Q&A - 4: Bodyguards
Bodyguards. Those who safely protect people ignorant of martial arts, or whose skills are markedly inferior. Warriors who, amid unexpected ambushes and battles, must prioritize their charge over their own lives. Naturally, it's no easy task. A grueling job. In the martial world, professionals who handle such duties are called escorts.
Myeongseong House wasn't a merchant caravan's business—it was family tradition. That's why the escort detail was handled lightly. Just four trustworthy men. But the fact that he himself had been ambushed meant they were either all dead or had betrayed him. His sole lifeline. A black-robed swordsman whose face he didn't even know. And so, Geum Jeoksan hurriedly upped the offer to two thousand nyang.
"Fine, we'll do it that way."
It was a scheme blending two calculations. First, by saddling the man with a two-thousand-nyang debt to him, stoke his greed. Second, by deliberately quoting such a lavish sum, buy his goodwill. In truth, Geum Jeoksan was terrified deep down. He'd been the one hurling insults and abuses right up until moments ago. His exceptional merchant instincts simply kept any sign from showing.
"......If I make it out alive, the caravan will pay you three thousand nyang on the spot—including compensation for the three Q&A."
"Whatever. Suit yourself."
His heart hammered like twin mallets. Had his voice trembled? Showing any weakness might lead to betrayal—
"Kyaa!"
A shriek. While racking his brain, Jang Cheon seized the back of Geum Jeoksan's neck and hoisted him up. Tall as he was, and Geum Jeoksan short of stature, the merchant dangled in midair like a puppet on strings.
"Wh-what are you doing! Put me down! How dare you manhandle a grown person like this!"
"This is safest."
He deftly pinned the flailing arms. Astonishingly, Geum Jeoksan slotted neatly into the man's side. Jang Cheon locked him securely with his left arm and asked,
"Where's the caravan?"
"Golden Dragon Merchants... on Dangcheon Road... Aaaah?!"
Whoosh—his body lurched. Buried in the man's overcoat, the outside world was a blur. But from the chaos, he gathered they'd been ambushed. Geum Jeoksan clamped his mouth shut, striving to minimize his movements.
His head spun dizzily. The man clutching him hurtled forward at blinding speed. Truth be told, Geum Jeoksan suffered from motion sickness. The violent motion left him aching and queasy. Yet to avoid hindering, he gritted his teeth and endured.
In that span, Jang Cheon had slain five attackers. He'd gleaned a clue, too.
"Any grudge with the Demonic Cult?"
"......Plenty!"
The foes wielded demonic arts. Jang Cheon tapped his side in acknowledgment. He pondered ways to shake pursuers. One: flee. Smash through Myeongseong House's wall and vanish via sky steps. The other: simpler still. No pursuers meant no need to evade.
The scum who'd targeted Sohyang were Demonic Cult.
Ching!
"Halt!"
But the corridor brimmed with masked figures. Over a dozen, by rough count. The leader bellowed with puffed-up bravado.
"How dare you meddle in the Holy Cult's affair! Surrender the wench peaceably, and I spare your kin."
"My family."
They knew nothing. What family meant to Jang Cheon. What invoking it before him signified.
The reverse scale—dragon's inverted scale. A excruciating tender spot, agony incarnate. Touch it, and you die. No exceptions.
"......"
No Black Arrow Eight Methods. Beneath contempt. Instead, Jang Cheon casually flung Geum Jeoksan's fallen dagger.
Black qi cloaked the hurtling blade. Vast inner power pierced principles, forging sword aura. "Forced aura"—absurdity itself.
Yet the lead masked man witnessed it crystal-clear. Right up to it skewering his brow.
"...Gasp!"
Those behind reflexively lobbed smoke pearls. Obscure sight, seize advantage. Demonic Cult branch-trained, hastily forged—but honed to one lethal craft. Even a Transformation Realm master perishes to poisoned steel. One thrust—that's all it took!
No doubt in their doctrine. Cult indoctrination. Zealous madness.
".......!"
Black blades streaked high and low. Pearls shattered, spewing smoke.
Jang Cheon's eyes narrowed. That inky haze from before—its source? Novel to him. Time's passage, laid bare.
"Die!"
Churning smoke, blades slicing silent! Pitifully, Jang Cheon's realm dwarfed such tricks. Palms flashed lightning across their chests.
Pak!
"Guhrk!"
"Kaaagh!"
Geum Jeoksan flinched at the horrors. Eyes squeezed shut—wiser, truly. Forced qi bloated them till they burst like hides. Grotesque.
"......!"
Yet assassins, unmoved by carnage, hunted openings. Smoke-shrouded, presence slain, they slunk near. Palms thrust? Target arms. Ceiling-crawlers lunged for Geum Jeoksan.
For every ploy, Jang Cheon raised his right hand.
Vision-veilers. Smoke-blinded? Dispel it.
Vast inner power surged. Air currents reversed. All drawn inexorably toward him—like a vortex.
True Vacuum Grasp birthing an Intent Sword demanded peerless mastery. Beyond even Jang Cheon. But brute redirection? Mere power output.
Crash!
Furnishings tumbled, sucked in. Corridor fog streamed behind him. Panic flickered in Demonic eyes. Helpless, they staggered forth.
Then Jang Cheon smashed his hand down.
Kwaaang!
The fray ended. Motionless corpses alone remained.
Striding through, Jang Cheon tapped his side, realization dawning.
"Hm."
No stir.
"......Hmmm."
Geum Jeoksan had fainted ages ago. Unscathed—but felled by vertigo.
Jang Cheon muttered awkwardly to empty air.
"Dangcheon Road... was it?"
Likely. Memory served him well.
"We're here. Get up."
Another voice pierced. Thick, steady baritone. Amid stupor, Geum Jeoksan strained to open her eyes.
".......Ungh."
She twisted desperately. Senses rebelled. Skull throbbed, whirled; world spun.
Companion unidentified. Yet the timbre—robust, nostalgic.
"Caravan leader!"
"Caravan leader—are you safe?!"
Distant cries, eerily that night's echo. The girl wept. Then the surge welled.
.......Wait. No. Wrong churn.
"Uh......?"
Realization dawned: motion sickness. Guts roiled. Oh no. No!
"U... U... Uegh......!"
"Safe to set down? No—wh-what are you doing!"
"Urp."
Dangling from the man's grip, Geum Jeoksan vomited. One more nightmare etched eternal, never to revisit.