The Only Good Water Bandit is a Dead One - 3
"He who dominates the Yangtze dominates the world." Those were the words left behind by Jin Paeryeong, the great hero among heroes, the total chieftain of the Changgang Su-ro Ship-pal Chae.
His words ring true without fail. The Yangtze is the lifeline that feeds the entire realm, carrying all goods to and fro. It's only natural that those who control that lifeline should rule the world—just as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, or water flows from high to low.
To save the realm groaning under the Mongol tyrants' oppression, to cradle the wretched lives of the common folk, Great Hero Jin Paeryeong rose up boldly to defend the Yangtze. Truly, he burned his own body to safeguard the world.
Of course, upholding such a grand cause required funds, so they took modest contributions from the locals near the Yangtze—but it was all for the greater good, wasn't it? It might be tough now, but in the end, it's for the people. We're not doing this to fill our own bellies.
"Vermin fattening themselves amid the chaos of war—slaughter them all to bring peace to the realm!"
And yet, as we toiled for the Yangtze and the world, some bastard called Gi Gangwang grew jealous of us. A mere bandit himself, he'd climbed the ladder and now strutted around bullying the Yangtze's heroes. How could we not rage? How could we not grieve?
Any hero with a shred of ambition would have condemned Gi Gangwang and aided Great Hero Jin Paeryeong.
"At last, order is restored to the realm!"
"Kill the filthy water bandits! Exterminate the parasites of the Yangtze!"
But for some inexplicable reason, in this vast world, there were no true men of conviction. Instead of helping the Yangtze's heroes backed into a corner, all we saw were cowardly, petty scoundrels joining forces with that villain Gi Gangwang.
We wailed at the cruel reality. The common folk and realm we'd fought to protect had betrayed us; our guiding light, Great Hero Jin Paeryeong, had met his end at Gi Gangwang's hands. We wept like children.
Yet I never gave up. Even if the world curses us, we can't abandon it. To crumble before hardship is no way for a warrior.
'As long as I don't die, it's not defeat.'
Yes, death alone can stop me. My dream—our aspiration—won't halt otherwise.
For now, crushed by Gi Gangwang's momentum, we've been pushed from the mighty Yangtze to the cramped confines of Dongting Lake. But Dongting Lake has plenty of upright merchants. Good souls who generously donate vast sums for our revival.
A little patience, and we'll return to the grand Yangtze. We'll transform into its majestic water dragon.
"So that's what a Dongting Lake water bandit looks like."
That's what I thought—right up until death came knocking.
"Does your mother know you're living like this?"
"What?!"
Dongting Lake is a famous spot known not just in Song but even in Goryeo. Thanks to that, it's bustling with wealthy tourists flocking to the scenic area—but strategically and administratively, it's a touch lower priority, which is a sad reality.
That doesn't mean Dongting Lake is irrelevant. It's a key stronghold on the Yangtze, enough that water bandits stripped bare there come crawling in.
From Song's perspective, fresh off ending the chaos, there were just higher-priority issues, so it got postponed. Fortunately, voluntary patrols by righteous warriors had kept the peace until now—but the water bandits' rampage had finally crossed the line.
So what choice is there? Bump up that lower priority and wipe them out.
'And conveniently, ones who'll spill intel have walked right into our hands.'
Among the water bandits who ambushed Jeong U-rok at Eyang Pavilion, there'd even been a first-rate expert. Plenty of info to squeeze out, and Song's interrogation skills are the best in the world.
Mouth sealed tight? Won't betray your comrades? A bit of effort and sincerity turns them into whistleblowers quick.
"I-I'll talk! Please, let me talk!"
"Your plea lacks sincerity. I'll come back later."
"Aaaargh!"
To the point of begging to be heard.
"The water bandits number about five hundred, with fifteen first-rates. No peak experts," Jo Wi-cheo recited the neatly extracted intel in his usual calm tone.
As expected, no peak experts among these small-fry bandits. Anyone reaching peak would join an official post or live as a local notable—what fool would turn bandit? It's not wartime anymore.
"They're not a single force but split into eight factions. The largest is the Janggang First Stronghold, led by a chieftain called Makje—a veteran from the old Changgang Su-ro Ship-pal Chae."
"Fancy name for them."
