The Hwaun Merchant Group
Shrewd merchants to the bone, Hwang In-pyeong and Cheong Man-seok exercised the oily charm of their trade and somehow found themselves seated at Elder Hyeon Un's table, as naturally as if the arrangement had been their idea all along.
Cheong Man-seok wore the smile of a snake in the grass.
"Elder, the name of the White Cloud Sword echoes all the way to Akju, where I do my business. To meet you in the flesh—what an honor, truly."
With that, he topped off Hyeon Un's cup with Jukyeopcheong liquor as smoothly as if he'd been born pouring drinks for taoist elders.
Hyeon Un stared down at his cup, still carrying a grudge from before, and spoke.
"I thought you said Jukyeopcheong was swill."
"Ahaha, on closer inspection, it turns out this isn't just any Jukyeopcheong—it's the premium grade. A truly excellent brew, if I may say so. That distinctive elegance reminds one of the noble spirit of Wudang itself."
"Wudang taoists don't drink."
"Wh-what!"
Cheong Man-seok shot to his feet in alarm, bowing at the waist in apology. Yet even as he apologized, something felt wrong. Hadn't the old man been sipping liquor just moments ago?
"Of course, I speak in general terms only. Now and then a taoist drinks against his will, for reasons of some necessity or other. I happen to be such a case."
"Ah, of course! How foolish of me!"
Cheong Man-seok reacted with all the enthusiasm he could muster.
The "necessity" Hyeon Un had referred to, of course, was because he wanted a drink. This was the man whose sect leader had long since given up nagging him about it.
Hyeon Un gestured for the two of them to sit back down and filled their cups in turn.
Cheong Man-seok and Hwang In-pyeong each accepted their cup with the utmost gratitude and drained it in a single gulp.
"Haah! The aroma is simply magnificent...!"
The two merchants began praising the Jukyeopcheong with everything they had. Of course, men of their palate and experience could not possibly have failed to recognize a premium Jukyeopcheong. They had simply always considered it a case of six of one, half a dozen of the other—premium or common, liquor was liquor.
But now that they knew the White Cloud Sword Hyeon Un savored it, Jukyeopcheong simply had to become the finest wine in all the world.
Naturally, not every merchant groveled this shamelessly before an elder of the Wudang Sect.
Ordinarily, one maintained proper courtesy and little more—as long as no rudeness was committed, what else was required?
But the two of them wanted something. And Hyeon Un, for his part, was beginning to sense something off about their behavior.
"Your courtesy is excessive. As I understand it, merchants shower this kind of kindness only on men richer than themselves, or those who can be of immediate use."
At Hyeon Un's blunt remark, the two merchants forced a laugh.
Even for martial artists, men of Hyeon Un's age and cultivation could not easily be sweet-talked into compliance.
While Cheong Man-seok scrambled through his options, Hwang In-pyeong simply decided to come clean. He downed his cup once more and spoke.
"Elder. We ask for your help. And rest assured, we are not asking for charity. This would be of great benefit to the Wudang Sect as well."
There was nothing flippant about Hwang In-pyeong's manner now.
Hyeon Un gave a slight nod, as much as to say, go on.
The merchants' explanation followed. Their merchant's habit of circling a point dragged the story out considerably, but the gist was this:
There was a colossal merchant group based in Sichuan.
And it was facing a great crisis.
Rumors had already begun circulating through the trading world that its collapse was imminent.
And so, merchants with a keen nose for opportunity were converging on Sichuan.
For once such a vast merchant group fell, its assets would be carved into crumbs and scattered to all corners.
"Looking to scrape up the crumbs, are we?"
Hyeon Un put it with brutal directness.
Yet Hwang In-pyeong nodded without a trace of displeasure.
"Yes, that was the original plan. But if Your Eminence were to lend us your weight, it would not end as mere crumbs."
If Hyeon Un stepped in, the Wudang Sect would follow. And if a sect of Wudang's standing entered a commercial power struggle, there was every chance of claiming whole grand enterprises, not just scraps.
"And the Tang Clan of Sichuan will hardly sit still and watch? Not to mention Mount Emei and the Qingcheng Sect."
All three powers were rooted in Sichuan.
Hwang In-pyeong bowed his head readily.
"Of course they won't. That is precisely why we ask. With the Wudang Sect behind us, we would at least be able to compete against those three powers."
Hwang In-pyeong considered this moment a stroke of destiny.
What were the odds of finding an elder of the Wudang Sect in an inn they had stopped at by chance?
Hyeon Un sank briefly into thought.
Hwang In-pyeong did not press him, waiting quietly. It was in the middle of this silence that the hulking waiter sauntered over and, without any preamble, opened his mouth.
"Elder. I'd say it's better to ignore this business entirely."
When some burly waiter doused the whole conversation with cold water, Hwang In-pyeong's eyebrows bent into an inverted V. Composed as he appeared on the surface, he was by no means a gentle man at his core.
"This is no business of yours, boy!"
