I'll Have to Take Something Else Instead
There was someone else he needed to collect from.
Hwang Myeong-seok, Head Constable of the Yichang Yamen, made a habit of visiting the Prosperity Association.
The official pretext was a meeting for the prosperity and stability of the local merchant district. But the fact that a Head Constable came calling on his own two feet, rather than waiting for a self-proclaimed merchant to visit him, said everything anyone needed to know about the relationship between the two men.
In the office of the chairman of the Yichang Prosperity Association, Constable Hwang stood before the door wearing a rare look of nerves.
"Chairman, Constable Hwang is here to see you."
At the clerk's announcement, the door swung open to reveal an office of considerable luxury.
The man seated behind the desk studied the constable's face for a moment, then rose to greet him with a bright expression.
"My apologies, Constable. I should have come to you myself."
"Ha ha, not at all. I know perfectly well how busy the Chairman is."
"Indeed — no one understands my labors better than you, Constable Hwang."
When the chairman gestured to the chair across from him, the constable meekly took his seat.
But the chairman did not sit right away. Instead, he approached the two guards who had come along with the constable.
The pathetic fools who, after being sent on a simple errand, had been beaten half to death by some nobody and dragged back to the yamen.
"Let's hear your excuses first."
His voice was markedly different from the one he'd used with the constable.
The two men couldn't even meet the chairman's eyes. They simply trembled.
"What's this? No words? Does that mean there's nothing to excuse?"
They couldn't bring themselves to speak. How could they possibly admit they'd been bested by an inn waiter?
But they had to say something. Anyone who knew the chairman's temperament knew that much.
Wham-!
A single strike from the chairman, and both men's heads burst open at once.
Blood and flesh splattered across the floor.
The gruesome spectacle unfolding right behind him made Constable Hwang tremble in his seat, legs shaking uncontrollably.
There.
The chairman rested a hand on the constable's shoulder.
He flinched hard.
"I'm sorry, Constable. My worthless subordinates had the audacity to trouble you."
"N-no, not at all! Between the two of us, really—"
The chairman chuckled and took his seat. At a tilt of his chin, the clerks hurried in to carry away the corpses.
Ssss, ssss — the sound of heavy bodies dragging across the wooden floor came to Constable Hwang as pure terror.
The chairman moistened his throat with tea gone stone cold, then spoke with a sigh woven into his voice.
"So. Tell me about the man who dared to trouble our fine Constable."
Constable Hwang produced the documents he'd brought from his breast pocket.
They contained the results of an official investigation into Seongun Inn and its waiter, conducted with the full force of the yamen behind it.
The chairman read through them for a moment before breaking into a soft laugh.
"A strange fellow, isn't he?"
"I assumed he was some master from out of town."
"Yes, that would be an easy mistake to make."
With that, the chairman drew out a thick bundle of banknotes and pushed it across the desk to Constable Hwang.
It was always the same dance. The constable lent the yamen's power; the chairman handed over money in the name of goodwill.
"Heh. It's hardly as if we've only known each other a day or two. Why all this ceremony?"
"You work tirelessly for Yichang's sake. I'm merely expressing the merchants' gratitude."
Constable Hwang allowed himself a faint smile. At the sight of money, his fear melted away entirely.
Truly, there was no medicine in this world better than coin.
"Still, Chairman — about this waiter fellow. Could he be from Hao Gate?"
It was a reasonable suspicion.
From the words of the captured martial artists, he'd learned that the waiter had actually displayed martial skill.
A strong waiter. Outside of Hao Gate, no such thing existed in this world.
But the chairman shook his head firmly.
"No. Unless the Hao Gate Master has lost his mind, he would never encroach on my territory."
"I suppose that's true."
Constable Hwang nodded. The chairman, young as he was, possessed truly formidable martial skill of his own — but weighed against Hao Gate's power, he was no great threat.
That said, it was widely known that the chairman's father wielded tremendous influence in the underworld.
Why would Hao Gate bother making enemies of them?
"If he shows up again, don't just send him on his way this time. Arrest him."
"Hmm. Isn't that a bit lacking in justification?"
It was a reluctant suggestion. Knowing the waiter had trained in martial arts to some degree — how was he supposed to take the man into custody?
"What nonsense is that?"
The chairman's voice had turned openly cold, and Constable Hwang instantly realized his mistake.
"The Prosperity Association exists for the stability and prosperity of Yichang. Are you telling me you cannot arrest the man who crippled an honest member of such an organization?"
"...R-right, yes. That was short-sighted of me."
"Good. We're counting on you."
