Chapter 10: The Fist King Takes from the Poison Fox (1)
The Fist King Takes from the Poison Fox (1)
Episode 10: The Fist King Takes from the Poison Fox (1)
As Dan Woo-sung entered the ordinary inn, everyone who saw him greeted the Grand Prince warmly.
The first and second floors were where gamblers came up to eat or drink, while the basement housed the gambling den. Outsiders without verified identities could only use the upper floors, but Dan Woo-sung descended to the basement without anyone stopping him.
The lower level was thick with smoke as usual, filled with gamblers puffing on Mangwoocho or Hallucination Grass. Servants clearing tables or running errands bowed their heads slightly whenever they saw Dan Woo-sung.
Some of them didn't even know the Grand Prince of the Silver River Merchant Group had visited the brothel district. They simply looked at him as if seeing an old acquaintance.
Dan Woo-sung scanned the gamblers before heading toward the room at the far end.
The gatekeeper Fatty, standing before the iron door, spoke.
"You've arrived."
Dan Woo-sung eyed the man whose flabby body jiggled with every movement and said:
"Lose some weight."
The gatekeeper blinked in surprise.
"Huh?"
"Open the door."
Scratching his head in confusion, the gatekeeper swung the heavy iron door open. After Dan Woo-sung entered, he closed it again, still wearing a baffled expression.
"Is he out of his mind?"
The reason Dan Woo-sung could come and go freely here was simple—he'd provided the initial funds to establish this place. Whether it was a loan or outright theft was debatable, but the startup capital had undeniably been the Grand Prince's money.
Moreover, he'd gambled here frequently. Like all gambling dens, he'd won at first, then lost consistently afterward. He couldn't even remember how much money he'd poured into this hole.
The only perk was free food and drinks on the upper floors—a small consolation considering how much wealth he'd hemorrhaged here.
The sparse room contained only a few desks and chairs. At one desk sat the gambling den's owner, the Poison Fox Cheol Myung-ho, slurping noodles.
Cheol Myung-ho spoke as Dan Woo-sung approached.
"You're here?"
The sound of him noisily drinking broth followed.
Cheol Myung-ho's sturdy frame was matched only by the viciousness of his face—one cheek bore a knife scar so severe ordinary people couldn't look directly at him. Naturally, the man who'd stabbed him had died by Cheol Myung-ho's hand.
Dan Woo-sung sat in the chair opposite Cheol Myung-ho, eyeing the two hulking men seated across from him.
These were the enforcers who settled disputes in the gambling den or collected debts from those who'd borrowed money. They addressed Dan Woo-sung in emotionless tones.
"You've arrived."
"Long time no see."
Cheol Myung-ho clicked his tongue and scolded them.
"Tch, you heartless bastards. My friend here's been recuperating from illness. Show some concern! Ask how he's doing! All you do is eat my food."
The two men responded to Cheol Myung-ho with stiff expressions.
"We didn't know. Our apologies."
The Poison Fox Cheol Myung-ho and Lee Jin-eon had been friends since childhood.
Though "friends" was a generous term—their relationship had been one-sided, with Lee Jin-eon always on the receiving end. Violence in their youth had given way to financial entanglement as adults.
Noticing Dan Woo-sung's somber mood, Cheol Myung-ho pulled several hundred-nyang gambling vouchers from a drawer and placed them on the table.
"Since you're here after so long, have some fun. Betting must've been itching at your fingers while you were recovering."
His tone was generous, but everyone knew the Grand Prince would lose it all here anyway.
What kind of fool would he be otherwise? The fact that the den's owner could casually hand out spending money spoke volumes about how much Dan Woo-sung had squandered here. Cheol Myung-ho added another voucher, stacked them, then clapped his hands together.
"Actually, head to the Golden Flower Tower first. Go have a proper round there, drink some liquor."
When Dan Woo-sung silently stared at the money, Cheol Myung-ho grinned.
"It's fine. Consider it my treat to celebrate the Grand Prince's return. Hmm... though did someone cut out your tongue? Why so quiet, you little shit? It's irritating."
Dan Woo-sung gestured to the noodles Cheol Myung-ho was eating.
"Give me that."
"What? These?"
Cheol Myung-ho stuck his chopsticks into the bowl and slid it toward Dan Woo-sung.
Dan Woo-sung ate. A large portion of noodles disappeared into his mouth with the first bite. Two chopstickfuls later, the bowl was empty. He lifted it with one hand and drained the remaining broth cleanly.
Cheol Myung-ho laughed.
"Didn't eat at home? Shouldn't you be dining on fine meals at your mansion? Why come here to slurp noodles? You're not right in the head either."
Dan Woo-sung let out a loud belch, pushed the bowl away, then fixed his gaze on Cheol Myung-ho's bodyguards—the Yook Myung-bo and Yook Jin-bo brothers.
How should one define these men?
They weren't exactly underworld figures. They fought often, collected gambling debts, and broke limbs with clubs when debtors fled or refused to pay. Their daily routine involved beating people senseless. The short clubs they carried at their waists were scattered across tables and chairs here.
Most who'd been struck by those clubs agreed that hitting bone was the most painful.
Still staring at the brothers, Dan Woo-sung spoke.
"Myung-ho."
"What? Did your father scold you again? Or did you run away from home? You're acting strange today. Stay a few nights if you want. Who'd refuse you? Plenty of empty rooms upstairs."
