The Birth of the Bang-Jang Clan
"No, young master. Why are you so late? That's not like you."
Jang Il said brightly.
"Ah, I got caught up reading."
He'd been so immersed in Mu Gam-ja's book that more time had passed than he'd realized. He'd hurried to pick up the Jeolhwadae uniforms from Hwang Bo-seol and rushed here, but he was still too late. Jang Il had probably grown impatient and started without him.
Bang So-un wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and continued.
"Sorry, did I make you wait?"
"Haha, I nodded off waiting for you, young master. I just woke up and got started."
"I see... Looks like the work's already done."
Yeon Su-rin's face, prostrated naked on the floor, bore a vivid, lifelike expression. She was definitely not in her hypnosis doll state.
"What are you doing, Yeon Boji-dal? Greet the fortress lord at once."
"Ah... This lowly slave bitch humbly greets the great master."
At Jang Il's urging, Yeon Su-rin hurriedly turned toward Bang So-un and bowed deeply and politely. Though Jang Il was her direct master, the fortress lord—the highest authority in Geumryongjeonjang—outranked him as the great master. It was only natural to show utmost respect.
In the entire world, these two were the only beings she needed to serve with her whole heart, reverence, and loyalty.
Bang So-un looked somewhat satisfied with her attitude, though a faint awkwardness crossed his face.
"Yeon Boji-dal...?"
"Ah, that's this bitch's slave name. I put some real thought into it—what do you think?"
"Hmm... Indeed... A naming style just like you. You're definitely a cut above me."
"Wahaha, that's a compliment, right?"
Jang Il threw his head back and laughed.
"It is."
Bang So-un chuckled lightly and approached the neatly arranged pale pink silk uniforms on the tall black lacquered chest beside them. He lifted her chin with his hand, making her look up at him.
Confusion flickered in Yeon Su-rin's eyes. She had no idea why the great master was doing this.
"Am I your great master?" Bang So-un asked abruptly, a playful smile on his lips.
"Y-yes... Of course... the great master is the great master."
"Do we really need such stiff titles between us?"
"...Pardon?"
"You feel like a little sister to me. From now on, I'll call you Yeon Mae, and you call me Brother Bang."
"Ah... Yes... Brother Bang."
A strange thrill made Bang So-un's member twitch. At twenty-five, he was a full twelve years younger than her thirty-seven. She was old enough to be a big sister. For such a woman to obediently call him brother—it would have been unthinkable normally.
Unlike the title "master," which felt somewhat forced and unreal, "brother" was a common word that made it seem like she truly saw the younger him as her big brother. It stirred his sense of dominance in a fresh way.
Satisfied, Bang So-un released her chin and stood.
"Now, greet me once more."
"Yes... This lowly slave bitch humbly greets Brother Bang."
She bowed her head deeply again from her kneeling position.
Jang Il looked genuinely impressed.
"Ho, that's not bad at all. Your tastes are quite refined, young master."
Anyone overhearing might think they were critiquing poetry, calligraphy, or paintings. But of course, this conversation was worlds apart from that.
Bang So-un smiled warmly and patted Jang Il's shoulder.
"Hahat, thanks for saying so. I'll sit over there and watch, so keep at it."
He meant he'd enjoy the show as usual. As he headed for the simple wooden chair in front of the chest, Jang Il stopped him.
"Wait a moment. You can't sit on that ordinary wooden chair, young master. Hey, you Inner Court bitch. Haven't you finished licking up all the piss yet?"
Jang Il called out to I Hwa-rin, who was frozen like a statue with her ass raised and head bowed.
"...I've licked it all clean... Master..."
"You stupid bitch! Do you even know what you did wrong?"
"...I'm sorry... Master... This heavenly woman is such a stupid bitch... I don't know what I did wrong... Please enlighten this utterly idiotic bitch..."
The woman who had wisely managed the Inner Court for over twenty years muttered in a foolish tone.
"You should've reported immediately after completing the order!"
"...Yes... Master... I must report immediately after carrying out Master's orders..."
"Then right now—wait, no. Go outside, fetch a bowl of water and a clean cloth."
"...I obey your command... Master..."
"Crawling will take too long—walk."
"...Yes... Master..."