The chairman nodded as he spoke — and this time, there was no smile on his face.
* * *
Jin Seong-un rested a hand on his hip and gazed up at the hanging signboard.
Just looking at the words Seongun Inn put him in a fine mood.
He'd bought the signboard with the reward money, repaired the broken back gate and the damaged tables, and cleared away the weeds growing wild across the empty lot.
And somehow, he still had money and time left over.
"The problem is..."
The liquor.
An inn had to sell alcohol. That was simply the rule.
But in this region, there was no way to bring in liquor without going through the Prosperity Association.
Jin Seong-un was the waiter and innkeeper of Seongun Inn — not a merchant traveling between regions to do business on a grand scale.
Local merchants had exactly two options: leave, or curry favor with the Prosperity Association and renegotiate liquor prices later.
And even with renegotiation, business here would be far harder than anywhere else.
So why did most merchants stay?
Because they feared retaliation.
— They say a merchant's whole family tried to sneak away in the dead of night, and the Prosperity Association wiped every one of them out.
That was what Noh Sang-won had told him, in the strictest of confidence.
Whether it was true, or a rumor deliberately spread by the Association, he couldn't say. But it was certainly enough to terrify the merchants.
They had seized control of the market through fear, pure and simple. Anyone who raised a banner of rebellion, or refused an order dressed up as a proposal, was repaid without fail.
"Hm."
Jin Seong-un smacked his lips.
He felt no fear, exactly. But it would be a nuisance, that much was true.
Fortunately, there was no urgency. First, he hadn't managed to hire a cook yet; and second, if they came for revenge, it would be like the reward money walking right through his front door — which was, frankly, a bonus.
A sudden rumble of hunger drew Jin Seong-un's gaze toward the kitchen.
He knew perfectly well what his own noodles tasted like.
"I'll have to go out and eat."
An innkeeper who couldn't feed himself. What a rare creature indeed.
Once outside, Jin Seong-un filled his belly with gukbap, then took a stroll through the market district.
It was a reasonably lively commercial quarter. If only the Prosperity Association vermin were gone, it would look even better.
Every so often, people trained in martial arts caught his eye — almost certainly the Association's men.
First things first. I should see for myself how large their operation really is.
He was still thinking this when a blacksmith's forge came into view.
After all, he'd learned the sword from the Sword Immortal himself. Shouldn't he own at least one blade?
As if in a trance, Jin Seong-un stepped into the forge.
Clang, clang-!
The ring of hammer striking iron came cheerfully through the air. The endless blaze of the furnace made everything pleasantly hot.
The old blacksmith glanced at Jin Seong-un and jerked his chin toward one side.
Following the gesture, Jin Seong-un found farming tools and kitchen knives on display.
He looked down at himself. He'd come out mid-cleaning, so he was still wearing his apron.
The unmistakable figure of a waiter.
Not that it mattered — Jin Seong-un considered himself a waiter before a martial artist anyway.
"Any swords?"
No answer came back.
His voice had simply been buried under the hammering.
Jin Seong-un stepped a little closer and asked again. This time the old man's face creased in a slight frown.
"Swords? What for?"
"To swing them."
A perfectly reasonable answer.
The old man stared at him with a look that said how odd, then pointed toward the back.
Inside, a row of bladed weapons leaned against the wall.
"I'll have a look around."
His voice was swallowed by the noise once more.
Rather embarrassed, Jin Seong-un picked up a sword.
At once, a certain energy ran up through his fingertips. The sword's will, one might call it — the effect of the sword arts he'd learned from the Sword Immortal.
By tradition, the finer the blade, the stronger and clearer its will.
But every sword in the forge had a will that was murky at best.
No disrespect to the old smith, but nothing here tempted him.
Just as Jin Seong-un stood frowning in consideration—
"If you're not buying, don't go fingering them for nothing."
The old blacksmith had crept up without his noticing, and his voice was brusque.
Jin Seong-un had found every sword the man made wanting, and it had plainly offended him. Seeing his waiter's clothes, the old man had likely dismissed him as a nobody from the start.
Jin Seong-un looked at him.
He could understand the prickly reaction. Even he, knowing full well his noodles weren't good, would be stung if someone said so to his face.
"I'm sorry. I don't know much about swords."
At Jin Seong-un's matter-of-fact apology, the old man seemed to soften slightly.
"Hmph. Looking at you, I'd say you're after practice. Just buy the cheapest one and be off. It's not as if you're training for anything grand."
He clearly assumed the young man wanted a blade for nothing more than self-defense.