With the White Cloud Sword present, he vented his fury only up to the very edge of the line of propriety.
The waiter, unbothered, spoke again.
"No—it's the other way around. It's your seats that don't belong to you. What exactly do you expect to gain by dragging the Wudang Sect into a place crawling with the Unorthodox?"
"Wh-what are you—!"
Before Hwang In-pyeong could stammer out a defense,
Hyeon Un cut in to restrain him.
"This waiter is the second son of the Seomun Clan."
Hwang In-pyeong's mouth fell wide open. Meeting the White Cloud Sword in a shabby roadside inn was strange enough—but why on earth was a mere waiter calling himself the second young master of the Seomun Clan?
Whatever the case, Hyeon Un let Seomun Ak continue his story.
The Seomun Clan was also based near Sichuan's sphere, and so Seomun Ak, too, knew a fair deal about the merchant group the men were speaking of.
"Elder. The Hwaun Merchant Group is thick with the Unorthodox. The reason they're said to be on the brink of collapse in the first place is that they're paying the price for that very karma. The previous group leader died, and his daughter took over—but did anyone believe the Unorthodox vultures beneath her would sit quietly and watch?"
The Hwaun Merchant Group.
A merchant group rooted in Sichuan, and one of the Ten Great Merchant Groups of the entire realm, no less.
Its previous leader had been a magnanimous man of great daring, one who had never shied from dealings with the Unorthodox when business demanded it.
As a result, the Hwaun Merchant Group had never received the protection of the Orthodox factions, the Martial Alliance included. To put it precisely, it had chosen the Unorthodox's protection instead.
The previous leader had been capable enough to manage that balancing act. His fiery temperament meshed well with the Unorthodox warriors themselves.
The problem came after he died without warning. His daughter, still a young woman, was suddenly thrust into the position of group leader.
There was no chance those rough Unorthodox warriors would meekly bow to her. The Unorthodox world was, after all, a place where yesterday's friend became today's enemy, and today's enemy tomorrow's friend.
"That's the situation. And so—"
Before Seomun Ak could finish,
the eyes of Hyeon Un, Seomun Ak, and the merchants' two bodyguards all swung toward the kitchen at once.
The rhythmic sound of knife-work that had been streaming out of it had stopped dead.
A moment later, a heavy killing intent came seeping out of the kitchen.
"Aiyo, my goodness!"
Han Seong-chun bolted out of the kitchen in terror.
He'd known this inn was no ordinary establishment, but who could have guessed that the affable Cook Seo would turn out to be a madman who flew into fits at the drop of a hat?
Han Seong-chun resolved to give serious thought, once more, to whether he truly wanted to keep working at this inn.
In the awkward silence that followed,
the martial artists stared at the kitchen with tense faces.
A short moment passed, and then the knife-work resumed. Same speed, same force as before. The ferocious killing intent that had bloomed so viciously was gone as if it had never been.
The bodyguards were left utterly bewildered, but they hardly dared interject in the conversation between the merchants they served and an elder of Wudang.
And so, as if nothing at all had happened, everyone went back to their conversation.
After a moment's deliberation, Hyeon Un spoke.
"The Wudang Sect cannot meddle in the affairs of the Unorthodox. I'm afraid I must refuse your request."
"...I see."
Hwang In-pyeong made no attempt to hide his disappointment. Once his purpose had failed, it made no difference whether the man before him was a Wudang elder or the sect leader himself.
"Then we shall take our leave. It was an honor to meet you, Elder."
He rose with the barest minimum of courtesy. Now that he knew who dwelled in this inn, it hardly felt right to linger over a meal in comfort.
Seomun Ak stepped in front of the two merchants.
Then he held out his palm toward them.
"You'll be paying before you go."
"Ah. Right."
The merchants paid for the liquor and food they had ordered. But Seomun Ak's palm remained outstretched.
When they gave him puzzled looks, he pointed at a single spot—Hyeon Un's table.
Hyeon Un waved his hand dismissively.
"I'll pay for my own. Just go. I did refuse your request, after all—I have some shame to keep."
"...Ahem, not at all, Elder. Merely conversing with you was a great lesson and an enlightenment in itself."
Hwang In-pyeong settled Hyeon Un's bill as well. It was better than souring the elder's impression of them over a paltry sum of money.
And so, once the two sources of awkwardness had departed, the inn recovered its usual atmosphere as though nothing had ever happened.
It was deep in the night, after the day's business had ended.
Jin Seongun and Seo Yugyeom made a final round of the inn, checking every corner, then slipped out the back door that connected to their quarters.
"A fulfilling day, as always."
Seo Yugyeom stretched as he said it. On any normal day, the two would have split off there and headed to their respective rooms.
But Jin Seongun did not move. He simply looked at Seo Yugyeom, steady and unblinking. When Seo Yugyeom finally met his gaze and looked back, he said,
"What, do I look handsome or something?"
"...Those merchants earlier. Do you know them?"
"No. Never seen them before."
"Then why are you like that?"
"Like what?"
