Storm and Stress (2)
“Damn it all!”
From some point on, the masked assailants weren't just failing to press their attack—they'd completely lost momentum to Jin Yeo-rip's onslaught, their faces twisted in bewilderment. The unexpected ferocity of his strikes was bad enough, but the mud churned up by the downpour made it impossible to keep their footing, robbing them of their true strength.
Idiots. Never played in the mud before, huh?
Jin Yeo-rip moved differently from them entirely. You couldn't stomp around trying to plant your feet. Don't fight for balance—instead, use the slick mud to glide. As he synced his movements to theirs, the wounds opening on his body dwindled dramatically.
“Hah!”
Immersed in the thrill of grasping how to apply what he'd learned, Jin Yeo-rip flashed a brilliant grin as he clashed and wove among the masked foes.
And some distance away from their fray.
“Y-Young Master...”
Im Pilsaeng stood dazed in the pouring rain, watching the scene unfold. At first, rage had boiled in him. How dare these bastards! He'd wanted to charge in, rescue the young master, and rip every last one of their heads off.
Yet he couldn't take a single step.
Jin Yeo-rip was growing by leaps and bounds amid the deadly peril. In a situation where flesh was being sliced and his neck could be severed at any moment, his extreme focus was propelling him forward in explosive bursts.
Through the fight with these masked thugs, he was making the Baji techniques he'd trained with Im Pilsaeng his own, one by one.
Each time a blade grazed the boy's body, Im Pilsaeng flinched and reached for his sword hilt—but he held back, waiting. He didn't want to interrupt. Not when the young master was scaling such heights in the crucible of real combat.
His once-clumsy movements had already smoothed into something fluid, and Jin Yeo-rip darted freely through the gaps between his foes.
“Ahh...”
Im Pilsaeng let out an unwitting sigh of admiration. It was divine might. Immature and incomplete by some measures, perhaps—but that's how it looked in his eyes. The sight evoked memories of someone who'd once entrusted their back to him, hot rain tracing down his cheeks.
The image of a sixteen-year-old boy blossoming brilliantly in the mud left massive ripples in his heart.
Crack!
The sound of shattering bone echoed, followed by—
“Gaaahhh!”
A scream like tearing flesh that reverberated through the rain-lashed alley. When only the patter of rain remained, the long battle was over—and the sole figure standing in the alley was Jin Yeo-rip.
“Hah, hah...”
Ragged breaths burst from his exhausted frame. Jin Yeo-rip's face, heaving with each exhale, was smeared with ecstatic bliss.
Is victory this refreshing? A fight where he'd poured out everything...
Eleven in total. Some had fled, some lay unconscious, and the rest writhed with broken limbs, whimpering softly. The eyes they turned on him brimmed with terror.
The urge to slaughter them all surged endlessly, but Jin Yeo-rip recited Buddhist sutras in his mind, mustering supreme patience to calm his emotions. He couldn't afford the fallout from killing in this era.
“Whew...”
His first true win, regardless. He'd emptied his arsenal and unleashed every lesson without restraint—a battle of immense value. As he caught his breath, Jin Yeo-rip flopped down onto the muddy ground.
“Hurts like hell.”
With his breathing steadying and excitement fading, the sting of wounds across his body twisted his face. Still, the gains were huge. The Twelve Flows inner energy method. The essence of the Ak family's Baji. A life-or-death clash that doubled as training.
Lucky for him, the attackers were low-tier. They'd been on his level or weaker, letting him scrape by with sheer grit.
“Whew. Knowing something in your head and wielding it with your body are worlds apart.”
But today's fight had bridged at least some of that gulf. Crisis had birthed massive growth.
Splash! Splash! Splash!
“Hm?”
That's when it came—the sound of someone splashing through the mud. Jin Yeo-rip whipped his head around in alarm.
More of them?
“Huh?”
But the figure piercing the rain was Im Pilsaeng.
“Young master! You alright?”
“Whew, you scared me.”
Jin Yeo-rip patted his chest at the worry-laden question. With no strength left, he'd genuinely feared it was another enemy.
“What're you doing here, Uncle Pilsaeng?”
“Ah, well, the rain's so bad, I figured I'd grab some rain gear for you.”
Unable to admit he'd watched the fight, Im Pilsaeng made a hasty excuse.
“Rain gear... where?”
“Pardon?”
“You don't have any in your hands.”
Caught off-guard by the sharp retort, Im Pilsaeng quickly improvised.
“Dropped it.”
“Dropped it?”
“Yeah, I heard fighting on the way, thought maybe it was you, so I rushed over.”
“Ah.”
Only then did Jin Yeo-rip drop his suspicion. Im Pilsaeng inwardly sighed in relief and changed the subject.
“So, who are these guys?”
“Dunno. They jumped me out of nowhere.”
“Jumped you?”
“Yeah... and they knew who I was.”
“These crazy bastards!”
Despite having seen it all, Im Pilsaeng feigned outrage and stomped toward the masked men.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Gonna make 'em talk! These scum dared target you without fear—gotta dig out who's behind it and make 'em pay. Bet it's the elders or that Lady Yi. Yeah! They've always seen you as a thorn in their side.”
Jin Yeo-rip shook his head at the furious display.
“Nah.”
“Huh?”
“Too sloppy for them.”
“Sloppy?”
“Yeah. Individually, these attackers were weaker than me.”
“Hm.”
“No way someone like Lady Yi sends trash like this. Same for the elders.”
