Chapter 66
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: Street Thugs (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
After the Little Dragon Tournament ended, the feverish excitement died down and things returned to their usual state. The area around the Nangong Clan, which had been swarming with people like mountains and seas, emptied out to its normal self, but it felt strangely vacant.
"Packed everything?"
"Tent, flint, pot, blankets—all packed, sir. I even ordered some jerky just in case."
"You're being awfully compliant today, not like you at all."
"I always listen well."
Even the bearish Cheol-ho, who usually got stuffy living together like this, was moving briskly. He was so compliant that there was no fun in ribbing him anymore.
They say a sudden personality change leads to a short life—tsk tsk tsk, that young punk!
Unlike Mujin's misunderstanding, Cheol-ho had more than enough convincing reasons.
'The Sword Emperor was too much!'
Cheol-ho had heard about the Divine Province's Twenty-One Elites until his ears blistered. His master had always shared stories about them. Even after perfecting his martial arts, he warned never to cross them. They were monsters in human skin.
And that monster had crushed the Sword Emperor, one of the top ranks among them. Mujin was strong, sure, but Cheol-ho thought he could surpass him with effort. Turns out, Mujin wasn't just any monster in this world. Surviving while strutting around with his head held high was a miracle.
'It wasn't a lie.'
All this time traveling together, Mujin had boasted of being invincible under heaven. Sure, his martial arts were top-notch, but Cheol-ho figured it was mostly bravado.
Now, an unsettling fear crept in that he might really be the strongest in the world.
'Can I ever surpass him?'
The Sword Emperor was old. Mujin, on the other hand, was in his prime and could grow even stronger. No matter how much he racked his brain, there was no answer.
So, there was only one way.
'Gotta exclude this guy.'
Aim for the next generation.
Taejin was clearly a lifelong rival. Mujin was a natural disaster, so he'd settle things fairly with his son.
"Before I die, I should pass on my internal energy to our son."
"...Why?"
"Why? It's not like I'm taking it to the grave. Can't I give it to my boy?"
"...Still!"
Inheriting wealth was one thing, but internal energy?
Born with nothing, Cheol-ho felt deeply wronged and resentful. Even Taejin lounging there leisurely annoyed him.
What kind of luck did that kid have to end up with a monster like this as a father...? From a parent-child perspective, being the son of this monster didn't seem all that great.
Anyway, the martial world was a place for those with means.
"I won't lose to you!"
"Do as you like."
Taejin knew his father's scheme was shaking up Cheol-ho, who'd just steadied his resolve, but he stayed quiet. His intervention wouldn't change anything, and Cheol-ho was thick-headed anyway.
You have to get through for persuasion to work.
'It was a kids' tournament, but still pretty lucrative.'
Besides the money from the Nangong Clan, he'd swept up all the betting pools at the Little Dragon Tournament. No one had predicted his son and Cheol-ho's rise, so the profits were over tenfold.
'Money making money—easy pickings.'
He'd bet everything he had, but there were limits. Being a kids' event, it hadn't drawn the funds of the Dragon or Murim Tournaments. Even hosted by the Nangong Clan, the scale was much smaller than adult tournaments with higher age brackets.
'There was a reason they hold these tournaments.'
They opened them to protect their vested interests and prestige, but in truth, they couldn't ignore the profits either.
'Where to invest this.'
-Not War King, but Money King you've become.
'Wars need war funds. Even the Demonic Cult of the Demon God didn't fight without money.'
-You don't mean...?
'What do you think of my foresight?'
-Like catching a rat stepping backward after a cow—pure luck.
'The source doesn't matter.'
To maintain a force, funds were essential. People don't escape the need to eat and sleep. Considering the cost to raise one person, the Demonic Cult's expenses were astronomical. Covering that secretly? It defied common sense.
Among major forces circulating large sums now, at least one or two were likely tied to the Demonic Cult. Digging into that would naturally lead to them.
-So, what's the plan?
'How should I know? You think I know everything?'
-...?
Nothing, and yet so brazen!
The Demon King was speechless for a moment, thrown into brief panic. This man's reckless actions had no logic front or back.
-You're just gonna hoard cash, admit it.
'Gotta stock up first to plan ahead. If you're broke, no time to worry. You wouldn't get it being young, but money's the foundation for broad thinking.'
Thinking and money.
Might seem unrelated at first. But cornered people think narrowly. Some squeeze out genius schemes under pressure, but it's temporary. True strategy needs time to perfect. Without funds, you lack even that time.
