The Crossroads (2)
"Revenge… is that it?"
Choi Yeon tossed the question out casually.
It was a leap, based on no solid evidence—someone might even call it a stretch. But he trusted his hunch. Years of hunter life had taught him the pattern well enough. Hunters who had lost someone precious—family, a lover—tended to move exactly the way Song Jong-in did.
And judging by that talk of catching a few bounty targets…
"…A wanted man, then. And you joined Amhyanghoe to get information."
"Hah. I figured those eyes of yours were just good for lookin', but our squinty junior's got sharp instincts too. You nailed it."
"……."
Crunch. Choi Yeon bit into the persimmon.
The sweetness barely registered. At least the crisp texture was something. Things in the rear were best left to those who knew the rear—but joining an A-class criminal syndicate was hardly an ordinary choice. Hardly the right one, either.
Ten years of fruitless revenge had probably driven him into a corner.
"So you got the rough idea of my situation. Here, then—if it were you, squinty junior, which one would you pick?"
Song Jong-in held both hands forward. A persimmon in the left, a bottle of liquor in the right.
Was Amhyanghoe the liquor and Pakator the persimmon? Or the other way around?
Choi Yeon neither knew nor particularly cared. What did it matter which was which? That was the problem to begin with.
"I'm not picking either."
"Huh?"
"You took the wrong road from the start. So you turn around. Why keep walking?"
"……Huh?"
Song Jong-in's eyes went blank. He stared at Choi Yeon as if his mind had shorted out.
Why keep going down a road you knew was wrong? Well, for revenge, of course…
"……."
Mid-thought, Song Jong-in looked down at his own hands. The persimmon and the bottle suddenly felt awkward in his grip.
How am I supposed to get revenge with these? Can I even finish what I set out to do? A sudden wave of doubt washed over him.
"…You've got a point."
Song Jong-in nodded slowly.
Then he finished off the rest of the persimmon. The sweetness hit deeper than before—all thanks to the junior sitting beside him.
Yeah. No wonder that man marked him as a successor.
Tap.
He set the bottle down and stood, then slowly drew the sword at his hip.
"What, you didn't like my advice so you're going to cut me down?"
"Heh heh. If that's what you think, why ain't you drawin' your own blade?"
Because he felt no killing intent, no fighting spirit? Instead of answering, Choi Yeon simply stood up after him. It didn't seem like Song Jong-in meant to start a sword dance now, so humor him for a moment—that felt fine. And the look Song Jong-in was giving him was warm, almost like a senior beaming with satisfaction at his junior.
"Squinty junior. Thrusts ain't your strong suit, are they?"
"No?"
"Hah. You're a damn good liar. At least wet your lips first."
"……."
"My nickname's the Sword Ghost. You really think you can fool a ghost?"
"…Still, being completely honest feels a little off, doesn't it?"
He'd accepted the chrysanthemum wine, shared the persimmons, even played counselor just now. But he was still a Dongdae Hunter—he couldn't simply lay his cards bare in front of Amhyanghoe's Daejeon branch manager. Not that it mattered. The man had already read him completely.
The Chungcheong Sword Ghost, indeed. The moniker wasn't empty hype. Choi Yeon preferred slashing when he attacked, and Song Jong-in had clocked that after only a few exchanges.
"Your eyes are too good, junior."
"Excuse me?"
"Good enough that you can picture yourself after the thrust. And that picture's full of holes, ain't it?"
"……."
Choi Yeon quietly agreed.
If an opponent looked like that, he would have carved them apart while thinking them a fool.
Tap.
The tip of Song Jong-in's blade pointed at Choi Yeon.
"But that's your own fault."
"…What?"
"Your thrust is clumsy, so the weaknesses keep showin' up."
"My… fault?"
"Yeah. Look at me. That day I kept thrustin' at you, and you never managed to cut me down."
"……."
Quiet agreement again.
He had seen Song Jong-in's attacks and dodged them all—but he hadn't been able to chain a counter. If he had countered back on that bridge, they wouldn't be sitting here now, amicably sharing persimmons.
It wasn't that a thrusting skill had hidden Song Jong-in's openings, either. Even without a skill, his thrusts had been threatening.
