Chapter 9
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Piercing Sword Sect Luoyang Branch 9
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What the hell is this bullshit now?
Has Black Society Leader Gwak Su-san teamed up with the Red Dragon Gang just to blow my top?
A surge of anger wrinkled my brow in an instant, but I quickly schooled my expression to look like nothing was wrong.
The moment my conversation with Nam Seong-pil went south, that damned King Yama Debt would grab my ankle again.
'Five hundred taels. He didn't say he'd forgive fifty taels—he said he'd wipe out the full five hundred.'
I had to set aside any pathetic pride and judge the situation coldly.
'From the looks of things, Gwak Su-san plans to use me to settle his old debt to Nam Seong-pil, while Nam Seong-pil wants to use this chance to set up shop at the Fragrant Flower Pavilion and throw a lavish drinking party...'
As if that would ever happen.
Last night, the External Manager had told me plainly:
Not even the Black Society—let alone the even mightier Red Dragon Gang—could just waltz into the Fragrant Flower Pavilion.
That steadfast, ox-like man wouldn't spout empty words.
And yet...
'Nam Seong-pil shows up here late at night, dragging a horde of his underlings to the Fragrant Flower Pavilion?'
That meant he was dead certain he wouldn't get turned away at the door today.
'What the fuck are these guys thinking? Do they believe name-dropping me will have the Fragrant Flower Pavilion flinging open the gates with a "Come on in!"?'
If getting into the Fragrant Flower Pavilion were that easy?
I would've been a regular there from the start, riding beginner's luck to make a fortune at the gambling tables.
'Tch, you idiots. Street hustlers from Luoyang's back alleys, and you can't even do basic math?'
In the blink of an eye—three blinks, really—I sized up the situation in my head and let out a faint sigh as I looked at Nam Seong-pil.
Truth be told, I wanted to sigh louder, click my tongue, and shake my head.
But if I mocked him that openly, this hot-tempered, liver-spotted bastard might snap at Gwak Su-san.
So I chose my words carefully, as gently as possible to spare his feelings.
"As the gang leader knows, the Fragrant Flower Pavilion isn't open to just anyone at any time. Even then, you need prior qualification screening to enter."
"......"
"If I'd known about this meeting ahead of time, I would've prepared a spot. But it was so sudden, I couldn't arrange anything. So, how about we skip the Fragrant Flower Pavilion tonight and head to the Drunken Immortal Pavilion right behind it instead?"
But what do you know?
Nam Seong-pil didn't even seem to hear me. He just let out a shady chuckle.
"Hmm, how strange. The Black Society Leader said you, Young Hero Jang, had a way into the Fragrant Flower Pavilion..."
"Me?"
"That's right."
Nam Seong-pil shrugged lightly and gave me a knowing look.
He'd heard the full story from Gwak Su-san—no funny business, just lead the way. That was the silent pressure.
'Huh? What the hell kind of clusterfuck is this?'
The Black Society Leader knew how to get into the Fragrant Flower Pavilion, but I—the guy in question—didn't?
Does that even make sense?
'Those Black Society bastards. They must've dug into my background while stripping me clean, and found something...'
If there was a way, I'd have sold it for top coin ages ago.
Nam Seong-pil isn't the only Luoyang man itching to party hard at the Fragrant Flower Pavilion.
Fat-cat merchants swimming in cash.
Trust-fund wastrels born with silver spoons, indulging every whim.
Sect brats who only know swordplay but strut around like they're above it all.
If I set up a stall in Luoyang hawking Fragrant Flower Pavilion passes at auction, they'd swarm like hyenas with money bags.
'Tsk tsk tsk, Gwak Su-san. Whatever you saw in me to lure Nam Seong-pil, you fucked up big time this round.'
Imagining Gwak Su-san and Na Cheol-gi hoist by their own petard made my lips curl into a smirk despite myself.
Nam Seong-pil took it as agreement and grinned back sleazily.
He gestured for me to quit stalling and lead them inside.
But first, I wiped the smile from my face and spoke gravely, straight from the heart.
"Gang Leader, I'm embarrassed to keep disappointing you right from our first meeting, but I can't claim to pull off the impossible."
"......"
"If you had high hopes for today, I'm truly sorry."
I'd picked my words to avoid offending him.
But judging by his furrowed brow and the cracking of his knuckles, he was pissed—at the Black Society Leader who'd set him up.
