Merchant Guild (4)
Jeon Gil-sang's guillotine blade came thrusting straight in. It was the rough, unrefined style befitting a sa-pa warrior.
"Senior brother. Stay back."
"You sure you don't need help?"
"Of course."
I leisurely unfolded the Cloud Mist Step to evade Jeon Gil-sang's blade.
Jeon Gil-sang seemed a bit offended that I was dodging while still talking.
"You dare act all relaxed in front of me?"
"Talking like you're somebody just 'cause you're sa-pa trash."
I snorted. Finally drawing my sword, I clashed blades with Jeon Gil-sang.
His strikes began to tangle in a chaotic frenzy. No rules or patterns—just wild swings—yet they blatantly targeted vital points, making them intensely threatening.
In a way, I was more familiar with this kind of martial art. Most techniques I'd seen in my previous life were like this.
But unlike back then, I now practiced the Wudang school's arts. Even something as basic as the Three Talents Sword had a profound depth all its own.
The more savage the opponent's style, the more the Three Talents Sword's serene flow shone. That was the essence of Wudang martial arts: returning the enemy's force against them and turning it to your advantage.
Anyone who thought the Three Talents Sword was just horizontal cuts, diagonal slashes, and vertical chops was sorely mistaken. Smooth transitions between moves alone could spawn countless variations. The simpler the forms, the easier it was to improvise.
Jeon Gil-sang's expression changed the moment our blades met. He leaped back far, glaring at me.
"You... from Wudang?"
"Oh. Good eye."
"Only Wudang uses that slimy, wriggly swordplay."
Jeon Gil-sang ground his teeth. Then, abruptly, he stripped off his upper garments. A massive stab wound scarred his waist.
"See this?"
"Should've just died when you got that."
"A Wudang bastard gave me this. Wouldn't even teach me the basics. Said I wasn't worthy of the name."
"Sounds like a great master."
"I'll pay back this scar."
"Why take it out on me?"
"Shut up!"
The keen guillotine blade sliced toward my shoulder. Jeon Gil-sang, who had been far away, was suddenly right in front of me. What was astonishing was that I could clearly see his footwork.
I immediately swept my sword like a broom, deflecting the guillotine blade. My grade-7 Swift Movement talent clearly outclassed Jeon Gil-sang's. After seeing only the precise, refined steps of Wudang, his sloppy footwork felt suffocatingly inefficient.
"Oh."
Myeong-gyeong, now fully focused on the spar, let out an admiring gasp as I elegantly deflected the blade.
Only Myeong-gyeong could recognize the sophistication in the technique I was using. The Three Talents Sword had reached a level of enlightenment where it embodied the principle of softness conquering hardness—far from the street-level trash it was dismissed as.
"Slippery like a rat!"
Jeon Gil-sang bellowed. I'd heard that one before, back when I'd gone to Uichang with my senior brothers and sisters as a joke.
Martial artists had a list of insults they hurled when they were losing:
Rat bastard.
Cowardly tricks.
Dirty fighter.
Damn punk.
Left-side scum.
And so on. They said hearing any of those meant victory was assured. Cheong-su had overheard and scolded us for calling wins before the fight even ended, but that was the gist.
No matter Jeon Gil-sang's infamous brutality in Hubei, it was only natural he couldn't match a third-generation Wudang disciple. The Nine Great Sects gathered the pinnacle of Central Plains talent, after all.
"Easier than I thought, senior brother."
"Don't get cocky."
Jeon Gil-sang was someone I'd never even heard of in my past life. Which meant he was just a local thug famous only in Hubei. Honestly, even Myeong-gyeong could've beaten him handily.
"You damn punk!"
"Oh. Victory odds just went up, senior brother."
"I said don't get cocky."
Jeon Gil-sang couldn't even keep up while Myeong-gyeong and I chatted. I toyed with him a bit before grabbing my scabbard with my free hand and smashing his ankle.
The sudden second strike caught him off guard. I felt the scabbard slam into his protruding ankle bone.
"Argh!"
Jeon Gil-sang screamed and slid sideways across the icy ground like he was on a rink.
My sword pointed at his throat from an inch away—before he could even push himself up.
"I... lost..."
Without hesitation, I stabbed through his right hand, which was glued to the ground.
"Gaaah!"
The swift strike stunned the onlookers, including Myeong-gyeong. But I knew better. As a merchant, I'd seen more sa-pa scum than any righteous sect warrior.
"Junior brother. Was that really necessary...?"
Myeong-gyeong tried to intervene, but I kicked Jeon Gil-sang's wrist. With the sword still piercing his hand, his palm tore open lengthwise.
"Guh... guh...!"
In agony as his flesh ripped, even Jeon Gil-sang's burly frame couldn't hold back the tears. But no one cared about his tears.
A long needle slipped from the bandage on his wrist. Its tip glistened green—obviously coated in poison.
"You think I don't know your kind?"
I crouched and yanked his hair, pulling his head up. His face was a mask of pain and terror.
"Listen, I'm not as nice as that senior brother over there. I've seen every filthy thing this world has to offer."
I whispered so only he could hear. Overwhelmed by my glare, he nodded frantically.