"So watch close."
"Watch…? Don't tell me you're going to teach me how to thrust?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Payment for the persimmon."
With that simple answer, Song Jong-in set his feet slightly apart. His shoulders hung loose, empty of tension. But the circulation of mana inside his body was an entirely different story. The steady flow began to accelerate—not a single ripple of disorder.
Thud.
Song Jong-in's left foot drove into the ground. The rebound climbed through him in sequence—leg, spine, shoulder, arm. His entire body poured into the thrust of the sword.
BOOM…!
The sound of empty air bursting swallowed the rush of the stream for a moment. He had moved slowly on purpose, for Choi Yeon's benefit, and the power was still considerable.
Choi Yeon didn't miss the reason.
Throughout the thrust, the mana circulation had kept perfect time—and detonated at the tip of the blade.
"That there is Chamhon. Soul Slash."
"Chamhon…"
"The faster you go, the more mana you pack in, the more the power climbs."
"Oh. So that's how it works."
He had seen it before, but never understood its nature. Choi Yeon was genuinely impressed.
The faster, the stronger…
Seeing him take an interest, Song Jong-in smiled with satisfaction. What was the point of teaching someone who wasn't interested?
Then, watching Choi Yeon drop his shoulders and set his feet slightly apart the same way, he said:
"So when you use Chamhon, you thrust with everything you've got. That's the most important part."
"…Got it."
"I'll keep watchin', so wanna give it a go? Control'll be a bit rough at first—"
"Hm. I think I can do it."
"Huh?"
"Sorry?"
"You think you can do it?"
"Yes. That's what I said…?"
"Hah…"
Song Jong-in let out a short laugh and studied his face. Maybe the kid was bluffing—but the squinty eyes looking back at him were exactly the same as a moment ago. Meaning he had simply spoken the truth.
Song Jong-in snorted a quiet chuckle. Come to think of it, this one was Choi Heeseok's successor. Of course he ought to be able to pull off at least this much.
"Did you just think something weird?"
"Huh? Nah, wasn't thinkin' nothin'."
Like hell he wasn't. That was the same look as last time—the one that said he was jumping to conclusions about successors and whatnot.
Song Jong-in waved a dismissive hand at Choi Yeon's incredulous expression, as if to say moving on, and circled back to the point.
"Anyway. You think you can do it?"
"Yes."
"Then that's that. Keep tryin' later on. Do that long enough and you'll get Chamhon. Or maybe you'll end up with somethin' else entirely."
"Something else…?"
"That's how skills work. I taught you Chamhon, but every so often folks end up with a completely different skill."
"Ah."
Choi Yeon had heard of that once. Someone had learned a B-rank skill only for an E-rank skill to manifest instead. At first the guy had flown into a rage thinking he'd been scammed—then learned the truth and admitted the misunderstanding was his own.
Different skills probably manifested based on specific conditions, temperament, aptitude, and the like.
"…Thank you."
"Forget it. It was just payment for the persimmon."
Whoosh, flick. Song Jong-in waved his hands as if to shut down any more awkward gratitude.
Choi Yeon agreed not to press further thanks—and instead held out the remaining persimmons in the bag. True to form, Song Jong-in didn't refuse those, accepting them with a smile.
Crunch! They bit into fresh persimmons side by side. Sweetness and crispness mingled into something delicious.
Then came the soft slosh of liquor.
"Ah—by the way. Who is it?"
As if the thought had just occurred to him, Choi Yeon asked. Crunch. He took another bite of persimmon, and the question that followed was so ordinary that Song Jong-in's answer came a beat late.
"…Gang Do-hyeon. A bastard who treats human lives like flies."
"The Black Boatman, you mean?"
"That's right. That one."
The Black Boatman, Gang Do-hyeon.
Choi Yeon had heard of him too—a necromancer caught performing dark experiments in a shuttered hospital on the outskirts of Busan. Over twenty corpses had been found in wards marked with a full-moon crest, and some of them had been missing hunters.
After that incident, a bounty in the hundreds of millions had been placed on his head. That much Choi Yeon remembered.