-Since when did you start thinking, spouting such nonsense?
'Exactly why I need to use my head.'
-You, using your head?
'Not me—someone else.'
-Clever in the petty ways.
'Now there's justification.'
This time, even the Demon King conceded. Pooling their reasoning would be ideal, but neither Mujin nor Cheon-gyeong excelled at strategy or tactics. Together, they still couldn't paint the big picture. Compiling known info into a framework wasn't simple. That's why every group needs strategists.
'First, show 'em what happens with dirty tricks.'
-Wrong medicine.
'Your fault.'
-What?
Endless assassination attempts and poisons during his War King days had honed his senses naturally. He'd even recruited handlers for cleanup.
'A promise is worth a fortune.'
-They'll burst with rage.
Mujin left the inn and walked the main road. At the fork at the end, he headed toward the hills.
He had to cross mountains en route, so he hurried. Unless unavoidable, camping in mountains wasn't wise.
Mujin unpacked deep into the mountainside past the midpoint. Sunset was still awhile off, but he set up camp.
Not one of the Five Great Peaks, but a mountain was a mountain. As dusk fell and darkness gathered, beastly howls echoed.
Drip, drip!
Rain began to fall. The air had been humid before entering the mountains. Should've skipped climbing altogether. Luckily, he'd prepared gear for rainy camping beforehand.
He pitched a waterproof cowhide tarp and dug a ditch for runoff.
"The charm of camping is rain. Sets the mood perfectly, right?"
"If you knew rain was coming, wouldn't staying another night at the inn have been better?"
Mujin frowned at Taejin's sensible point.
His son didn't get the appeal of rainy camping. Savoring waterfall-like rain with smoked pork roast and steaming beef soup—that's when you glimpse life's great path.
Add a sip of liquor, and ahhh!
The taste of adulthood.
The tent was spacious for seven. Plenty of room to sleep and eat inside. As fire rose and meat cooked, the rain poured like a waterfall.
Shwoooo!
The downpour soaked the darkness thickly, like a hole ripped in the sky.
Mujin sliced the smoked pork and took a bite. Crispy, well-seasoned, no porky aftertaste—just savory.
"Getting wet narrows your range of motion. Minimize movement to avoid draining internal energy and stamina."
"Suddenly?"
Taejin and Cheol-ho felt an odd chill mid-soup. Mujin spouted nonsense often, but never pure fabrication.
"Senses shift in rain-soaked darkness. Overreact to variables, or slack off and struggle to respond. That's why you experience it. Got it?"
"Dad, what are you on about?"
"About time you noticed."
"Notice wha—... Huh?"
Taejin reacted first, then even dull Cheol-ho sensed the group closing in. Despite lagging, Cheol-ho glared at Taejin enviously. Still no judgment there.
"They're after us?"
"What're the odds of heavily armed guys showing up in a midnight mountain?"
"Why, though?"
"Who knows? But the killing intent's thick."
Their intent was obvious without asking. Rainy nights were perfect for murder and cleanup. No identifying the killer, and beasts handle the bodies.
If you wanna kill, pick the right day for perfect crime.
Crack!
The mysterious group closed in.
Mujin, still seated, shoved his son and Cheol-ho outside. Don't interrupt dinner—handle it.
"Your favorite real combat. No need for motives—just kill 'em all."
"Why are they trying to kill us?"
"Your dad's pretty rich."
"Just for money?"
"'Just'? That money keeps you living cushy. My son doesn't know the value of cash."
Mujin carried plenty of money and notes. Scruples about killing for money were pointless. Reality was, people died for it.
"Time to take positions, yeah?"
"What about you, Dad?"
"If I step in, means your training failed. I'd be heartbroken."
"...We'll handle it!"
Taejin and Cheol-ho emerged into the rain, reading the foes' moves to find combat advantages. First rainy fight, but they'd seen action.
Following Mujin built their experience. Tournament win and runner-up looked impressive, but for them, it was expected.
Unlike other late disciples, they'd fought numerically superior foes. The tournament kids were fresh realizations of sword intent.
'Why do accidents follow everywhere?!'
'I'll get stronger no matter what!'
Taejin and Cheol-ho's resolves clashed. Taejin resented needless hardship; Cheol-ho burned with fighting spirit.
Whoosh!
Feeling it, Taejin had no choice but to unleash his aura. He'd beaten Cheol-ho every time, but complacency was dangerous.