Shadows Within Shadows (2)
For five hundred years, the Murim Alliance had dominated the martial world, growing arrogant beyond measure. The Blood Cult knew this all too well. That's why, in the early days of the Sichuan Province crisis, they were able to smash the elders of the Jeongdo Council and the academy students from behind, stunning them senseless before stabbing them in the side.
But it seemed they hadn't realized the Alliance's arrogance stemmed from its raw power. The Murim Alliance, stabbed in the back and the flank, wasn't about to sit idle. It cracked its neck side to side with a series of pops, then seized the Blood Cult by the throat with its massive, brutish hand.
The tide turned in an instant. Most of the Cult's warriors and shamans who had been rampaging in Sichuan either fled or fell to the Alliance's blades. Even their ultimate weapon, the Iron Corpses, had melted into a puddle of venomous sludge under the Poison King's grasp.
Since the war's outbreak, the Blood Cult hadn't won a single battle—instead, they kept retreating, step by step, further and further back. No more would anyone witness the Cult's antics in Sichuan.
But the war was far from over. Maeng Ju-won, who had suffered daily torment in the Alliance's Mantongbu, now found himself dragged all the way to the Sichuan factions to suffer more.
"Where am I? Who am I?"
Even cherry-picking elites for rapid deployment meant thousands of troops. Feeding them three meals a day required mountains of provisions. Replenishing weapons lost in battle. Supporting lower-rank warriors to aid the horses and main fighters. Factor in the servants, and you had over ten thousand people chirping about being "hungry" and "cold."
Normally, the Alliance handled supply lines through local branches in each province for dispatched forces. But that worked for a single division-scale unit. An unexpected war like this overwhelmed administrators used to running mere branch offices.
No matter how much overtime the bureaucrats pulled, logistics remained a mess, fueling the warriors' rage. The day a starving fighter, surviving on one meal, grabbed an administrator by the collar and spun him through the air like an acrobat...
"We're all gonna die...!"
Administrators who had sworn lifelong loyalty to their posts and vowed never to leave suddenly fled into the night, turning logistics into utter chaos.
And so.
Taking pity on the dispatched Sichuan warriors, the total military strategist Jegal Somyeong made a decision.
"You go. To the factions!"
"..."
Am I some damn errand boy?! I don't even pity th—!
But.
"Goddamn it..."
When he opened his eyes, Maeng Ju-won was already in Padaeng. That was how Mantongbu's deputy chief ended up there.
Swallowing his resentment, Maeng Ju-won surveyed the situation. He hated three things most: overtime from excessive work; overburdened tasks from staff shortages; and dispatch duties from the same shortages.
By that logic...
...he could quit on the spot without regret.
"Goddamn it..."
The unlucky man who dreamed of clocking out on time via better staffing, only to get slammed with more work. Instead of the orthodox "letting go," he channeled the unorthodox "rage," turning feral as he ruthlessly sorted out Sichuan's mess.
"Who the hell writes reports like this shit?! The supplies are fucked because the reports are fucked! No—looks like you're deliberately wasting resources to undermine the Alliance. Off to the Execution Hall for investigation!"
"Round up some people! What, no one available? Kidnap 'em! The Alliance will cover it. Drag in passing scholars, merchants—anyone. Manpower first!"
"Supplies! Supplies! Feed 'em first! Once their bellies are full, they won't bitch about the small stuff!"
In under thirty years, no one in the Murim Alliance had handled dispatched warriors' rations so deftly. Unbeknownst to himself, Maeng Ju-won proved he was the total strategist's favorite stress doll.
"As expected of Mantongbu's top talent, the total strategist's favorite—not just rumors!"
"Indeed!"
Thanks to him, the clogged supply lines—stagnant as a warrior's blocked meridians—finally started to breathe.
No sooner had Maeng Ju-won arrived in Sichuan and ensured the warriors got three hot meals than he was breaking into a cold sweat again.
"Still no countermeasures?"
He didn't realize it himself, but his true role was strategist: devising tactics on the battlefield, advising for smooth operations.
The problem? Even the great Maeng Ju-won couldn't solve the current Sichuan crisis.
Having taken a brutal slap in Sichuan, the Blood Cult had retreated to Changdo, where Sichuan met Qinghai. With Heavenly Eye Pavilion confirming their main base in Qinghai, the Alliance wouldn't hesitate to uproot them.
The issue was these heaven-defying maniacs rigging their homeland with freakish traps for a final stand.
'Fitting heirs to those damn bastards.'
Illusion arrays leaving aftereffects, incurable poisons, animal-form reinforced corpses via reverse-heaven sorcery—piled everywhere.
