46. Pleasure Pill
That night. In a dingy back alley of Akyang shrouded in thick darkness. A single figure strode fearlessly through the pitch-black gloom that had even swallowed the moonlight.
It was Byeoinseong, the branch manager who had slipped out of the Danga Sangdan Akyang branch. There was no trace of the hesitation or groveling he'd shown in front of me earlier that day. The pathetic sight of him crawling on the floor, trembling in terror before my overwhelming "black curtain" aura, had vanished completely. Now, stepping into his perfect home turf—this filthy, stinking back alley—he was once again brimming with tension in his shoulders, strutting like the unchallenged kingpin of the underworld.
"Tch. No matter how intimidating an aura you put out, the rules of these back alleys are something I know better than anyone."
Byeoinseong snorted derisively and navigated the narrow, labyrinthine alleys with practiced ease, twisting and turning like a pro. Unidentifiable sludge squelched unpleasantly underfoot, but he paid it no mind.
Finally, his steps came to a halt in front of a decrepit old inn. The roof sagged on one side, threatening to collapse at any moment. Any ordinary person would have pinched their nose and fled in disgust from its ominous, foul exterior. The weathered signboard was half splintered, the letters illegible, and sour, spoiled booze and mildew wafted from the cracks in the door.
But Byeoinseong knew better. This trash heap of an inn was nothing more than a flawless, cunning disguise to fool lazy imperial guards and righteous faction busybodies. The real monstrous lump of depravity and greed lurked beneath the creaky wooden floorboards, coiled deep in the damp underground world.
Daeryeok Dobang, the shadowy faction straddling the line between black and white paths, sucking blood like a bat from Honam's darkness. Their massive underground black market lay hidden right under this rundown inn.
Screeech.
Without hesitation, Byeoinseong pushed open the rotting wooden door. Inside, a few drunken louts lay slumped over tables; it looked like an inn, but no one seemed interested in doing business. He sauntered toward the kitchen as naturally as if it were his own living room.
The pitch-black kitchen was empty. With familiar motions, Byeoinseong found a specific spot on the corner wall and shoved it hard.
Rumble rumble rumble!
With a grotesque, dull grinding sound, the solid-looking wall rotated open, revealing a narrow, steep staircase plunging into the blackness like a gaping maw.
"Hoo..."
Byeoinseong took a short breath and descended into the darkness without a second thought. With each step down—one, two—the underground chill, utterly cut off from the surface air, enveloped his skin. And at last, when he set foot in the subterranean space...
"Cough, hack."
A acrid, choking herbal stench assaulted his nose. Mixed with the stale body odor of hundreds of people and the sticky reek of raw desire, the horrific air stabbed into his lungs like knives.
The scene before him was a miniature hellscape. An enormous underground plaza unimaginable from the surface. Hundreds of people, faces hidden behind black masks or thick cloths, haggled secretly in the flickering red torchlight.
"Over here, genuine poison herbs stolen from the Seven Treasures Poison Sect! One handful could wipe out a whole village!"
"Don't ask where it's from. It's the manual from that Joint Faction elder who croaked yesterday."
"Need fresh organs? Got some prime catches from last night locked in those cages over there..."
Rare, deadly poison plants for poison arts. Bloodstained martial manuals of unknown origin. Even living humans caged up for their organs and as slaves. This was a dark holy ground where every conceivable depravity and illegality was traded openly, morality utterly stripped away.
But Byeoinseong didn't gawk around like some country bumpkin. He slipped through the crowds as if casually browsing wares, weaving toward the deepest controlled zone of the black market.
His gaze sharpened like a hawk's, scanning the surroundings. Soon, he spotted a scarred guard warrior standing with arms crossed in front of a massive iron-barred gate at the innermost part, his face twisted in menace.
Unlike the other areas, an eerie silence emanated from beyond those bars, laced with an untouchable, chilling killing intent.
Avoiding prying eyes, Byeoinseong sidled up to the guard and subtly slipped a small but heavy leather pouch into the man's massive hand, as if he'd prepared it in advance.
Jingle.
A seasoned touch, deliberately letting the gold coins inside clink with that clear, crystalline capitalist chime.
The guard didn't even glance down. Keeping his eyes forward, he deftly slid the pouch into his robes with expert speed—like nothing had happened. Pure stone-faced professionalism.
"What?"
The guard barely moved his lips, spitting out the word with obvious annoyance and irritation.
