That Familiar Taste - 2
As soon as we stepped into an inn that seemed moderately sized and doing decent business, I spotted the moving ledgers and pretexts right away. It was something I'd expected, but seeing it in person didn't sit well. Expectations like this are the kind you don't mind being wrong about.
'Moths to a flame, those bastards.' Like moths swarming toward light, these bugs coiled around any whiff of profit. Gazing down at the Parakho scum sprawled on the floor, that thought crossed my mind.
Self-proclaimed murim folk weren't the type to farm or run shops for a living, so taking tribute under the guise of protection wasn't uncommon. Back in the days when the government couldn't touch murim, it was par for the course. Even now, most murim troublemakers who got caught were doing exactly that. Of course, after decades of the court cracking down post-Daesong's founding, the number of murim artists extorting tribute had plummeted. Those who still did it gritted their teeth to avoid detection.
But these idiots were brawling in broad daylight, claiming the inn as their turf. Truly, put five humans together and one’s bound to be trash.
'If this is what hits us right upon arriving in Gwangju...' I let out a small sigh and nudged one of the seemingly unconscious Parakho with my foot.
Out of a hundred white marbles, if there's one black one, the odds of drawing it are 1%. No one knows when that 1% will hit, so these floor-bound trash could be Gwangju's 1%. But the chance that we'd hit the 1% jackpot right on arrival—or that half the marbles were black, making it 50%—which seemed more likely? Regrettably, Gwangju appeared to have a lot of black marbles.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes, my lord."
"That guy trying to slip out. Grab him. Don't let him go." And so I caught the inn's one white marble. Well, honestly, I couldn't be sure it was white, but it sure wasn't black. Gray at worst.
'The only one who noticed and stayed quiet.' As Jo Wi-cheo approached, the martial artist dropped everything with a resigned look and let himself be captured. If he belonged to a specific faction, this encounter could open doors to them. Factions with normal martial artists were likely reasonable themselves. Even a lone wanderer would do. Wanderers were mostly off-kilter types, but one who knew when to stay quiet despite that? Valuable material worth heavy use.
"This lowly martial servant from the border provinces greets you, my lord..."
As I sized up the gray marble's value, the martial artist dragged before me by Jo Wi-cheo offered a proper salute. Bowing flat enough to call himself lowly. He definitely had baseline wits and smarts. He'd figured I was an official from watching me thrash the Parakho. The black marbles on the floor hadn't clocked it even as they passed out from the beatings. Who else but an official would subdue Parakho brawling in daylight?
'Did he think I'm a third faction?' I shot another glance at the Parakho without thinking. With enough brains for turf wars in broad daylight, they might've pegged me as a rival outfit muscling in on their inn racket. Truly awe-inspiring intellect.
"If every martial artist I met first in Gwangju was like that lot, I'd be sorely disappointed."
I turned my gaze back to the gray marble. "Fortunately, there was at least one who knew to toe the line."
"Y-You overpraise me, my lord."
Certified normal by an official, the gray marble bowed his head in humble gratitude.
"Innkeeper."
"Y-Yes! You called for me?"
After patting the bowed martial artist's shoulders a few times, I summoned the innkeeper from the corner.
"You've been through hell caught in these Parakho turf spats. Send word to the magistrate's office about this, and get compensated for all the damages."
"Yes, my lord! Thank you!"
Not just repairs for the inn damage from my thrashing session, but refunds for all tribute paid to murim thugs so far. The innkeeper's weary, watchful face lit up instantly.
Strictly speaking, he could've been in trouble too for paying tribute, not just the receivers. But this was trash-filled Gwangju. Refuse, and who knew what those scum might do? Tears in their eyes, they'd paid up. Better one protector than becoming a free-for-all murim playground.
"And I'd like a quiet word. Somewhere private."
"Yes! We'll all clear out!"
"Good. Thanks."
I nodded at the innkeeper's offer to empty the place. No telling what I'd discuss with this gray marble, so better no ears around. Once Gwangju soldiers hauled off the unconscious Parakho and the staff fully cleared out...
"This humble one is I Pil. Born in Hubei, I settled here in Gwangju a decade ago."
Introducing himself as I Pil, he kept stealing glances at me, fidgeting nervously. Already knowing I was an official and having bowed low, now that I'd revealed myself as a central Left Vice Inspector General—not just any official—his eyes darted even faster.
"Relax. The court suppresses only those Parakho who disrupt the realm and bully the people. We don't oppress everyone who wields a sword."
"O-Of course, I know. His Majesty's benevolence blankets the land—how could I worry otherwise?"
'Oh.' Decent with words too; my internal rating of I Pil shot up. Right on. With founding elders hating murim, it was the late emperor and current one's mercy keeping murim breathing. Praising that mercy before an official? Beyond basic smarts—solid intellect.
"Well said indeed. If only other martial artists lived grateful for His Majesty's mercy like you."
"A parent's love for a child is always warm, yet the child takes that infinite warmth for granted. His Majesty's mercy and virtue are the same—truly regrettable."
I chuckled and poured him a drink. 'Passed.' No need to look further. Unless his bloodline hid rebels, I Pil was worth employing heavily. Wary martial artists were rare, smart ones rarer, silver-tongued even more so. Yet he had all three.
'Realm's at least Peak too.' Plus, having abandoned Hubei for far-off Gwangju, his personal strength had reached Peak, worthy of calling a master. Perfect. This guy could be useful not just for Gwangju, but mastering Guangdong murim.
"A decade in Gwangju means you've put down roots, even if not your homeland."
"Shamefully, I'm still lacking. The Yangguang area is somewhat distinct even within the Central Plains... outsiders struggle to settle."
A slight pity. Ideally, someone fully assimilated locally. But what could you do? As I Pil said, Yangguang differed from central culture. Folks here were genetically and linguistically distinct from the north. Without shared Central Plains values, they'd be another country.
"A vast Daesong being entirely uniform would be the real oddity."
I framed Yangguang's quirks as natural. "And a decade here means Gwangju has its charms."
"...You're right, my lord."
I Pil paused briefly but didn't push. Rare talent with three virtues—a minor flaw was forgivable.
Life throws curveballs that defy common sense. Like turf wars in broad daylight, public brawls, or causing chaos in tribute inns.
"Where do these idiots keep coming from?"
"No kidding. They get culled periodically, yet new ones pop up to replace them."
The elder clicked his tongue at my mutter, shaking his head. He was right. The court lacked manpower, not competence—if a faction or clan got too rowdy, it got smashed flat. Dozens had vanished that way. Yet bizarrely, even after utter destruction, fresh lunatics emerged from somewhere. Infuriating for officials, fascinating for onlookers.
"That's why we profit."
"True enough."
Both elder and I smirked. Spot on again. Maniacs drew the court's gaze full-force, letting quiet operators like us thrive. Take money silently, no fuss—no attention. Or maybe they knew but deprioritized us. Either way, we were happy.
"Gotta lay low for a bit though."
The elder shut his mouth with a sly nod. Yeah. Post-maniac spree, play it extra safe—even holding back on quiet collections. Especially now.
'Left Vice Inspector General.' The one who'd subdued the daylight brawlers wasn't local officials, but a central Left Vice Inspector General. No clue why a high central official came to this southern fringe, but he'd pass through soon enough. Just breathe till then—no harm to us. But spark even minor trouble during his stay? The "honorable" culprit would get typhoon-smashed.
'Can't have that.' No plans to star in that drama. Not after building Jin-gwangmun this far. Obscure, but rich. Couldn't trash those years on idiocy.