Worse Scum Will Come
"……That's what happened."
The man speaking was Seo Hapyeong, Chief Administrator of the Prosperity Association. He had just finished laying out, in painstaking detail, everything that had transpired at the Seongun Inn.
"Imbecile! You call yourself the Chief Administrator of the Prosperity Association, and you come back to my face spouting that nonsense?"
"I apologize."
Seo Hapyeong bowed his head low. What could a man with no martial training possibly have done in that situation? Still, he made no excuse for himself. Once the Guild Leader's temper snapped, no explanation on earth would be accepted.
A typical thug.
Men who rode on their father's renown, trusted blindly in their own meager talent, and lived swept along by every passing emotion. Such people existed everywhere, in the Orthodox world and the Dark world alike. The real injustice was that most of them grew up untouched, unscathed, and settled comfortably into positions of power.
"What should we do?"
Seo Hapyeong asked it flatly, without inflection.
Every fiber of Jo Taeho's being screamed at him to beat the man's skull in. But his hand would not rise. The Chief Administrator managed every thread of the association's finances, and plenty of merchants dealt with the Prosperity Association on the strength of their trust in him alone.
"……"
Seo Hapyeong was gazing at the Guild Leader with eyes that seemed oddly, unaccountably detached. A stray remark from Jeomsoi floated up unbidden in his memory.
He must pay you a fortune, to work under a man like that.
Yes. It was all for the money. The Guild Leader paid him a sum no one else would have offered. And yet, in moments like this, he could not help feeling how pitiable his own position truly was.
"You told him to send a martial artist next time?"
"Yes. It seems he spared my life precisely because I haven't learned any martial arts."
"Pathetic. A mere tavern boy, talking as if he were some righteous hero of the Orthodox path."
The Guild Leader drained his stone-cold tea in one rough gulp and went on.
"Fine. We'll give him exactly what he wants. Send word to the South Black League. Summon the Seven Ghosts of Hongho."
"……All of them?"
Seo Hapyeong asked again, doubting his own ears — then, meeting the Guild Leader's murderous glare, he simply nodded.
"Understood."
In the south of Hubei Province, near the vast expanse of water known as Hongho, there operated a band of seven assassins. The most infamous of the many lurid rumors attached to their name was that they had once killed an elder of the Wudang Sect and escaped clean away. Each one was a master who could stand toe to toe with the killers of Salmak, the greatest assassination organization under heaven — and in particular, their leader, the Slaughter Ghost, was said to have surpassed even the Peak Realm.
The man who had gathered them was none other than the Guild Leader's father — Jo Raeak, Alliance Leader of the South Black League.
"Shall we send them straight to the Seongun Inn?"
"Tell them to come here and stand by."
Jo Taeho had no intention of letting Jeomsoi die easily. The brat had dared to defy the Prosperity Association in Yichang, of all places — so he would be hounded relentlessly, tormented for a good long while, and only then killed.
Seongun Inn.
While the Guild Leader of the Prosperity Association stormed and raged, Jin Seongun, in that same hour, was staring quietly at an empty bowl of noodles.
"He was a decent man, actually."
For all that he belonged to the Dark world, Chief Administrator Seo Hapyeong had understood the heart of the person who cooked his food. The noodles had surely been awful — and yet he had finished every last bite.
Just then—
"Say there, Seongun. If you haven't eaten yet……"
Noh Sangwon of the Sangwon Fabric Shop had been on the point of entering the inn when he caught sight of the empty bowl and stopped short. Jin Seongun narrowed his eyes.
"It's an empty bowl."
"Aha."
Looking relieved for some reason, Noh Sangwon stepped inside.
"If you're free, how about one last meal together?"
"Your last?"
Was this a declaration of a broken friendship? Just as the thought crossed Jin Seongun's mind—
"I'm leaving this place."
It came out of nowhere. Jin Seongun looked at him steadily. The old merchant's face was a tangle of emotions — relief, wistfulness, and beneath it all, a faint thread of anger he had tried hard to conceal, faint but visible to a man who had trained in the martial arts.
"What happened?"
"Happened? Nothing happened."
Noh Sangwon shrugged. The two of them agreed to eat out, and stepped out of the inn together. Jin Seongun cast a sidelong glance at the Sangwon Fabric Shop. A fair portion of the goods had indeed been packed away. It seemed he really was leaving.
"You've run your business here for twenty years."
"I have. And now it's time to go. A man who won't change gets left behind — that's just how the world works."
"This is awfully sudden. Is it because of me?"
It was a reasonable inference. The only thing that could plausibly be called a change in Noh Sangwon's life was Jin Seongun's arrival next door.
"……Don't be absurd. I like you, lad."
Noh Sangwon said it with an easy smile. But Jin Seongun did not miss the instant of hesitation. He sharpened his senses further — the old man's breathing, his pulse, the minute tremor in his pupils.
He's hiding something.
Noh Sangwon was lying. Jin Seongun stopped dead in his tracks, and Noh Sangwon stopped with him, turning to meet his gaze.
"Tell me what's going on."
