Peace Be With You - 4
In this world, those who call themselves martial artists fall into two categories. One side consists of true martial artists who devote themselves to the court and the common folk. They're beneficial to the world—or at least harmless—friendly NPCs, as it were. The more of them, the better for everyone. They even pay their taxes diligently.
The other side? Shameless, conscienceless, brainless, clueless, honorless, trustless, powerless, reputationless vermin who aren't martial artists at all—just nobodies. They produce nothing of value for the realm, offer no service to society. The more of them, the worse off the world is. These are the parakho.
That's why, since the founding of the nation, the authorities have been cracking down on parakho like mad. Those who cross the line get decisively exterminated, so the ones left know full well: "Cross this line, and you're really fucked."
Wouldn't it be better if they used that brainpower to reform themselves? Anyway, one of the lines drawn before the parakho is, naturally, "Don't start shit with the common folk in broad daylight."
"And yet here they are, breaking it." When astonishment crosses into the absurd, you can't help but chuckle. That's exactly where I was now.
This was beyond bizarre—no words could capture it. Even in the days when the court couldn't touch the unorthodox sects, they didn't beat up innocent civilians in the middle of a major thoroughfare in the biggest city of a province, in broad daylight with crowds passing by. Even their internal squabbles happened in dark back alleys.
But in these stricter times, post-court inviolability? This level of madness would stand out even among the hardcore of the Yangtze River Eighteen Bandit Strongholds or the Green Forest Seventy-Two Dens.
"Hard to fathom."
"Yes. Embarrassing to say, but even as I was getting beaten, I wondered if I was dreaming."
Jang Jin nodded in agreement at my mutter. I got it. If a third party like me was dumbfounded, how must the victim feel? In that moment of getting pummeled, pure, unadulterated confusion must have surged over anger or pain. What the hell did these guys eat to act like this?
"Jang Jin."
"Ah, yes. What is it?"
"Sorry to ask this of you, but stay quiet for a couple days. No running the inn—just lay low."
"Two days... you mean?"
"Yeah. Best to rest up at a clinic. I'll hole up in a different inn meanwhile."
His sudden request left Jang Jin looking stunned, but he nodded obediently. Asking a self-employed innkeeper to shut down for two days was a dick move. The ripple effects wouldn't end after just two days for someone who'd been operating daily.
But I had to confirm something, and for that, Jang Jin needed to stay out of sight.
"A daylight assault happened."
What happened to him was the kind of incident that had to have witnesses. Even if he didn't complain to the officials, someone else would report it.
"And right as the Left Vice Inspector General enters Namyang."
Everyone in the Central Plains knew I rode my white deer. Spotting it would alert Namyang's officials to my presence.
Then, the Left Vice Inspector General visits the inn run by the assault victim, who holes up in a clinic while the inspector switches inns?
How would Namyang's officials react?
If it was just rogue parakho? They'd flip out and tear the streets apart—nobody wants the Left Vice Inspector General seeing ugly shit in their jurisdiction.
But if something smelled fishy? They'd hold back, just like now.
"Look at these bastards."
Two days into holing up at a new inn, and no reaction from the officials. I let out a scoff.
The two-day wait was a simple test. If they were clean, they'd have swung their executioner's axes wildly, carving up parakho left and right. That carnage would've wrapped in hours, followed by them parading the chopped-up bodies before me with explanations.
These guys are crazy.
Namyang officials always claim to toil for His Majesty, the realm, and the people.
"Gave 'em two days, and nothing."
But no movement after two full days—not hours. No executing parakho to prove innocence, no envoys with excuses, no tail-cutting attempts.
"How bad can it be?"
A hollow laugh escaped me. How mismatched must the bureaucracy be here for this disaster to erupt? I'd at least expected an excuse envoy.
"Wi-cheo."
"...Yes, my lord."
Jo Wi-cheo bowed stiffly at my call, face taut.
"Who's the Inspector Censor for this district?"
"Namyang falls under Yeon Mu-wi of the Inspection Corps, as I recall."
"Inspection Corps, huh. First I've heard of it—not from a prestigious family, then."
"Yes. Pure merit promotion."
The words "pure merit" stung a bit, but it was key info—I filed it away. Those who rise without bloodlines usually take one of two paths: proud, mission-driven workers, or power-drunk corruptors who rot fast.
