You Don't Get to Leave
It looked, for all the world, like a failed merchant caravan.
All eight wagons stood empty. They had replaced every cart with a new one before setting out, and now that expense looked like money thrown straight into a ditch. The people bound to those empty wagons were no small number, either. Horses, the porters clinging to the sides, the merchants themselves, and the martial artists escorting them — the headcount alone ran past thirty. A caravan of that size, leading nothing but empty wagons, ordinarily meant a failure so complete they would be lucky to cover the labor costs.
And yet the face of Chu Jahon, Vice-Leader of the Chuhyeon Merchant Group, who headed this procession, was bright with satisfaction.
"Who would have thought the Nanheo Escort Agency would come to this."
The Nanheo Escort Agency. This was no ordinary firm scraping by on transport commissions. It was Hubei's foremost escort agency, a power that had clenched every waterway and every road in the province in a single fist. In Hubei, Nanheo's influence needed no explaining.
And that Nanheo Escort Agency had gone to pieces overnight.
Nobody had attacked them. Nobody had raided their compounds. They had collapsed on their own. All of a sudden the agency began liquidating its assets — not pruning a few useless ventures, but throwing everything overboard as if it were truly going under.
Hubei's great families had been stunned. Was it a simple restructuring, or had some fatal crack opened under the surface? Everyone worried, and no one quite dared to move. Naturally enough. This was still the Nanheo Escort Agency. What kind of problem would make them sell off healthy businesses?
Chu Jahon had been different.
He had happened to be out on a caravan that passed Nanheo's home ground, and he had moved without hesitation. He raised emergency funds from every source he could reach, pulled the capital together at speed, and bought up the agency's holdings. Only later, when it became clear that Nanheo was genuinely dissolving, did the others come running with hungry eyes — but by then the prime assets were already in Chu Jahon's hands.
So what did a few empty wagons matter?
A procession of empty carts was worth far more than wagons groaning with gold, silk, and jewelry. It was a chance for the Chuhyeon Merchant Group — which had barely scraped its name onto the bottom of Hubei's Five Great Merchant Groups — to rise in a single bound.
Chu Jahon had shown a touch worthy of the vice-leader's seat. The businesses he had secured first were the very spine of Hubei's transport.
"Good for us, of course. Still, a pity about the Nanheo Escort Agency."
"For an agency of that stature to take down its signboard overnight… the world truly is a strange place. The agency master vanished without warning, after all."
"Perhaps the talk was right all along — that Nanheo was held together by nothing but their master's personal ability and skill."
"Exactly so. And that isn't even the whole of it. It all comes down to failing to establish a proper successor. We ought to take that as a lesson. Vice-Leader, you must settle this matter decisively this time."
Chu Jahon nodded, his face gone grim at the words around him. Nanheo's fate did not feel like someone else's story.
Father's health isn't what it was…
The merchant group's leader, his father, had been bedridden for a little over a year. That had been the start of the conflict.
And my brothers aren't lacking in commercial talent either.
The second and third sons had business sense of their own. Had Chu Jahon been even slightly wanting, the vice-leader's seat might well have gone to one of them. The trouble was that their ambition was every bit as sharp as their talent.
"Don't worry. If they cross the line, we will punish them without hesitation."
Jeok Jin, the escort warrior who was Chu Jahon's most trusted man, had read his lord's heart and spoke with hard resolve.
"Thank you, Master Jeok. You are a great comfort to me. But I would rather you never have cause to draw your sword."
Chu Jahon meant it. The world, however, has never been in the habit of granting wishes.
Jeok Jin's face hardened like stone, and he tore his sword from its sheath like a thunderclap.
"Master Jeok?"
Chu Jahon's eyes went wide. Starting with Jeok Jin, the escort warriors drew their blades, their faces set and bloodless.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Enemies."
"Enemies?"
Chu Jahon shook his head, bewildered. There was nothing out there but brush. But Jeok Jin, a First-class martial artist, felt the killing intent as clearly as a blade against the skin.
"They're not even hiding it. They're putting the killing intent out on purpose."
Jeok Jin's mind raced. His gaze, charged with inner force, bored into the deep shadows beneath the trees.
The numbers… damn.
At least forty presences. This side had eight escort warriors, and only Jeok Jin among them was First-class. He clenched his teeth and roared.
"Who dares stand in the Chuhyeon Merchant Group's path, leaking killing intent like this!"
The shout rolled out like thunder. The color drained from Chu Jahon's face — that was inner force no ordinary man could endure at close range. But the figures emerging between the trees opposite wore faint smiles, as if they had been waiting for the invitation.
"For a martial artist belonging to a mere merchant group, your presence isn't half bad. I go by the undeserved name of One-Hand Triple-Blade."
"One-Hand Triple-Blade!"
Chu Jahon cried it out, his face gone white. Behind the sharp-featured man, some forty figures stepped into view, radiating a vicious aura. They had the caravan completely surrounded.
