The Black Hand Reaches Out (2)
“Xuchang’s in sight, miss!”
“Shh, stay still.”
In the jolting, swaying carriage sat a beauty carved from ice itself. Her maid, Jonghwa, squealed like a child while pointing out the window at Xuchang’s walls beyond. A shadow fell over her brows like dew, silencing the girl with a single word.
The young man seated across from her spoke up.
“You’re really planning to enter the sparring tournament?”
“Yes.”
“Do you even know what kind of man this Su-gyeong is? He might be some lecher who chases skirts.”
At his words, she—Namgung Som-in—shot him a fierce glare.
Click.
“Watch your words, brother. He’s not the type.”
She thumbed her sword upward, baring her hostility. Seeing this, the young man—Namgung Cheon—let out a sigh. Her milk-white face flushed with anger, like a red rainbow draped over pure ice. It was clear: if he didn’t retract his words, she’d draw steel right there.
“…I misspoke.”
Watching her silently thumb the sword back into place, Namgung Cheon shook his head. She was one of the Four Flowers of murim, beauties counted on one hand. But as her own brother, he knew better than anyone that Namgung Som-in had no interest in men. Why else would she reject every marriage proposal and bury herself in the sword?
What troubled Namgung Cheon was how deeply she’d fallen for some backwater nobody. Sure, a bit of rebellion played into it too.
How dare he depict our house like that.
Namgung Cheon agreed that Wudang Sword Hero was well-written. But in volume three, when the third faction—the Nine Heavens Demon Palace—tricked Jin-un into a crisis, the Namgung house was shown in a deeply negative light. Even if the sect heir was held hostage, portraying them as puppets squeezing Jin-un into a death trap? As the leading house among the Eight Great Sects, the most upright in the Central Plains, Namgung Cheon couldn’t stomach such a portrayal from this Su-gyeong.
“I know why you’re upset, brother.”
“Then withdraw from the tournament. What do you gain? Even Father disapproves.”
Namgung Som-in fell silent—a sign she had nothing more to say.
Namgung Cheon pressed on. “We’re the head of the Eight Great Sects, the pinnacle. Even if our honor hasn’t truly fallen, the sect’s embarrassment in Wudang Sword Hero has changed how people look at us. You know that.”
“It’s just the price of the indulgence they called ‘freedom.’”
“Som-in.”
“Isn’t it? Right, brother?”
Her words left Namgung Cheon speechless. His sister had always been like this—unbending as bamboo, preferring to snap rather than yield when she believed she was right. Even the family elders found her difficult.
Namgung Som-in continued. “The sharp eyes on our house are payback for the indulgence our warriors enjoyed. Wudang’s the same, and so are Shaolin’s precept-breaking monks. If Master Su-gyeong hadn’t called it out, would anything have changed?”
She wasn’t wrong. Plenty in the Namgung house had thrown their weight around—fox borrowing tiger’s might—acting beyond their skill. But murim was a world where the strong took all. Namgung Cheon belonged to that ruling class, so he couldn’t help rebelling against his sister’s views, steeped as she was in Wudang Sword Hero.
“I agree with that. But even without a major blow to our prestige, our honor has been tarnished.”
“…Then.”
Gripping the sword in her lap, Namgung Som-in said, “I’ll just restore the family’s honor myself.”
“You don’t need to enter the tournament for that. No need to volunteer as this Su-gyeong’s guard.”
“If it restores our honor and lets me protect him, why stop me?”
“Even Wudang, Qingcheng, and Huashan are sending their prized prodigies. You’re one of the Four Flowers, but…”
“Then I’ll beat them all.”
A headache bloomed. She was bull-headed as they came—charging straight ahead once decided, impossible to rein in. Her temperament demanded she see things through to the end, which was why, among the Four Flowers, she boasted the strongest martial arts. But how could a brother not worry?
“It’s not that simple. The Nine Great Sects’ prodigies can match our Eight Great Sects’ own. They might even surpass them. I can’t guarantee you won’t get hurt facing them.”
It was concern for kin. Sparring used live blades; injuries weren’t impossible.
Namgung Cheon went on. “And even if you guard him and win, our damaged prestige won’t just…”
“No reason it can’t.”
“Som-in!”
“I know what bothers you.”
Her sharp retort cut like a blade.
“But I will be Master Su-gyeong’s guard. Protecting him is my one true wish.”
“Haa…”
God, my head. Namgung Cheon wanted to clutch it right then.
Father, why send me with her?
Recalling the clan head Namgung Do’s awkward gaze, he ruffled his hair irritably. Jonghwa flinched, but he ignored her. Namgung Som-in said nothing more.
A heavy silence filled the Namgung carriage. It shattered from outside.
“Namgung Sect, entering the alliance!!”
The voice of a Murim Alliance gate guard announced their arrival.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Jiangxi Province’s capital, Nanchang. With no major righteous sects, it had long been one of the few regions where unorthodox factions held sway.
