Chapter 204
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 204
Chapter Title: Chapter 56. Last Mission (3)
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Na-mok felt groggy and languid. So he figured this had to be a dream.
A nasty one, at that.
It was a colorless world. Grotesque creatures slithered about like mollusks, floating lazily as they brushed past him, chattering in words he couldn't comprehend at all. Every time the frustrated Na-mok opened his mouth to speak, bubbles of air gurgled into his throat, choking off his breath.
No way this could be a good dream.
Then the ground surged up and smacked him across the head and body. The world spun wildly, his skull throbbing. In that moment of dazed confusion, a human voice broke through.
"Na-mok! Get a grip. You bolt out in the middle of drinking—what the hell is this?"
'Huh? In the middle of drinking? Ah, right! So this isn't a dream—I'm just dead drunk.'
"Wh... o...?"
"Damn, you're out of it. It's me, Fifth Brother O."
"O... Fif... th... Bro... ther..."
Na-mok forced out the words amid foaming bubbles spilling from his mouth with every syllable, and somehow it worked—memories flickered of who this Fifth Brother O was.
"Ah, coming around now? That's right—your senior brother from Dance Melody Manor. Didn't I introduce you to our sect's elder, Sangbang-suk?"
"Gui... gap..."
"Exactly, spot on. I heard that incredible artifact went to you. No wonder Elder Wang Baek-gun took a shine to you. But listen—surely you're not saying I didn't contribute a single bit to you getting that fateful encounter?"
"Gui... gap..."
"Ahem. If you get it, how about letting go of my collar so we can talk this out rationally?"
The man whose collar Na-mok gripped spoke with a complicated expression—somewhere between bafflement, embarrassment, and fear. Even for him, this sudden mess was utterly bewildering. But one thing was crystal clear.
Na-mok had lost his mind!
Badly so—brimming with freakish strength and reflexes beyond human.
How the hell had this happened?
The man who called himself Fifth Brother O had been in a state of panic lately.
His reliable backer, Choeo-jin, had been brutally crushed by some no-name Zhao Family Manor. Turns out that place was a den of demons crawling with fiends. Rumors swirled darkly: Zhao assassins were hunting down everyone who'd joined Choeo-jin, slaughtering them nightly. He doubted they'd bother with a small fry like him, but it still shrank him all the same.
That was the situation when a mid-tier expert from his own faction—the one who'd recruited him into Choeo-jin—showed up. Elder Sangbang-suk gave him an errand: meet Na-mok for drinks and check on his recent status. Like how his training in the handed-down technique was progressing.
So he'd summoned Na-mok for drinks.
Na-mok had seemed fine at first. If anything stuck out, it was how he kept digging into his ear with his pinky finger mid-sip. It wasn't a pretty sight from across the table, but the man let it slide.
Anyway, they'd chatted about this and that. He was just warming things up before the real talk when Na-mok suddenly kicked back his seat and bolted.
Why?
The man had no clue. Stunned, he chased after. Then Na-mok popped out from the woods like a ghost and attacked wildly. After a fierce tussle, the man couldn't handle Na-mok's bizarre movements and power—they ended up rolling on the ground together.
And that led to now.
'Why am I doing this?'
The thought crossed Na-mok's mind when that familiar whisper slithered into his ear again.
-Why? Because you called me. We made a contract, and this is the result.
-Contract?
-Don't you remember? I grant you immortality, and in return, you lend me your body once a day.
-When did I...?
-Looks like you really don't recall. You're confused—calm down and think back. It's just unfamiliarity.
A contract?
Just thinking of the word—a pact he never made—made Na-mok's head throb. It was a sly trick of words. Lost in thought, he lost his fragile grip on sanity, and the demon lodged in his heart seized control of his body once more.
The first thing it did...
Squelch.
Na-mok plunged his hand into the heart of the annoying bastard called Fifth Brother O. Then he ripped it out with a crunch.
"Aaaagh!"
A wretched scream rang out, but Na-mok ignored it. He was entranced by the twitching sensation in his palm.
Thrilling. Ecstatic.
His mouth flooded with saliva!
Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
Na-mok devoured it ravenously. Watching from afar, the middle-aged man frowned. He felt some pity for the poor soul dying because of him, but more than that, the result fell short of expectations.
"To summon a trash ghost like that after all this trouble—another failed test subject. Tsk. His Lordship won't take this lightly."
The middle-aged man was Sangbang-suk of the Six Arms Iron Legs.
He'd been tasked by "His Lordship" to scout and contact targets, secretly deliver one of Shaanxi's Three Ghostly Treasures—the Ghost Shell—and report the outcomes.
Another flop.