Even the mighty Murim Alliance couldn't advance rashly. And then, to rub salt in the wound.
"The Black Path scum are starting to move...!"
While war raged in Sichuan, the Black Path had huddled in fear of stray sparks. Now, they were stretching their limbs, eyeing the surroundings.
Sichuan's Black Path factions, absent from the grand Sahyeokryeon founding, began coalescing. Reports flooded in of battle preparations.
The Alliance fretted: after the Blood Cult, would they have to yield their side to the Black Path too?
Unable to advance on the Cult or abandon them entirely.
"Ha..."
As Maeng Ju-won massaged his throbbing head, a sharp voice pierced him.
"Why's that bald-headed fool still silent?"
"Th-the total strategist is doing his utmost to monitor Sahyeokryeon."
"When's the report coming?!"
The short, rock-solid old man—long black hair unbefitting his age—had been hounding him since dawn. But Maeng Ju-won couldn't snap back like he did at Mantongbu.
There, he could mouth off to Jegal Somyeong, who had ten lives to spare. Even then, only after calculating the "acceptable line" with his sharp mind.
But Padaeng's crisis left no time to gauge this old man's limits. Plus, while Jegal might bruise but not scar, the Poison King—Damak—offered no such mercy.
Maeng Ju-won desperately soothed him. "Right now, all intel's blocked..."
Neither Heavenly Eye Pavilion nor the Beggars' Sect in Shanxi Province sent word. Whatever orders Sahyeokryeon issued, Sichuan's Black Path was loosening up.
Still, you needed info to judge.
"Hm..."
Damak's eyes narrowed to slits, making Maeng Ju-won hiccup in terror. Am I about to melt into venom sludge?
Then, a chilling voice stabbed his pride.
"Why'd they send an incompetent like you?"
"Pardon?!"
Whoa, that's crossing the line. He'd unclogged Sichuan's supplies like blasting open the lower dantian to reach the origin point—a feat no one else could match.
Yet incompetent? From some old coot with weird speech...
"Jin Sowoon."
Maeng Ju-won froze at the name.
"Why isn't that boy here? I specifically said to send him."
"Ah..."
He got it instantly. Yeah, I wouldn't be here if that guy were around.
"He's with the Sahyeokryeon envoy delegation right now."
"Hm... Is that so?"
Damak clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You, the bald-head—neither of you satisfy me."
"My apologies."
"Better get that judgment fast. Or we march in seven days."
"...Yes, sir."
He couldn't utter "No." Delay too long, and supplies be damned—they'd retreat until annihilated between Cult and Black Path.
Total strategist...
He could only pray for quick Sahyeokryeon intel and a Mantongbu verdict.
"Time to keep your promise."
Hyeoltu wore an expression refusing defeat. "One more game, just one..."
I shook my head firmly. "Keep the promise first. We can play after."
Of course, even a hundred games ahead, I'd never lose to him. Go was a battle of moves. What use fighting someone with tens of thousands of game records in my head? Especially since many included his alter ego, the imperial knight "Doa."
Unless he shed his old self through Go, victory was impossible.
Hyeoltu finally backed off. "Tonight, then."
Ilgak, Dang Seohee—even Consort Yeom's faces brimmed with awe. Come on, it's not that impressive. The real show's just starting.
Night fell. Hyeoltu tried slipping out stealthily. I stared in disbelief.
"Why sneak around?"
"Everyone wants your head—should I parade openly to the league lord?"
Fair, but if I couldn't stealth? "That's on you. Another game? Win, and I'll let you strut out."
Pathetic old man, can't admit loss. "Forget it. Lead on."
I followed with Ghost Food Steps. Though unsaid, his face screamed, What kind of freak is this?
His transmission followed: [What the hell's that technique?]
[Tell me your arts' secrets, and I'll share.]
[...]
He glared, then pressed on. Curious, sly geezer.
Sahyeokryeon's headquarters bristled with guards as always, but none spotted us.
I figured the lord's office, but he led elsewhere. Torture chamber?
At a dead-end alley, he pressed a wall. It slid silently, revealing an entrance.
"Here."
Down a dark corridor—no night pearls—we entered a room leaking faint light.
There sat Sahyeokryeon Lord Chaseokdu and Damak.
"Come in, Black Flame Dragon!"
Face flushed, Chaseokdu bear-hugged me, pounding my back. Drunk? His robe reeked of liquor, though his face stayed straight.
"Sad we meet like this. You're practically a founding hero. I planned a grand banquet in your name."