God, let Yeon Mu-wi be the former. Or at least a well-meaning failure due to inexperience.
The Left Vice Inspector General emerged from the inn after two days of silence.
"What do you plan to do now?!"
It was over. The last chance to salvage the worst into something manageable—gone.
"You should've made some excuse to the Left Vice Inspector General! Or swept the local martial artists, or at least handled the culprits! That way, you'd have a shot at begging mercy!"
Uncontrollable rage and dread boiled over as I grilled the man before me. This fucking idiot was to blame.
We'd greased enough palms for him to overlook minor stuff. He had the street smarts not to cross lines too far, so no headaches till now.
But on the one day the Left Vice Inspector General shows up in Namyang, he crosses it. Just once, but at the worst possible moment.
"Branch Lord, big operations always stir small disturbances. You knew headaches came with the territory, didn't you?"
The perpetrator stayed infuriatingly calm. Should I kill him? Chop his head off now and offer it to the inspector?
"This is a 'small disturbance' to you?"
But I held back. Losing it here would just rush me toward doom.
"Of course. If the Left Vice Inspector General had poked around, it'd be big. But he holed up in an inn—we handled it."
"...Handled?"
"The culprits. Gotta silence loose lips before they wag. Worried he'd snatch them up—what luck he didn't—"
"Hyang Family Head!!"
My fraying patience snapped.
"I tolerated you because you didn't cross the line! This time you did big, but no one died!"
I hurled the teacup in my hand at him. Some shred of reason made it fly past his face, but my fury didn't cool.
"And you kill them on your own? Even if they were disposable parakho scum! The court decides life and death—not some local thug like you!"
"So I should've let them live?"
"I'm saying the court handles executions! Do I have to spell out the obvious?!"
"Branch Lord, why make me spell out the obvious?"
"What?"
The Hyang head shrugged, smirking as he continued.
"If the court moved, wouldn't the Left Vice Inspector General notice? Think he sealed his eyes and ears in that inn? If you'd handled them, it'd be obvious. So I stepped in."
Not wrong. I glared silently.
Fucking bastard. At least a heads-up would've been nice. Though he'd claim even that risked exposure.
"You're not in your right mind now, so sound judgment's impossible. I understand."
"If you get it, watch your mouth. These necks are doomed anyway—one more crime won't matter."
"My apologies."
He kept his brazen front despite my warning.
"But I returned your doomed lives—have mercy. Witnesses are all dead, no one links us to the parakho. We're innocent, so no blowback on you."
"Sure of it?"
"Might get grilled on your two days, but tough it out."
I drummed my finger on the table at his words. If he'd silenced the talkers and no evidence tied Hyang to parakho, I was safe. If the inspector mentioned ties, I'd spin it as networking for smooth governance. No evidence, just suspicion.
"The Inspector Censor's our guy too."
Crucially, the district's Inspector Censor took Hyang bribes like me. He might have unknown evidence, but I had proof he was compromised. No way he'd side with the inspector.
"...Might just slide."
I exhaled softly in relief. Dizzying when this bastard beat someone over an inn, but apparently not his time to die.
Was Namyang's Inspector Censor crushed by reality's wall, or corrupted by compromise?
Regrettably, Yeon Mu-wi was the latter. So regrettable I could've cried.
"L-Left Vice Inspector General, sir! This can't—! Even if my rank's lower, I'm still an inspector appointed by His Majesty—!"
"One more finger."
"Yes."
"Gaaahhh!!"
Not my tears—his. As another finger lopped off, I eyed the documents he'd cherished.
This psycho. Detailed logs of who bribed him, favors received, fellow corruptors.
Blackmail material for if his tail got cut? Too bad—wrong use for me.
Hyang family.
The name popped up every two or three lines. They seemed the corruption core. Denying it now would be the real insult.
"Wi-cheo."
"Yes, my lord."
"Process that Branch Manager and Hyang Family Head together when we gut 'em."
"Understood."
No assault details here, but ties, dirty money, illicit deals—clear as day. Tacking on the suspected assault? Easy.
"But my lord."
"Hm?"
"Good we secured the inspector's corruption, but resolving by force like this... It deviates from procedure."
"So what? Dead men tell no tales."
Jo Wi-cheo nodded, convinced. His knack for gagging Yeon Mu-wi mid-rant was impressive.