Chapter 18
Chapter 18
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Black Dao, Martial Folk
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Luoyang's days were busy, endlessly busy.
From ancient times, Luoyang had been an indispensable center of politics, economics, and culture on the continent.
The current Luoyang stood at the heart of a massive logistics network spanning the entire northern inland region of the continent.
The great flow of the Yellow River was one of the biggest reasons Luoyang had swollen into a megacity of millions, with the volume of goods passing through defying imagination.
It was common enough to spot merchants from the color-eyed peoples who had taken an interest in the Central Plains' interior.
Even amid the teeming exotic goods and merchants of every stripe, one group drew every eye around them—none other than Yeon So-hyeon's entourage.
"Ohh, what a truly beautiful young lady!"
A color-eyed merchant exclaimed in broken Central Plains tongue upon spotting Jeong-a, only for a nearby Central Plains merchant to hastily tug at his sleeve.
"Hey! Where do you think you're pointing like that?"
"Why not?"
As the color-eyed merchant blinked in confusion, the Central Plains merchant subtly nodded toward Jeong-a's rear.
"Can't you see the guard over there? He's from the Luoyang Sword Clan."
The mere mention of Luoyang Sword Clan made the color-eyed merchant yank his finger back.
"...That Luoyang Sword Clan?"
"Yeah, that Luoyang Sword Clan."
The color-eyed merchant had no choice but to react that way.
From the moment he had set foot in the northern inland region, he had heard endless warnings about the Luoyang Sword Clan.
Though it was just a single man in guard squad uniform trailing her, that alone ensured Jeong-a never suffered so much as a leering glance.
The path cleared naturally before their group for the same reason.
"Hmm. I have business elsewhere, so I'll join up later."
At Yeon So-hyeon's words, the Life-Seizing Ghost Sword blocked his path.
"What are you saying? You're not thinking of leaving your escort behind, are you?"
Yeon So-hyeon shot him a look as if to ask what nonsense that was.
"Of course I'm leaving you behind. You just watch over Jeong-a."
The Life-Seizing Ghost Sword pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed.
"No, what kind of ridiculous talk is... Huh? Huh?!"
In the brief moment he had closed his eyes to sigh, Yeon So-hyeon had long vanished.
"Young Master went that way!"
The Life-Seizing Ghost Sword sprang toward where Jeong-a was pointing.
"Ooh! A martial artist!"
"Lightfoot skill!"
Admiring exclamations rose around them, but he ignored it all, leaping onto the roof of a four-story building.
He urgently heightened his gaze and scanned the surroundings, but there was no sign of the Eldest Young Master, not even a shadow.
"What in the world...?"
It was enough to make ghosts weep.
He had been constantly circulating his inner energy for escort duty, yet this Eldest Young Master had slipped from right before his eyes without the slightest presence.
Doubts surged about the true nature of the Swordless One they called the Eldest Young Master, but now was not the time.
'Should I report it first?'
But report to whom?
Even if he did report it, problems were inevitable.
Given the Sword Clan's attitude toward the Eldest Young Master, all responsibility would ultimately fall squarely on him first.
"Damn it...!"
Spitting a curse, he dashed back to Jeong-a's side in one breath.
"Attendant maid. Sorry, but you'll have to handle your business alone. I need to find the Eldest Young Master as soon as possible..."
Before he could finish, Jeong-a nodded.
"I can protect myself, so don't worry—just please look after the Young Master."
Her calm demeanor left the Life-Seizing Ghost Sword clicking his tongue in amazement.
"You're not worried at all?"
Jeong-a smiled faintly and shook her head.
"For some reason, I can't even imagine anything happening to him."
"...Well, that's true enough."
Truth be told, the Life-Seizing Ghost Sword felt much the same.
If he truly thought the Eldest Young Master was in danger, he wouldn't be idly chatting with her like this.
The instant he had realized he'd completely lost the Eldest Young Master, responsibility be damned, he would have fired off the dedicated signal flare from his bosom.
"Still, I'll keep searching for the Young Master."
"See you later."
Before her farewell could end, his figure vanished, and she shrugged before stepping onward.
* * *
In a dim alley of Luoyang, some distance away.
Shrouded in heavy shadows from the surrounding buildings, it was a backstreet no ordinary folk would dare approach.
The elderly tattoo artist who ran shop there was a retired Black Dao man, infamous for his crotchety temper and foul disposition.
But today, he was unusually cautious.
Leaning comfortably in the chair was a man of truly enormous build.
His frame was exceptional from the bones up, and layered with thick slabs of muscle—he resembled a bull more than a man.
What completed his ferocious visage was the dragon-and-tiger tattoo of skull designs covering his massive body, large and small.
