The Subduing Demon Dragon Unmasked
“Hup...!”
The bamboo-hatted fellow gulped down a massive breath. Caught completely off guard, he kept twitching his lower jaw like he'd been properly stabbed where it hurt.
He looked just like a seven- or eight-year-old kid busted lying to his parents, fumbling for an excuse without knowing where to start.
'This bamboo-hatted punk—his true identity exposed at the most unexpected moment, leaving him so shocked he can't even speak, just flailing around like an idiot.'
Tsk.
If you're gonna ditch the mortal world to cultivate the Dao up in the mountains, why not just sit there prim and proper like a true Taoist, glued to your meditation cushion? Why set up a branch in Luoyang and try to muscle in on us Jeomchang Sect's Luoyang Branch—like we're just some small-time merchants?'
'Part of me wants to rip off your disguise right here in front of everyone, expose your shady intentions for taking this test, and make you eat a heaping plate of humiliation...'
But that would only bring a fleeting thrill, with no real gain for me or the Jeomchang Sect Luoyang Branch.
'Can't just savor this chance for a quick mood boost and call it a day.'
I clamped down on my itching mouth, flashed a leisurely smile, and addressed the bamboo-hatted fellow.
“Taoist.”
“......”
“No need to look so flustered. This test has no restrictions on participants—as long as you pay the fee in full, anyone can join.”
It wasn't empty talk; it was the honest truth.
The promotional flyers Yeo Chu-sam had made clearly stated there were no entry limits, and hadn't some Black Snake Society thugs shown up on opening day without a clue, just because they saw those flyers?
“So relax and don't worry.”
“......”
“Really.”
I spoke without a shred of deceit, pure truth from start to finish.
But the bamboo-hatted fellow, probably burned one too many times by con artists in his life, refused to buy a word of it.
'Damn punk. Your cover's blown—time to open up and get ready to negotiate. What's with clamming up like a shellfish? What kind of guts is that?'
A surge of irritation bubbled up at his frustrating antics, wasting precious time like this.
But in the gambling dens, you'd face even more maddening situations than this.
'He's the one who stepped in the trap, not me. No need to rush—peel back those dark intentions layer by layer.'
I kept my composure and eyed him carefully.
Having little experience with such awkward spots, he was still dithering, at a loss.
'If the opponent's gone mute like he's swallowed honey, that's all the better for me.'
I curved my lips into a smile and was about to apply some light pressure.
That's when it happened.
“......When did you figure it out?”
The fellow slightly lifted his deeply pressed bamboo hat and finally cracked open that sealed mouth of his.
In a voice thick with wounded pride and resentment.
“There was just a slight slip on the first sword draw. After that, I didn't use a single stance of the Bokma Geom-beop, not even a basic stance—how in the world...?”
Hmm.
Was he keeping silent all this time not out of embarrassment, but because he thought his disguise was perfect—only to be shocked when it unraveled?
'If that's the case, it's a bit of an ego trip... but looking at that baby-faced fuzz, maybe he really is that stunned.'
With the bamboo hat lifted, his face looked remarkably youthful.
At a glance, just past his early thirties?
Looking closer, he seemed a bit older, but still a good three or four years younger than Wang Mun-gi or Yeo Chu-sam.
'His moves were so sluggish, I figured he was some crusty old-timer. Turns out he's just a hot-blooded greenhorn.'
Greenhorn punk.
Simple reason for the label: he reminded me of myself when I first set foot in Luoyang years ago.
More precisely, right after barely scraping past the wall to Jeoljeong peak, when my confidence in my own skills overflowed into the heavens, leaving me rampaging blindly without a sense of heaven or earth.
'This guy's got potential. If I play him right, roast him just so, I could tame him into something useful for our next moves.'
Creak.
Having plotted how to tame this hot-blooded greenhorn and put him to work later, I grinned meaningfully.
In response, the greenhorn shot me a flounder-eyed glare, clearly annoyed that I hadn't answered his question and was just smirking.
'Ha, look at this punk throwing a tantrum.'
If he were my junior, I'd have declared I'd beat that rotten attitude out of him and given him a proper scolding.
But since this greenhorn belonged to the Gongmu Sect, not Jeomchang, I skipped the harsh dressing-down and went with formal courtesy first.
We weren't some ragtag unorthodox bunch; as representatives of the Nine Great Sects and One Gang, we had to keep up appearances.
“Jang So-cheon of the Jeomchang Sect.”
“......”
The greenhorn blinked in slight confusion at my sudden greeting, standing awkwardly.
“Had you kept that bamboo hat pulled low, I might've played along. But you lifted it to show your face—how could I keep pretending?”
“......”
“So before answering your question, I figured a proper introduction was the polite way. Hence the greeting.”
“Hmm......”
