Chapter 88: Only Eight in Ten Fought for Real!
“Urk!”
Bi Jangno’s eyes bulged out.
He wanted to say something, but no words came. He could only glare at Yong Jo-un.
The Musangdo sliced through the iron Chuhyeol Eumpil and carved straight into Bi Jangno’s body. The elder was split open from his left chest down to the lower right side of his abdomen. Not just his ribs—his lungs, stomach, and intestines were all severed.
The strike had been so swift that he hadn’t even felt the pain. As Bi Jangno’s consciousness rapidly faded, flickering in and out, one word echoed in his mind.
Musanggok?
He’d heard there was a saber technique from Musanggok that struck like lightning….
Damn it… Didn’t the branch know this guy was from there?
In truth, he’d already reported it to headquarters, so they must have known. The branch leader just hadn’t passed it on. But the sly fox of Jeokhyeolsan cursed the diligent Sangyang branch leader anyway.
Bi Jangno’s lifeless eyes turned toward Hyeol Hwa.
Special assassin… So what? I… I raised the Ten Perfect Assassins….
For a dying delusion, it was pathetically petty. With that thought, Bi Jangno’s consciousness snapped off.
Thud!
As Bi Jangno collapsed, a heavy silence fell.
One of Jeokhyeolsan’s four great elders had died so pointlessly….
Hyeol Hwa was stunned by Yong Jo-un’s single stroke. The fact that she’d survived and escaped that day wasn’t mere luck.
If Yong Jo-un had wanted to hunt down the assassin afterward… she’d have ended up just like this, guts spilling out in death.
“Elder!”
U Hui rushed to the fallen Bi Jangno in a daze.
The boss had been a tyrant, but being his close subordinate came with perks. To think he’d go out so meaninglessly….
U Hui glared at Hyeol Hwa, Haeyeonmun’s special assassin.
It’s that bitch’s fault!
Feeling his venomous stare, Hyeol Hwa glanced at U Hui and said to Yong Jo-un,
“Kill that one too. He looks like he wants me dead.”
U Hui snapped to his senses.
“N-no, that’s not it. Please spare me.”
Yong Jo-un furrowed his thick brows and said,
“Gather your comrades’ bodies and go.”
“I’m telling you, kill him. If Jeokhyeolsan finds out about this…”
At Hyeol Hwa’s words, Yong Jo-un told U Hui,
“If you want to make an issue of it, tell them to come find Yong Jo-un of Sangyang.”
He was even kindly revealing his origin and name.
Hyeol Hwa wondered if Yong Jo-un was a bit slow.
“My home is humble, but come to the manor, treat your wounds, and go.”
Yong Jo-un supported Hyeol Hwa and headed toward the Yong family ruins. The two support team members buried their comrades’ bodies and followed behind.
U Hui shot Yong Jo-un a resentful glare before hoisting Bi Jangno and Jwa Hu’s bodies over his shoulders and heading to Sangyang.
While the Gwangeonbang fighters gathered their dead, Won Seung remained prone on the warehouse roof, replaying the battle he’d just witnessed.
It was his first time seeing a melee of dozens. Even from one observation, he’d learned a ton. And he could finally gauge his own martial skill—or rather, his fighting ability.
Warriors of all levels wielded all sorts of weapons and hidden tools, clashing in every conceivable way.
Only eight out of ten fought for real!
In Won Seung’s eyes, amid the dozens battling, only about eight in ten had fought like they meant to kill. The other two in ten had just casually crossed blades to buy time.
And of those eight in ten, half had died. When you went all-out to kill, you drew equal focus in return—and half fell.
Of the two in ten who’d just stalled, fewer than one in ten died. The casualties among them were the weak ones from the start, targeted relentlessly. Both Gwangeonbang and Cheongsu Gate had gone for the soft spots in each other’s lines first, like picking off weak points in a one-on-one.
In a brawl, look weak and you’re a target! Fight hard, and the harder you go, the likelier you die!
Melees followed the law of averages too.
Won Seung realized his title of No. 50 wasn’t a bad spot. Jeokhyeolsan had pushed the top eight in ten brutally to cull them, but in the real world, No. 50 was prime for survival.
Gauging his own level was a big win too. He’d imagined himself in their shoes—what would he do?
The verdict: Against average warriors, he could kill in ten breaths, subdue in twenty. Even head-on, no inner energy needed.
Squad leaders? Kill in thirty breaths, subdue in fifty? Trained as an assassin, killing came easier than capturing for Won Seung.
This assumed fair fights with matching inner energy. With his Bungwang Geombeop speed, Tae-eul Geombeop subtlety, and Cheonjung Geombeop weight, squad leaders were chumps.
With hidden weapons like Bi’s, I’d drop them in ten breaths.
The fight he’d watched closest: Yang Gwan vs. Gwan Ju-gyeon, and Pyeong In-gang vs. Hwa Ugeuk.