I Hwa-rin, wearing only her top and fully exposed below, walked away with weak, faltering steps. But her short, steady strides made her hips sway and jiggle seductively—like a cheap whore tempting a man. Normally, she never would have shown such a vulgar display, but with the Inner Court nearly fully under control, there was no concern. To expand outward, they first needed internal stability, so Bang So-un had devised a meticulous plan with Jang Il upon becoming fortress lord: starting with the maids lacking internal energy, implanting hypnosis suggestions step by step. Female warriors with internal energy could be easily conquered using Hwang Bo-seol. As a result, most women in the Inner Court now became faithful puppets at a single word.
"The Inner Court Mistress looks more broken every time I see her."
Bang So-un remarked casually. Normally, she embodied the perfect mature woman—passionate, wise, neat, and chaste. That very perfection amplified the dissonance when Jang Il thoroughly ruined her. The sight of her shaking her aroused, naked ass like a bitch in heat...
"Heh, but it's good, isn't it? Anyway, just wait a bit. Once that bitch returns, we'll present the chair right away. Her ass is a bit plump, but it's quite sitable."
"Should I have fetched it myself?"
"What are you saying? You need to get used to ordering slaves around from now on. How else will you maintain the dignity befitting the man who'll dominate all the women of the murim?"
"Haha, you always know how to say the right things. That's a skill in itself."
"I'm just being honest. Oh, and is that the Jeolhwadae uniform?"
Jang Il turned his gaze to the pale pink silk uniforms. They looked made of extremely high-quality material. From Hangzhou, famous for silk since ancient times, it was the finest grade not available to just anyone. Up close, the weave was incredibly tight, with a subtle, flowing sheen. Touching it revealed a pleasing softness. Thin and translucent like ice, not only the fabric but the stitching was artistic—perfectly even intervals, no flaws, impeccably clean.
Far better than expected, Jang Il stuck out his tongue in admiration.
"Wow, the vice fortress lord's handiwork is incredible."
"Like it?"
"Honestly, I didn't expect this level—it's beyond expectations."
"I got myself a good wife. A peerless beauty and perfect in every way. Ahem, well, anyway—the Jeolhwadae represents Geumryongjeonjang's face, so the uniforms have to be top-notch."
"You're totally smitten with the vice fortress lord. Such favoritism. But with that beauty and her divine pussy, I get it. Ordinary women won't catch your eye anymore. This is trouble. She's god-tier on the nine-grade scale—how many such women are there in the entire murim? Marvelous-grade, no, even immortal-grade would be fine, right?"
Jang Il teased in an exaggerated tone.
"Why divide into nine grades all of a sudden?"
"Think about it—for the slave ledger, plain upper, middle, lower feels lacking, doesn't it? Even within the same upper-grade, there's a world of difference—like moonlight versus fireflies. Lumping the vice fortress lord in with others would be an insult. Sure, we'll include portraits, but accuracy is best, no?"
Bang So-un made a weary face.
"...You're thorough as ever in these matters. Impressive."
"Haha, it's meant to be a one-of-a-kind treasure for the ages. Just putting in the effort it deserves."
He had a point. Who else in the world could intimately document the hidden secrets of lofty murim heroines—women even non-murim men could barely approach? The plumpness of their outer labia, the color of their nipples—who could know? Past, present, or future, none. If collectors learned of it, the world would turn upside down. Of course, he had no intention of sharing this treasure. It wasn't some worthless jerk-off material for filthy strangers' semen. It was the fruit of their blood, sweat, and tears. If plans succeeded, it would become the sacred relic of their new sect.
Sect?
...No, not a sect.
A bolt of inspiration flashed through Bang So-un's mind.
"...Bang-Jang Segah."
"Pardon?"
"Bang-Jang Segah, Jang Il."
"Bang-Jang Segah?"
Jang Il looked baffled.
"The faction we're building to rule the world. 'Sect' sounds stuffy, like one of the Nine Great Sects. Whether concubines or slaves, our heirs will only bear the Bang and Jang surnames anyway. It's as good as founding a murim family clan with just you and me. So, Bang-Jang Segah—what do you think?"
"Oh, that's pretty good. Bang-Jang Segah. Rolls off the tongue nicely."
"Hahaha, right?"
Bang So-un burst into satisfied laughter at his own idea. Jang Il seemed pleased too. Just naming it made their goal feel one step closer.
"...Master... I brought the water and clean cloth..."
Time had flown by in conversation. I Hwa-rin had returned with a bowl of water and a pristine white cloth.
Slap! Jang Il struck her ass hard enough to leave a red mark.
"Set it here and serve as the fortress lord's chair with your body."