Chapter 89. I Told You to Watch Out for the Wind
“Don’t lie! Who throws their comrade’s corpse as a shield for arrows? Surrender quietly!”
They demanded he surrender, then unleashed a barrage of iron arrows.
Whoosh!
‘Shit. I’m gonna die at this rate.’
U Hui was a First-rate expert, but he’d taken minor wounds in the fight with the support squad and was exhausted from hauling two corpses. Even masters couldn’t easily escape the organized spear formation of trained soldiers.
‘One chance—that’s all I get!’
U Hui charged the spearman in front, swinging his sword, then immediately leaped into the air, soaring diagonally to clear the formation. With his One Leap a Thousand Li lightness skill, he figured he could make it over.
That was his mistake.
The commander, deeming crossbows insufficient for capturing the killer, had signaled the great archers.
Whoosh!
The battlefield greatbows were incredibly fast and powerful. Several arrows streaked from them. U Hui twisted midair, but one lodged in his left shoulder blade.
“Kugh!”
He plummeted like an arrow-struck bird, then unleashed his lightness skill to flee.
Wounded or not, the soldiers couldn’t pursue a high-ranking Jeokhyeolsan guard like U Hui.
The commander bellowed in rage.
“Who fired that first crossbow? Step forward!”
A young soldier trembled as he approached, and the commander smashed a massive fist into his head.
“You fire when I say! We lost him because of you!”
The vice commander intervened.
“Calm down, sir. We’ve got the bodies. Track them down, and we’ll catch the bastard.”
“What are we, coroners? What good’s catching him gonna do?”
The commander scowled and approached the corpses. Inspecting them revealed a pile of identity tokens—clear signs of shady operators. The one with the gut sliced open wore incredibly luxurious clothes, suggesting high status.
Something felt off to the commander. His nape itched.
These jianghu sect bastards killed officials and generals without hesitation.
“These dead ones are even more suspicious. Hand ’em over to the Taesu office for now.”
He hurriedly dumped the hot potato on the Taesubu, but the bitter taste lingered.
The vice commander spoke up.
“How should we write the report?”
His gaze drifted toward the distant Yong family ruins.
The escapee had said the killer was holed up there... What now?
The commander glanced at the ruins and grunted.
“What’s to write? Say we spotted the killer dumping bodies, charged in, but he was a martial master and got away.”
He had no desire to get tangled deeper in messy jianghu affairs.
Deung Noya’s refined features made him look like an aged scholar.
One might be shocked to learn this mild-mannered man had manipulated Sangyang’s ship owners for decades. Those owners were wealthy, and dominating the rough-and-tumble ship leasing business demanded exceptional cunning. Could one man orchestrate their interests with just that gentle smile?
Yet seeing his consistent sincerity toward everyone, people nodded in agreement: The ship owners’ guild leader has to be Deung Noya! Thumbs shot up in approval.
Even Deung Noya’s face was slightly tense now.
The culprit sat in his seat—the top spot in the guild leader’s empty hall—Yu Bul-gun.
‘A young punk... We’re both commoners, him and me...’
Even as a Seongwangbu operative, he was just a clan advisor without an official post, yet he boldly claimed the head seat.
“...Gwancheonbang recovered the bodies and withdrew.”
With the final report in, Yu Bul-gun rubbed his smooth, beardless chin. Deung Noya wondered if the guy was a eunuch exiled from the palace.
Yu Bul-gun glanced sidelong at Deung Noya.
“What do you think, Guild Leader Deung?”
Even calling him “guild leader” irked him. His true role as Sangyang’s black society boss was a secret known to only a handful. He’d hinted to use “guild leader,” but the punk ignored it, sticking to “guild leader” like it was a taunt.
Irritated but seasoned, Deung Noya masked his feelings and replied calmly.
“Gwancheonbang lost their leader... Striking now could let us take them easily. Then, watching for an opening on Cheongsu Gate...”
“No.”
Yu Bul-gun shook his head. His emotionless face, nodding blankly, gave an eerie vibe.
Not a mask play or anything...
“How long are we dragging this out, tiptoeing around small fry? End it tonight. Jeok Yeom Dae will handle it; the black society just cleans up.”
His tone matched his face—flat, emotionless.
Deung Noya swallowed a silent groan.
Seongwangbu’s Jeok Yeom Squad, was it? Their aura suggested it was possible. But affairs needed justification and order.
Who’d follow you loyally if you wielded power like a tyrant?
As Sangyang black society boss, Deung Noya prided himself on elevating black dao dealings to an elegant level. Yu Bul-gun’s brutish approach grated.
But these guys didn’t listen. They were ignorant of the black dao world from the start.
‘Not negotiation—a dictate. What do these bastards think the Sangyang black society is...’
The black society wasn’t a rigid hierarchy.
Henan black society oversaw Sangyang’s, but that didn’t mean they could treat it like subordinates. The Henan boss merely chaired meetings of Luoyang and regional black society leaders.