"…Alright. If I come across any information, I'll contact you."
"Heh. Fine. I'll wait without expectin' much."
Song Jong-in let out a short laugh.
If a Dongdae Hunter working Seonhwa-dong knew that much, it wouldn't be strange if Song Jong-in had already found the man. And at no small odds, the match against Gang Do-hyeon would already have been decided by then…
Knowing that, Choi Yeon still bit into his persimmon with a crunch. Song Jong-in did the same.
Beneath a crimson sky, Seodaejeon Negeori Station bustled with noise. Everyone pouring out of it walked with light steps—heading home.
The same was true in front of the Guardian Tree in the park.
Office workers stopping by for a quick beer. Residents walking their dogs. A young man playing with a little girl wearing a sprout-shaped hairband. And the men watching them with warm, contented eyes.
One by one, the sounds that had been so pleasant to hear drifted away. The crimson sky slid behind the horizon, and dusk settled in.
That was when it happened.
A man approached as quietly as a shadow. A robe the color of dyed night draped his body, concealing him—yet the lean outline of his frame still showed through. His face was pale to the point of chalkiness, his expression blank and cold, and his eyes swept through empty air as though conversing with something unseen.
"There it is. That's the one…"
The man—whose gaze never quite met anyone else's—spoke. His nearly motionless lips produced a low, quiet voice that kept scraping uncomfortably at the ear, like a muttered incantation.
"Ugh…"
People around the Guardian Tree covered their ears. They didn't want to listen, but the voice kept slipping in through the gaps between their fingers.
"Stand aside, living things. This is the hour of the dead—so withdraw while mercy is still offered…"
"……."
Eyes went vacant. An office worker abandoned his beer and left. A resident dragged his dog away. Men scowled fiercely and glared. And then—
"…Hello."
—a little girl who had been playing stopped and offered a greeting. The leaf on her headband tilted, almost as if she'd planted a hand on her hip.
"Mister. Can't you hear me?"
"……?"
"Hmm…. You're supposed to say hello, though? My teacher said when you meet someone, you greet them politely…"
"……."
The man stared at the girl as if confronted with something impossible.
What kind of child is immune to my chanting? And who are these young men standing beside her like her knights?
He resumed his chant. He had work to do before he could afford to resolve his questions.
"Stand aside, living things. I said this is the hour of the dead."
"Hmm…. He's not saying hello…"
"If you will not withdraw, then you living things will burn together with that tree—"
"You're going to burn it?"
"……?"
Once again the man's eyes locked onto the child.
First the chant fails to take hold, and now she reads my purpose?
Looking at the far-from-ordinary little girl, the man broke into a twitching, feverish grin.
"O God…. Was it to show me this child that You brought me here?"
Then he closed his eyes. Chin lifted, he stood as though waiting for a divine reply.
Thud.
His head dropped. When he opened his eyes again, he looked almost sorrowful. No answer had come, it seemed.
"…Very well. I shall burn it first."
"No!"
The child cried out and took a step forward. The young men standing with her startled and rushed to put themselves between her and the man.
He watched them with a weeping sort of laugh.
"Child. Park Chae-eun."
"……!"
"Will you stop me?"
"…No."
"Then will you block my path with those dolls and bricks of yours?"
"That's not it either. And anyway, the oppas aren't dolls or bricks!"
"Is that so? I can see everything, Chae-eun. Their dread. Their terror."
"I'm not scared."
"That is a lie. Soon you will fear me."
Thud. The man set down his right foot. Making a show of each step, he continued speaking toward Park Chae-eun.
"Because you cannot stop me. These footsteps of mine…"
Thud. He planted his left foot next—and immediately stopped.
Just now… hadn't there been one extra footfall?
"…I already stopped you."
A calm voice drifted in, and the man suddenly felt a blade at his back.
From the day the bounty was placed on him until this very moment, it was the first time anyone had taken his rear.
"A pleasure to meet you. Mr. Gang Do-hyeon."
Stabbing him in the back, then offering a leisurely greeting…
Faced with an experience he had never known in his life, Gang Do-hyeon burst out laughing.
Is this, too, an arrangement granted by God?