"This is not the territory of the Green Forest's mountain heroes, as I understand it! Why, then, does the great One-Hand Triple-Blade stand in this place?"
One-Hand Triple-Blade. A name of ugly fame among the Green Forest.
"If you had raised a stronghold here, you might have sent word to our Chuhyeon Merchant Group. We would naturally have come to pay our respects."
Chu Jahon answered with his head high, even with the blood gone from his face. For an ordinary man to say everything that needed saying in front of bandits dripping killing intent — Green Forest outlaws, no less — was no small thing. One-Hand Triple-Blade let out a thin smile.
"Vice-Leader of the Chuhyeon Merchant Group, is that right?"
"Yes. I am Vice-Leader Chu Jahon. Had there been word, I would have come to see you myself. Today I shall offer a modest token of sincerity — would you open the road?"
"The road, you say…"
One-Hand Triple-Blade drew the word out. Jeok Jin clenched his teeth and crushed the hilt of his sword in his fist. The pressure had not lessened. Hostility, plain and open. And killing intent beneath it.
"Vice-Leader. Those men blocked this road to come after us. There's no other reading."
"…"
"This isn't a place the Green Forest would settle, and it isn't ground worth settling. One-Hand Triple-Blade belongs to a stronghold that works the south. This is—"
"Haha. For a mere escort warrior, your skill is uncommon — and your eye isn't half bad either."
Steel whispered from a scabbard. One-Hand Triple-Blade drew his saber. Chu Jahon bit down on his lip.
"We will pay the passage fee. Why not do this the Green Forest way?"
The Green Forest, unfittingly enough, had its own kind of courtesy. Pay the toll, and they guaranteed your safety. In territory they ruled, merchant groups and escort agencies often felt a deeper calm than they did on open roads. Vagrants, black-path thugs, ruffians, and worthless trash were forever throwing themselves at caravans — but try that in Green Forest country and the outlaws themselves stepped in to put a stop to it. Better to pay a somewhat expensive fee and receive protection you could count on. That was how the long, uneasy partnership between the merchant houses and the Green Forest had endured.
One-Hand Triple-Blade threw his head back and laughed at Chu Jahon, who had bent first and offered the toll himself.
"Worthy of the Vice-Leader of the Chuhyeon Merchant Group. A merchant's waist should be flexible. Indeed it should!"
The bandits around him burst out laughing as one. Their mockery pressed the air over the Chuhyeon Merchant Group even heavier. After he had laughed his fill, One-Hand Triple-Blade lifted his saber in a slow, easy motion.
"The passage fee is a bit expensive."
"How much would it be?"
"Oh, come now. The Vice-Leader already knows. Or are you pretending not to take the hint on purpose?"
"…Do you think you can attack the Chuhyeon Merchant Group and walk away unscathed?"
"Tsk, tsk. No hard feelings. I'm doing this on commission too."
"Commission?"
"From the moment I arrived here, there's only one passage fee. Chu Jahon's head."
"We will not stand for this."
"Don't worry. I ran the numbers before I came out. And what of it? Burn the corpses and there won't be a trace of how it happened."
One-Hand Triple-Blade smiled, thin and ugly. His saber rang out with a single bright cry — and as if that were the signal, Green Forest outlaws screamed from both flanks and charged.
"Protect the Vice-Leader!"
Jeok Jin roared it. In the martial world, a First-class martial artist was a man any sect would treat with respect. A First-class martial artist with well over twenty years of Jianghu behind him was a talent any house would try to steal. Jeok Jin poured inner energy into his blade and hurled a killing slash.
The sword sang and scattered light. The chest of the outlaw in front of him opened on a diagonal. Crimson sprayed. Like the seasoned man of the martial world he was, Jeok Jin did not flinch. He kept his blade moving, calm and hard, and the pressure of him was fierce enough that the remaining escorts found their courage and threw themselves into the fight.
Jeok Jin's own face, though, had gone heavy as lead.
The Green Forest men under One-Hand Triple-Blade are a different breed. They're better than most martial artists you'll meet.
He hissed through his teeth at the weight of the counterattacks. Judging him the danger, the outlaws came at him in twos and threes. Their combination work was tight enough to pass for a proper sect's paired forms, and it closed the air in his throat. While they pinned him down, the escort warriors began to fall, one after another, painting the dirt with blood.
There are too many of them!
The outlaws outnumbered the escorts five to one, and numbers were not the whole of it. Jeok Jin turned into the crushing weight of the presence ahead of him.
One-Hand Triple-Blade!
The man stood with an arrogant face and that same thin smile. A hideous scar cut across his features, and he was still only watching.
Whose commission did he take?
Green Forest outlaws were neither wandering blades nor black-path thugs, and they were even less assassins. They did not readily accept work that amounted to killing a man. Pride was part of it — they ruled another world, and they called that world the Green Forest. They were not above taking money to step into a Jianghu quarrel, of course. But a commission to murder someone in cold blood was not a thing they accepted lightly.
