Chapter 69
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: Freeloading Thugs (4)
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"...S-Spare me!"
"Don't beg. I'm going to kill you anyway."
"You vicious bastard... Ack!"
"Why do you guys always say the exact same thing?"
It was just too obvious.
They came in all cocky and confident, but the moment things turned south, they started sniveling. It was very human of them.
I didn't blame them for it.
Humans were creatures whose thoughts shifted endlessly depending on their circumstances. And that pathetic clinging to life? It was pure instinct. Blaming them for it wouldn't change a thing.
Flash!
Despite their desperate flailing, Mujin activated his Soul-Piercing Demonic Eye, piercing straight through the man's soul. He plunged in without mercy, ripping out every scrap of information the thug possessed.
"Whew, you've killed a lot of people, huh."
He was far worse than expected, which filled Mujin with satisfaction. A guy who'd slaughtered this many had to have mountains of karmic debt piled up.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Whatever shall we do with this poor soul!"
Kraaaaaagh!
Go ahead and scream. There's no one around for miles. You knew that when you came here, so let it rip.
Tremble, tremble!
Kang Jaegi's body convulsed violently. Even under the pouring rain, it shriveled up like a withered throat, collapsing inward. Nearly all the moisture had evaporated from his flesh, yet he still twitched in grotesque, all-too-human defiance.
Whoosh!
Soon enough, Kang Jaegi's completely desiccated corpse was sucked into the Demonic Eye like it was being drained of life force. His soul didn't even get a chance to ascend—it simply vanished.
Cough!
With Kang Jaegi's death, the remaining Ilgeon and Igeon followed suit. All Taejin and Cheolho got out of it were boosted martial prowess and Contribution points.
"Clean up around here. I've got somewhere to be for a bit."
Only after Mujin stood and vanished into the rain did Taejin and Cheolho let out sighs of relief.
Taejin glanced at Cheolho.
"Still jealous?"
"...I won't lose to you!"
Yeah, nothing to say to that.
"We never expected the old master to grace us with his presence."
"How could I ignore the Pavilion Master's request? It's not some trivial matter."
"Your mere presence is reassurance enough."
"I'll do what little I can to help."
A plumpish middle-aged man with a jovial smile and an elderly Taoist radiating refined aura exchanged drinks in perfect harmony. They looked every bit the righteous swordsmen, overflowing with... hypocrisy... or rather, refined cultivation.
'With all the money I've sunk into you, of course you'd come.'
'I've saved face by showing up, so take good care of him.'
But inwardly, they were the pinnacle of self-serving operators, weighing every gain and loss. If it smelled like a loss, they'd bolt without a backward glance. A far cry from the kindly neighborhood uncle and wise sage they appeared to be.
Did the two of them not know this?
Hardly. They knew full well, but their interests aligned perfectly, so here they were. In this world, loyalty was a myth—pure profit and loss called the shots.
"What did you summon me for?"
"It's nothing major, really. I was just feeling a bit lonely tonight and thought of you, old master. I'll pay the appropriate fee, of course."
"Fee? Your reputation precedes you, Pavilion Master. Though these days, my energy's waning—I'm worried I won't be able to ease your loneliness as well as before."
They didn't need to spell it out: I've spent good money, so perform accordingly. You've dragged your precious self here, so guarantee the payout.
"Jianchun wine, specially shipped from Sichuan."
"Old age means liquor doesn't hit like it used to, but out of respect for your sincerity, one more glass."
The hook-nosed man clearly didn't expect refusal. The middle-aged fellow filled the glass to the brim.
Shudder!
As Jang Gicheol, master of the Crimson Night Pavilion, poured into the empty glass, a vibration rattled the table, furrowing his brow.
The invited Sword Elder Seop Jangsaeng sensed it too, his instincts screaming foul play. This wasn't some ordinary tremor in the dead of night—it was a ripple of qi.
"Seems the Pavilion Master has more to say."
"Do words need pass between us?"
Jang Gicheol kept his composure despite Seop's probing, but inwardly he seethed. The old man was far stingier than his saintly Taoist facade suggested—it was all a con. Still, money aside, he was no real trouble, so the partnership endured.
'What's all this commotion?'
Something felt off.
"Someone outside!"
Jang Gicheol called for his men to check.
Flinch!
A chill pierced their guts, forcing Jang Gicheol and Seop Jangsaeng to their feet. It felt like sitting on a bed of needles, hackles fully raised.
Kwaaaaaang!
The unease spread like spilled ink on rice paper, a deafening roar shattering the night. The shockwave swept through the entire pavilion in an instant.
"...Intruder!"
"...Who goes there!"
"Do you even know where... Kraaagh!"
The nighttime marauder wasted no words, unleashing raw violence.
They'd prepared for unrest, but this level of savagery defied imagination—far beyond what they could handle.
Puuuaang!
Explosions, shattering, bodies flying.
