Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Reunion
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Far in the past.
In other words, from the ancient feudal era of China, there's a saying that's been passed down.
The dead speak no words.
Why, isn't that perfectly true?
If the dead spoke, wouldn't they be zombies instead of people?
No, even zombies can't speak properly—that's common knowledge.
That's why, perhaps.
The ancient Chinese sages, blessed with miraculous integrity, devised a ultimate secret-keeping technique for themselves.
It was none other than killing to silence.
Quick and done.
Simple, no prior knowledge needed.
Zero chance of getting caught.
Ah, what profound wisdom.
The very foundation of assassination!
No need for blood oaths one by one, no spies to send digging into the past, no trembling in fear of betrayal.
Just kill them all, and all that's left are corpses.
Everything else vanishes into the labyrinth.
So.
"No choice but to kill to silence them all."
Jeomsoi belatedly realized the situation was unfolding differently than expected.
That guy named Cheongun—his techniques, the aura of his inner energy—he was definitely a warrior from the righteous faction.
Yet he was talking about killing to silence?
And so decisively, without a hint of hesitation. Clearly not his first or second time.
In that instant, Cheongun poured all his energy into his right foot and stomped the ground.
Boom!
Wood splinters and stone shards exploded upward from the floor.
The foundation of all swordsmanship lies in maintaining your center of gravity.
But with the ground under their feet erupting, the assassins' movements faltered for a split second, creating that fatal opening.
Flash—!
Cheongun's figure vanished, leaving an afterimage.
Scree! Thunk! Crunch!
He seemed to leap through space itself, appearing without a trace to slash or smash their shoulders, shins, flanks, ankles, and backs.
And his declaration of killing to silence wasn't empty talk—he swung his sword with full intent to slaughter them all.
With every swing, crimson sword qi burst forth like flames, slicing the escorts apart like tofu.
Was this even possible?
How much inner energy did this guy have to unleash sword qi like it was vending machine candy!
"Gaaahhh!"
Chaos erupted in an instant.
Screams mixed with the sounds of flesh being rent, blood spraying everywhere to stain walls and floors, filling the air with a fishy stench.
In the midst of it, Namgung Yeol struck whenever an opening appeared, and Cheongun, never missing a beat, delivered the finishing blows.
Perfect teamwork.
By the time Jeomsoi blinked in a daze, all six hired men were corpses rolling on the floor.
What a mess.
Cheongun shook the blood from his sword tip and turned to Jeomsoi.
"Your turn now."
"P-Please spare me!"
Jeomsoi slammed his head to the floor.
Of course, no response came.
Instead, Cheongun smirked like he'd caught him red-handed.
Those eyes—no amount of pleading would change his mind.
Jeomsoi's head snapped around.
Namgung Yeol entered his view, sheathing her sword beside Cheongun.
Her skin was milk-white and luminous, her attire screamed noble upbringing, and her eyes held a deep, profound aura.
Clearly the daughter of some prominent family.
Women are softer-hearted than men!
Jeomsoi slammed his head again.
His forehead split, blood trickling down.
"Lady, please spare me..."
Jeomsoi rubbed his hands together like a fly while kowtowing.
Most in the Filth Gate were like this.
No talents to boast of, yet too arrogant to know their place, full of vanity—they banded together to survive and flaunt power, unable to make it alone.
That's why their own lives were so precious.
No loyalty to the organization or anything.
"Please, just once, show mercy... I have aging parents and young siblings to feed..."
Namgung Yeol's eyes narrowed.
"Reason."
"Pardon?"
"Give me a reason. Why should we spare you? Name one good deed you've done that we might consider."
"......"
As if he had any.
Even trying to make one up froze his brain.
"None, right? Well, why would scum who kill for money ever do good deeds?"
Damn it.
Jeomsoi whipped his head back to Cheongun and forced a grin.
"Heh heh, give me a chance."
"Should I?"
"Fuck."
Squelch!
The blade pierced Jeomsoi's throat.
Cheongun twisted and yanked it free. Blood sprayed like a fountain as the man's body crumpled.
"...Tch."
Cheongun clicked his tongue.
Ruined his appetite mid-meal.
With a crisp motion, Cheongun sheathed his sword and headed for the inn's entrance.
Sichuan Province.
Chengdu.
A boy and a woman entered the bustling streets under the harsh afternoon sun.
Both wore loose traveling cloaks covering their bodies entirely.