The tattoo artist was now adding a fresh skull, and even at a glance, the number of pitch-black skulls already packed on him easily topped a hundred.
But what was more astonishing was that the man was taking a nap during the procedure.
A nap, while needles repeatedly stabbed into his flesh.
"Ahem."
With a small cough, the elderly tattoo artist set down his needle and held up a metal mirror to align with his customer's gaze.
"Is it to your liking?"
The man, who had been steaming his face with a hot towel, lifted it slightly to peer into the mirror.
The fierce glint peeking from beneath burned like glowing coal, and the hand lifting the towel was riddled with scars and calluses.
"Good. Next."
He draped the towel back and reclined deeply into the chair.
"Yes, continuing."
The tattoo artist inwardly sighed in relief and prepared the next skull.
Meanwhile, the man settled back into the comfortable chair, warm towel, and the brazier's cozy heat, drifting off again.
The tattoo artist inwardly marveled.
As expected, these martial folk were in a league apart from ordinary humans.
And as the tattoo artist picked up his needle once more,
".......!"
Someone silently clamped a hand over his mouth from behind.
The tattoo artist reflexively tried to resist, but upon seeing the gleaming blade at his throat, he raised both hands to signal surrender.
Another man appeared, pressing a finger to his lips.
He wasn't large or bulky, but the muscles visible on his exposed skin were grotesquely defined, and his eyes were sharp as blades.
'Assassins...!'
Reading their movements and aura at once, the Black Dao veteran tattoo artist decided to cooperate meekly.
He nodded slowly and backed away as guided by the assassin covering his mouth.
As he retreated, two more assassins slipped in through the entrance.
With blades in their mouths, they ignored the tattoo artist entirely, gliding soundlessly through the cramped shop.
"......."
In an instant, the already tight space held twice as many people, yet they made no sound, no presence.
Their target was clear.
The two assassins positioned themselves precisely for the bull-like giant, their raised blades glinting coldly.
".......!"
Not even a shout.
The two blades flashed toward vital points in perfect unison.
Crunch!
The tattoo artist watching couldn't believe his eyes.
The man who had clearly been asleep had snatched both descending blades barehanded.
"Gasp...!"
Before the tattoo artist could even catch his breath, the two attacking assassins slammed into opposite walls.
The left one's chest caved in; the right one's jaw was pulverized.
Instant death.
And now the man rose, towering so tall his head nearly brushed the ceiling.
His outstretched hands still gripped the blades.
Blood oozed from his clenched fists, trickling down his forearms to drip onto the floor.
"Heh heh heh heh."
A thick, bassy laugh fitting his bulk filled the room.
"You can hide your presence, conceal your killing intent, but you can't mask a blade's edge."
With murderous eyes, he glared down at the remaining assassins.
"...Kill him!"
The last two charged head-on.
"Hmph."
With a short scoff, he spun the blades in his hands to proper grip.
It seemed mere flourish, but by the time it ended, the assassins' blades were already at his nose.
Yet,
The blades in his hands flashed.
One pierced an assassin's gut and out his mouth; the other's shoulder and out the opposite flank.
Their blades had reached him first, but he, who moved later, was unscathed—while the assassins crumpled in pieces.
He moved later, but faster.
Only his arms moved, but stronger.
"That's the difference between a martial artist and vermin like you. Got it?"
He tossed the blades aside carelessly, dragged over the fallen chair, and sat.
Then, to the rigid, blood-and-guts-splattered tattoo artist, he said,
"Hey, looks like we need four more skull tattoos."
"Y-Yes! Yes!"
The tattoo artist sprang up, shakily resuming preparations.
"Well done, brother—you handled it proper."
Peeking in from outside was a man nearly identical in build and looks to the one lounging.
The only differences were the scars and tattoo placements.
"Hey, brother. You weren't here, so I had all the fun myself."
"Good work. That aside..."
He scratched his scruffy beard.
"We still couldn't find that Mask Craftsman bastard. Or the guys we sent after him."
The lounging man snorted.
"Told you not to trust outsiders."
The man outside smacked his lips.
"But they said our boys took out the whole Mask Craftsman family, right?"
The seated man shrugged.
"Word is, they were just supposed to rough 'em up, but they accidentally killed 'em all."
"Hah. Hot-blooded pups."
"Our Black Bone Gang lads do run hot. Us too, a bit. Heh heh."
The man outside shook his head and spoke.
"But something's nagging me. Heard something odd from the boys handling that street."
"What?"
He frowned, puzzled himself.
"They say the Mask Craftsman's shop is still open, perfectly fine."
The lounging man bolted upright.
"Huh? Not the Mask Craftsman bastard?"
"Nah, the boys say it's not him."
"Then?"
"Apparently..."
He recounted what he'd heard.
"Some pale-faced scholar type."