Shit... I Forgot My Sword
Damn, this guy's got a mouth on him.
But why the hell does he think I'm from the black dao?
Ogu glanced at his reflection in a standing mirror as he navigated the bent corridor. He wasn't thrilled with it, but on the surface, he was a strikingly handsome young man who could hold his own anywhere.
Where the fuck does he see any black dao sleaziness in me?
"You're a lucky bastard. Not just anyone gets to climb these stairs."
Lucky...? Me, lucky?
What an unlucky prick Ogu was.
Born the ninth son in the O household, they'd named him Ogu—claiming he'd form the Nine Stars. But within three years, all his brothers were dead. Even his father.
Drowned. Crushed by a carriage. Buried in a landslide... The villagers whispered about it.
Ogu brought disaster.
His mother, of course, shot back fiercely.
"This child survived the calamity that struck the O household!"
But even she died suddenly from some mystery illness when Ogu was nine.
The villagers gossiped behind his back but still brought him food and taught him to work the fields. They just never let him into their homes or put him to real work.
He figured it out later. They were scared that the jinx Ogu would wreck their houses the moment he stepped inside.
A wandering warrior once asked to stay the night, but Ogu told him to fuck off—said he was bad luck.
"What kinda superstitious bullshit is that? Sure, luck might be shit, but my Nine Stars Linked Ring Blade Art can turn your fortune around. It's a peerless blade style. I'll teach you!"
The wanderer stuck around, eating and sleeping like he owned the place, drilling Ogu in the art. He'd taught up to the seventh star, with eighth and ninth left, when he went out... and never came back. Turns out an old enemy caught him and killed him in a fight.
Ogu tended his veggie patch, ate whatever scraps the villagers tossed his way, and honed the Nine Stars Linked Ring Blade Art relentlessly.
When he came of age, he sold off what little property there was, shared it with the villagers who'd looked after him, and headed to Sangyang.
Luck still sucked. Escort firms went bust soon as he joined. Guard gigs ended with the whole outfit collapsing overnight...
Just as the stormy days dragged on, he overheard some drunks mention that Gwancheonbang had the Nine Stars Linked Ring Blade Art.
He threw himself at their feet. Starting from the bottom, four years later he caught the eye of strategist Gu Ja-ang. Another two years of life-or-death dog work as Gu's loyal hound finally got him access to the manual this past spring.
He'd barely memorized the eighth star and the ninth linking form—hope swelling that he'd soon master it and turn his luck—when a simple errand from Gu went sideways... and he nearly starved to death.
Won Seung, the one who saved him, said:
"Ogu, this is your new life."
Was it those words?
Once he clawed back from death, his life flipped. Looks changed, status changed, money poured in. Even women glancing his way on the street had gone from novel to annoying.
The jinx kid who'd always hung back silently, avoiding crowds... now he had to step up front. Owner of Baekhwa Pavilion, for fuck's sake...
To not squander this new fortune, he was grinding the Nine Stars Linked Ring Blade Art hard.
He felt his luck improving day by day, but hearing "you're lucky" from some random asshole out of nowhere still felt off.
"Hmph. What, is this some gateway to glory?"
"Gateway? The hell's that?"
Dumbass.
Ogu took a step, then froze.
Between the fourth and fifth floors was an intermediate landing—a low-ceilinged hall where dozens of black-clad men clustered, eyes gleaming like wolves.
Every last one radiated killing intent... blade masters.
Ogu's nape prickled.
Luck... all used up?
Bad vibes.
"Watch yourself. Those are dangerous fuckers. Mad dogs who live for the thrill of slitting throats."
Hama-cho spoke up, as if sensing Ogu's unease, kindly warning him.
Up the intermediate stairs, through the door—a long rectangular room.
A massive table dominated the center, laden with delicacies from land and sea, plus booze.
Twelve chairs. The head seat up front empty. Two by the door where Hama-cho and Ogu entered—also empty.
The rest rose as one, eyes on Hama-cho and Ogu.
Ogu clocked them instantly.
'Sangyang black dao bosses!'
From early thirties to geezers... outfits all over the map. One thing in common: the looks they shot Ogu weren't friendly.
"Hold up a sec."
Hama-cho told him, then took a seat up front. Big shot act, but it was the lowest spot.
Ogu scanned the seated stares, then jolted.
Why's the oil shop uncle sitting there?
'Uncle's black dao?'
That shiny bald dome, slick like it was oiled—unforgettable face. Spotted him right away.
The oil shop uncle seemed to recognize Ogu too... but averted his eyes.
Moments later, a side door opened. In waddled a plump middle-aged man.
Extravagant silk robes, jeweled hat, jade rings—screamed mega-rich just from the getup.
"Sorry I'm late. Why didn't you eat without me?"
Said sorry, but his face screamed otherwise as he plopped down.
No one had touched their chopsticks, waiting for him.
