Chapter 19 - The Turtle of the Yangtze
The Nine Great Sects of the righteous faction.
They had toppled the Four Emperors Alliance and restructured the current martial world's order around themselves.
Now, there was no one left in the jianghu to check them.
The lords of the Four Emperors Alliance, who had been the sturdy backing of the unorthodox warriors, had met their ends in brutal battles, and the Demonic Cult was hunkered down in the Hundred Thousand Great Mountains.
The only ones left sniffing around for a shot at the Nine Great Sects' positions were the Five Great Families, if you could even call them that.
'Damn it!'
So, if a righteous warrior—especially one from the Nine Great Sects—crossed your path, it was better to assume you were dead.
They saw unorthodox fighters as pests they could squash without a second thought.
"B-Boss..."
At that moment, the voice of one of his young underlings trembled up from below.
It was thick with fear.
The boss clenched his lips and glanced down.
His subordinate's pupils were darting wildly, like a madwoman's.
'Get it together. At least save this one.'
Yeah. Even if the sky fell, there was always a way out.
The righteous always obsessed over face and justification.
With all these nurses watching from around, they wouldn't dare act rashly.
'In that case...'
Clink.
Having made up his mind, the boss quickly sheathed his sword.
Then he cupped his fists toward Jin Muhon and bowed deeply, politely.
"Forgive us! We didn't know the deceased was here and caused a scene!"
"Fine. You know now."
"By any chance... are you from Wudang?"
The boss plastered a servile grin on his face as he cautiously sized up Jin Muhon.
Here in Yichang, the closest of the Nine Great Sects was Wudang Sect.
A lone wanderer like that? High chance he was a Wudang master.
But at the mention of Wudang, one of Jin Muhon's eyebrows twitched.
'Ah, no!'
The boss bowed again, deeper this time.
"My apologies! Someone as bold and heroic as you, great hero, wouldn't be caught dead in Wudang's stuffy confines! My eyes were too narrow!"
"Enough. Cut the nonsense and get lost."
"P-Pardon?!"
The boss shot upright in shock.
"You really mean we can... go?"
Jin Muhon eyed him with baffled disbelief.
There was no reason to let a sword-drawn thug live, but Han Somwol was watching right now.
To borrow her skills for Jin Hayeon, no need to show needless brutality.
"What? You don't like that? If you wanna die so bad, I'll oblige."
"N-No, sir! We'll go! Thank you! Thank you, great hero!"
"Go."
The boss bowed repeatedly as he hauled his collapsed underlings to their feet.
Jin Muhon turned and strode toward Han Somwol.
Step. Step. Step.
His footfalls were even.
His balanced build draped in flowing white robes cut a striking figure.
Somehow, with each step, mist seemed to rise from beneath his feet.
Utter poise, ignoring the numbers against him. Under the sun's glare, his face almost seemed to glow.
"Ah..."
Hearing Han Somwol's soft, unwitting sigh as he approached, Jin Muhon stood before her.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking down.
"What's wrong? You hurt?"
"P-Pardon? No, sir. Thank you for saving me, great hero."
"Hmm. Your face is flushed—you must have a fever. Probably from the shock. Take care of yourself."
"...Yes, great hero."
Inns and clinics weren't places to cause trouble.
You never knew what grudges a poison-hearted chef or doctor might nurse behind the scenes.
So Jin Muhon treated her as gently as possible.
If it were his own treatment, fine—but this was his one and only niece's stepmother-to-be.
Not some half-baked like Oepari; to get proper stepmothering, he needed to win her heart first.
"Speak if you need anything."
"...Yes, great hero."
"I'm no great hero. No need for that."
"Y-Yes... un... uncle."
Han Somwol's voice shrank to a mosquito buzz. The fine hairs on her nape flushed apple-red.
Jin Muhon tilted his head.
"Huh? What was that? Go away?"
"N-No! Not that..."
Was it the shock?
Hearing odd sounds leaking from her own mouth, Han Somwol clamped a hand over it.
Maybe Jin Muhon was right—she really was unwell.
"Great hero!"
Thankfully, a bandit's voice called from the entrance.
Jin Muhon and Han Somwol turned.
Three bandits stood in deferential formation, facing them.
"Thank you for sparing us! We'll never forget this grace!"
"Never forget! Great hero!"
"Thank you!"
Jin Muhon waved them off irritably.
"Tell us your esteemed name and title—we'll surely seek you out to repay the favor!"
Jin Muhon, who'd lost interest, twitched an eyebrow and turned back.
Sensing something ominous, the three flinched and stepped away.
"Planning revenge?"
"R-Revenge? Misunderstanding, sir! We meant it—we want to repay you for real!"
"How?"
"...Pardon?"
"How exactly?"
"Well... that is..."
The boss rolled his eyes frantically.
Righteous types always fronted with face, even if rotten behind—but this guy had none of that.
'Think! Something to catch a master's interest... Ah!'
The boss's eyes lit up.
"With an elixir!"
"Oh? Elixir? You lot have something that rare?"
Jin Muhon perked up—good sign.