"Not running away..."
"Then what?"
Dan Woo-sung was mentally reviewing whether killing Cheol Myung-ho was justified or if breaking a few bones would suffice.
Lee Jin-eon's memories were the evidence, and Dan Woo-sung was rendering judgment.
Having made his decision, he spoke.
"Myung-ho, give me the key."
"What key?"
Dan Woo-sung exhaled softly.
"What key do you think? The vault key."
Cheol Myung-ho tilted his head, glanced at his bodyguards, and muttered.
"Vault key? What's he—oh, you're asking for the vault key? You want money?"
Cheol Myung-ho's mouth hung half-open as he blinked.
'Has he lost his mind?'
Having been beaten by this man since childhood, Cheol Myung-ho couldn't immediately process being ordered to hand over the vault key.
Bewildered, he asked:
"Why the vault key?"
Dan Woo-sung explained.
"I'm just taking the money. I invested several thousand nyang here, so with investment returns, interest, and what your thugs openly stole from me, about a hundred thousand nyang seems fair. I also factored in the beatings you gave me. Medical treatment wasn't cheap."
Cheol Myung-ho's voice turned icy.
"You crazy bastard. There's hundreds of thousands in that vault. Just money? There's jewelry, gold, silver. And you think that's all you're getting? How does several thousand become a hundred thousand? If you need money, just ask to borrow it. Would I refuse you? Would I send goons to harass you like those other bastards?"
Cheol Myung-ho's voice rose like a cart climbing a hill.
"You always paid back eventually. Couldn't you just ask nicely instead of storming in here demanding the vault key? Have you lost half your brain? You insane little shit, do you even know where you are? Wake the hell up, you dog! Forgotten who I am?"
By the end, he was nearly screaming. The gatekeeper peeked in at the metallic clang.
"Boss, everything alright?"
Cheol Myung-ho snapped at him.
"Close it."
"Yes, sorry."
The gatekeeper shut the door, thinking the Grand Prince was about to get fleeced again after so long.
Cheol Myung-ho asked:
"What's wrong with you? Tired of living?"
The bodyguard brothers across from Dan Woo-sung stood, sensing the tension.
Yook Myung-bo and Yook Jin-bo—known as the Double Report—were fighters who could take down a dozen men barehanded. Individually, each was stronger than Cheol Myung-ho himself. Somewhat simple-minded, they'd remained loyal to the man who fed and housed them.
Lee Jin-eon had never understood them, but Dan Woo-sung grasped their nature immediately.
Men who'd never lived normal lives—pure in the best sense, dim-witted in the worst. Simply put, they lacked any capacity for "calculation."
Cheol Myung-ho, irritation showing, ordered them:
"Hey, make this bastard kneel. Pissing me off... He needs a beating to clear his head."
"Yes."
The brothers stepped forward simultaneously, each placing a massive hand on Dan Woo-sung's shoulders. Since he offered no resistance, their movements weren't particularly rough—they planned to lift and force him to his knees.
Dan Woo-sung seized their wrists.
With a crunching sound, the brothers' eyes widened at the incredible grip strength.
Dan Woo-sung yanked Yook Jin-bo's arm forward while driving a kick into his abdomen. The man flew back and slammed into the wall. Then Dan Woo-sung pulled Yook Myung-bo close and uppercut him with his right fist.
Thud!
Yook Myung-bo's massive frame lifted into the air before crashing down.
Boom!
Both brothers grimaced as they writhed on the floor, struggling to rise.
Dan Woo-sung had no intention of killing them. Even so, having been punched and kicked hard enough to send them airborne, their complete lack of fear was telling—proof of how many brutal fights they'd endured.
Cheol Myung-ho was speechless.
"Wow, you just handled the Double Report..."
He'd never seen anyone manhandle the brothers like this before.
As Yook Myung-bo tried rising, Dan Woo-sung's knee smashed into his face.
Crack! Yook Myung-bo went unconscious.
Dan Woo-sung then walked toward Yook Jin-bo, who'd gotten up from the wall. When the man threw a simple punch, Dan Woo-sung caught it with both hands, lifted him into the air, wrapped his legs around the arm, and twisted violently.
Crunch!
Yook Jin-bo's arm rotated completely one way before Dan Woo-sung used his thigh as leverage to wrench it the opposite direction. A snap echoed through the room.
Yook Jin-bo's face contorted in pain.
Releasing the arm, Dan Woo-sung said:
"Double Report, I'm going easy on you. Stay down. If you attack again, I'll have to kill you."
Yook Myung-bo remained unconscious from the knee strike, while Yook Jin-bo sweated profusely, trying to realign his broken arm's bones.
In some ways, they were tougher than Cheol Myung-ho himself. Born with freakish strength and physical superiority, they'd never trained in martial arts yet possessed defensive abilities akin to protective techniques.
Dan Woo-sung picked up one of the short clubs lying on a chair and approached Cheol Myung-ho. These were perfect for breaking bones.
"Myung-ho, you're quick on the uptake. Why act dumb?"
Cheol Myung-ho grabbed the straight sword leaning against the desk and retorted:
"Damn it, you're annoying."
As Cheol Myung-ho rose, Dan Woo-sung threw the short club like a dagger.
Whack! Crack!
The club struck Cheol Myung-ho's face before bouncing away. He clutched his face with one hand.
"Gah!"