Chapter 72. This is... the Hand of God
Won Il glared at Jong Bi with bulging eyes, growling low in his throat.
"Have you lost your mind? Do you even know where you are?"
"You lunatic!"
Jong Bi held her dagger right up to Won Il's face, looking utterly incredulous.
Can't you see this?
"Eyes down!"
Won Il's gaze dropped immediately. Jong Bi then smacked Yang Il across the jaw.
"Urgh..."
"I'll ask just once."
Jong Bi's voice was dry and flat.
"What happened to Teacher Woo?"
"That bastard..."
Thwack!
Jong Bi plunged her dagger into Yang Il's thigh.
"Argh!"
"That bastard?"
Her tone stayed casual, as if stabbing him was no big deal, making it all the more chilling.
Yang Il scrambled to correct himself.
"He... he killed our boss."
"Teacher Woo killed Hama-cho? Weren't they just going out for dinner? Did they fight a deathmatch or something?"
"No. They were invited to Hwa Cheong Pavilion."
This time, Won Il answered.
"Hwa Cheong Pavilion? That's a brothel. What happened there that left Hama-cho dead and Teacher Woo on the brink?"
Won Il and Yang Il exchanged glances, panic clear on their faces.
Being low-ranking grunts stuck waiting on the first floor of Hwa Cheong Pavilion, they had no idea what went down.
No one in the black society was about to brief the likes of Uyangjeong's bottom-feeders.
All they'd done was pick up Hama-cho's corpse after everything was over.
"He says that guy hugged our boss and jumped from the fifth floor."
From what Won Il had heard, Ogu had embraced Hama-cho and leaped from the fifth story.
"Why?"
As Jong Bi pressed, Won Il averted his eyes slyly. It wasn't like they were tragic lovers from some romance tale—what reason could two men have for clutching each other and jumping?
Even Jong Bi tilted her head, struggling to make sense of it. They'd gone up for dinner and ended up embracing mid-plunge?
"Well... looks like he used our boss as a meat shield to escape."
Yang Il was the first to piece it together.
"Ah."
Jong Bi nodded.
"Who invited them?"
"I hear there was a Ten-Man Council meeting at Hwa Cheong Pavilion!"
Yang Il said. He could still picture Hama-cho grinning ear-to-ear about attending.
"So the Sangyang black dao gathered... They killed Teacher Woo. The Ten-Man Council head is the black society boss, right?"
"Yes."
"The black society boss killed Teacher Woo. And you lot stood by."
Jong Bi spoke in that same dry tone, then raised her dagger.
"Time to pay up."
"You said you'd let us live if we talked..."
Thwack! Thwack!
Jong Bi ignored them, stabbing decisively.
Won Il and Yang Il slumped, blood spurting from their throats.
"Did I say that? No way I did."
Kill first, think later—that was Jong Bi.
She tilted her head for a moment, wondering if she'd really promised that, then vanished.
Gong I-gwan caught the flying iron plaque.
One side bore an imposing mountain; the other, the words Cheondaemun in bold script. His mouth fell open involuntarily.
Dokgoe's disciple? The eighteenth sect leader?
Should he believe this or not?
It matched the sect leader's plaque his master had described. But why was it in that kid's hands...?
Won Seung's bellow rattled his eardrums.
"You receive the sect leader's plaque and don't kneel?!"
Gong I-gwan snapped to attention. Cheondaemun had nearly been wiped out, leaving just three survivors. That's why his master had drilled sect rules into him relentlessly.
Gong I-gwan clutched the plaque and dropped to his knees. Hwang U-yun hurriedly followed suit.
Won Seung's face was stern and unyielding.
"On the honor of Cheondaemun... save this man, no matter what! If you can't... don't you dare claim Cheondaemun anywhere."
With that, he strode to the wall of surgical tools, grabbing a bent needle and thread.
Gong I-gwan rose and examined Ogu on the table.
He could tell at a glance: the man was one foot in the grave, and Won Seung was yanking him back by force.
Gong I-gwan ordered his disciple U-yun.
"Boil some saltwater, quick!"
Hwang U-yun fetched the brazier, loaded it with glowing coals, dissolved salt in boiling water, and brought it back. Gong I-gwan added antiseptics.
Meanwhile, Won Seung wiped Ogu's body clean and probed the spleen wound. He rinsed the needle in saltwater and began suturing from the inside out.
Thanks to Dokgoe, Won Seung had dissected countless corpses. He knew organ positions and muscle grains without checking.
Muscle to muscle, organ to organ—he sutured with flawless precision. Gong I-gwan stared, dumbstruck by the skill.
This is... the Hand of God.
"What are you waiting for? Sew up your side!"
Won Seung chided coldly while his hands flew.
Gong I-gwan had a haughty streak; Won Seung figured he needed putting in his place early.
"Ah..."
Gong I-gwan flinched, grabbed needle and thread, and sutured the through-and-through wound from inside out. Their methods were similar, but Won Seung's was far more refined and swift.
Hwang U-yun assisting nearby was stunned. Their ages made this impossible.
Gong I-gwan knew Cheondaemun medicine in theory, but chances to practice were rare. Patients balked at being cut open and sewn.
