That's Exactly What the Black Dao Is
Jin Seongun locked the inn's door behind him and took a seat across from the man.
“Go ahead. Talk.”
The man swallowed hard.
The truth was, he hadn't wanted to come. What could he—a man with no martial training whatsoever—possibly do against the madman who had killed the Vice Leader of the Prosperity Association right here in Yichang?
But the Prosperity Association was, in all but name, a Black Dao syndicate, and setting himself aside, there were precious few people in it capable of holding a civil conversation.
He'll probably only make things worse.
And so the Leader had sent him.
Steeling his resolve, the man gave a solemn nod and spoke.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Seo Hapyeong, Chief Administrator of the Prosperity Association. I've come to deliver the terms our Leader wishes to propose to the honored young innkeeper.”
“'Honored young innkeeper,' hm. That's a bit amusing.”
“......”
Seo Hapyeong studied Jin Seongun intently.
He knew no martial arts, but he was a man of considerable cunning. The first rule of any negotiation was to get the measure of the person sitting across from you.
A strange one, this.
The corners of his mouth curved in a faint smile, but beyond that, nothing could be read from him at all.
Men like that were the hardest to pin down. And if a man like that also happened to be cultivating martial arts, the situation grew all the more precarious.
In such cases, the answer was always the same—
“I'll come straight to the point. Our Leader has taken an interest in you, sir.”
“Is he that way inclined?”
“No, that's not— I mean to say, he holds your abilities in high regard and wishes to keep you at his side.”
“I handed two of your fighters over to the authorities and killed your Vice Leader, you know.”
Seo Hapyeong forced a leisurely smile before answering.
“The two men you took to the authorities are already dead. The constable delivered them personally to our Leader. That is the kind of power the Prosperity Association wields in Yichang.”
“I see.”
Jin Seongun's reaction was utterly flat.
Constable Hwang's behavior had been odd enough that he'd already suspected some arrangement between the man and the Prosperity Association.
“Come now, sir. Let's end this quarrel. Join the Prosperity Association. Do so, and the Leader will grant your every wish.”
“My every wish?”
“Indeed. I notice there's a notice posted at your entrance seeking a skilled cook, for instance. The Leader could bring you one of the finest cooks in all the realm.”
“Oh.”
A flicker of genuine interest crossed Jin Seongun's eyes.
Seo Hapyeong did not miss it.
“Furthermore, the liquor coming into this Seongun Inn could be half price— no, free of charge. You'd be exempt from membership dues, and should any trouble befall your business, every merchant under the Association's banner would come to your aid.”
Seo Hapyeong smiled with confidence.
Were these not staggering terms? Even Jin Seongun might have found his head nodding along on its own.
“But, Administrator.”
“Yes, sir?”
“There's one thing you haven't mentioned. Favors like these always come with a price.”
“Ah, it's nothing much.”
Clearing his throat once, Seo Hapyeong spoke as if it were the most trifling matter in the world.
“You see, our Leader's father is none other than the venerable Jo Raeak, sovereign of the Hubei Black Dao. For reference, he stands on equal footing with the chiefs of Hyeongmun Fort, the greatest mountain stronghold in Hubei, and Hongho Stronghold, its greatest water fortress.”
From there, a long and winding lecture on the majesty of one Jo Raeak continued uninterrupted.
Summarized, it went something like this:
Jo Raeak, League Chief of the South Black League in Hubei Province.
He was a Black Dao figure whose infamy reached across the entire realm, with deep ties to the Green Forest and the Waterway Strongholds of the Yangtze.
He was, in fact, recorded as a First-Rank Public Enemy in the Ledger of Public Enemies of the Martial World—maintained directly by the Martial Alliance Headquarters itself.
And his second son was none other than Prosperity Association Leader Jo Taeho.
In other words, he kept hammering home that everything he was proposing amounted to a magnificent opportunity for the young innkeeper.
Jin Seongun had listened through the whole thing with a blank expression—until his eyes suddenly lit up.
Seeing this, Seo Hapyeong's face brightened.
“Precisely. Our Leader will one day inherit the South Black League. There will be competition among the brothers, of course, and it is for that very contest that he builds his forces and gathers talent. Talented men such as yourself, sir.”
“I got all that.”
“......”
“It's just—out of pure, honest curiosity. A First-Rank Public Enemy must carry an enormous bounty, no?”
Seo Hapyeong's expression turned strange.
Why on earth would he ask about that?
“Well, I suppose, yes.”
Seo Hapyeong answered with visible displeasure, and Jin Seongun's face grew all the more serious.
“Roughly how much?”
“...I'd have to look into that, but is that really the important thing right now?”
“Ah, true enough.”
Jin Seongun nodded.
He'd heard everything worth hearing.
“So in short, you're asking me to become Black Dao.”
“No. You'd simply carry on with your work as before and lend us your strength from time to—”
“That's exactly what the Black Dao is.”
“......”
Jin Seongun thought of the faces of the Martial Gods.
Shintu and the Blood Demon wouldn't much care whether he became Black Dao or Demonic Path. But the Sword Immortal, the Merchant King, and Daji would be deeply disappointed. They might even feel it as a betrayal.
“And if I refuse?”
“You will regret it.”
“Regret it a great deal, will I?”
“Think on it. The Association's fighters under our Leader will swarm this little inn and put you to the sword. Perhaps, some dark night, a monstrous master of the South Black League—a man hailed as the sovereign of the Hubei Black Dao—will come calling and carve you open from belly to spine.”
“Now that would be inconvenient.”
Seo Hapyeong stared at Jin Seongun with grave concern. For all the words, there wasn't the slightest trace of fear on the man's face.
Just what in the world did this man do before?