Can't fathom the gall of calling themselves Janggang First Stronghold after fleeing to Dongting Lake. I'd be too ashamed. But good thing—no more using that embarrassing grand name after today.
"Troops?"
"Three thousand Akju garrison soldiers, two hundred second-rates, thirty-two first-rates on standby."
A satisfying number; I nodded automatically. Add Wudang and Hengshanpa warriors, and that's over two hundred second-rates alone. Against five hundred scattered bandits, one flick per head and they're done.
Gangs terrorizing society only thrive because authorities let them. Get serious about a purge, and they crumble fast. Timeless truth, East or West, ancient or modern.
And for public authority to uphold justice and order, it needs love and justice, pride and conviction... plus gunpowder and courage.
"Nice shot."
So the moment their hideout entered range, we fired the cannons first. No need to risk valuable troops upfront and risk injuries. Too precious to lose to mere bandit trash.
"S-Sir?"
"Speak."
"W-Was mobilizing the troops really necessary?"
Myeong So from Wudang, watching the splendid fireworks display (a bit large-scale), spoke with a awkward expression. I get it. He'd come braced for fierce combat with the bandits, only to witness a one-sided beatdown.
Bandits without peak experts can't counter cannons.
"Sometimes a few survive by sheer luck. Those ones come back fiercer, tormenting the people more. That's why we need troops to encircle and prevent escape."
Everything has its reason. Warriors shy of peak get blasted by cannon fire—one for me, one for you—but if they've invested stats in agility, they might dodge. If those head for populated areas or rush reloading cannons, it gets messy.
"Probably a few dozen will survive. Young hero, handle them for the people's peace and safety."
"We could've led from the start..."
"Why take the long road when the easy one's open?"
I patted Myeong So's shoulder as I spoke. Natural for a young man to burn with zeal and passion. Reaching second-rate and earning praise for his role as a warrior makes his body itch for action.
But overinflated balloons burst at the slightest prick. Long-lasting warriors need a touch of slack.
"This realm needs heroes like you in many places. Don't try to conquer it all here—think of it as steadily gaining experience. Your gaze should aim farther."
Not stopping at second-rate.
"...Your teachings have cleared the fog from this fool's eyes."
"Haha, you're embarrassing me. I just passed on what the wise ones told me."
A bit bittersweet. What I told Myeong So was advice Jwa Do-eosa gave me when I first joined the Dochalwon—back when I thought she was normal. Now she's got me on a nationwide tour that feels like death if I slack.
Jwa Do-eosa's words, contradicted by Jwa Do-eosa herself...
"Sir. It's over."
Anyway, once the cannon barrage halted, Jo Wi-cheo approached with his report.
"Storm in. Better to capture for show, but don't push it."
"Yes, sir."
Jo Wi-cheo nodded curtly and led the warriors toward what used to be the bandits' hideout.
"Sir, we'll head out too."
"Go on. No overdoing it. If you've got time, watch that witcher's swordplay up there. I've cleared it, so stare all you want—no complaints."
"Th-Thank you, sir."
Grateful for permission to observe a master's moves, Myeong So bowed deeply.
'I'm the thankful one.'
Nothing beats warriors working for free. Letting them peek at swordplay is a steal. Jo Wi-cheo's style is the standard issued to Song's military officers anyway.
No peak expert goes all-out on bandit trash.
'That'll suffice.'
Even the same sword art varies by wielder. Seeing peak mastery through second-rate eyes will help plenty.
Soon, the cleanup crew returned.
"This the bastard Makje?"
I looked down at the parakho Jo Wi-cheo dragged by the collar. Disheveled hair, one arm gone—he must've resisted fiercely, befitting a chieftain.
"So that's what a Dongting Lake water bandit looks like."
In a way, it's impressive. Surviving Gi Gangwang's Yangtze purge should've sparked gratitude to the heavens and repentance—instead, still banditry to the end.
"Does your mother know you're living like this?"
"What?!"
Makje bristled at the pad lip that slipped out. Sorry. From his looks, his mother's long dead or passed from frustration—naturally, she wouldn't know.
'Don't poke what ain't there.'
Self-reflection. Denying what exists is bad, but pretending nonexistence is worse. Riling an orphan by mentioning his mom—how pissed must he be?
As apology, request a clean hanging or beheading for this one.