This guy's spouting horrors casually. Assassins at my quarters would hurt less. Publicly naming me hero? I'd be a true Black Path saint, no escape.
I wriggled free. "How've you been?"
"Cut the formalities between us, haha!"
He poured and offered a cup. In a league thirsting for our blood, from the lord himself. No Dang Seohee to check poison...
...I downed it. Better poisoned than tortured to death.
Chaseokdu's booming laugh shook the air. "Hahaha! Tougher than most Black Pathers. Join Sahyeokryeon?"
"Not a chance."
"Pity."
He refilled. I eyed his hand, cutting to the chase. "The reason I came..."
"I know. About Ak Byeongbi."
His pour halted.
"Sorry, but no help this time."
I met his gaze. "You said he didn't do it."
He stared, then downed his cup, wiping roughly. "You think so too?"
"I'm betting on him."
"Not 'didn't' but 'betting'... I'd like to, but can't."
"Why?"
Damak answered. "Everyone craves blood."
His piercing stare unchanged. "You think blood's needed too, Strategist Dam?"
"Inevitable."
Whoa, eyes like beholding an enemy. What happened to him this life?
"Even if Sahyeokryeon crumbles before stretching?"
"We'll see."
Our barbs flew until Chaseokdu intervened. "Enough. Not here to declare war."
He nodded at Damak, turning to me. "What's Sahyeokryeon's problem, in your view?"
Like the Black Path Alliance Sword Demon built in my past life. Their downfall's reason was obvious.
"No power."
"Right."
Not raw strength—they had plenty, rivaling any group. I meant command authority. No force to enforce leadership across Sahyeokryeon.
Chaseokdu smiled bitterly. "We're no polished Murim Alliance. Filled ranks with Four Black Peaks folk, but consensus drags us."
"..."
He swigged straight from the bottle now. Worry etched his face, unerasable by liquor.
Finally.
Thud—he slammed it down. "Here's the deal: Cage Ak Byeongbi in our gold prison. He'll rot there. In return, buy you and yours escape time."
"Quell the hawks that way?"
"Temporary. Consensus will force war eventually."
As Four Black Peaks lord turned figurehead.
I leaned in, locking eyes. "Planning war to rally power?"
Chaseokdu froze; Damak's eyes twitched. Blood spilled would birth voices granting command authority for cleanup. Natural power consolidation.
Damak might be thinking that.
But. "That'll enrage the Alliance again."
Endless tit-for-tat leads to my past life's hell. No watching that.
My resolve drew Damak's smile. "Other way."
"What?"
"Punish your whole delegation. Venting might calm them."
Fuck, spits horrors casually. Not his skin, huh? I shrugged nonchalantly. "Hope not."
"Nothing solved by sitting."
"..."
Hm, true enough. I eased the thorn in my mouth. "Isn't it odd?"
"What?"
"Too perfect."
Chaseokdu tilted his head. I stroked my chin. "Resentful division head kills Gu Gye-ak. Feels too pat, no?"
Damak's eyes sharpened. "What're you saying?"
Only I feel it? Amid hawk dominance, their leader-ish figure dies by infamous Inspection Hall lord's hand. Like ripped from history—context fits too neatly. All flowing toward Murim Alliance-Sahyeokryeon war.
Ak Byeongbi didn't hide his arts either. Resentment has limits.
Having lived a generation-spanning war, I know history doesn't flow so neatly. Wars from petty pride; perfect plans ruined by one slip, wiping units.
History fills gaps post-facto for plausibility.
This? Too smooth—unnatural.
"Someone's engineering war between Sahyeokryeon and the Alliance."
Damak paused, staring intently, then shook his head. "...Plenty in Black Path resent the Alliance."
"Sure. But the contrived perfection's the issue."
"..."
His face hardened—no matter.
"If so—if we're puppets..."
I breathed deep, asking both. "We just accept this?"
Chaseokdu frowned, confused. Damak propped his chin, pondering deeply.
They exchanged glances; Damak spoke. "Sounds meaningful theoretically, but just dodging the crisis."
I shook my head. "No. I'm certain."
"Certain? Evidence?"
Maybe the last chance to avert war. Time for a gamble.
I answered without hesitation. "Yes."
"What is it?"
Damak eyed me suspiciously. "I'll explain later. First, a request."
"What?"
"Let me investigate the incident."
Confusion crossed their faces. "What...?"
"Stirring around, the culprit will show."
Damak leaned in, reading me. "Bait?"
"Yes."
They eyed each other. Chaseokdu chuckled. "Dangerous. Sure?"
With Grandpa's honor on the line, no retreat.
"I'll handle it."
Straight ahead was survival.