Big Score (2): The Black-Clad Man
No, in the Gangseo Province area, he was a notorious villain who had made somewhat of a name for himself—the Bone-Breaking Ghost, Jo Dae-san. He glared at the woman before him, grinding his teeth.
Her petite frame barely reached his chest, and though she tried to hide it under her baggy changpo robe, those unmistakable curves couldn't be concealed.
Jo Dae-san was a martial artist first, but a man nonetheless, so for a fleeting moment, he wondered what lay beneath the veil covering her face—
Crack.
"Y-you fucking bitch."
His mind had already fixated entirely on the last words she'd spat out.
Silver 10 nyang.
The bounty on Jo Dae-san's head—the name she'd called him by.
No matter how ruthless the murim world was, any sane martial artist dreaded hearing the bounty on their own head.
Jo Dae-san's rage seemed surface-level at first glance, but in truth, it was the exact opposite.
Just silver 10 nyang?
The blackest of the black path, the vilest of villains.
To a human scum martial artist like Jo Dae-san, silver 10 nyang meant his infamy hadn't risen even after a long string of atrocities.
"Fine! Today, I'll smash your skull and make that fucking bounty worth rewriting!"
The Bone-Breaking Ghost, Jo Dae-san.
A brutal nickname earned because, whenever provoked, he smashed skulls indiscriminately—man, woman, elder, child, young or old.
He decided to personally etch the meaning of that moniker into the woman who'd touched his reverse scale.
"Why the sudden freakout?"
The woman seemed flustered by Jo Dae-san's abruptly shifted demeanor and tried to subtly pull back—but
"Not a chance!"
Jo Dae-san had already drawn his sword, gripped it properly, and charged at her.
She's just a wandering swordsman.
Jo Dae-san was a villain among villains. Yet the reason he'd survived on this earth until now was his keen instincts.
Instincts to gauge if an opponent was dangerous, if they could take his head.
In Jo Dae-san's eyes, the woman was far from threatening.
Just another bounty hunter wandering swordsman.
He'd never met a proper martial artist among those types. Especially not the masked ones who hid their faces.
Her movements are decent, but masters don't come that easy.
Back at the inn, when she'd clashed with that drunkard, Jo Dae-san had seen her moves.
Diving into a blind spot in an instant and kicking the sword away—a neat trick.
Impressive for a mere bounty-chasing ronin, but Jo Dae-san could do that as easily as eating breakfast.
Having faced real masters before, to him, it was less than a scratch.
And no real master would come hunting just for me.
To Jo Dae-san, a first-rate black path martial artist who freely wielded his internal energy through long-cultivated techniques, the woman was just another sacrificial lamb to build his infamy.
As he thrust his sword, pondering how to make this kill boost his name value and escape his silver 10 nyang status—but
"Temper, temper. Couldn't even wait a second before charging in?"
The woman's refined, melodic voice grumbled.
Staring at the faint ashen hue enveloping her blade, he felt his thoughts freeze.
It was a black sword, and no matter how famed, its blade was still iron.
If a sword emitted not its metallic sheen but another light, it meant one thing.
...Sword Qi Injures People?
The pinnacle of internal energy control, projecting it beyond the body—coating the blade with qi for swordsmen.
In other words, the line dividing first-rate from peak realm.
Jo Dae-san, who had just entered the early first-rate stage with his ego piercing the heavens, felt his mind go blank.
#4.
Thud.
The black-clad man suddenly dropped his sword and fell to his knees.
The fire in his eyes from vowing to smash my skull for silver 10 nyang was gone; now, there was no will left in them.
"W-what the hell? What's going on?"
I'd braced for a fight and drawn my sword, so naturally, I was caught off guard.
"Peak master... Sword Qi Injures People..."
Only when I heard the kneeling black-clad man mutter did I grasp the situation.
The ashen energy rising like heat haze from his dropped sword. It was fading now that combat had fizzled, but the traces were clear.
I sheathed my sword haphazardly and knelt to meet his gaze.
"You know what this is, huh?"
In this world where even second-rates were treated like masters, plenty didn't even know what sword qi was.
The black-clad man muttered in a soulless voice.
"Sword qi..."
"And you know it, yet you give up without even clashing blades once?"
I tapped his cheek—tap, tap.
He offered no resistance. This was the victor's privilege in the murim.
"Earlier you were acting all high and mighty for a villain, but you're just a total chickenshit."
