New Threat (6)
There were three men drinking at the table.
They were dressed identically in practical hoods and robes, with no concern for style.
Hired swords from the faction, Dang Ryong guessed.
And his guess was spot on.
These three warriors had been employed at the Jegal family’s main residence in Yongzhong.
More than ten jars of liquor were stacked on the table. With the three of them knocking it all back, it was no wonder they were utterly hammered.
“Even if he’s just a kid, heading to Shaolin Temple means he’s got real skill. But that fool of a second young master went and messed with him—couldn’t expect anything less than a beatdown!”
One warrior spat venom about the second young master of the Jegal family, only for the others to shoot back.
“Nah, the guy’s a moron, sure, but not that bad.”
“Right? Who could’ve guessed a brat not even in his twenties and his crew would pack that kind of punch?”
Despite their defense, the first warrior bellowed even louder.
“Bullshit! The Jegal family’s nothing but hot air without their first young master Jegal Seong—hot air, I tell ya!”
The Jegal family had produced so many talents they were scattered across the Central Plains like clouds. There was even a saying that if you wanted to badmouth them, you’d better do it in an empty bamboo grove where no one could hear.
Yet here these warriors were, mocking the Jegal second young master without a care as they swigged their booze.
That was when it happened. A shadow appeared silently behind the drunken, chattering warriors.
Swish.
“What’s the kid’s name?”
The drunk warrior mistook the voice for one of his comrades and answered without thinking.
“The kid? Lemme think… Yi Baek or somethin’?”
“Yi Baek? Like the Poet Immortal?”
“Oh yeah! Not Yi Baek—Seo Baek! That’s it, Seo Baek!”
“The kid not even twenty, lugging around a greatsword bigger than himself?”
“You know damn well, urp!”
“And the kid’s heading to Shaolin?”
“Yup! Every damn Murim punk worships Shaolin. Why would a squirt like him be any different?”
“I see.”
The shadow nodded quietly. It was, of course, Dang Ryong.
There was no doubt the boy these warriors described was the one he was hunting.
A youth not yet twenty, carrying a massive greatsword. It matched exactly what the Ami faction nun had spilled under interrogation.
Shaolin Temple? Perfect timing.
The clan leader’s order: sever the head of the one who killed Dang Hong and Dang Jo Jeong, and place it on the eaves of Shaolin’s reception hall.
Dang Ryong had been looking forward to clashing with the boy swordsman, but schlepping the severed head all the way to Shaolin had secretly irked him.
Who knew the kid would deliver himself right there?
For Dang Ryong, it was killing two birds with one stone.
Push through the revenant horde at full speed to Song Mountain. Then wait for the kid to show.
He’d planned to crash at the inn for the night, but that was scrapped now.
The Sichuan Tang Clan had discovered Dang Hong and Dang Jo Jeong’s corpses about two weeks after their deaths.
By then, the boy had already left Shu Dao Pass, meaning Dang Ryong was at least two weeks behind.
To close that gap, he had to move fast.
Time to go. Now.
The warriors, oblivious to his presence, kept blabbering away.
“But that blue-robed bastard—that’s the real monster, right?”
“Eh? Didn’t seem like much to me.”
“You blind? Our squad leader got his head lopped off by one swing from the guy!”
“That’s on your squad leader bein’ a scrub.”
“You son of a—!”
“Wanna go?”
The warriors grabbed each other by the collars, on the verge of brawling.
That was when they spotted Dang Ryong turning to leave the table.
“Who the hell are you? You… you heard everything we said?”
Dang Ryong didn’t answer, just kept walking.
No point wasting words on weaklings. It only pissed him off.
Only then did the warriors realize they’d spilled every scrap of intel to him. One stood up.
“Hey! You eavesdrop on valuable info, you pay up!”
“……”
Dang Ryong ignored him and strode on. The warrior reached out to grab his shoulder.
“Deaf or what? Buy a jar of booze at least!”
“Get your filthy hand off me.”
In an instant, Dang Ryong’s form glided forward like silk on ice. The warrior’s hand grasped empty air. Then a flash of light streaked through.
Splat.
By the time the warrior came to his senses, Dang Ryong had already exited the inn.
“That bastard…!”
Fuming at the dismissal, the warrior went to draw his sword.
But his hand felt numb.
Perplexed, he raised his arm—and a red ring appeared around his wrist. With a hiss, blood droplets welled up.
Then his cleanly severed hand dropped to the floor.
As the warrior’s agonized scream echoed like a wail from hell through the inn, Dang Ryong mounted his horse and rode toward Song Mountain and Shaolin Temple.
Seo Baek’s group unpacked in the room Gang Pyo had shown them to.
It was cramped but cozy. An oil lamp on the shelf chased away the gloom, and the earthen walls radiated lingering daytime warmth.
Being sealed underground made it stuffy, but it beat camping in the cold night dew by a mile—like heaven, really.
Soon, people brought food.
They looked like refugees, faces grim and silent, just like the ones they’d encountered covered in bloodstains earlier.
They seemed afraid of something.