"Answer my questions right. If I think you're lying, I'll just cripple you."
"N-no, how's that fair? Even if I tell the truth, you could call it a lie and cripple me?"
"Gotta have some unfairness. Isn't that what you did to Dongho Merchant Group?"
Under my icy tone, Jeon Gil-sang fell silent.
When I elevated Hwi-yeong Merchant Group to major house status, I didn't rely on virtue alone. Virtue won't get you to the top. Sometimes you play nice; sometimes you get cruel. That was a merchant's fate.
"A-alright. Just... move the sword from my throat."
By now, he saw me as someone who could kill him on a whim. I was far from the posturing righteous scholars who preached chivalry.
"Who."
"W-what?"
"Who. Who's backing you?"
"Backing? What're you talking about? We're from Muhan Merchant Group."
"Still think I'm an idiot, huh?"
I yanked the sword from the ground and drove it into his left hand. A horrific scream echoed through the gloomy street.
Myeong-gyeong stared at me with fearful eyes, like I was a stranger. This side of me was probably new to him.
But everyone has multiple faces.
"The sect behind Muhan Merchant Group. Where."
"H-how did you...?"
Jeon Gil-sang—and even his Dongho Merchant Group cronies—were stunned.
They must not have known much since Dongho was a small outfit, but "merchants untouched by martial strife" was just empty talk. The Haibei Paeng family, right next to Beijing, kept ties with martial instructors.
The moment I learned the Ministry of Revenue's auditing commissioner was involved, I assumed a murim sect was backing them. Jeon Gil-sang's underwhelming skills only confirmed it.
"All that talk of 'taking care of business' or 'capturing people'? Lies. You're just an ugly thug with a scary face."
Jeon Gil-sang's notoriety was too widespread for his skill level. For a group as big as Muhan to have a sa-pa like him with such fame, yet so weak? It meant one thing.
People who couldn't act openly were using his name for their dirty work. And those who couldn't act openly? Righteous sects that didn't want the association.
To some, this might require brilliant deduction. In merchant circles, it was commonplace. That's why I could push so confidently.
"Stop this!"
Just as Jeon Gil-sang's mouth opened, bailiffs and officials swarmed in. I tilted my head. A flustered middle-aged man caught my eye.
"Didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"...Young Master Muk."
"Lord Auditing Commissioner."
It was, of course, the high official who staunchly backed Muhan Merchant Group.
Ministry of Revenue Auditing Commissioner Jin Mu-byeok.
Auditing Commissioner Jin Mu-byeok couldn't believe the neat, clean-cut youth before him was the same one wielding that bloodied sword earlier. And not just anyone—a layman, yet the Hubei Divine who saved Hubei from the bandit hordes.
He'd thought him a simple good-natured young man, but intimidating Jeon Gil-sang like that? It was more domineering and chilling than any sa-pa thug.
Yet now? Smiling over a steaming teacup, he was the Hubei Divine incarnate. An utterly inscrutable youth.
"Young Master Muk."
"Yes, Lord Jin."
"Seems there was a misunderstanding. I'm not protecting Muhan Merchant Group, but..."
"That's exactly what protecting them means."
Muk Hwi-yeong smiled and set down his teacup with a clink.
Normally, this would've been outrageous. A rank-3 noble official getting cut off by a mere commoner Wudang lay disciple? But the timing was impeccable, and his words carried such weight that rebutting felt impossible.
What the hell is this guy?
The lifesaver who'd pulled him from death's door had instantly become a threat. Right now, Muk Hwi-yeong felt as formidable as a massive organization's leader. No real conversation yet—just sheer presence.
"What do you want?"
"For starters, don't overlook Muhan Merchant Group's one-sided attacks on Dongho Merchant Group."
"Ha."
Jin Mu-byeok laughed in disbelief. He'd heard the kid started a merchant group. But no caravan lord would dare speak to him so arrogantly.
"Do I look like a complaint desk to you?"
Anger rose in Jin Mu-byeok's eyes. Bewilderment only lasted a few times. A veteran like him, who'd seen every type in his long career, wasn't amused by some hot-blooded punk's threats.
"You haven't done your job so far. Do it properly now."
"You know you're insulting an imperial official without cause? That's grounds for prison."
"Everyone's got dirt if you dig deep enough. You know that."
"Got the skills to dig mine?"
"I'd appeal to the Censorate's Deputy Inspector. Grab your ankle and cry, and you won't even hear me out?"
At the mention of the Censorate, Jin Mu-byeok's face paled. Come to think of it, Muk Hwi-yeong was acquainted with the Deputy Inspector.
Of course, the odds of that official listening to a nobody like Muk Hwi-yeong were slim. But the mere connection was a massive threat.
"...I'll keep an eye on the harassment of Dongho Merchant Group. And warn Muhan too."
"Good."
"A warning to you: for your sect's sake, don't escalate this. Zhuge Clan backs Muhan Merchant Group."
"Ah."
Muk Hwi-yeong rubbed his palms together—the classic merchant clap. His smiling eyes, shadowed, looked terrifying.
"Zhuge Clan, huh."
For some reason, Jin Mu-byeok had a gut feeling he'd messed up.