Jin Seongun's voice was perfectly calm. Noh Sangwon looked at him for a long moment. He had tried so hard to hold it in — tried not to plant guilt in the heart of the young friend he'd only recently made. That was what the grown-up was supposed to do. But faced with Jin Seongun's untroubled face, and with his own shop visible just behind them, the corners of Noh Sangwon's eyes began to redden.
For once, Jin Seongun looked genuinely flustered.
"Hey — why are you crying all of a sudden?"
"I'm not crying. My eyes just sting, that's all. I'm aggrieved, and I'm angry."
"They generally call that crying."
"……"
Before long, Noh Sangwon wiped his eyes with his sleeve and spoke.
"The Prosperity Association boys came to see me. Told me to leave. I suppose I looked too friendly with you. They've set their minds on breaking you down, lad — cutting away everyone you can lean on, one by one, until you're alone. That's the game they're playing."
"That's cowardly."
"Martial folk are all like that. Always have been."
Jin Seongun nodded. Having lived nearly twenty years as a humble tavern boy, he understood the truth of those words better than most.
"Call it an old man's fretting, but none of this is your fault. Those damned bastards are the problem. And honestly, it may be for the best. I was sick to death of licking their boots anyway."
"Do you have somewhere to go?"
"Follow the Yangtze west and you'll come to a place called Jingzhou. From what I hear, the merchant guild there is run by a martial artist of the Orthodox path — a Wudang man, no less. Nothing like our Prosperity Association."
"Is that so."
Noh Sangwon nodded with forced cheer.
"The Jingzhou Merchant Guild doesn't bully merchants, and what's more, they keep the Dark world rabble from sniffing anywhere near the place."
"How long does it take to get to Jingzhou?"
"If you follow the river without resting — three days there, five days back, give or take."
Jin Seongun nodded slowly, deep in thought. Seeing that look on his face, Noh Sangwon was abruptly seized by unease.
"Now listen here. If you're thinking of asking the Jingzhou Merchant Guild for help, forget it."
"Why is that?"
Jin Seongun asked with what seemed like genuine curiosity. It was true that if he wanted to erase the Prosperity Association, the single greatest obstacle was alcohol. Yichang's very structure made it impossible to procure liquor through any channel but theirs. But if there was a force substantial enough to be called a guild in its own right — couldn't they simply take the association's place?
"The thing the Prosperity Association fears most in this world is the Jingzhou Merchant Guild. They know it well enough — they know a guild like that could replace them outright."
And beyond that, there was the matter of Orthodox and Dark relations. For precisely those reasons, anyone caught trying to open a line to the Jingzhou Merchant Guild had been made into an example — butchered with exquisite cruelty, even by the Prosperity Association's standards. And even if one did make the journey, there was no guarantee the guild would lift a finger. If they refused, the whole errand would amount to nothing gained and nothing but a furious provocation delivered to the Prosperity Association.
Noh Sangwon was desperately afraid that Jin Seongun might truly cross that line. But whether he worried or not, Jin Seongun seemed to have found his answer, and thrust his thumb up with perfect clarity.
"Good."
"……What exactly is good?"
"Just wait seven days."
Three days there. Four days back. If that was Noh Sangwon's standard, then Jin Seongun — running flat out with lightness skill — was confident he could reach the guild and return with a firm answer in five.
"No. Whatever you're thinking right now, it's not that."
Whether the old man approved or not, Jin Seongun gave a token nod — and a moment later, vanished in a burst of lightness skill.
Jin Seongun made straight for the Yangtze — then wheeled sharply around and headed back to the inn. They weren't his formal masters, strictly speaking, but it only seemed right to tell the ones who had taught him that he was going.
In the broad yard behind the inn, he opened the door of the shed standing silent and alone — and even in broad daylight, an abyss of darkness unfolded before him.
The Martial Gods were playing baduk. It was a match between the Sword Immortal and the Divine Thief. Daji and the Merchant King stood behind their respective players, offering counsel, while the Blood Demon lay at a distance, affecting disinterest, gazing up at the sky — though in truth, the whole world looked to him like an endless night sky.
"Ah, Seongun has come."
The Sword Immortal granted him a half-hearted greeting before glaring back down at the board. The Divine Thief was fidgeting with his stones, looking distinctly anxious.
"I need to step out for a little while."
At those words, the hands of both players froze mid-motion. Every head turned to Jin Seongun at once.
"Why?"
Jin Seongun explained the situation. The Prosperity Association. The tyranny they had inflicted. And the Jingzhou Merchant Guild.
"Hah!"
The Sword Immortal let out a long sigh, and flames seemed to leap up in his eyes.
"Seongun! Why do you stand there dallying? I taught you the sword that cuts down evil! Go now and cleave every last one of those Prosperity Association dogs, and deliver the common people from their suffering!"
Daji, whose temperament ran closest to the Orthodox path alongside the Sword Immortal's, chimed in as well.
"The Sword Immortal speaks true. They fear no heaven — so you must stand in heaven's stead, Seongun, and pass down divine punishment. It is only fitting."
