Unrivaled Spear, Crumbling Schemes
Woo-gang twisted his body lightly to the side and took a single step back.
As he did, he thrust the spear gripped in one hand forward with blinding speed.
“Kuhk!”
A brief groan escaped as one of the Black Dao warriors collapsed.
It was as if a short dagger had struck swiftly and lightly—Woo-gang’s spear had inflicted a fatal wound to the enemy’s side.
But the man’s body never touched the ground.
Thwack!
Woo-gang had swung his spear, forcibly lifting and hurling the body aside.
Slash!
Was it bad luck?
Or had Woo-gang intended it?
The Black Dao warrior, his side torn open by Woo-gang’s strike, met his end as he was sliced apart by the very blades his comrades were swinging.
It was a movement beyond anyone’s reach.
No one could keep up with Woo-gang when he moved with purpose.
In the narrow confines of the manor, wielding a long spear, the hundred or so foes before him meant nothing.
With every movement of Woo-gang’s spear, Black Dao warriors fell like leaves drifting to the ground.
They called themselves warriors, but they were barely third-rate.
Even with overwhelming numerical advantage, the gap in skill was insurmountable.
Before Woo-gang’s utterly dominant prowess, the faces of those who had miraculously survived thus far drained white with terror.
A few gang leaders, watching their underlings scatter like autumn leaves, even cursed Pyo Ha-rim for dragging them into this death trap.
Splurt!
Woo-gang yanked out the spear he had thrust deep.
Blood gushed from the Black Dao warrior’s body, yet it evaporated before it could even touch Woo-gang.
Not a single drop stained his form.
The blazing aura emanating from his entire body vaporized it on contact.
Because of this, the manor interior was shrouded in a thick red mist of blood.
Woo-gang’s gaze pierced through them, striking the Black Dao warriors like the eyes of a yaksha—terror itself made flesh.
***
About sixty jang away from the manor stood a towering pavilion.
Though lively at night, it was still before business hours, and atop its roof stood two figures.
One had disheveled white hair fluttering in the wind; beside him was a middle-aged man in neat attire, posture impeccably straight.
They turned toward the manor where Woo-gang was battling the Black Dao warriors.
Despite the considerable distance, the two seemed to see Woo-gang’s form with perfect clarity.
“What do you make of it?”
“Hard to judge his spearwork fully against such foes, but that aura is unmistakable. It’s definitely his successor.”
The white-haired elder’s words drew a nod from the middle-aged man.
He promptly pulled a small sheet of paper and brush from his bosom, scribbling something down.
As if waiting, someone suddenly appeared behind them.
“Deliver it swiftly. The rest stand by for orders and move without delay.”
“Yes, sir.”
The figure snatched the paper from the middle-aged man and vanished as abruptly as he’d come.
“Those Cheopun Dan guys lack any humanity. So damn cold.”
“Can’t be helped—they handle intelligence work.”
“Even so, the jianghu is a world of people. They can’t keep at that job forever. To survive buried in the world, you need some human scent. I’ve told Sa Ma-gang about it a few times, but nothing changes.”
“Sa Ma-gang understands your words well, Sword King. He’s trying, but it’s not something that shifts overnight.”
The middle-aged man’s words revealed the elder’s identity.
The white-haired old man was none other than Geomwang Dok Go-hu, one of the current era’s Two Kings of the murim.
Since the Flame King’s disappearance, some even called him the sole King, though he too had stepped back from the jianghu fray.
His presence here stemmed from rumors of the Flame King’s successor.
He hadn’t stirred at news of the Flame King’s vanishing, but this time, curiosity had drawn him out.
“That kid, though... he’s still incomplete.”
“He’s young yet, isn’t he? Martial arts take time to hone.”
“No, not that.”
At Geomwang’s words, the middle-aged man stared fixedly at Woo-gang.
“Everyone has a proper boundary. And that boundary usually aligns with society’s norms. That’s how you navigate countless relationships without issue. But that kid’s different.”
“You mean he has no boundaries?”
“No. He has them, sure. But they don’t match society’s. In other words, he lacks social sense. Might tie back to the Flame King’s absence... or the life he’s lived.”
The middle-aged man’s eyes flashed at Geomwang’s insight.
“If it’s innate, that could be trouble. But if it’s just ignorance, teach him properly—it’s fixable.”
Geomwang’s eyes sharpened this time.
Dok Go-hu was a grizzled jianghu veteran.
He grasped the implication instantly.
Plans to claim and wield him. The status and fame of the Flame King’s successor—tempting indeed.
He’d been away from the front lines for years, but his eyes and ears weren’t fully closed.
Dok Go-hu knew Sa Ma-gang well and that he wouldn’t leave Woo-gang alone.
Yet he had no intention of meddling actively in Woo-gang or the Murim Alliance’s affairs.
The jianghu was a place where one proved and survived on their own.
If you’re the Flame King’s successor, prove your worth yourself.
Dok Go-hu murmured inwardly as he watched Woo-gang bring down the last of the Black Dao warriors.
***
Woo-gang scanned his surroundings.
Countless dead and wounded littered the floor.
Strange emotions churned wildly within him at the sight.
He couldn’t pinpoint why.
But as the turmoil surged, his heartbeat quickened, and his vision narrowed.
Woo-gang gripped his spear tighter.
His true qi stirred vigorously, soon restoring his calm.