Jin Seong-un gave a vague nod and turned back to the swords.
And then — a voice utterly unlike the blacksmith's, smooth and flowing, cut through the air.
"Old man. Why do you insult someone right to their face? From what I can see, the problem is that this young friend knows swords a little *too* well."
The blacksmith whirled around, startled.
Jin Seong-un had already sensed the man's presence through his spirit-sense, so he simply turned his head, unbothered.
Forty or so. A powerfully built frame and black robes covering him head to toe gave off an air of quiet danger.
The man spoke to Jin Seong-un.
"That's because this forge has never carried anything but trash. You've got a good eye."
The old smith bit his lip.
But unlike with Jin Seong-un, he couldn't manage so much as a single word.
Jin Seong-un looked at the man squarely.
Still — calling someone's work trash to their face was going too far. If anyone stood before him and called his noodles trash, he'd be too sore to sleep that night.
"That's rather harsh."
Jin Seong-un reproached him with the heart of a fellow craftsman.
Utterly unbothered, the man smiled slyly.
"Old man. Was I wrong?"
"...No, Great Hero."
"Then the swords you make are trash, every last one?"
"...Yes, Great Hero. You are right."
The old blacksmith bowed his head to a man who looked a good twenty years his junior.
Jin Seong-un watched the man's cheeks tremble faintly.
Anger — or fear. Perhaps both, tangled together.
Oblivious or indifferent, the man burst into a soft chuckle and turned to Jin Seong-un this time.
"Looks like you're in need of a sword. How about this one?"
He unbuckled the blade at his waist and held it out. Its jet-black blade, dark as ink, was striking indeed.
Jin Seong-un accepted it.
And the moment his hand closed around the hilt, the sword's will came through with perfect clarity.
Malice. The blade brimmed with a craving to kill.
Jin Seong-un nodded.
"A fine sword."
Considering that a sword was, by its very nature, made to harm people, it wasn't a bad blade at all. Its fate simply depended on whose hand it fell into.
When Jin Seong-un offered the praise so readily, the man smiled with evident satisfaction.
It was a bright smile, certainly — and yet, for some reason, the kind that made one reluctant to smile back.
"You really do have an eye. Here, watch this."
The man gripped one of the forge's iron swords.
Then, with no warning at all, he swung it in a great horizontal arc.
Whoosh-!
A burst of released force.
Jin Seong-un watched it calmly, then tilted his head back just slightly.
The sword-stroke grazed his eyelashes by the narrowest of margins.
Had he not dodged, he would have lost both eyes.
Whoosh-!
The strikes came in succession.
This time they rushed not at Jin Seong-un but at the old blacksmith.
The man didn't even register the blade descending toward him.
The fellow's shallow scheme was plain as day.
So the trash was over here.
Jin Seong-un let out a small sigh and swung his sword.
Clang-!
The iron sword the man swung snapped clean in two.
More precisely, it split smoothly along a razor-sharp edge — which meant the sword the man had handed over was extraordinarily sharp, and proved beyond doubt that the forge's wares were worthless.
Something unusual flickered in the man's eyes.
"Well? Compared to the Black Peak Sword in your hand, this forge's iron really is trash, wouldn't you say?"
"Flashy name for a flashy blade."
"Hahaha! Fitting for a plain-spoken man like you. If you want it, it's yours."
The man made his goodwill toward Jin Seong-un shamelessly obvious — a goodwill somewhat twisted, the kind that made everyone around uncomfortable.
"I hear there's no such thing as a free sword in this world."
"Straight to the point, as expected. Naturally, you'll have to give me something in return. That's simply how the world works."
"And what would you want?"
Jin Seong-un asked as though it were of no consequence.
That only made the man like him more.
He had engineered the whole situation — and yet the fellow showed no trace of tension, didn't so much as blink.
Youth, personal martial prowess, and fearless boldness besides.
No wonder the Chairman coveted him.
"What I want... is you, my friend."
Jin Seong-un scrunched his face as if he hadn't heard correctly.
The man burst into hearty laughter at the sight, carelessly tossing away the broken sword.
"Not in that sense, so don't misunderstand. I've been rude — introductions are late. Gam Ji-deok, Vice-Leader of the Yichang Prosperity Association."
Jin Seong-un had more or less expected as much.
And looking at the man, he realized something at the same time.
Ah. So I've already surpassed First-Rate.
The opponent's martial skill, vividly clear to his senses, sat at the very edge of the First-Rate realm. If they were to cross swords...
Jin Seong-un nodded calmly.
"In that case, I'll have to take something other than the sword."