“Yeah, true. Messing around half-assed like this would blow up in their faces.”
“But the intent to kill me was clear.”
As Jin Yeo-rip narrowed his eyes, piecing it together, Im Pilsaeng asked:
“Got any leads?”
“Not sure. But suspicions, yeah. Some kid.”
“A kid?”
“Yeah. Plan's amateur hour. Thought he was smart, but zero talent for this kinda thing.”
Jin Yeo-rip chuckled dryly. His suspect: Gong Cheon-gi. Having lost his academy perks, the guy might resort to desperate gambles. Not grasping the massive backlash it'd bring.
It made sense for a sixteen-year-old's scheme—sloppy and unsupported. But thinking about it pissed him off. This little shit, hiring killers already? What does he think he's gonna be? If you're mad, come fight yourself. With fists.
“Hm. Want me to check if you're right?”
“Huh? How?”
“Plenty of ways. Hang on.”
Im Pilsaeng approached a masked man groaning from his broken leg.
Thud!
“Guhk!”
He deliberately kicked the injured leg again, then sat and ripped off the mask.
Riiip!
A bearded man's face was revealed. Im Pilsaeng smiled at him.
What the hell's he planning?
Jin Yeo-rip swallowed nervously, tense.
“Hey. Gonna ask a few questions. Cooperate, yeah?”
“...”
Huh? That's it? Jin Yeo-rip had braced for some brutal torture. But casual talk? Even smiling? Steam went out of him. I could do that.
“Pah! Think I'll spill easy? I lost to that kid, sure, but I'm still a martial artist!”
The predictable defiance. Why be nice to an assassin? No shock there. Dumb to expect anything. Stop it. If you're gonna be soft, lemme do it—break an arm or leg.
As Jin Yeo-rip shook his head, Im Pilsaeng grinned wide, unfazed by the spit on his face.
“Feisty one, huh? Back in the day, a few words from me and they'd spill what their in-laws ate yesterday.”
Muttering to himself, he prodded one spot on the bearded man's body.
And then—a shocking change.
“Gaaaaahhh!”
A throat-shredding scream, and the man convulsed wildly.
...Huh?
“Guuuuhhh...”
Im Pilsaeng calmly wiped the spit with his sleeve, utterly serene. The bearded man thrashed like a zombie rising, drool pouring as he rolled in the mud.
“Oops, wrong spot? Damn, been a while.”
He shrugged off the mistake like nothing...
Wait, what the hell? Just a poke?
The man's state turned grotesque. Eyes bloodshot like burst veins, forearms bulging with strained cords.
“This guy's got no patience—even for my slip-up, and we're just starting.”
Grumbling, Im Pilsaeng poked another spot. The deathly howls ceased.
“Hahk, hahk...”
Exhausted, terrified—the man panted heavily.
From a poke.
“Again?”
“N-No! Never!”
And suddenly compliant.
“Good, let's play nice then. Yeah?”
“Got it, I'll remember.”
“Who sent you?”
“W-Well...”
As the man hesitated, eyes darting, Im Pilsaeng raised his hand without pause and poked coolly.
Different spot, but the result was worse.
“Gweeeek!”
A ear-piercing shriek—he flopped like a fish on dry land. In the rain, he looked exactly like one. Despite the broken joints.
The sight made Jin Yeo-rip's eyes water just watching, but Im Pilsaeng remained placid. He waited, as if timing it, then poked again. The man gasped and heaved.
And from his lips tumbled an unexpected name.
“We got it from Gwak Chu. He said kill the young master of Cheongeumbang and we'd get a big payout.”
“Gwak Chu? Who's that?”
“Big shot in Cheongeumbang's back alleys. Grew up with him in the beggar slums since we were kids...”
He spilled even unasked details. Looked like he didn't even know what he was saying anymore.
“So this Gwak Chu punk targeted our young master's neck?”
“Yes! Yes! That's it!”
“Mm. Got it.”
Im Pilsaeng nodded and beamed at Jin Yeo-rip.
“That's the story, young master.”
“Huh? Oh...”
“Should I track down this Gwak Chu and dig deeper?”
Jin Yeo-rip pondered briefly, then shook his head.
“We'll go together.”
“Huh? But your wounds...”
“This much is fine.”
“Mm, alright. It's your mess to clean up anyway.”
Grinning, Im Pilsaeng paused thoughtfully, then said:
“Young master.”
“Yeah?”
“Look away a sec?”
“Look away...? Why?”
“Just for a moment.”
Unclear on the intent, Jin Yeo-rip turned his head—while peeking slyly.
Gazing down at the bearded man, Im Pilsaeng spoke in a voice devoid of emotion, icy cold.
“You're lucky.”
Thud!
He kicked the mud.
Splat!
“Hngh!”
Jin Yeo-rip gasped involuntarily. The kicked mud sprayed in several streams like spears.
Thwack! Thud! Thwack!
The downed men's bodies jerked, then stilled without a groan. Soon, red blood mingled with rainwater, staining the ground.
Murder.
Whatever technique he'd used, that kick had turned rain-mud into lethal spears, finishing off every whimpering survivor.
The Unjeong Pavilion coachman and handyman had done this.
“P-Pilsaeng un...”
Shocked, Jin Yeo-rip couldn't finish.
Im Pilsaeng snarled at the corpses like a savage beast.
“Filth like you dared target my lord.”
One bearded man was enough as proof and witness to the ambush.