With Elder Wang Baek-gun of Dance Melody Manor—the top expert there—they'd had high hopes. His martial prowess was elite, conditions perfect. But his mental fortitude matched his strength; the Ghost Shell's power never fully manifested.
More precisely, the spirit failed to burrow into his mind and take root.
So they'd tried Dog Nose Na-mok next, the one Wang Baek-gun had eyed as a prospect.
But Na-mok? The spirit summoned via the soul-calling rite was fixated on ripping out and eating human hearts—a lowly wretch. Not the heart-eating itself, but losing reason to it, rampaging like a beast. Pathetic caliber.
Of course, his physical abilities had skyrocketed, and he gained the Ghost Shell's signature regeneration. He'd steamroll most experts.
But useless like this—no real application, and one-off at best. Rampaging like that, he'd be branded a public enemy of the martial world in no time.
Sangbang-suk figured there was a reason such a low-grade spirit attached.
'Na-mok's own low caliber drew a matching trash ghost. Sigh. Fail this way, fail that way—who do I even pick? Wonder if His Lordship has time left... He looked worse lately.'
The more Sangbang-suk thought, the bigger his headache.
The future was grim, but dealing with this shitstain quietly—and cleaning up his mess—drew a deep sigh.
The next dawn, Flying Tiger stepped out of the safehouse with So Myeong-rang. They arrived at Face Pursuit Squad headquarters a bit past the Chen hour (7-9 a.m.).
Guided by Flying Tiger, they entered the Face Pursuit Unit Jeong's private building. Inside buzzed with more people than expected. Some familiar faces, some vaguely recognized from passing by, and a stranger in the corner.
"Hey~ You made it."
A Jeok-gang was the first to greet them warmly. He bantered with Flying Tiger, then asked So Myeong-rang how she was feeling. She brushed it off—fit as ever—and inquired about Hyeong U-saeng, who'd returned alone. As they chatted, Flying Tiger scanned the room and asked A Jeok-gang,
"By the way, Brother A, who's this lot?"
"Eul Unit members."
"Face Pursuit Eul Unit? Then why are they making such a racket in someone else's turf?"
Just then, Ye Dok-du—who'd been glaring down two of the Eul members Flying Tiger had called noisy—turned to him.
"Perfect timing—come here."
Flying Tiger approached, and Ye Dok-du lit up like he'd won the war.
"Little brother... no, deputy leader. Come on in."
"What's up, Brother Ye?"
"Remember these guys?"
As Flying Tiger took a look, the situation felt oddly familiar.
They were Eul Unit's Dae-san and Jang Il-uk. Back when Flying Tiger was heading out for Jeong Unit's second op (eliminating survivors of the Mad Demon's Eight Freaks of Sichuan), he'd bumped into them at HQ entrance. They'd been bickering with Ye Dok-du then, and Flying Tiger had jumped in, growling right alongside.
'Didn't I warn them to watch their mouths back then? Said I'd rip out their tongues if they kept it up?'
"Dae-san and Jang Il-uk, right? What'd you do to rile up our Brother Ye? FYI, this is his den—where even dogs get eaten. Jeong Unit territory."
Flying Tiger's tone was rough from the jump. Jang Il-uk snorted in response. Dae-san patted his shoulder like last time, playing mediator.
"You think we wanted to come here? Orders from above—we follow."
"Joint op?"
"Probably."
"Got it. But why clash with Brother Ye?"
"Like you said, we know we're guests. Planned to lay low. But they pick fights out of nowhere—what would you do? Over the line, right? We just wrapped an op two days ago and got dragged back—exhausted."
"Bullying guests?"
"Ask him yourself."
Ye Dok-du cleared his throat, claiming they lacked manners and he was educating them.
Flying Tiger nodded, said "Everyone, keep up the good work," and left. Ignoring Ye Dok-du's flustered "Where you going?" He then greeted the blankly seated Sa-myo.
"Fancy meeting you again. You really one of the Ten Demons, or did they boot you?"
"Nah. Just... happened."
Sa-myo looked unwell; Flying Tiger held back. He clapped Sa-myo's shoulder—"Good to see you"—and nodded to Dan-geum and Na-mok. Dan-geum wore a hungover wreck of a face, like he'd drowned in booze last night.
And Na-mok...
"Hey, Brother Na. Where'd you roll around last night?"
Na-mok was digging his ear. Their eyes met, and he grinned like an idiot. It felt off, but Flying Tiger shrugged it off. The guy had always been a slob. Plus, his attention snagged on someone eyeing him curiously.
The gaze was intense.
"Who're you?"
"Taekyeon A-hu. New blood in Eul Unit."