"This tri-faction duel or whatever... what a pain in the ass. Co-sponsor, they say..."
The middle-aged man shook his head.
'That's Hwacheong Pavilion's Gu Ak-pyeong, huh?'
Ogu muttered inwardly. Fake black society boss? Real deal, then.
Someone chimed in, bootlicking.
"But who else but Sangyang black dao's big brother could handle a huge duel like this?"
Gu Ak-pyeong looked up at Ogu.
"Baekhwa Pavilion's Master Wu, right? Why you standing? Sit already."
Ogu wondered why he got that seat when someone piped up.
"Who's this punk crashing our meeting? I never approved him."
"Can't agree. Who the hell invited him?"
Two in a row, others nodding. Faces screaming they had no clue why Ogu was there.
Gu Ak-pyeong flashed a pudgy grin.
"I did. Solid young man. He's earned a seat."
"Guild Leader Gu, ain't that too high-handed?"
Gu Ak-pyeong picked up his chopsticks, popped a fried peanut, chewed noisily.
"Listen up, Sangyang black dao... Sang River's about to get storm-tossed, riverbed flipped. After the duel in a couple days, wonder how many heads'll still be attached. Real curious."
"Guild Leader, that's too harsh."
"Nah. You lot sitting pretty, hoping Gwancheon or Cheongsu crumbles so you can snag crumbs—that's harsh."
Gu Ak-pyeong turned to Ogu.
"Told you to sit. Why standing? Oh, no intro. Heard of the Ten Council?"
He had.
The ten bosses who ran Sangyang black dao.
Gu Ak-pyeong was black society boss and Ten Council head.
"Names later. These ten? The Council. Uyangjeong's boss had me fetch you today. Shouldn't be here normally... but send a guy on an errand, gotta feed him."
Then he introduced Ogu to the seated.
"Some know, some don't. Baekhwa Pavilion in the painting district— he's the owner. But get this. Doesn't just sell paintings."
Gu Ak-pyeong bellowed sideways.
"Hey! Bring it here."
A black society underling hauled in a poster bigger than the spectator ticket sales notice.
Tickets on sale day before duel, from 5 a.m., right by the arena warehouse.
Limited to three hundred.
"But no price listed. Word is, starts at a grand nyang base. Silver or gold only. And motherfuckers are lining up across Sangyang. Chaos. Every battlefield's running dry on silver."
Gu Ak-pyeong's eyes locked on Ogu.
"And that guy's selling 'em from Baekhwa Pavilion."
All eyes on Ogu.
"Three hundred! At a grand each? Thirty grand nyang a day. Heh, heh. Anyone here pulling thirty grand a month? Raise a hand."
No one did.
They knew damn well Gu got dangerous when he ranted like this.
Cold light gleamed in Gu's eyes.
"Some bastard hands me co-sponsor gig, tosses me a grand nyang."
Madness swirled in Gu's gaze.
"Fine. Watch the duel, grab some honor. Took the grand. But seeing that today? Felt like a dog."
A savage growl leaked from his mouth.
"Some fucker's gorging, tosses me scraps like dog chow. Me, black society boss—turned into a mutt. Woof woof!"
Gu Ak-pyeong looked the mild, rich, pudgy tycoon. But really, he was a psycho who whipped himself into rages while talking.
BAM! Fist smashed the table.
Table splintered, food flew everywhere. Everyone jolted back in shock.
"Ah, fuck yeah? Treating Sangyang black society boss like a dog?"
Spitting cheap curses like a lowly thug, eyes flashing murder-pre-blade glare.
Ogu sighed inwardly.
Figures...
Told ya I'm unlucky.
Shit... forgot my sword.
A muggy summer night.
Jong Bi gone, Ogu absent... the quiet Baekhwa Pavilion felt alien.
Won Seung hauled water from the well, chugged it, splashed his head.
Midnight move-in left him sweat-soaked. Lukewarm water, but a second pour sharpened his mind.
Heading to the main hall, he spotted drips from his hair—plopped on the bamboo chair under the eaves instead.
More comfy than it looked.
Jong Bi—one of the Ten Perfect Assassins—had made them herself recently. Four total.
'Jong Bi's, Ogu's. One left?'
Not Ma Bu's spot—wait, Stone Wave? He commuted from his place across the creek outskirts.
No stable for a carriage here at Baekhwa Pavilion or the new next-door—downtown market life.
Not for Jong Bi's man, Yong Jo-un either.
Hyeol Hwa's, then?
'But she's leaving soon.'
He got Jong Bi's intentions... wasted effort.
Hyeol Hwa could move now. Staying only for her promise to Yong Jo-un.
Yong Jo-un would release her morning of the duel. Letting a killer who'd targeted him go? Tough call.
Sucker move... but bold as hell.
In their short time together, Won Seung found himself influenced by Yong Jo-un without realizing.