The boss beamed, spittle flying as he pressed on.
"Our chief recently scored a fine one! That's why he summoned the clinic—for the beauty treatment and the elixir!"
"Ho! Really? That turtle bastard got an elixir?"
Jin Muhon grinned, stroking his chin.
Didn't know what kind, but if the Long River Bandits chief hyped it, no ordinary pill.
The more elixirs to boost Jin Hayeon's inner energy, the better.
"Yes! Rare as hell, got it from the old Four Emperors Alliance!"
"Turtle hit the jackpot. But what's he gonna do, eat it and avenge some dead Emperor lord?"
The Four Emperors' sky, their lord.
Jin Muhon had met him in his Sword Demon days.
A master even he couldn't easily gauge.
How'd a guy like that lose his head to the Nine Great Sects? Who knew.
Anyway, none of his business.
"Nah. Even that mighty lord fell, so how's our chief facing sects alone? Just shed bones, reborn, then beat the bastard senseless."
"The bastard?"
"Yes!"
"Who?"
"Hahaha! Chief gets drunk and boasts. None of us buy it. You'll laugh too, great hero."
The boss bellowed a hearty laugh.
Forced, awkward vibe.
"Right, you lot!"
"Ah! Yes! Hahaha! Chief's full of hot air!"
"I-I'm sick of hearing it! Hahaha!"
The silent underlings chimed in hastily.
Jin Muhon stared blankly.
His gaze cold, deep.
"Ha. Ha. Ha."
Laughter faded; cold sweat beaded on three brows.
"How you gonna hand over an elixir your chief treasures?"
"I-I know where it's kept! Spare me, I'll steal and deliver it! Trust me, great hero!"
"Can't."
"P-Pardon?!"
The boss dropped to his knees, eyes bulging.
Underlings paled, following suit.
"It's real! I swear on my life!"
"I don't trust you stealing it."
"Th-Then bind me with a seal or—"
"Enough. Come with."
Three pairs of eyes went wide.
"...Pardon?"
"With. I'll fetch it myself."
"Ah!"
Jin Muhon turned to Han Somwol, meeting her eyes.
"Miss Han. Be right back. We'll talk elixir after."
"E-Elixir... Yes. Safe travels. I'll prepare."
She bowed demurely, ears red.
Imagining something? Really unwell?
Jin Muhon tilted his head, then approached the bandits.
"What're you waiting for? Up."
"Yes, sir!"
They scrambled up.
Suddenly, the bandit's earlier words resurfaced in Jin Muhon's mind.
"Your chief—the one he wants to pummel—left a sword wound on my chest?"
"H-How'd you know? Great hero?"
Jin Muhon's lip curled slyly.
"Chief said anything else about him?"
"He says it when drunk!"
"What?"
"That Sword Demon fucker! I'll have his head! Hahaha. Chief's boasts like that. Takes one slash and claims he crossed the Sword Demon. Hahaha!"
Jin Muhon's smile widened.
***
Late night.
A full moon hung over a gorge threading a Yangtze tributary.
Sheer cliffs flanked both sides, the inlet sealed by high wooden barricades—a natural fortress.
Where the Yangtze crashed whoosh-whoosh,
This was the Long River Bandits' stronghold.
"Come on, drink up! Can't celebrate a joyous day without booze!"
Feast hall packed with dozens of bandits.
Soft rugs on the floor, tables laden with tempting dishes.
"Hahaha! A round for the chief!"
"To the chief!"
Bandits roared, clinking cups wildly.
Boisterous laughs, crashing glasses.
Torchlit hall reeked of booze.
"Kaaaaah! Good stuff!"
At the head sat a man in his mid-forties.
Muscle-packed frame rivaled two average men; sun-baked skin dark as fish.
But tiny eyes like a turtle's.
He was the Long River Bandits chief.
Iron Shell Ghost Ak Manho.
"Just this for becoming the world's best once the doc arrives? More booze!"
A bandit stood, cup raised.
Ak Manho and the rest eyed him curiously.
"What? World's best?"
"Yes! You're mighty now—beauty treatment plus elixir? World's best for sure!"
"Right! Might even shed bones and reborn!"
"Aigoo! Chief'll youth up! Girls'll line up!"
"Hahahahaha!"
Bandits hooted everywhere.
Flattery to superiors was universal.
Ak Manho lapped it up.
"Heh heh. World's best, eh."
"Who dares claim it over you now? Nangong elder's top sword? Yank his head!"
Ak Manho stared incredulously at the speaker.
"What? Nangong top sword? Ha! Dogs in the street'd laugh. Real top sword's elsewhere."
"Huh? Stronger than Geomje? Who?"
"Who? Well..."
He trailed off vaguely.
His heart thudded oddly tonight.
'What's this? Damn.'
Glanced at his wrist.
Torchlight showed hairs standing on end.
The instinct that propelled him to chief.
It screamed danger now.
'Righteous raid?'
"Chief?"
All stared as he clamped shut.
Step. Step. Step.
Footsteps approached from outside.
Ak Manho glared at the entrance.
Swish.
The curtain parted to one side.