"Listen here, Young Hero Jang. I'm talking nice and polite with a smile because... Do I look like a fucking moron to you?"
Huh?
Wait a sec.
This guy's rage arrow is pointed the wrong damn way.
Just as I opened my mouth to say he was badly misunderstanding me—
Bam!
Nam Seong-pil stomped hard in place and unleashed a ferocious glare my way.
"Playing dumb is convincing enough, but you think that weak shit will get you out of this?"
"No, Gang Leader—Great Hero Nam. Just unclench your fist and hear me out."
"Come on. We're not stuffy scholars—we're martial artists who dance on knife edges. Why waste breath when we've got this perfectly good way to chat?!"
Nam Seong-pil's eyes flashed as he leaned forward slightly.
Then, like a frog leaping, he shot toward me, hurling twin palms at my chest.
Whoosh!
Nam Seong-pil was known in the world as a blade master.
But his left palm was a feint, while his right condensed qi for an instant outer energy burst—a palm technique as clean as any famed expert's.
"Hmph."
He hadn't drawn his sword yet, but seeing his thrilled expression as he committed to the palm strike, a thought hit me.
The Fragrant Flower Pavilion was just an excuse. What Nam Seong-pil really wanted was a real swordfight with me.
Swish!
I swiftly used Blue Eagle Step to widen the gap.
His palm carried real weight—if I met it head-on and misjudged my strength, he might get seriously hurt.
So I deflected his committed full-power strike with nimble footwork, countering his lighter probes with Eagle Claw techniques in rhythm.
Bam! Bam! Crack!
Our fists and feet flew without pause. In a blink, we'd traded twenty exchanges with bare hands alone.
If not for the swords at our waists, onlookers would've mistaken us for fist-and-kick masters.
"Impressive—right up to the rumors."
Nam Seong-pil retreated a few steps after our breathless clash, his eyes gleaming.
He looked thrilled to find a worthy opponent after so long.
"I've seen enough of your moves. Time to check your real skill."
Shing!
Nam Seong-pil drew the sword from his waist.
The surge of aura as he gripped it said: now we're getting serious.
"Gang Leader, let's be men and settle this with fists—no blades."
"Nah, I'm no great hero like you, Young Hero Jang. I'm a petty small-timer who prefers his tools."
"No..."
"Plus, to seize what I want, I swing first—even if they're not ready. Like this!"
Slash!
Nam Seong-pil slashed horizontally, rough and wide.
No fancy forms or inner power—just a first and final warning.
Don't embarrass yourself with half-assed skills in front of the brothel. Quit playing dumb and draw, or eat steel.
"Haa..."
A sigh escaped me.
Some might think martial artists drawing blades is no big deal.
But unlike other sects, Piercing Sword Sect disciples drawing swords always spelled disaster.
It wasn't lack of self-control—it was our techniques.
Once you strike, you pierce faster than them.
If your sword lags, blame your sloth and head to the afterlife.
Years of brutal training under that savage creed meant we always drew blood once we committed.
This held from the youngest disciples to the hunched elders.
So facing non-sect foes with a drawn sword demanded utmost caution.
One slip into habit, and they'd be a corpse before they blinked.
Sure, a peak expert like the Red Dragon Ghost Blade wouldn't drop to one sword stroke.
Thump, thump!
The moment my hand rested on the hilt, instinct screamed:
'One sword. One stroke ends it.'
Grip!
I clutched the hilt tight—not for a draw-and-strike pull.
I hoped just holding it would shift my aura like a sharpened edge, making him back off.
But sadly, Nam Seong-pil didn't sense the intangible pressure aimed at his neck.
"Nice stance."
"......"
"Piercing Sword Sect's Sun-Piercing swift blade. Let's see how formidable it really is."
Nam Seong-pil figured I was gauging distance, steadying breath, gathering qi for the draw. He raised his sword to chest height, defensive.
Even if my lightning sword caught him off-guard, guarding vitals would give him a shot.
"Come at me."
"......"
Silence fell around us for a moment.
The faint melody of music still drifted from the Fragrant Flower Pavilion's front courtyard.
But our duel had thickened the air with tension.
The Red Dragon Gang flunkies held their breath, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
Whoosh!
A powder-keg standoff. Then, wind picked up, heightening the drama.
Creeeak!
The tightly shut gates of the Fragrant Flower Pavilion swung open. The External Manager burst out, yelling at the top of his lungs.
"What the hell do you think you're doing in front of someone else's business?!"