Me going on about etiquette and propriety—he finally remembered he'd blown his cover, skipped apologies and self-intro, and snapped first. His face flushed red.
He hesitated a moment on revealing himself, then greeted in a deeply subdued voice.
“......Things happened too fast; my apologies for the late introduction. Unam of the Gongmu Sect.”
“Ah, that explains it. Your sword aura was no ordinary thing. So you're Unam, the rising star of the Gongmu Sect—the Bokma Singyong.”
“......”
“I'd heard the rumors but, due to personal matters lately, haven't been out much. Didn't recognize you at first glance.”
As I spoke apologetically, the greenhorn—no, Unam's features twisted ever so slightly.
No wonder—this mess was entirely his fault.
Yet the one who should apologize was doing so instead, taking the low road. Must be mortifying, hard to even lift his head.
And this wasn't some private spot; it was out in the open, with Yeo Chu-sam staring daggers too.
He already had a grudge against Unam; now, smelling blood like a pack of jackals, he pounced.
“The nerve—turning the tables like that. Unbelievable...”
“Chu-sam. Mind your manners in front of a Taoist.”
“But, senior brother, I haven't even said anything yet...”
“Quiet.”
“No, but...”
“Hey!”
I nipped Yeo Chu-sam off every time he opened his mouth to speak.
Why? The louder I got on him, the more uncomfortable Unam would feel.
'To tame a prideful lightning rod like this, better not bully him into submission with brute force. Make his conscience prick until he bends on his own—that's the smart play.'
Swipe.
Pretending to sternly scold Yeo Chu-sam while sneaking a side-eye—right on cue.
Unam fidgeted in place, stamping his feet restlessly, sneaking glances at me while groaning like a puppy desperate to poop.
'Looks like he's primed to eat even dogshit wisdom like sticky rice cakes now.'
Flick, flick!
I signaled Yeo Chu-sam: that's enough, back off smartly.
Blink, blink!
No need for transmission arts between lifelong brothers-in-arms—we synced on instinct.
“Sorry, senior brother.”
“Enough. Withdraw.”
*That good enough?*
*Yeah, go grab some food.*
That was the gist between us.
To Unam, it probably looked like Yeo Chu-sam had earned my lasting ire because of him.
Watching Yeo Chu-sam trot out of the training ground, Unam cautiously tried to speak.
“Um...”
Before he could get the words out properly, I cut him off with another apology.
“Taoist, this is truly embarrassing. Never dreamed my junior would be so rude—not once, but twice.”
“Uh, hmm...”
“I'll make sure to straighten out that rotten attitude so it never happens again.”
“No need—don't trouble yourself on my account.”
Unam waved his hands frantically, worried his own recklessness had scorched innocent Yeo Chu-sam.
Then, admitting it was all his doing, he bowed his head low and belatedly begged forgiveness.
“I should've stepped up earlier, owned my misconduct, and properly apologized to Hero Jang. But in the unexpected chaos, I dithered unwittingly and only bred needless misunderstanding.”
His admission of fault and sincere apology looked good on him.
Especially the way his bamboo-straight shoulders and neck went limp, bending like reeds—right up my alley.
“Haha, hero? Don't be ridiculous, Taoist.”
“But—”
“Just call me Junior Jang.”
“Hmm, got it.”
“Good.”
Wrapping up the trivial title business in a flash, I seized the moment while his mind was half-blank and lobbed a sharp question.
“Anyway, now that you've experienced it firsthand—what do you think? It's a bit unconventional, different from the Gongmu Sect's style, but the results speak for themselves, don't they?”
“Pardon?”
Caught off guard by the sudden query, Unam floundered again, failing to hide his surprise.
Not from his scheme being exposed, but because the question itself was so absurdly outlandish.
'Not here to analyze our strategy and copy it at your own place, then.'
So why risk humiliation in front of everyone by sneaking in like a rat after his cover blew?
'Just keeping us in check? Nah—if that was it, he'd have revealed himself boldly and questioned the test's fairness outright. Not slunk in to steal our business secrets.'
Then what?
Jealous that suckers were lining up with money bags to hand us?
Or outraged we're scamming those suckers out of a fortune?
'No matter how I slice it, that motive fits better than business espionage.'
Circumstantial evidence was strong, but no hard proof.
So, like an angler baiting for big game, I dangled a subtle hook for Unam...
“Wh-what do you mean? Absolutely not! No way!”
No waiting needed—the bite came instantly.
Creak.
I grinned meaningfully at Unam, who panicked like a thief caught red-handed mid-heist.
'Strong denial means affirmation, as they say. So this damn punk saw me as a lowlife scammer fleecing suckers?'
Fine.
Today, I'll exceed your expectations. Grit those teeth.
I'll strip you bare, not leaving a single pocket untouched.