Quitting without a fight? Was this really the black path mindset?
Well, black path types bolted at the first whiff of trouble, so maybe it fit.
Either way, the black-clad man was still a piece of shit.
"And a piece of shit like you commits these heinous crimes?"
I pulled out the wanted poster from my bosom, rolled it into a tube, and thwack-thwacked his head.
Even a second look made me grimace at the litany of felonies.
Tsk, no good.
If you hear what you shouldn't, wash your ears; see what you shouldn't, wash your eyes. And this time, it'd be with the bounty on this villain's head.
I drew my sword again on the black-clad man, who hung his head without a word.
"Silver 10 nyang, may you be reborn as 100 nyang in your next life."
He'd seemed full of inferiority complex earlier.
Crack.
Veins bulged on the black-clad man's forehead again.
He could take a slap but not bounty talk? What a talent.
Truth be told, silver 10 nyang was a huge sum—several months' living for a farmer—but paltry for a black path public enemy.
Probably our black-clad friend's fault for being so worthless.
I sincerely wished him a bigger pond than these back alleys in his next life.
Separate from that, though—
So what if you're pissed, black-clad man?
I shot a glance at him as he tried to reignite his will, looking offended.
What could you do besides kneel and wait for me to lop your head off?
Slash!
Thanks to him obediently offering his neck, things wrapped up quick.
Then, murmurs from the gambling corner reached my ears.
"F-for real, a master. That human scum Bone-Breaking Ghost died without even twitching."
"B-bro, isn't the Bone-Breaking Ghost a first-rate master? How the hell is that bitch...?"
"Shut up, you idiot! Just zip it!"
I thought it was over, but apparently not? Or was that just me?
When I turned my gaze to them—
"Eek, eek!"
They whimpered like mice before a cat. As I approached their table slowly, the squeaks grew louder.
Separate from that, there was something to address.
"You said you didn't know earlier, but you sure do now?"
I'd known the black-clad man's moniker was Bone-Breaking Ghost from the poster.
Since they knew the nickname, they must be acquainted—but
"Spill it. You pretended not to know."
I'd clearly shown them the poster with his face just moments ago, and they'd played dumb.
The gamblers sweated bullets.
"W-we didn't mean—"
"Because of you, an innocent guy suffered."
I turned to the black path guy who'd already slunk away politely into the distance.
The one who'd swung his sword once, then switched to searching for the perp.
By results, he'd outperformed the Bone-Breaking Ghost.
Then, the guy who'd been standing quietly came rushing over and slapped the gamblers' cheeks.
Smack!
Damn, that rang out nice.
"Yeah, our master's right! Because of these fuckers, innocent me had to bust my ass? Hey, you shits! Wanna go all the way today?"
Lots of pent-up grudges, apparently.
Black path types struck first and thought later when opportunity knocked.
His goofy antics made me chuckle despite myself.
I shook my head and picked up the Bone-Breaking Ghost's head rolling on the inn floor.
"Ugly as sin."
If his face had been handsome, it might've salvaged the vibe.
I could almost understand why he'd ended up on such an ugly path.
Direction opposite, but I'd suffered plenty due to looks myself.
Meanwhile, the gamblers were still getting roughed up by the perp-searching black path guy.
Hiding the Bone-Breaking Ghost pissed me off, but I had no intent to harm them.
Even after a year and a half in the murim, my roots were firmly in 21st-century modernity.
Naturally, I still felt aversion to killing.
Ah, of course, scum like the Bone-Breaking Ghost were exceptions.
Were those even human? Even beasts would shake their heads at his rap sheet.
Less than beastly, yet killing him gave money. What a gracious creature.
I snapped my fingers in the air, shaking off idle thoughts.
"Hey!"
"Yes, you called, Master?!"
Mashed potato brains, yet he caught on quick and scurried over. That's why black path guys had their charms.
"Clean up roughly and wrap it up. You get what I mean?"
"Of course! Back in my prime, I was famous for handling jobs spotless."
Great at sucking up.
If he'd behaved from the start instead of rebelling, how nice that would've been.
Nah, then he wouldn't be black path. No reason to be here. Logical, in a way.
Anyway, job done.
I wrapped the dripping villain's head—no, silver 10 nyang—in a tablecloth and stepped out of the inn.
Creeeak—
This time, unlike coming in, quietly.