't run. He had his five comrades on the patrol with him.
But then—thud. He blinked, and suddenly their backs were pressed together. A sidelong glance caught panicked eyes meeting his.
They were surrounded by drifters. Cold stares fixed on him. Gaunt, feeble things with skin stretched over bones, watching him impassively.
Eerie. Unsettling disconnect.
"Eyes down, you shits!"
No response. Gulp. Someone swallowed. The air crackled with tension, one spark from explosion.
Dusk had fallen before he knew it. They'd set out in daylight—how was it evening already? Winter days were short. The sun sinking behind the western mountains blazed a blinding crimson.
A gust of wind made one red pole rub his eyes.
"Damn it, we should head b—"
The next instant, what he saw was a drifter's hand lunging straight for him.