Chapter 13
Chapter 13
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: That Man's Circumstances
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Cripple.
Han Ibi let out a hollow chuckle in his mind.
'Haha. You think that's the same as this? What a sly, idiotic bastard this father is. Looks like he's selling his son off to the shrimp fishermen right now.'
Sensing the grim expression on Han Ibi's face, the middle-aged man quickly changed his tune.
"Well... it might be a bit tougher than that. But at least you'll get three square meals a day..."
At that moment, the young man swiftly cut him off again.
"Your father and siblings will be able to eat their fill for years to come."
A thud echoed as a bundle of silver taels was placed on the table, gleaming brightly.
The middle-aged man's eyes filled with raw greed at the sight.
The young man grinned and said,
"I've seen plenty of smart, mature kids like you. So I won't beat around the bush. Fishing on the boats is hard work. Brutally hard. That's why we pay top dollar to hire hands. It's tough enough to kill you, but you can make some real money. This is five years' worth of wages upfront. We're giving it to your father now, and it'll keep your family afloat. After five years, you'll get your pay directly. You can spend it however you like or send it home—your call. Of course, you can quit and come back anytime. Straight talk: will you come with me to Zhoushan?"
He would have gone.
The old man surely followed this young man.
Even if he was a great demonic cultist, to Han Ibi's eyes, he was no deadbeat who shirked responsibility.
He definitely went.
For his siblings' sake.
Han Ibi nodded and said,
"Alright. I'll go."
His father grabbed his hand tightly and said,
"Thank you. My son. My proud firstborn..."
Thick teardrops streamed from the man's eyes.
Tsk tsk tsk. Crying from sorrow or joy? Do something about that upturned smirk.
Then it happened.
The rickety door, one step from falling apart, burst open as a little girl rushed in.
"No! Big brother! You can't abandon us and leave!"
She must have been eavesdropping. In a rundown place like this, the walls were thin.
Her face a mess of tears and snot, the girl charged toward Han Ibi. Trailing behind her, the other children poured in.
"No, big brother! No! Waaah~!"
Song Myeong-cheon's father panicked at the sudden chaos and tried to hold the kids back, his face full of distress.
Han Ibi was just as flustered.
As he reached out to soothe his young siblings,
Han Ibi felt himself pulled from Song Myeong-cheon's child body once more.
Scenes flashed by like a movie. Without realizing it, his nose stung.
'Ah, come on. What is this, some game cinematic?'
Amid those thoughts, the scene shifted.
He reconnected with Song Myeong-cheon's body. He was walking a night path.
To be precise, a mountain trail deep into the night.
The dreary weather made him shiver involuntarily.
Ahead strode a man named Mo Dae-hyeong. Behind him trailed sturdy boys aged ten to sixteen...
Kids in the same boat as Song Myeong-cheon, no doubt...
Mo Dae-hyeong tilted his head and muttered,
"Strange. This shouldn't be... I heard there was an inn around here. Did we take a wrong turn?"
The new moon offered scant light tonight, useless for guidance.
Then it happened.
Boom!
A loud crash. Startled, they looked down to see a massive boulder at their feet—big enough to match three grown men's heads stacked.
Mo Dae-hyeong called out in a slightly shaken voice,
"Who's there?"
Laughter echoed from behind a thick tree trunk ahead.
"Hahaha."
Shing.
Mo Dae-hyeong drew his sword from its scabbard at his waist, on high alert.
Though the Mo Clan weren't a formal martial house, they knew basic self-defense arts.
Soon, figures emerged leisurely from behind the tree.
All burly and rough-looking—not the sort you'd call upstanding folk. They screamed street thug.
The scar-faced man among them spoke.
"Thanks for the tip, Beom-chil. Good intel."
The boy called Beom-chil spat and bolted back toward the village.
"You worthless scum! I'm never following you. I'm... staying here!"
Han Ibi realized it then.
Beom-chil had betrayed Mo Dae-hyeong somehow.
The other boys hesitated briefly before fleeing in Beom-chil's wake.
Not all of them, though.
Han Ibi remained.
The scar-faced man said,
"Word is, you flash cash like water."
Mo Dae-hyeong replied,
"I don't know who you are, but daring to mess with the Mo Clan..."
"Heh heh heh. Hilarious. Mo Clan, whatever—I don't care. You're half a li from home anyway. Besides..."
The scar-faced man's face darkened.
"...you think we don't know why you drag kids this far out? Can't have 'em running, right? Heh heh heh. Smart plan at first. But kill you clean here, and what can your clan do from way over there?"
Mo Dae-hyeong gripped his sword tighter, lips pressed thin.