A bustling city developed at the heart of Jiangxi, hugging Poyang Lake. No overt sects ruled it, but none dared act rashly—for the Dark Fog Society effectively dominated Nanchang and all Jiangxi.
Dark Fog Society.
One of the Ten Unorthodox Powers, a pillar propping up the Unorthodox Alliance. Rulers of the night in Jiangxi, the Dark Fog Society owned Nanchang.
“For picking a guard for some scholar, we’ve got Namgung Sect, Wudang, Shaolin, Qingcheng… not just the Nine Great Sects, but the Eight Great Sects’ top young experts crawling out of the woodwork? What the hell is this madness?”
Deep underground in Nanchang lay the Dark Fog Society’s stronghold. Amid an artificial cave thick with black bamboo—called Black Fog Grove by some—a otherworldly scene unfolded: the main hall where the society’s master resided.
The killers of the Dark Fog Society gathered in the Night Emperor Hall. Here dwelt their leader—the society head, a top unorthodox master and self-proclaimed Central Plains’ greatest assassin: Night Emperor Am Hyang-hyeol-heun.
“Iron Blood Demon Lord showed up out of nowhere spouting nonsense that rubbed me wrong. But is this really such a big deal?”
His gaze fell on stacks of pirated Wudang Sword Hero copies—freshly printed with wooden blocks, decent quality despite the paper.
His subordinate bowed at Am Hyang-hyeol-heun’s irritated words.
“Yes, Society Head.”
Am Hyang-hyeol-heun’s eyes narrowed. He’d heard from reports: rich fools hoarding these illegal copies, impatient for official releases. The Black Brush Party filled the gap, raking in profits. But a book? No martial manual—just paper. What value could it hold?
“Haomun’s tribute to the Alliance went up because of this?”
“Yes.”
“Hah.”
A sneer curled his lips. Just a novel. Trash scribbled by wandering hacks squeezing out worthless fantasies. Better to swing a sword or drill footwork, honing body and mind—what every warrior should do.
“Ridiculous.”
He chuckled dryly. Haomun, bottom of the Ten Unorthodox, paying more because of garbage like this?
His gaze on the books dripped contempt.
“They say once you read it, you can’t stop. True?”
“Rumor has it.”
Am Hyang-hyeol-heun’s face twitched irritably. Just a book. In an era short on paper, how was this flipping murim upside down? As a warrior to his bones, he couldn’t grasp it.
“Wudang built shrines to the author?”
“Haomun intel confirms it. Even a building called Su-gyeong Hall.”
“Lunatics. Naming a structure after some scholar? Must be rotting in cash.”
He clicked his tongue. Train another warrior with that money—that’s what sects do. Wasteful nonsense.
Turning from Wudang Sword Hero, Am Hyang-hyeol-heun asked his subordinate, “So, who’d we send?”
“Hyeon-eum Guest.”
“Hyeon-eum… Human-grade, right?”
“Yes.”
Dark Fog killers ranked Heaven, Earth, Human. Even Human-grade matched peak experts. But training them cost a fortune.
Human-grade numbered barely three hundred; Earth, under 150; Heaven, fewer than ten. Survival through countless kills thinned their ranks. Their secret arts included self-destructing full power for success—survivors without them rose to Earth-grade. But even they rarely survived assassinating peaks and above.
Heaven-grade could take an emperor’s head, but as final reserves, they never deployed. Frontline ops used Human and Earth only. Thus, the famed Dark Fog Society among the Ten Unorthodox was a tiny elite force under a thousand strong.
“Not an assassination—just a snatch. Hyeon-eum should handle it.”
“So we believe.”
“Pity he’s Human, not Earth. Right, Hell Party Lord?”
“Yes.”
The man called Hell Party Lord bowed. Hyeon-eum lagged at Human due to record, but had Earth potential. Top among Humans, no less. And unlike most, he held up in direct fights.
Still, against famed righteous prodigies, struggle was possible.
“His personality doesn’t suit an assassin—might botch it.”
“If he fails but returns, fine. Win or lose, no loss for us. He’ll pay for failure, of course.”
“True, but…”
“And it’s not about killing anyway?”
Dark Fog assassins slew peaks given the slightest opening. Human-grade topped at first-rate; many died on jobs, leading to wide skill gaps and constant recruitment. Hyeon-eum, though, was a veteran—beyond first-rate, per Hell Party trainers, hovering at peak’s edge.
“Mission success odds?”
“At least eighty percent.”
“Twenty percent failure?”
Hell Party Lord bowed. “The captive’s White Ape.”
“White Ape… That recent disciple of Ya-noe’s, right? Idiot.”
Am Hyang-hyeol-heun tsked. Ya-noe was a fool too. Money blinded him into fielding an inexperienced youngest disciple—now caught.
“Success means we own those two. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Time to squeeze gold from Iron Blood Demon Lord, the brat, and Ya-noe.”
Lounging on his grand seat, Am Hyang-hyeol-heun’s eyes gleamed with delight.