"This is more serious than I thought."
"You'll get what you want, so shut your mouth."
Despite Seop Jangsaeng's snide remark, Jang Gicheol's focus locked on the intruder. It made no sense. They'd prepared for contingencies, but this exceeded all bounds.
'Did they fail?'
The Blood Hounds were Crimson Night's ace force. Failure hadn't even crossed his mind.
'Who the hell is this?'
Mujin descended from the mountain and arrived at Crimson Night Pavilion, on Hefei's outskirts.
Lights blazed—decent security. They hadn't anticipated failure but habitually went all-in, a sign of sharp instincts.
"The sharper the instincts, the fewer options you leave them."
-You never planned on any other method anyway. Since when did you have strategies?
Just a figure of speech.
Whatever schemes they had, it didn't matter. Attack me for any reason, and death was the price. Mercy was a luxury for mercenaries who killed for coin.
"Who the hell are you!"
"Can't you tell by looking?"
A bandit... apostle of justice.
Almost slipped and said something dumb. Just in case they hadn't heard, he smashed the faces of the patrolling guards out of an old habit. If they were on rotation, he'd kill the next shift too—no apologies needed. They were doomed anyway; no need to feel cheated for dying first.
Crunch!
Headless corpses tumbling to hell, robbed even of expression. No shame if they ratted him out to the King of Hell later. That said, knowing regression was possible made the afterlife a bit scary.
-The great War King afraid of ghosts?
'Of course I'm scared! Who isn't afraid of ghosts?!'
People you could just kill, but ghosts? They didn't die.
He wasn't a Taoist and knew no talismans. Small mercy: evil auras and sorcery didn't faze him. For whatever reason, the War King Art neutralized them.
"Intruder!"
He smashed through the main gate with a bang, snatched a fallen sword, and swung it wildly. Time to show them the true essence of the blade.
Handling a sword was effortless—a mere extension of his arm.
Slice, thrust.
But there were finer points.
Shallow slices, deep ones; light cuts, measured thrusts; hard stabs, tricky ones.
Just modulating strength to form patterns.
Anyone watching would call him a filthy thief. He hadn't learned proper sword forms, yet he mimicked them flawlessly—surface-level, sure, but the power was brutally real.
Swish, kwaaaang!
Mujin poured in his qi without restraint. He had plenty to spare, and this body outclassed his War King days.
Basic swordplay laced with sword force. Azure flames lit the darkness, spreading terror.
One Stroke, Two Severings.
Creeeeak, puuuuaaaang!
A vertical slash bisected ten charging Crimson Night warriors, hurling halves left and right. The swirling sword force formed a vortex, sucking in and shredding the surroundings.
Puaak!
Kraaagh!
Split, torn.
Limbs flew every which way, painting the night red. A visceral scene straight out of nightmares—heads, arms, legs demanding reunion even in death.
In moments, it became a charnel house of limbs. If hell existed, this was it.
"...Death god!"
"...Run!"
No reckless bravery fueled by fallen comrades here. They'd joined for the money, not to throw lives away. They ditched allies in a frenzy to survive.
Shuuuwung.
Kraaak!
Mujin didn't let runners escape, firing sword bullets like a galactic cascade. Dozens claimed lives.
Hwaaaang!
Where the sword swept, only carnage remained. No survivors.
"About time you showed."
Mujin unleashed sword force at the main hall. Concentrated energy morphed into a sword ring, punching clean through.
Shuuuaang, kwaaaaang!
The top floor of the three-story building vanished. There stood the dazed middle-aged man and elder.
Whoosh!
Mujin soared straight to the third floor, landing gracefully before them—like a white crane in flight.
Gasp!
Jang Gicheol and Seop Jangsaeng gaped.
The carnage exceeded their worst imaginings. They'd thought the initial ripple manageable. But this was annihilation. Survivors hid without showing face.
'A sword ring!'
Peak transcendent at least—maybe early pinnacle. A master beyond imagination. Had they known, they'd never have coveted him. Even the Phantom String Sword rumors seemed understated; reality was tenfold worse.
Jang Gicheol tried to weasel out first.
"What grudge justifies this madness?!"
"Why the act? You coated the banknote with Thousand-Li Tracking Scent. You've duped me with it plenty."
Jang Gicheol's face froze.
How did he know?
It was odorless. Only special reagents revealed it.
And he'd never distributed those. It was his secret formula—known only to him.
No more denials possible.
"Name your price. Just stop here!"
"That's a given."
Mujin offered no quarter. He'd come to Crimson Night with intent to end it.
Why? It was a bit odd.
His tender heart didn't match his cruelty.
Truth was, back in his War King days, their Thousand-Li Tracking Scent had caused him endless grief. The Murim Alliance suffered too. So he knew it better than anyone. Just to check, he'd smeared pine resin mixed with centipede blood on the note—and it changed color.