Wang Yi Sam started to speak to them, but Seo Baek stopped him.
“Why hold back?”
“Murim sects have their own troubles. Best leave ’em be.”
“Tch, I know that much.”
Folks barely escaping a revenant horde with their lives wouldn’t be smiling, that much was clear.
And if there was more to it, Seo Baek wasn’t about to meddle.
The Underground Hall’s problems were theirs to bear.
No hero could shoulder the world’s burdens alone. That wasn’t heroism—it was hypocrisy.
The group ate the meal the Underground Hall provided.
It was simple: multigrain rice and stir-fried heartleaf. But compared to gnawing on hard, gritty emergency rations, it was a feast fit for kings.
After eating, they slept soundly for the first time in ages.
The next day, the Underground Hall assembled a search party at dawn.
Led by hall leader Gil Sang-baek and enforcer Gang Pyo, it consisted of thirty warriors. With the hall’s total at thirty-two, adding Seo Baek’s group of four made thirty-six—a solid number in these times.
Gil Sang-baek led his men to the surface.
Seo Baek’s group followed.
Climbing the bamboo ladder and emerging from the tunnel, they found the surface still dark before sunrise.
The brightly lit depths contrasted oddly with the gloomy ground above.
Soon, everyone was topside.
“I’ll explain our mission now.”
Gil Sang-baek began briefing Seo Baek’s group.
“The search party’s goal is to find the Shaolin monk. We’ve combed the surrounding woods for three days straight—no trace.”
With the nearby area cleared, today’s sweep would expand further.
But Gil Sang-baek specified the target.
“Today, we head to the cliff path, half a day from the Underground Hall.”
Seo Baek realized why they’d set out before dawn.
Makes sense.
Mountains saw quick sunsets. To reach half a day out and return before dark, an early start was essential.
Protecting his men’s safety was the leader’s duty, after all.
“Song Mountain had no cliff paths originally, but with the revenant hordes swarming the plains, Shaolin built new ones.”
One man sighed at that—Wang Yi Sam.
“Another damn cliff path? Gonna drive me nuts.”
During the Sichuan Tang Clan escort, he’d barely survived a wagon exploding on one.
No wonder he shuddered at the word.
Song Hyeon, familiar with Song Mountain’s terrain, explained.
“Song Mountain has seventy-two peaks. To avoid the revenant-infested flats and scale the cliffs, cliff paths are a must. That’s why Shaolin made new ones.”
Wang Yi Sam nodded but couldn’t shake his sour look.
“Got it. If Shaolin’s big shots did it, must be fine.”
Knowing Wang Yi Sam’s ordeal, Seo Baek offered encouragement.
“Better than running into a revenant horde midway, right?”
“Urgh.”
Just then, Joo Eun-ri glanced at Chorang peeking from her sleeve.
“Chorang, you’re not scared of cliff paths, are you?”
“Kyeng!”
“Even Chorang’s fine with it, but a grown man shaking like a leaf? Quite the sight.”
“What’d you say, you little brat!”
Wang Yi Sam roared, then clammed up as the Underground Hall men stared.
“Revenants starved of fresh blood for too long will lie shriveled like dead trees. But catch a whiff of it, and they could rise anytime.”
At Gil Sang-baek’s signal, his men handed cloth masks to Seo Baek’s group.
“Revenants sense the living not just by blood, but breath too. Cover your mouths.”
Info Seo Baek’s group already knew.
Gil Sang-baek skipped further revenant precautions.
Revenants detected the living in three ways: blood scent, breath, and emotional expressions.
They don’t know about the third.
Made sense, Seo Baek thought.
In the heart of revenant territory, getting spotted meant fight or flight. Unless your internal energy let you hold your breath forever, facial control was pointless.
Still, the Underground Hall’s preparations were more thorough than any group they’d seen.
Seo Baek, Song Hyeon—even Joo Eun-ri—with their superior breathing techniques, didn’t need masks.
But ignoring their courtesy would be rude.
They’d gotten a night’s lodging and food; bruising their pride might breed resentment.
Murim folk prize honor over substance. Bend their pride at your peril—unless you’re ready to make enemies.
Recalling his master’s words, Seo Baek donned the mask.
“Advance.”
At Gil Sang-baek’s order, the scouts took point.
The rest of the search party followed.
Each step was cautious, testing the ground.
Tripping on a rock or stump would be lucky.
But if something squishy met your sole instead of hard stone… you’d just stepped on a revenant rolling in the dirt.
Sunrise came soon after.
The party pressed on even in daylight.
About two hours into the forest trek, the lead scouts returned with a report.
“No revenants in sight. Cliff path’s clear.”
“Good.”
Gil Sang-baek nodded and addressed the group.
“Single file into the cliff path.”
His men formed neat lines at the command. Seo Baek’s group fell in at the front, four abreast becoming single file.
“Advance.”
After time for a cup of tea, the forest ended. The cliff path carved into the rock face appeared.
Seo Baek’s group slowly tilted their heads up—then gaped at the sky.
The sheer cliff, hewn into stairsteps, pierced straight through the clouds.