Cheongun and Namgung Yeol had rummaged the inn for ronin-style overcoats to hide their blood-soaked clothes.
The city assaulted them with the scent of people.
Rice, roasting meat, liquor—it stabbed at their noses.
Beyond that, merchants hawking wares, pedestrians haggling, carts rumbling by amid the clamor.
Weaving through the hurried crowds, Cheongun muttered.
"It's hot as hell, and these things are suffocating."
"Can't wander around covered in blood. We're not advertising we just caused a scene."
"Fair enough. But why's Lady Yeol tagging along? I can handle the escort agency alone."
"I have connections at this one. Figured I'd say hi to the chief."
"Not just bored and following me?"
"That too."
"Knew it."
Cheongun showed no displeasure.
He knew the agency's name and location, but had no confidence in finding it without getting lost.
This world was both a game and reality.
The terrain differed vastly from gameplay.
Even vast game fields paled against reality's scale.
In games, travel was a mouse click for convenience.
So Cheongun couldn't know Chengdu's layout intimately.
What gaps existed between game and reality?
What terrain or objects filled every corner?
Unknown. Namgung Yeol's company was a huge help.
"This way."
Cheongun looked up.
A wooden sign read: Myriad Dragon Bank.
They pushed open the heavy door.
"Welcome. I'm O Myeong-seong, chief of Myriad Dragon Bank."
The man inside greeted them courteously.
"Before entering, please remove your cloaks for identity verification."
Cheongun and Namgung Yeol shed their cloaks.
Blood-soaked outfits and all, the chief didn't bat an eye.
Impeccable composure.
Then his gaze locked on Namgung Yeol, eyes widening.
"Lady Namgung? What brings you here?"
"Long time no see. Sorry for dropping by unannounced."
"Nonsense. A premium client like Lady Namgung is always welcome at Myriad Dragon Bank. Please, sit."
The chief pulled out a chair.
And Cheongun plopped right down.
"...And this young man?"
"My client."
"Client?"
The chief's eyes narrowed.
Suspicion plain on his face.
Before any stern verification talk, Cheongun pulled a silk pouch from his belt and set it before the chief.
The chief glanced sidelong at Cheongun, deftly untied it, and checked the contents.
A Gold Ingot Note.
Yet he appraised it with everyday calm. Then Cheongun offered another case.
"!!!"
Opening it, the chief's face filled with shock.
A lifetime handling money and treasures—he knew exactly what it was.
Eyes bulging, he gasped.
"Where did you get such a treasure?"
"Got it as a gift."
From who?
The chief swallowed his unspoken question.
Who gave it to whom didn't matter.
What mattered: a client bearing such a treasure stood before him.
"Needs appraisal."
"Yes."
"Give me some time, and I'll send word of the results."
"Do that."
The chief turned sharply.
"Lady Namgung, may I list you as guarantor?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
He produced a box, unrolled silk cloth.
Placed the Golden Plum on it, examined from all angles, then scrawled a few lines in bamboo-script ledger.
Showed it to Cheongun.
"If authentic, roughly this value."
"Spot on."
"Issue as banknotes?"
"Can you hold it for now?"
"Certainly. Any Myriad Dragon branch can issue anytime, anywhere."
Myriad Dragon Bank was the Central Plains' largest.
Its imperial ties kept even arrogant unorthodox sects in line—no scams here.
Cheongun nodded and stood.
"An honor to serve such a guest. Visit anytime you need. Myriad Dragon's doors are always open."
"Will do."
They exchanged farewells and stepped out.
Then, a bandit-looking man approached, chuckling, pockets bulging.
He stopped before the stationary Cheongun.
Snarled irritably.
"Fuck off, kid. Blocking the way like you own it? Huh? What's this shady getup?"
He yanked off Cheongun's cloak without hesitation.
Their eyes met.
Cheongun's face, smeared in blood.
"!!!"
The man's face drained pale at the sight.
Namgung Yeol whispered to Cheongun.
"That's the guy. The one bragging about Bloodline Pavilion."
Ah, right.
The one at the inn demanding my seat.
What was his name?
Jin Cheon-u?
"S-Sorry for the offense. I'll be going now."
"Bloodline Pavilion. Jin Cheon-u."
"N-No such person."
"What was the nickname? Black Man Sword or Black something."
"Fuck, Black Fiend Sword! Gasp!"
Yup.
Definitely him.