Yang Gwan and the Sangyang mad dog? Pure savagery. They fought to kill regardless of their own wounds, howling like beasts.
It wasn’t about skill highs and lows—it was who went madder.
Honestly, Yang Gwan was beyond Won Seung. The mad dog? Doable, but no thanks.
Crazy bastards like that? Avoid from the jump.
Pyeong In-gang and Hwa Ugeuk, though? Textbook warfare. Pyeong kept it simple and practical with his saber; Hwa Ugeuk showed sword fundamentals. Long probing phase, but even in the thick of it, no overreaching.
They fought fierce yet dull. Won Seung found it uncanny.
Pyeong even scanned the surroundings mid-fight. Leader material.
Still, I could take either one-on-one.
Subduing might be tough, but killing? No sweat. Factoring his forty years of inner energy, hidden weapons, and them at seventy percent.
With poison? No fight needed. Dare stand before the Cheondaemun sect leader? Melt on the spot.
Won Seung swelled with pride. Pyeong In-gang was a Gwangeonbang elder; Hwa Ugeuk, top young gun from Henan.
His skills could hold their own anywhere. Sell them, and he’d live comfortably—not riches, but solid.
Ten years of hell deserves this payoff!
Too bad he’d missed Cheon Seok-san vs. Hwa Cheon-un.
Soon, the Gwangeonbang fighters withdrew, and the warehouse wharf fell quiet.
The summer night site of the slaughter was drenched in bloodstains, dotted only with abandoned torches flickering away.
Won Seung rose stealthily from the warehouse roof. His masked gaze turned to a massive building far in the rear.
That’s the suspicious one, huh.
While Gwangeonbang and Cheongsu Gate tore into each other, he’d spotted black-clad figures coming and going from it constantly.
His guess: Shipowners Association headquarters.
Their leader, Deung Noya, the real black society boss of Sangyang. He’d surely sent eyes to watch.
Even he couldn’t have predicted this brawl. It started when Yang Gwan chased Won Seung.
Situation changed—time to scrap old schemes?
What was Deung Noya plotting?
Won Seung pondered.
Curiosity killed more than a few…. Head to Baekhwa Pavilion, sleep like nothing happened, push the three-way duel tomorrow? Body stays fresh.
Though the duel wouldn’t happen. Cheon Il-hae “suicided.”
Just Hwa Cheon-gang vs. Yong Jo-un, probably.
Gazing at the brightly lit Shipowners Association, Won Seung wondered even that might fizzle.
If Deung Noya saw tonight as opportunity and pulled strings…?
Summer nights are long. The two factions’ feud might not end here. Then Deung Noya fishes in troubled waters.
A solid backstab, and Gwangeonbang and Cheongsu Gate could vanish.
Staring at the building, Won Seung recalled nearly dying to black society schemes. And he was probably on their hit list too.
Need to know what they’re up to.
Won Seung descended the wharf and approached the Shipowners Association.
The brutal brawl at the warehouse wharf naturally reached the Taesu office. So Yeonggwan mobilized officials and soldiers to seal Sangyang’s key institutions and roads.
“Round up anyone suspicious!”
He walked the line: ignoring Seong Wang’s plea to turn a blind eye to the Sangyang duo’s feud, without shirking Taesu duty.
Outskirts highways got soldiers. The Sangyang garrison, rear-line troops unlike frontier Jinbuk, lacked iron discipline.
Dragged from sleep, the grumpy soldiers itched for a target….
“Who goes there!”
A sentry leveled his crossbow at the roadside and bellowed.
In the crescent moon’s dim glow, a massive figure charged fast. Sentries trained bows en masse.
Closer up, they saw one man with loads on both shoulders.
“Halt!”
The squad leader barked, and U Hui skidded to a stop.
What’s this? Soldiers checkpointing at night?
None leaving Sangyang? It was a late setup at the outermost post—U Hui, clueless, had bolted mindlessly to reach the branch ASAP.
“Who are you, from where?”
U Hui rolled his eyes. Jeokhyeolsan was an officially hunted killer group.
Then the leader spotted the corpses on his shoulders.
“Gah! That guy! Murderer!”
As U Hui opened his mouth to deny—the murderer’s at Yong family ruins—he was met with a steel bolt. A scared young soldier had fired on impulse at “murderer.”
Panicked sentries loosed crossbows.
U Hui hurled the bodies to block. Gathering corpses was nice, but survival first.
He ditched the road for the woods….
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Half a dozen spears thrust from the dark. He twisted away—only for another six to await.
No choice: he slashed spears with his sword, lunged back to the road—bolts flew again.
Clang!
He parried with his blade; the leader yelled,
“Martial expert! Spearmen forward!”
Spearmen poured from both woods, encircling U Hui.
In the gap, he sheathed his sword and shouted at the leader,
“It’s a misunderstanding. The killer’s at the Yong family ruins. I was just carrying my comrades’ bodies.”