There Are Children Who Share the Same Will
Purges at Jeokhyeolsan meant death.
“A-alright.”
“I heard No. 50’s covert inspector died alongside Bi Jangno. No inspection report either. Go verify the assassination missions... and while you’re at it, dig into Bi Jangno’s cause of death. Killed by some random soldier? With his left and right guards no less? Does that even make sense? Grill the branch bastards. Hmm... who’s the Sangyang branch chief again?”
With promotions off the table and his life on the line, even Sa Gyo-du was sweating bullets. He rubbed his blackened, booze-swollen eyelids and grumbled.
Sa Gyo-du addressed the instructors gathered in the conference room for cross-verification.
“Anyone know who the Sangyang branch chief is?”
No one would. At Jeokhyeolsan, even colleagues hid their faces.
As Sa Gyo-du turned to leave, someone let out an exclamation.
“Look at this bastard. Thirty-seven kills.”
Sa Gyo-du whipped around. “What? Who?”
“No. 7.”
One instructor pulled out Jang Chil’s inspection report.
“The training report said he handled one mid-level mission... but who knew he’d pull off a massacre like this.”
No trainee had ever racked up thirty-seven kills during field training.
Sa Gyo-du eyed No. 7’s scores. Excellent in lightness skill, but mediocre elsewhere.
Not even in the top four elite ranks.
Is Gi Jangno right after all? Are assassins just born, not made through training?
With that, he bumped No. 7 into the elite tier.
Five elites now.
* * *
Won Seung rubbed his bruised shin and vowed revenge.
Sa Gyo-du, you messed up. Daring to touch my royal body with your filthy trotter? I’ll melt those feet in a volcano.
He headed for Dok Sabu’s cabin.
“What? Why’s a trainee wandering the upper compound?”
“Ah, come on. You don’t recognize me? No. 50.”
“Oh, you. What’s up?”
The sentry eyed him up and down.
“Sa Gyo-du sent me to check on dismantling the poison formation.”
“Got it. Go ahead.”
The sentry dropped it at “poison formation.” Dokgoe’s cabin was a headache. Experts from headquarters had come for the poison arts and arrays, then left empty-handed. Now they just walled it off, praying no toxins leaked.
Seeing the cabin where he’d lived with Dok Sabu filled Won Seung with melancholy.
“Master, I’m here.”
He muttered at the rundown shack.
“I killed people, but I had no choice. Had to save my friend. You’ve killed plenty, so you get it... but it still feels shitty.”
The neglected cabin amplified his voice into something poignant.
Weeds choked the yard no one entered. Dok Sabu’s sunning chair was rotted through—one nudge and it’d collapse.
Spiderwebs draped the eaves.
One of ’em’s probably my lost poison spider. Instant death bite... Should I catch it and plant it on Sa Gyo-du’s gut? That pig’s got so much blubber... might not be enough.
Won Seung stepped into the poison formation.
Gwak Gyo-gwan, watching, was secretly alarmed.
Will that kid be okay?
Post-training trainees were valuable assets. A death now meant reprimands.
Won Seung staggered. Gwak clenched his fist.
No!
He saw Won Seung pop a pill from his sleeve and press on doggedly.
That’s it! Keep going!
Won Seung’s toxin-induced stumbling advance looked downright heroic. Gwak almost wished he had company to share it.
Finally, Won Seung entered the cabin.
“Acting’s a pain.”
The formation was nothing to him. He’d staggered for the watcher’s benefit.
Peeking out the window, he spotted Gwak Gyo-gwan lurking behind the fence.
Won Seung ducked to the back yard and retrieved his hidden herbs.
Sure enough, it’s missing.
He’d guessed one ingredient would be gone. Sure enough.
He had a substitute, but it’d be too potent.
Use that, and it’s not Soul Oblivion Pill—it’s Real Idiot Pill...
Brain melt into idiocy.
Won Seung decided: Real Idiot Pills for instructors, Soul Oblivion for the kids.
Better a fool than dead, right? You think so too, you porky bastard? You can slobber into old age.
He gathered herbs, compounded, reburied, and emerged. Lingering too long risked suspicion.
Out he went, staggering dramatically.
“This formation’s brutal. Dok Sabu was a legend. Dismantling it’ll take time.”
He left those words and departed.
Gwak Gyo-gwan took it as proof of true talent.
* * *
Fall had arrived. Chilly winds already haunted the assassin camp.
Gi Jangno obsessively cross-checked ledgers for embezzled funds. Sa Gyo-du blinked his piggy eyes, hunching like a cornered hog.
