Chapter 17
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Piercing Sword Sect Luoyang Branch
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Ha.
He acted like he was ready for mutual destruction, only to bolt without so much as a backward glance?
It was such an absurd situation that my words caught in my throat before I knew it.
Of course, I wasn't the only one reacting that way.
"Damn."
"He's just running off like this?"
"Abandoning all his men here?"
Gwak Su-san and Na Cheol-gi, along with the Black Society rank-and-file, all swallowed dryly in utter disbelief.
No matter how desperate the situation, for their leader to ditch his subordinates and flee alone?
Even third-rate riffraff from the black path wouldn't pull something that shameless.
As such, the Black Society members spewed a torrent of vile curses and hawked thick wads of phlegm at the middle-aged man hightailing it without a look back.
In the meantime, I checked the conditions of the fallen assailants.
I'd gone a bit heavy-handed, severing their arms and punching holes through their chests, but with proper emergency treatment, they stood a good chance of pulling through.
Even if I'd misjudged my strength and the wounds proved fatal, I figured there'd be plenty of time to wring their identities out of them.
But that was my mistake.
"Guh!"
"Kah... guhuk...!"
The moment the middle-aged man vaulted over the manor wall without looking back, the assailants let out short, dying screams before dropping dead.
Judging by the foam at their mouths, they'd bitten down on suicide poison pills stashed in their mouths.
"Man, these guys are vicious. Real vicious."
"What the hell are they, anyway?"
"Strip 'em bare. Hardcore types like this might have gang tattoos or marks somewhere on their bodies."
The Black Society members stripped the assailants down to nothing, combing every last scrap of clothing.
But they came up empty.
These were fanatics who'd swallow poison and off themselves the instant mission failure was clear.
No chance they'd carry easily identifiable tattoos or affiliation marks.
"If I'd known, I should've chased the bastard down, even if it was late..."
Regret hit me too late.
I could've let the middle-aged man slip away—there were plenty of assailants on the ground. Figuring out who they were shouldn't have been hard, but I'd miscalculated.
I should've tailed him at all costs, even if it meant losing him in the pursuit.
"Urgh."
A groan slipped from my lips.
Five hundred taels. Make that five hundred for debt repayment and another five hundred reward—I'd gotten dragged into this mess because of it.
A thousand taels wasn't chump change, sure, but now I was tangled up with some shady, unknown outfit.
A twinge of regret wormed into a corner of my mind.
'If I'd planned not just for the immediate fix but the fallout too, I could've squeezed fifteen hundred—no, two thousand taels out of them...'
By the standards of the Five Dragons Escort Agency, Luoyang's top outfit for specialized bodyguard jobs among the three major escort bureaus, elite protection gigs started at two thousand taels.
Compared to that, a measly thousand taels to save Gwak Su-san, Na Cheol-gi, and dozens of Black Society goons?
Practically worked for peanuts.
'I rushed into this one. Got the door slammed in my face all day, then boom—a shot at instant riches. Lost my head and didn't play it smart.'
The more I chewed it over, the worse the regret gnawed, but I shoved it aside.
Couldn't rewind time, so what was the use brooding over spilled milk?
'Lesson learned. No more screw-ups like this.'
While the Black Society grunts tidied the trashed manor, I'd sorted my thoughts and went looking for Na Cheol-gi.
Job done clean as promised—time to collect my pay.
But Na Cheol-gi was run ragged hauling corpses and patching up the wounded.
So I sidled up to Gwak Su-san instead—he looked less swamped—and floated the topic of debt payoff and reward.
"Ahem! Leader, speaking of... we talked earlier, right?"
Even for me, demanding cash before the dust fully settled wasn't easy.
But drag my feet or play coy, and I'd be the easy mark.
"If it's too hectic to move the silver right now, least we can do is lock down the contract..."
"......"
"Not that I doubt you, Leader Gwak—people are people, yeah? Go into the john one way, come out another. Better tie this up proper now, avoid bad blood later over unfinished business, don't you think?"
Gwak Su-san creased his brow and let out a low hum.
Manor blasted to hell by a bolt from the blue had him fuming already, and now this muscle-headed loan shark badgering for payout without a clue about the mood—blood must've been boiling.
"Hmph. Pushing like this puts me in a spot..."