Then the fat man beside the scar-faced one called to Han Ibi,
"Hey, kid. You're from the Song family, right? Bosses are busy. Beat it before you see something nasty."
Yes. Here's the choice.
The crux of this mission.
What would Elder Song have done?
He's a demonic Taoist. Demon in the name means villain, surely.
He should've run.
But the resolve Han Ibi sensed in Song Myeong-cheon... wasn't that simple.
After a moment's thought, Han Ibi said,
"I don't like this guy either."
The scar-faced man laughed.
"Then head back to the village."
"But..."
All eyes turned to Han Ibi.
"...this isn't right. He paid our families fair and square. I chose to go."
The scar-faced man hawked up phlegm with a kahk and spat.
"Crazy little shit. Your dad sold you. Don't you get that at your age?"
"Maybe Dad had his reasons. Even so, this is... just robbery."
Those words set the scar-faced man off.
"You damn brat! Fine, you got me. Robbery it is. Die here with him. One corpse or two—what's the difference?"
He drew his sword and charged Mo Dae-hyeong. Mo met him blade-to-blade.
Clang! Clang!
Metal clashed through the woods. Mo Dae-hyeong's skills weren't masterful, but enough against the scar-faced man.
However...
"Rush him together! What're you waiting for? Showtime?"
The scar-faced man's shout.
Multiple foes changed everything. Five men drew spears and swords, leaping at Mo Dae-hyeong.
Han Ibi hesitated, unsure what to do.
But... Song Myeong-cheon was just a boy in his early teens then.
Mo Dae-hyeong fought bravely—braver than expected. But bravery alone couldn't bridge the skill gap.
Squelch!
A sickening sound. A sharp spear pierced Mo Dae-hyeong from behind.
He gaped silently, clutching his gut.
Then he crumpled to his knees, eyes brimming with resentment.
Blood bubbled from his abdomen and mouth.
The scar-faced man said,
"Die already. Anyone passes by, we're screwed."
Their goal... money, plain and simple.
All that righteous talk masked common bandits.
His underlings rummaged through Mo Dae-hyeong's clothes.
Even as he twitched, eyes blinking, not yet gone.
Horrific. Han Ibi wanted to shut his eyes.
The fat man yelled,
"Got it. He's loaded. Heh heh heh."
They found the bulging silver pouch.
The scar-faced man nodded, pleased, and pointed at the fallen Mo.
"Haul this bastard. Bury him where no one finds."
The stocky spearman yanked his weapon free.
"Argh!"
Mo Dae-hyeong's chilling scream echoed across the hills.
The fat man hesitated.
"What about the kid?"
The scar-faced man said,
"What about him? Witnesses are trouble."
"Th-then..."
"Then what? No choice."
He gripped his sword reverse and advanced on Han Ibi.
"Bury him too."
Gasp. Han Ibi hadn't seen that coming.
No fighting back—not in a kid's body, unarmed.
He spun to flee.
But the others swarmed, blocking the path.
The scar-faced man's blade slashed mercilessly at Han Ibi's throat.
His heart pounded like it might burst.
That instant.
Clang!
The scar-faced man's sword flew off, embedding in a tree trunk.
The men gawked. It was... a coin?
The scar-faced man bellowed, flustered,
"Who the hell's there?"
A shadow approached under the faint moonlight.
A person.
A short, cat-like middle-aged man in Taoist robes.
"No fear of heaven, I see. Harming a child like this..."
The scar-faced man sneered,
"Hmph. Taoists lose their brains too? This freak dares."
He snatched a nearby man's sword and thrust swiftly, shouting,
"Jianghu man! Rush him!"
The rest flinched at "jianghu" but swung at the Taoist anyway.
Thud! Thwack! Smack!
The rustle of sleeves, dull impacts, and...
"Argh!"
"Help!"
The men's screams rang out one by one. Han Ibi saw them sprawled, groaning.
Twisted limbs—multiple breaks each.
The middle-aged Taoist checked Mo Dae-hyeong's breathing.
Confirming death, he stood politely and murmured an incantation.
Pointing at Mo, he asked,
"Know him?"
Han Ibi said,
"Yes. From the Mo Clan in Zhoushan, Zhejiang."
The Taoist nodded, then gestured at the scattered thugs.
"Know them?"
Han Ibi replied,
"No."
The middle-aged Taoist said,
"Got a place to go?"
Han Ibi paused, recalling Song Myeong-cheon's Taoist past, then answered,
"No."
The Taoist gazed at Han Ibi with clear, piercing eyes and said,
"Come."
Without hesitation, he turned. Han Ibi followed.
Only the groans of the fallen men filled the pitch-black night.
(To be continued)