And merchant groups and the Green Forest lived in each other's pockets. Attack one house and sour that relationship, and the other houses would not sit still. Sooner or later they would start to wonder whose throat that blade would find next. There were only a handful of reasons a Green Forest man would take a job like this.
He's sure he can do it without leaving evidence. And he was paid a price he couldn't refuse.
Who in the world would put out a commission like that? Suspects flickered through Jeok Jin's mind in a crowd — but there was no time to sort them.
I have to put One-Hand Triple-Blade down!
Jeok Jin bellowed and cut the two outlaws in front of him down in a single stroke. He detonated the inner energy he had drawn up from his dantian and burst forward. The distance vanished in a breath, and he saw One-Hand Triple-Blade's mouth curl.
A crash like a temple bell splitting.
An ordinary willow-leaf saber flicked Jeok Jin's sword aside as if it were a twig. One exchange. Jeok Jin's face went the color of paper. He staggered back, step by unwilling step. A single crossing of blades had been enough. The difference was naked.
One-Hand Triple-Blade. A swift saber said to throw three cuts in a single draw.
"Your skill is decent. But courage only stays courage if you take a man's measure before you charge. Miss that, and it is only recklessness."
One-Hand Triple-Blade smiled that thin smile again. He tightened his grip on the saber and took a single step — then whipped around, an aura seizing him by the nape of the neck.
"…"
His eyebrows twitched. Three figures were walking toward them down the road, in no particular hurry. His eyes settled, cool and assessing. Two women, and a golden-eyed man in a splendid robe. He bit his lip without meaning to.
They're putting their presence out in the open.
Which meant they had no intention of quietly passing by. His gaze raked over them.
Two female experts who don't look easy in the least…
From the man in the middle, though, he felt nothing at all. Unlike the two women, the walk was wrong, the posture was wrong — none of it belonged to a martial artist. It was the gait of a dandy out for a stroll.
Some idle rich boy who came out with a pair of beautiful bodyguards. Lucky bastard.
He did not take them lightly even so. The two women were leaking their presence straight at his line, openly, and he knew in his bones there would be no talking this down. Above all, what he felt from them was no joke. Even One-Hand Triple-Blade, a man of the Peak Realm, found the weight of it burdensome.
But why were wandering blades called wandering blades? Were they not the ones who survived this savage Jianghu with nothing behind them but a sword and a saber?
He made his judgment in a heartbeat — cruel, and perfectly cold.
"All of you — cut those bitches down!"
The shout ripped across the road. Most of the merchant group's escorts were already dead. The outlaws obeyed without a flicker of hesitation. One-Hand Triple-Blade launched himself at the man in the same breath.
A rich dandy who had never learned a single martial art. Take him hostage.
Then I'll make them drop their weapons and have my fill of them.
Both women, from the look of them, were beauties well out of the ordinary. Greed shone wet in One-Hand Triple-Blade's eyes.
"What're you doing?"
His greed ended there.
The body that had been closing the distance without a hitch locked in place.
"…!"
The striking-faced man stood with his arms folded, infinitely at ease. Only then did One-Hand Triple-Blade turn his eyes. The men he had thrown away to hold the two women's ankles for a few breaths were collapsing in sprays of blood. Not one of them had lasted a single blade.
That much he could have swallowed. He had expected it. There was only one problem.
The man in the splendid clothes, standing an arm's length away. No presence came off him. He was simply standing there. And the moment their eyes met, One-Hand Triple-Blade's feet would not move. It felt as if his whole body had been packed in ice.
"W-who are you?"
"Don't people usually introduce themselves before they start swinging?"
The man — Sun Wukong — said it like the whole business bored him. One-Hand Triple-Blade's eyes twitched. He clenched his teeth and drove inner energy through every channel in his body, and only then did his feet remember how to move. The words came out in a rush.
"I took you for reinforcements for that side. Looking at you, that doesn't seem to be the case. How about we clear up the misunderstanding and call this finished? Besides — only my men died."
A bold concession, coming from him. The merchant group's escorts had put down a mere four of the outlaws. In the space of a breath, the two women had killed more than fifteen. To take losses like that and still offer to walk away as if nothing had happened was, in all but name, a surrender.
Sun Wukong looked at that face for a long moment, then let out a short laugh. His brows curved into crescents. It was not the laugh of a man in a good mood.
A chill walked down One-Hand Triple-Blade's spine. Something in his chest gave a dull, ugly throb. This was no mere presence.
Those eyes…
Thick veins stood out along the hand locked on his saber. The eyes were wrong. The face was smiling, but the eyes were colder than the ice crystals of the North Sea. That rift — the smiling mouth, the frozen stare — closed around One-Hand Triple-Blade's heart like a fist.
In that same breath, Sun Wukong pulled a face of pure annoyance and yanked the steel staff from his back.
Swinging that saber the second you showed up.
You think you're just walking away?