Fall training reviewed field assassinations.
Instructors analyzed successes and failures from trainee reports and inspector logs, teaching the kids—targets and operatives anonymized, though everyone knew their own work.
One day.
“This assassination was reckless. Assassins must be cold. Pick the target, eliminate precisely... but this one wiped out associates too. That ripples through society, draws official or murim eyes—could mean hunted for life.”
The instructor critiqued the mass killer’s op.
The kids gasped, glancing around—the murderer who’d slain thirty-seven, clients included, sat right there.
Won Seung knew who.
Over there, picking his nose bored-like... No. 7, Jang Chil.
Thirty-plus, he said... thirty-seven?
The instructor ripped into Jang Chil’s op, stressing they were assassins, not serial killers.
Next instructor stepped up.
“The final case is exemplary. Can’t even tell if it’s an assassination. But this instructor verified: it’s a legendary Sipjeon Salsu feat.”
Won Seung perked up, curious.
Who?
“Target: a Central Plains Top 100 Expert. Infiltrated the household, built connections. Used a life-death duel challenge...
Huh? Sounds familiar...
The instructor detailed the Sangyang incident.
“Stoked blood winds in local murim, lured the target to the duel unarmed via planted connections. Key witness appeared. No suspicions. A Ten Great Expert, Kwon-wang, presided; the Top 100 shamed into suicide. No blood, pure scheme. Where’s the assassin trace?”
The kids were awed. Forcing a Top 100 to public suicide?
Won Seung jolted.
What the hell?
I exposed Hwa Cheon-gang’s crimes? When?
Ju Neung testified at the three-way duel arena that Hwa Gyo-gyeong’s death wasn’t Yongga Manor’s doing. Hwa Cheon-gang suicided. Yeo-wol brought Ju Neung, as Cheongsu Gate and Gwancheonbang guarded it. Ju Neung begged her support.
I didn’t even know Ju Neung—how’d I plant a witness?
They’d fabricated his op!
He saw the play: claiming a Sipjeon Salsu graduate for glory.
Won Seung glared. The instructor smirked back: I’ve got you in my palm.
“This trainee aced the other two too. Even I couldn’t trace him. One barely discernible kill method; the other, baffling.”
Obviously. Chaoyang magistrate died naturally.
The instructor dissected Zhongyang’s Yi Eon-pae and Chaoyang’s magistrate to his fancy.
Wrapping up:
“I’m certain this one will become a Sipjeon Salsu.”
Post-review, kids buzzed.
“Who was it? Who pulled off Sipjeon Salsu?”
“Not you, that’s for sure.”
Won Seung slipped away amid the chatter, but felt eyes on him.
A handsome kid stared. Post-training, kids kept field disguises—even in the mountains. No one wanted those damn uniforms back.
The white-robed, refined-looking one smirked faintly.
I-ho?
I-ho approached as eyes met, sidled up casually, gazing ahead. “You?”
“Huh?”
“Sipjeon Salsu. How?”
“...”
How’d he know?
I-ho murmured, “Talk somewhere?”
“Sure.”
They went behind the cabins to a clearing—kids’ post-meal hangout.
I-ho scanned, eyed the upper compound. “Heard of Jeokhyeolsan?”
“...”
“Knew it.”
I’m shocked you know.
Jeokhyeolsan ran the camp incognito. Won Seung learned from Dok Sabu.
“Investigated outside. Where they’re training us killers.”
I-ho’s eyes flashed.
Of course... kids weren’t dumb.
“Jeokhyeolsan won’t let us go. Fools think elite assassin life’s plush... but assassins end miserably dead.”
“...”
“I’m escaping.”
“What?”
“Kids who think alike exist.”
“Say what? How?”
Won Seung’s interest piqued.
I-ho stared. “You killed Ak Gyo-du, right?”
Ho, sharp kid. Elite material.
Keen observation.
“Join us? Be honest.”
“Hey, you pop up demanding honesty. Why trust you?”
I-ho hesitated. “Fine. I trust you. Snitch? You die by my hand.”
This punk? Won Seung glared. Threats now?
“Kids breaking from Jeokhyeolsan’s grasp. Means handling things. They know our identities—erase records.”
I-ho’s voice dropped.
“Swolhyeol San too. I’ve got the way.”
“What? How?”
Poison expert too?
I-ho pulled something. “Myeonggeon Dan?”
“Suspected tampering, saved the last. Analyzed outside. Spring antidote comes—compare, make perfect cure.”
Hmm. I already fully cured your Swolhyeol San.