Swish.
He turned his gaze.
There lay a man who had vomited blood from Woo-gang’s recent strike, collapsed but clinging to life—for now.
“Who’s above you?”
“Chil...seong... bang... Urk! Ha-rim... Hack!”
Blood kept rising, choking his words.
“Chilseongbang. Pyo Ha-rim.”
Woo-gang murmured softly, then turned away.
He leaped lightly over the corpses and injured, gliding smoothly to the front gate amid the bodies with no room to step.
Creeeak!
Opening the firmly shut doors, he emerged to see people watching from a safe distance, too afraid to approach.
Complex emotions etched their faces.
Some brimmed with worry; others with glee.
Power abhors a vacuum, after all.
The fall of Daewoongbang was cause for joy now, but someone else would fill the void—perhaps even crueler than before. Their concern wasn’t unfounded.
But grasping the intricate web of relationships among them was beyond Woo-gang.
Enduring the stares fixed on him, he stepped forward.
Pyo Ha-rim of Chilseongbang.
Would he be the end, or just another task? Either way, that was his destination now.
The crowd parted a path; Woo-gang strode heavily along it.
And the watching Geomwang departed as well.
***
As Woo-gang swept aside the Black Dao warriors and made his way toward Chilseongbang...
Min Gyo-ui approached a massive manor with a smug smile and confident stride.
Baekdobang, who should have been at the forefront against Woo-gang, hadn’t budged, merely observing.
Every report of Woo-gang dismantling Pyo Ha-rim’s affiliated gangs reached Min Gyo-ui’s ears, fueling his triumphant expression.
His destination: Cheonmyeonbang, Pyo Ha-rim’s rival and Baekdobang’s superior gang.
Stepping through Cheonmyeonbang’s main gate, Min Gyo-ui’s mind bloomed with visions of Baekdobang’s rosy future.
In truth, even without his meddling, Pyo Ha-rim would have sought Woo-gang.
The clash between Woo-gang and Chilseongbang was inevitable, its outcome obvious.
Min Gyo-ui had been the first to witness—and closest to—the man who crushed Daewoongbang.
All he’d done was sprinkle a bit of spice on an unaltered course.
But since only he and Pyo Ha-rim knew, he figured he could leverage it for much from Cheonmyeonbang’s leader, Tak Jong-myeong.
Yet his bright prospects crumbled the moment he entered.
Cheonmyeonbang underlings surrounded him as if lying in wait.
Startled but hiding it, Min Gyo-ui glared at them.
“Tell your leader Baekdobang’s Min Gyo-ui has come. I bring news you lot won’t want to mishandle me over.”
“I’m right here!”
A booming voice heralded a sturdy, broad-shouldered man.
Tak Jong-myeong, leader of Cheonmyeonbang.
Min Gyo-ui bowed politely.
“Min Gyo-ui of Baekdobang.”
“I know.”
Tak Jong-myeong’s curt tone sent a chill through Min Gyo-ui—something was wrong.
“Didn’t I say grab him the moment he shows?!”
At Tak Jong-myeong’s roar, the underlings swarmed Min Gyo-ui.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“You know damn well.”
Tak Jong-myeong took a document from a subordinate behind him.
“You know what this is better than anyone.”
Min Gyo-ui’s eyes trembled.
How the hell is that in Tak Jong-myeong’s hands?!
What Tak held was none other than the documents Min Gyo-ui had given Pyo Ha-rim.
His mind reeled.
Had Pyo Ha-rim allied with Tak Jong-myeong?
Or some third party?
He couldn’t make sense of it.
Before he could, his arms and torso were bound, forcing him to kneel before Tak Jong-myeong.
“Think I wouldn’t know you betrayed me to side with Leader Pyo? No— you played both sides, betting on who’d profit you more between me and him.”
“N-no! I used it to lull Pyo Ha-rim and draw out the one who crushed Daewoongbang! He’s already wiping out Pyo’s gangs!”
Min Gyo-ui shouted desperately.
Tak Jong-myeong shook his head.
“Knew you were sly, but this exceeds it. It would’ve happened anyway. Think a few words makes you a hero?”
Min Gyo-ui’s face darkened rapidly.
He knows everything.
Nothing else explained that confident tone and expression.
How?
“Curious? Someone saw right through your schemes.”
Min Gyo-ui realized someone knew the whole plot.
Tak Jong-myeong pulled out a paper and flicked it.
Remember this: meddle clumsily, and you won’t die a natural death. There are mountains atop hills, heavens above the earth.
Sa Ma-gang
Min Gyo-ui couldn’t fathom seeing Sa Ma-gang’s name here.
The Murim Alliance’s Sa Ma-gang that I know?
Why would the Alliance concern itself with the Black Dao gangs?
And know so intimately?
He didn’t connect it all to Woo-gang.
“You’d drag not just Cheonmyeonbang but others into peril. Take him away!”
“No! It’s not like that! This is a frame job!”
Min Gyo-ui thrashed and pleaded to the end, but Tak Jong-myeong’s ears were closed.
Still protesting innocence, he was dragged off by Cheonmyeonbang underlings.
As his voice faded to a whisper, Tak Jong-myeong’s right-hand man approached.
“Kill him?”
“No. His cunning can benefit us if used right. Just ensure he never turns it against us.”
“Understood. I’ll... readjust his mind.”
Tak Jong-myeong nodded.