The national black society worked the same. Its national council was just representatives from provinces like the Thirteen Provinces; the Imperial Capital boss only presided.
In short, ordering Sangyang’s black dao head Deung Noya around was overreach. If his actions clashed with broader interests, they might pressure, check, or assassinate—but blatant interference broke black dao rules.
‘Do these fuckers think I’m a pushover...’
He could understand Seongwangbu’s ignorance, but the national black society boss treating Sangyang this way betrayed brotherly bonds.
Deung Noya ground his teeth inwardly. He’d strike back someday—overtly if strong, opportunistically if not. That was smart black dao living.
For now, he’d bow. Long life’s lessons warned of the bloody winds now blowing.
‘I told you to watch out for the wind.’
A daoist had told him in youth: You’ll enjoy wealth and longevity, but beware wind in old age.
So he’d watched his diet against strokes, trained steadily, avoided drafts.
Now bloody winds hit this wind-wary man—naturally, he’d play cautious.
Feigning concern, Deung Noya said,
“I know your men are experts, but Gwancheonbang and Cheongsu Gate have numbers. There’s a reason ‘outnumbered’ is a saying—shouldn’t we move carefully?”
Yu Bul-gun was growing annoyed.
Debating backwater black dao trash...
The Imperial black society boss had ordered obedience, yet this provincial old raccoon’s ass was too heavy—dragging like he’d shat and smeared it.
Even offering Sangyang hegemony, he dawdled. How was this guy even a boss? Lost ambition in old age?
‘Maybe replace the Sangyang black society boss now?’
Yu Bul-gun seriously considered it.
But that needed clearance from the Imperial and national black society boss.
Unable to swap him yet, he’d drag it out. Tedious, but he explained.
“Jeok Yeom Three Squads are fully mobilized. That force could burn a whole sect without breaking a sweat.”
Jeok Yeom—Red Flame—meant incinerating all who defied Seong Wang. Even Jeok Yeom Pavilion’s regulars rivaled First-rate experts in jianghu. They’d formed five squads of such elites; three were here tonight.
“Gwancheonbang lost their bangju, Sangyang Mad Dog Gwan Ju-gyeon, Gu Ja-ang, and other elites. One Squad’s enough. Two Squads hit Cheongsu Gate, and tonight Sangyang’s yours, Guild Leader.”
I’m handing you Sang River dominance!
Annoyed but stone-faced, Yu Bul-gun pressed.
Deung Noya feigned shock.
“You mean hit Gwancheonbang with ten men?”
Half genuine, half acting.
Seongwangbu’s Jeok Yeom Three Squads did exude fearsome auras.
But even gutted, Gwancheonbang had masses of men... Ten was just one squad.
“Toss such worries in the Sang River.”
Each Jeok Yeom squad had three platoons under a squad leader.
Each platoon: leader plus two members. So one squad: three platoons of three, plus squad leader—ten total.
Three squads made a company, capable of sweeping mid-tier sects with a hundred warriors. That was the design.
‘Ugh... Of all times, Gu Ak-pyeong dies now.’
Deung Noya hesitated for another reason.
He feared tonight’s events exposing his true role. His puppet boss Gu Ak-pyeong’s sudden death left no replacement yet.
But Yu Bul-gun’s demeanor brooked no retreat. Such men removed obstacles if plans stalled.
Finally, Deung Noya nodded.
“Let’s do it.”
About time.
Yu Bul-gun descended. Jeok Yeom Three Squads, disguised and waiting, glanced at him.
Directly under Seong Wang, they chafed at a lowly advisor commanding them.
“Where’s the squad leader?”
Yu Bul-gun sought Jeok Yeom Three Squad Leader Gang Chun-mok, but he was absent.
“He stepped out on business. I’ll fetch him.”
A platoon leader left, soon returning with Gang Chun-mok. Reeking of booze, he’d clearly been drinking.
Gang Chun-mok’s square face and slightly slanted eyes flushed with liquor.
He eyed Yu Bul-gun.
“Conclusion reached?”
His tone dripped impatience.
“One Squad hits Gwancheonbang, Two Squads Cheongsu Gate. Blend with the black society, leave no traces.”
Yu Bul-gun earnestly warned the squad. Strict Jeok Yeom members, disguised, still screamed “official.”
Gang Chun-mok’s drinking was a relief.
“Don’t worry. We’ll handle it from here.”
He gestured, and Jeok Yeom Three Squads surged out.
Won Seung, hanging from the eaves, watched it all.
‘The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the sparrow behind... Jianghu’s a savage place.’
Jeok Yeom Three Squads weren’t ordinary experts. They evoked the Jinyiwei from his childhood—ruthless, cold-blooded killers.
‘Basically Seong Wang’s Jinyiwei.’
Cheongsu Gate was in deep shit.