Byeoinseong cleared his throat with a straight face. "Ahem. Say, you wouldn't happen to sell any really special booze here, would you?"
He shot a sly, sticky glance, dropping the black-market code. "I'm in the mood to get properly smashed tonight, you know? But no matter how much I circle this huge market, nothing satisfies my picky palate. Feels like I need a real knockout drink to quench this burning urge."
"Special booze" wasn't just any drink. It was the ultimate taboo code word, whispered only among the black market's deepest elite clientele in Daeryeok Dobang's lair.
At those forbidden words from Byeoinseong's mouth, the arrogant guard's pupils contracted slightly. Only then did he turn his head, sharply scanning the surroundings. Confirming no one was watching, he flashed a sinister grin.
"Booze? Of course we sell it. Long as you've got the cash."
Clank! Screeeeech!
He unlocked the heavy iron gate behind him and stepped aside. "Remember this: the only things we don't sell here are ones that don't exist in this world. Go on in."
The guard led Byeoinseong deeper into the black market's maze of lightless underground passages, heading somewhere in profound secrecy. Byeoinseong followed close, clutching his pounding heart in giddy delight.
Back at the top of the Danga Sangdan Akyang branch. In the lavish, massive office where I was staying.
Bang!
The firmly shut door burst open roughly, and Byeoinseong stumbled in, gasping for breath.
"Hah... hah... I'm back!"
He was a mess. His forehead and neck were drenched in cold sweat, his flushed face looked ready to burst. Worst of all, his legs trembled like aspen leaves, threatening to give out any second.
What the hell? Did he run into some deadly assassin in the dark alleys? Or did he actually get wasted on that strong booze they sell there?
I kept a calm facade but inwardly jolted, trying to read the situation. But no. The guy was just terrified out of his mind in front of me, and now that he'd safely completed his life-risking secret mission, the sheer relief had drained all strength from his legs. What a pathetic, spineless mentality.
But I thoroughly concealed my own frail web novel writer's nature, lounging arrogantly in the head seat with legs crossed, coldly looking down at the wretched sight.
"Hoo..."
From the depths of my dantian, the cool, pure energy of the Hwalcheon Simgyeol slowly welled up. The mystical qi circulated through my body, perfectly steadying my pupils and the tips of my fingers against any tremor.
I spoke in a voice utterly cold, emotions perfectly purged. "Good work. So... did you get the goods?"
At my chilling, high-pressure prompt, Byeoinseong gulped dryly and fumbled desperately in his robes with shaking hands.
"H-here... right here, sir."
What he carefully extracted—like handling a bomb—and placed on the carpeted table was an opaque white porcelain vial the size of half an adult man's fist.
I leaned forward slowly, narrowing my eyes as I picked up the sinister little bottle. The porcelain felt unnaturally cold against my fingertips.
Pop.
I pushed the stopper with my thumb, and it opened.
"Ugh...!"
In that instant, a sickly sweet yet nauseatingly alien stench slammed into my nose like a brutal stab. Like pouring thick honey over a rotting corpse—grotesque.
I frowned and peered inside. The vial was packed with tiny, round crimson pills the size of a child's pinky nail. A chilling, ominous hue, as if thousands of drops of human blood had been compressed into beads.
"They... those black market bastards said..."
Byeoinseong wiped his cold sweat with his sleeve, gasping as he hurriedly added, "This stuff... its effects are so insanely potent that even first-timers absolutely can't swallow a whole pill, not even one this small."
He swallowed hard, lowering his voice. "They insisted you have to split it in half and take only that much."
Terror at the drug gleamed in his eyes. "Test half a pill first... and if your blood boils and heart races too much even then, they strongly recommend breaking it into quarters and taking just a tiny bit."
His body shuddered as he continued. "Ignore the warning out of greed and swallow a whole one? Your heart could explode on the spot, or brain vessels burst, spewing blood from all seven orifices..."
I showed no flicker of disturbance at the horrifying warning. Instead, I lightly shook the vial in my hand.
Clatter, clatter.
The dull, dry clink of the red pills colliding sliced through the room's silence. The corner of my mouth twisted upward in a cold arc.
Perfect.
The true identity of these small red pills in my hand. The most horrific, destructive item secretly distributed through Honam's invisible black markets like a spiderweb by Daeryeok Dobang.
The murim's narcotic that gnawed at the flesh and corrupted the soul: Kwaerakwhan.
The perfect bait for this fishing trip.