He was no ordinary innkeeper who'd picked up a bit of martial arts.
He had laid out the majesty of the Prosperity Association and the South Black League. He had warned him that the authorities would not lift a finger to help him.
And still the man remained perfectly calm.
“Are you not afraid of death?”
“Hard to say.”
That was simply Jin Seongun's temperament.
Even before he'd learned martial arts, there had never been much he was afraid of.
Death was a moment's pain, followed by rest. That, at least, was how Jin Seongun had always chosen to see it.
“Even if you don't fear your own death, surely you would hate for others to suffer on your account?”
“Such as?”
“I hear you've grown quite friendly with the owner of the Sangwon Fabric Shop across the way.”
A naked threat.
Refuse, and he would slowly start touching the people around him, tightening the pressure bit by bit.
Jin Seongun still felt no fear. What he did feel, unmistakably, was an unpleasantness unlike anything before.
He let out a short laugh, then rose from his seat—and Seo Hapyeong flinched violently.
“K-kill me and you will regret it. The Leader treasures me a great deal, you see—”
“Does he, now? This is the man who sent you here to win me over even after I killed his Vice Leader.”
“......”
Seo Hapyeong shut his mouth tight.
Right. The Prosperity Association Leader was not the sort to make a show of avenging a fallen subordinate.
If he ever turned a blade toward this innkeeper, it would be purely for what the man represented—not for any slain underling.
“He must pay you well, to work for a man like that.”
Jin Seongun gave a calm nod, then walked straight into the kitchen.
Seo Hapyeong glared after the kitchen door, tension written across his face.
He isn't about to come back out with a blade, is he?
He considered running, but a man who knew no martial arts, however fast his legs, would be caught in moments.
Before long, Jin Seongun emerged.
In his hands was not a blade, but a bowl of noodles.
Thump. Setting the noodles down on the table, Jin Seongun spoke.
“A guest is still a guest, whatever else. Eat before you go. And tell your Leader this—next time he sends someone, send a martial artist.”
In other words: he would not kill a man who had never learned to fight.
Seo Hapyeong looked at Jin Seongun with fresh eyes. A mere innkeeper with no faction, no backing—and yet somehow he seemed immensely strong.
The strength Seo Hapyeong perceived had nothing to do with martial arts. The man himself simply looked strong, solid, immovable.
“...I'll go back and speak with them properly.”
It happened to be mealtime besides.
The noodles looked genuinely appetizing, and Seo Hapyeong's stomach, already rumbling, made the decision for him. He picked up his chopsticks.
The moment he took a huge mouthful—
“...!”
Seo Hapyeong's eyes went wide.
The mad bastard played the gentleman and then poisoned the noodles!
“My cooking skills leave something to be desired, I'll admit. But I promise you there's nothing in there you can't eat. Fill your belly and be on your way.”
“......”
It's not poison?
Seo Hapyeong's expression grew graver still.
What kind of man wrecks one of the simplest dishes known to mankind and then opens an inn? This was nothing short of an insult to every inn under heaven.
“Uuugh.”
A low groan escaped him.
Every fiber of his being screamed to spit the noodles out and bolt for the door.
But the mad innkeeper was sitting right in front of him, calmly wiping a black sword with a white cloth.
From the corner of his eye, he recognized it—the Vice Leader's black steel blade. He couldn't shake the feeling that if he spat, that sword would come hurtling at his throat.
He's a lunatic...
Seo Hapyeong reached a grim certainty.
I'm not leaving this house until every last noodle is gone.
“Urk.”
He shoved down what his body desperately tried to expel, forcing it back with willpower and more noodles, gulping and retching his way through the bowl.
Truly, nothing in this world was as fearsome as the human survival instinct.
“Oh...”
A flicker of admiration crossed Jin Seongun's eyes.
There really was something remarkable about a man who had risen to chief administrator of a Black Dao syndicate without a single lesson in martial arts.
After a considerable stretch of time, the bowl stood empty.
Seo Hapyeong held perfectly still for a while.
If he opened his mouth, he was going to be sick.
Jin Seongun could not help but acknowledge him.
“You are the only person who has ever finished my noodles from start to finish. The Prosperity Association truly is made of iron.”
“......”
You son of a bitch.
Having cursed him with his eyes for a good long moment, Seo Hapyeong finally rose from his seat.
“...May I take my leave now?”
“Come when you wish to come, leave when you wish to leave. That's what an inn is.”
“The noodles—”
Seo Hapyeong rummaged through his robe.
He'd eaten the food, so payment was due. All the more so with that black steel sword lying within arm's reach of the man.
“I haven't officially opened for business yet, so I haven't set a price.”
“Then give me a rough figure.”
“Shall we say... one silver coin?”
“......”
Seo Hapyeong sincerely regretted, for the first time in his life, never having learned martial arts.
But with no alternative available, he drew a silver coin from his robe and handed it over.
Taking it, Jin Seongun spoke with apparent surprise.
“That was a joke.”
“...Let's just call it the price of the conversation.”
“I can't do that. I run an honest business.”
Jin Seongun pulled out his coin pouch.
The bounty he'd received for handing the two Prosperity Association fighters over to the authorities.
He rummaged through the pouch, fished out a few copper coins, and counted them back as change.
Staring down at that coin pouch, Seo Hapyeong felt something deep and uneasy stir in his chest.
Don't tell me that's actually the bounty money.
If it was, then this innkeeper was a genuine madman.
Which would mean that negotiation with him was, from the very beginning, an impossibility.
Seo Hapyeong gazed down at the copper coins resting in his palm.
Perhaps a strange wind was about to sweep through Yichang—he found himself thinking, quite suddenly, exactly that.