His master never dreamed of dissecting corpses like Dokgoe. So Gong knew the theory cold but lagged in practice.
Once Won Seung finished suturing, he pulled a leather vial from his kit and applied it to the wound. Sticky fluid oozed out, sealing it.
Gong finished his side; Won Seung dripped fluid there too.
"What's that...?"
Gong, who'd devoted his life to medicine, fixated more on drugs than poisons. He couldn't contain his curiosity.
"Coats the wound, seeps in to protect and promote healing."
Won Seung tossed him a vial like it was no big deal.
"Take care of the patient."
"Can't we talk—"
Can't just leave like that? Toss the sect leader plaque and bail without explanation?
"Not now. Come after the triad bout. I've got people to deal with. Watch this patient close."
Won Seung eyed Ogu.
His deathbed beauty was almost eerie.
Won Seung felt a twinge of debt. His seeds of doubt and distrust had nearly starved Ogu to death.
I'll pay it back. Hold on. Live to see what became of the bastards who did this to you.
Killing intent flashed in Won Seung's eyes as he turned away.
It was still night.
The rain stopped, ushering in midnight's sweltering heat. Steam rose everywhere.
Sweat poured even standing still in this summer night.
Won Seung and Jong Bi sat facing each other in a dim room.
"So, they got invited to a Ten-Man Council meet, Ogu tried using Hama-cho as a cushion to escape, failed, got recaptured. That about it?"
"Yeah."
Won Seung let out a low groan.
He'd heard the Ten-Man Council was led by the black society boss.
Figures the flies would swarm.
Gwancheonbang and Cheongsu Gate were at war; of course the opportunists would swoop in.
He could guess why Ogu got nabbed too. Handling arrangements had put his face out there.
Researching Sangyang, arena setups, spectator ticket spots—Ogu had taken those jobs. Bound to draw eyes.
Jong Bi said, "Ten-Man Council head's the black society boss, right? Grab him and ask, we'll know for sure."
"..."
"Want me to snag him?"
"He's a master, they say. Confident you can take him?"
Jong Bi rolled her eyes, then said, "Fake title or not, he's still the boss... Probably easier to just kill him. Off him first, investigate after."
Couldn't just kill without intel. Needed to know their scheme.
"I'll go ask myself. Better that way."
"Hmm. Risky, though?"
"If he's the one who did that to Ogu... gotta deal with him anyway. You hit up the council members, dig around."
"Got it."
The short summer night wasn't over yet.
Now the last dregs of the in-si hour.
Finish the revenge before dawn.
Sending Ogu was a probe of their reaction. Maybe eyes on them right now.
Then the next move. Had to end it first.
Won Seung headed to his room, changed into work clothes. Strapped on a chest protector, slotted daggers and hidden weapons everywhere.
Poisons too.
Muscle Scatter Powder and Chwi-mi-su.
No materials for lethal brew, unavoidable choice. Not instant killers, but weakened foes' arts—most useful now.
Packed Seven Treasures Soul Separation Powder too, but only for true life-or-death. Dokgoe's signature, couldn't waste it.
"Take this."
Won Seung's first real hit. Worried, Jong Bi handed over a blowpipe and paralyzing needles while gearing him up.
Finally, sword on back, saber at waist.
"Not cumbersome? Sword or saber—one's enough."
"I handle both fine."
Won Seung said smugly.
"Kek... Young master struts, but you're still green."
"Black society boss. Honestly, tough for your level. Only I can pull it off."
As Won Seung exited, the study door opened—Hyeol Hwa emerged.
She eyed his heavy gear with faint pity, sighed, and extended her hand.
A small bamboo tube, knuckle-length, in her palm.
"What's that?"
"Mu-mu-hyang. Aim at your target, push the handle—sleeping poison shoots out. Up to three zhang, odorless, even masters miss it."
"Whoa! Why give me this?"
Seems rare—why me?
"Lending it. You come back safe, I get outta here too."
Won Seung took it, inspected the Mu-mu-hyang launcher.
Could make one myself if I study it.
"Sangyang black society boss Gu Ak-pyeong's a high first-rate edging peak master. Paranoid, scheming—tricky foe."
"Past first-rate?"
Won Seung frowned. Peak like Cheon Seok-san? Difficulty spiked.
Still, had to kill.
Thinking of Ogu slashed in the downpour, flung like a beast—his fist clenched involuntarily.
"Hmph. No intel on the target's skill... You guys always this improv? Not how pros roll."
"Ah, sure... we scout. But special circumstances. Triad bout's tomorrow. Time's tight. And Gu Ak-pyeong's small fry—can hit anytime."
Hyeol Hwa stared incredulously, shook her head, and retreated into the study.
Won Seung crossed the courtyard, bumped into Yong Jo-un heading next door.
Yong eyed the loadout and said, "Revenge must be righteous."
"You do it that way, Great Hero Yong."
I'm an assassin, not a hero.
"Too many weapons splits your focus. Ditch 'em—take just sword or saber."
"Noted."
I'm no martial prodigy like you.
Won Seung brushed it off and slipped out the side gate.
Scanning briefly, he melted into the shadows toward Hwa Cheong Pavilion.