Seo Yugyeom tilted his head. But he could not fool Jin Seongun's eyes.
"You've been different ever since those merchants left. The killing intent in your eyes, Seo the Young Hero."
Seo Yugyeom and Jin Seongun locked gazes.
Seo Yugyeom's eyes, unlike their usual selves, were so utterly drained of emotion that they seemed merely to be observing him—a predator's gaze, like a beast that had set out on the hunt.
And then, after a short silence.
Seo Yugyeom let out a quiet sigh.
"You damn ghost, I swear."
"Are you all right?"
"The Hwaun Merchant Group—the one supposedly about to collapse? That's where I was living right before I entered Salmak. The bastard who mistook me for the Heavenly Killing Star and murdered my parents. The bastard who pulled off that atrocity and then had the gall to take me in as his adopted son and raise me—that bastard was the previous leader of the Hwaun Merchant Group."
Jin Seongun already knew the broad strokes of Seo Yugyeom's past.
Having heard the truth from Salmak's Vice Master, Seo Yugyeom had personally killed the shameless adoptive father who raised him, then set out for Salmak—or so the story went.
"Yeah. I'm the one who killed that group leader. The woman who leads it now is the one I once thought of as my own sister."
Jin Seongun nodded.
Only now could he understand the killing intent that had poured out of Seo Yugyeom earlier.
"I truly did see her as a sister. But to her, I'm nothing more than the unfilial wretch who murdered her father and ran. She's been sending requests to Salmak ever since I left."
There was no need to ask what kind of request.
Seo Yugyeom smiled bitterly.
"She doesn't even know I became an assassin of Salmak. She's just burning her money for nothing. Who knows—she might still be sending them out even now."
"Are you all right?"
"What wouldn't be all right about it? A woman who's been trying to have me killed is about to go under. That's a situation worth raising a toast to."
Seo Yugyeom said it with a laugh.
But Jin Seongun did not believe he was truly smiling.
Jin Seongun studied him for a moment. He debated asking something more, but in the end he simply nodded.
"Then it's settled. Good night."
"Yeah. Let's get some sleep."
And with that, the two headed off to their respective rooms.
Deep in the night.
Seo Yugyeom stood in an oppressive, absolute darkness.
A space of ink-black void, without moon or stars.
This was the landscape of his heart. Every so often, he dreamed this dream.
It had been unjust.
Hwa Yun-tak, the previous leader of the Hwaun Merchant Group.
He had lost his birth parents to that man's hands. It had all happened when he was a newborn, so he held no memory of love for them.
All he felt toward Hwa Yun-tak—who had committed that crime and then, brazenly, taken him in as an adopted son—was betrayal.
Once he learned I wasn't the Heavenly Killing Star, he treated me with open contempt.
Whenever Seo Yugyeom recalled his childhood, all he remembered was watching Hwa Yun-tak's mood, forever walking on eggshells around his adoptive father.
After the Salmak Vice Master appeared out of nowhere and told him the truth, he had deliberately chosen nights when the moonlight was dim, slipped into Hwa Yun-tak's chamber, and killed him.
It had been possible because Seo Yugyeom's martial skill had already reached the very edge of the First-Rate realm, and because, adopted or not, he was still counted as Hwaun's direct bloodline.
Revenge, if it was revenge. Perhaps revenge for parents whose faces he never knew, perhaps revenge for all the years he'd spent deceived.
Either way, in Seo Yugyeom's own judgment, it had been a just killing.
It wasn't only my sin, was it?
There was one person he had genuinely loved as a sister—her daughter, Hwa Yeonseol, innocent of any crime, unlike Hwa Yun-tak.
She had been his enemy's daughter, yes. But he had never believed that a parent's sins should pass down to the child.
And now that sister was sending assassins to kill him. The thought stung, a little.
His head could understand it; his heart simply could not bear it. That was all.
And yet—even knowing all of that, I still haven't killed you, Hwa Yeonseol.
If the Seo Yugyeom of today wished it, he could find her and end her life whenever he pleased.
But he did not. He had tried to understand her fury and her resentment.
And yet, on nights like tonight—when killing intent rose in him without warning—he was condemned to nightmares like this one.
The dream where Hwa Yun-tak and Hwa Yeonseol stood side by side, cursing him, condemning him as an unfilial wretch. The words that spilled from their mouths became razor-sharp blades, flying at him and burying themselves in his flesh.
Countless blades riddled Seo Yugyeom's body.
The blood he shed pooled on the ground, forming a dark swamp.
Seo Yugyeom kept his eyes shut tight. The image was so utterly black that closing his eyes made almost no difference at all.
By the time he had writhed in silent agony within the void and forced his eyes open once more—
he woke from the dream.
"...What the—"
Seo Yugyeom was standing alone at the edge of a deserted road. And in his hand, the Heavenly Killing Short Knife was stained with fresh, red blood.
For once in his life, Seo Yugyeom was genuinely shaken.
A dreadful, crawling unease made his pupils tremble.
He could not tell whose blood it was that stained the blade.