Both were fiercely strong in their sense of righteous indignation, and their fury at the association burned hot. The Divine Thief, by contrast, remarked idly:
"Didn't I teach you the Shadowless Steps? Slip in at night, slice them up quick, and skip away. Done."
"With a single form of the Sole Blood Crimson Hand Art, you could vaporize the whole association — whatever they call themselves — down to the last man."
The Blood Demon spoke without rising, merely lifting his head from where he lay, his eyes glinting with murder. Watching him, Jin Seongun silently resolved, once again, never to use the Sole Blood Crimson Hand Art if he could help it.
As the Martial Gods each voiced their opinions, a click of the tongue cut through the noise. The Merchant King pushed his way in.
"Look at you all, hopeless the lot of you. This is why people born to the martial world can never be trusted with anything. Isn't that right, Seongun?"
Jin Seongun nodded. The Merchant King had risen from tavern-boy origins to build the greatest merchant syndicate under heaven, and become the finest martial artist of his era on top of it — there was much in him that spoke to Jin Seongun's own nature.
"Seongun poured his whole life into building this inn. Naturally, he wants to run his business in peace. But tell me — if we wipe out the Prosperity Association overnight, who crawls into the empty seat?"
The other Martial Gods pondered deeply. But with heads full of sword forms and killing arts, the answer did not come easily. As if he'd expected exactly that, the Merchant King continued.
"Worse scum will come."
"Then we simply kill them too."
"And then even worse scum comes after that."
"……"
The Merchant King had grasped the matter with perfect clarity. This was not a question of simply killing or not killing. If it had to be done at all, then the right course was to find the method that would make life easiest — and most profitable — from here on out.
"Seongun. The cleanest answer is what the others say: erase the association root and branch and walk away. With your skill, that's easily done. But you can't. Do you know why?"
"Because the Martial Gods are dwelling at the Seongun Inn."
"Right. Whatever happens, you must remain at that inn. Which means the seat the association leaves empty must be filled by people who serve you. And the ones you've chosen are the Jingzhou Merchant Guild, I take it?"
"Yes, that's correct."
Of course, there was no guarantee they would help. However vast the Jingzhou Merchant Guild's power, however Orthodox its leanings, the Prosperity Association stood backed by the South Black League — a colossus of the Dark world. For the guild, the proposal could only be a crushing burden.
But the man advising Jin Seongun now was no ordinary counselor. He was the Merchant King himself — the man who had carved his name deepest of all in history, not only in martial talent but in the talent of commerce.
"Shall I tell you the one method that leaves the Jingzhou Merchant Guild with no choice but to help you?"
For once, Jin Seongun's eyes lit up. As expected — when in doubt, the Merchant King was the answer.
"I'll explain it once, so carve every word into that skull of yours."
The Merchant King flashed a grin and began to lay it out — and in an instant, Jin Seongun's eyes went wide in a way they rarely did.
Five days after the Seongun Inn had closed its doors.
The Guild Leader of the Prosperity Association was receiving his subordinates' reports.
"Nothing unusual on today's patrol either. The tavern boy still hasn't shown his face."
The Guild Leader sank deep into his chair, his expression easing considerably.
"So he ran in the end."
It had been the natural outcome. In Yichang, the Prosperity Association was absolute. Even the constabulary captain came to bow his head before them, and every merchant in the packed rows of shops had become their eyes and ears.
"We can hardly let him live, can we."
"What are your orders?"
"The Seven Ghosts of Hongho arrive soon. When they do, give them the boy's description and have him hunted down and—"
Just then—
Thud.
A heavy boom rang out from beyond the office door. The Guild Leader narrowed his eyes at it.
"What is that?"
"The young masters must be training hard, my lord. Shall I tell them to restrain themselves?"
"Leave it. What kind of fool orders a martial artist to go easy on his training?"
It was called a merchant association, but in truth it was a Dark sect in all but name. Its martial artists were a force that strengthened Jo Taeho's hand even now — and the very blades he would one day wield side by side when the contest against his brothers began. If they threw themselves into training of their own accord, so much the better for him.
"To finish what I was saying — have the Seven Ghosts bring the boy here, and if he resists too fiercely, a limb or two may—"
KRA-BOOOOM—!
A colossal detonation. The Guild Leader shot to his feet. The martial artists mid-report hastily drew their blades and fixed their eyes on the door.
Furious shouts from the association's fighters. Horrific screams. Detonations one after another. Someone was coming. Someone was cutting through a hundred of his men and advancing on this room.
"Go see what it is."
At the Guild Leader's command, one fighter who had been warily exchanging glances with the others approached the door—
CRRAAAASH—!
The iron-reinforced door tore away like paper, and a single young man stepped through into view.
The corner of the Guild Leader's mouth twitched grotesquely.
The intruder looked barely twenty. His face gave away nothing — no flicker of emotion — while the aura blooming from his entire body was so murderous it made the skin crawl, a dangerously oppressive presence. In each of his two hands he gripped a limp association officer, and both fists were wreathed in a faint, blood-red glow.
There was no need to check his face against any description. His identity was obvious.
"……Jeomsoi."
Here, before the man who could be called the king of Yichang —
the tavern boy of the Seongun Inn had come calling.