Hoping he'd see sense, I casually rested a hand on my sword hilt.
His scowl ironed flat in an instant, attitude flipping like a coin. He bellowed for the Wall Chief Manager to fetch the money bag.
"Wall Chief Manager! Money—now! Contract too!"
Right on cue.
Black-hearted beasts took to the blade's nudge better than honeyed words.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Clink, clink.
The money pouch sloshed full with every step.
Thirty jin heavy, my shoulders ached a touch with each sway.
Usually I'd rope in Wang Mun-gi for grunt work like this.
But today, I didn't mind the hassle.
"Heh heh heh. How long since money poured in?"
A year? Two?
Since ditching the dice, I'd seldom carried over five taels—probably even longer.
"Those punks'll bug their eyes out at this bag."
No pocket change—a full five hundred taels.
Enough to fix up the crumbling manor, stock training wooden swords and dozens of dummies, with coin left over.
Even gorge on rice, meat soup, and meat sides for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, a whole year.
Grrrgle!
Daydreaming of rice and hearty broth set my gut rumbling.
Morning till now, chasing seed money—no real meal, barely a sip of water.
Then pouring qi into subduing that mystery middle-ager and his thugs—stamina tanked.
Truth be told, before heading back to the branch, I'd eyed popping into some tavern for dumplings, cold noodles, or quick-fried bites.
But picturing my juniors hacking wood all day, gnawing arrowroot roots, slurping bean-barley mush back home soured that.
"Right—sharing a single bean's our senior-junior way. Can't hog the grease solo."
Urgh, tch!
Swung the bag to my left shoulder. Felt worlds lighter.
"Hustle, hustle."
Lighter load, sprightlier steps. Rare chance to flex as big senior brother—heart skipped a bit.
Raced to the branch, shoved open Wang Mun-gi's slapdash gate repair, strode into the yard.
Then hollered at top voice, flush with excitement.
"Mun-gi! Chu-sam! Get out here—see what your senior brother's hauled in!"
But no peep. No faces, no matter how I yelled.
Never happened before—anxiety crashed in.
"Punks still up the mountain?"
Sun dipped over an hour ago at least; late wood-chopping or not, they'd be back.
Sure enough, warehouse front: uncleared firewood stacks, frames dumped.
"Wood and frames here, people gone? Something's wrong."
Then it hit me.
'No way something happened to them?'
Neither breached peak wall, but basics rock-solid—no getting thrashed easy.
But fresh off tangling with mystery goons for that thousand-tael gig, stirring unwanted grudges.
Slim odds, but if that pissed-off middle-ager looped back to our branch mid-flight?
"No can do—their skills can't handle him."
Thoughts snowballed; pulse quickened for no reason. Brisk walk shifted to lightness skill unwitting.
"Mun-gi! Chu-sam!"
Bellowed scanning the pitch-black yard, no lamps lit. Eyes peeled for intruder traces.
Knew it unlikely, but worst-case lodged, wouldn't budge from my head.
"You idiots! Where you at? Senior brother's back from a huge score—how come not even a nose shows!"
Combed their quarters top to bottom—no ant, no trace.
Maybe evening training done, meditating? Hit the training ground.
Spotless as I'd left post-morning session, not a speck of dirt.
Thump! Thump!
Branch scoured, no sign of 'em—heart hammered.
Not blood kin, but snot-nosed days to now, brothers through thick and thin.
Clench!
Fist balled on instinct.
Dread they might've caught hell because of me—blood ran cold.
"Stay cool now. All hypotheticals. Nothing solid confirmed."
First, stashed the pouch in my room's dug-out floor safe, grabbed a torch, rechecked the warehouse.
Haste makes waste.
Planned to trace footprints from dropped frames.
"Dropped frames at warehouse, skipped rooms for fresh clothes... headed straight for the wall?"
Luckily, strides even, no outsider tracks to the wall.
Just spotting that eased the chest vice-grip.
"So where'd these punks vanish to, clearing out the branch?"
Bound over the wall light, chased tracks down twisty alleys.
Quarter-hour in, alley's end: dingy tavern. Barely qualified—more ramshackle stall.
Alongside the ungrateful shits who'd chucked senior-junior loyalty to the dogs, stuffing faces with booze and meat solo.
Grind!
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