Chapter 21
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Black Spot
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Seo Mun-ha's request was simple.
"Understood."
He wanted me to deliver an item called the Sky-Piercing Thunderbolt—a legendary treasure.
"But young hero, what makes you trust me with this?"
Man Won-sip voiced a reasonable doubt.
"The ledger."
"..."
"And considering our connection, that should be enough."
A connection from the past. But to Man Won-sip, it felt like the start of a new one.
They say an enemy's enemy is a friend. From the moment he obtained that orb, shaking up the Golden Tiger Merchant Group would be child's play.
"I leave it in your hands."
The Golden Tiger Merchant Group had ties to both the authorities and the Hwang Bo Clan.
No one knew how far those connections reached, but they surely didn't extend beyond the Hwang Bo Clan's influence.
There was no need to straddle both sides anymore—the Golden Tiger Merchant Group's limit was the Hwang Bo Clan itself. Of course, comparing imperial authorities to a murim clan wasn't straightforward, but a clear target had emerged.
"Deliver it to the one who needs it most."
Seo Mun-ha emphasized without emphasizing.
The one who needed it most was the one who'd rejoice the most at the Golden Tiger Merchant Group's corruption.
The natural counterpart to those connected officials. For someone long tied to the authorities like the Ten Thousand Gold Merchant, it was no trouble at all. No extra time required.
"I understand perfectly. A fine disciple of that gentleman."
Seo Mun-ha scratched his cheek at Man Won-sip's sigh about punishing lawless scum.
A silent cheer swelled within him, tinged with slight embarrassment.
Especially since everything—from one to ten—was for his own benefit.
'Good deeds turning into misdeeds was the norm for me.'
That made acts yielding profit and gain feel strangely unfamiliar as "good deeds."
"My master left a message."
As he saw the young merchant lord out to the entrance, Seo Mun-ha spoke up.
"No trouble at all. What is it?"
"What became of the Supreme Elder of the Guard Command, the old lord?"
A shallow curiosity arose. Mentioning his successive masters had sparked concern for his one true, unparalleled mentor's well-being.
"He's stepped back from the front lines, but I hear he's still hale and hearty."
That old man was one tough geezer.
He'd never once thought of him as a master in his previous life, but after uttering the title—unprecedented for him—he could at least inquire after his health, concessions made.
With business concluded, Seo Mun-ha merged with the other two and vanished like a dot.
"Now I see why they call him Ghost Flash."
The dazed bodyguard emerged, shaking his head.
"Shall I report to the merchant lord?"
"...Of course. Father will be pleased for once in a long while."
"It might be the opposite."
"Better than the lingering hope of a corpse unrecovered after nearly twenty years."
Man Won-sip let out a quiet sigh.
"No helping it. Even the Twelve Bureaus under the Grand Eunuch were purged en masse."
The reason was unavoidable. With the era's name changed, countless loyal retainers of old became traitors, their records burned to ash.
The Eastern Depot and Western Depot couldn't escape the bloodshed either. The eunuchs' martial institutions cycled through closures and reopenings, barely clinging to existence.
"Their situation is surely better than those lot."
The Embroidered Uniform Guard and them together formed the Depots and Guards. Stepping in further, the Guard Command had selected the finest from the imperial forces to form the Iron Cavalry Unit.
"Best not to speak of it lightly."
The young merchant lord's personal bodyguard continued.
"The Seventh Prince... no, His Majesty wouldn't take kindly. And besides..."
Man Won-sip stared silently at the spot where Seo Mun-ha had vanished, for a long while.
'Ghost Flash.'
He seemed plenty cautious himself, so no need for special worry.
Besides, he was a martial artist, not a soldier.
'Heh, who's worrying over whom now?'
He'd manage just fine.
A disciple of Yi Mok-yeom, lord of the Iron Cavalry Unit—where one rider equaled a thousand—composed of heaven-sent prodigies.
Plenty of road lay ahead. On the eve of the journey, a dark-faced man wore a wistful expression.
"Regretting it?"
"N-no, sir."
Yang Jeong hurriedly waved his hands. He'd just tearfully bid farewell to the Sang Man Escort Agency folk he'd briefly bonded with.
'If you ever come to Zhejiang, visit our agency.'
Sang Man-seok had earnestly urged. Calling him benefactor, though last night they'd shed liquor, not tears.
A farewell party among such peculiar men... even in retrospect, what a tiring night.
"Jolly bunch, they were."
The opposite of their grim demeanor hauling the escort goods.
"Hangzhou has clear waters and many beauties, they said?"
In short, beautiful nature and beautiful people.
"That's right."
Yang Jeong gulped, regret lacing his breath at the young leader's promise of lavish hospitality.
"Truth be told, not everyone from Yang Province knows Hangzhou inside out."
Escort folk roamed the world, chatting diverse topics, praising hometowns foremost.
"So, visit when you can. Why else call it a paradise on earth? No better spot for savoring the charm."
He didn't know about "charm," but he grasped Yang Jeong's inner thoughts.
"Regretting not tagging along with them?"
"Ahaha, no way. You're teasing."
He denied instantly, yet left a sliver of room regarding Hangzhou.
"Still, the young leader insisted so earnestly."
I felt nothing particular.
'Hangzhou... where Uncle headed.'
I boarded the carriage with A-so.
"If possible then, could you take this humble one along...?"
Yang Jeong's wish drowned in hoofbeats and wheel rumbles. The new coachman cracked his whip, and the twin-horse carriage sped off.
"Whoa."
A-so marveled, tapping his seat while peering around the carriage.
"...Better than Hangzhou."
Traveling by carriage is grueling.
Still beats walking or running. And unlike my earlier words, this premium twin-horse rig kept speed without sacrificing comfort.
"Your acquaintance must be quite the tycoon, young master."
"Never met him."
After visiting the Ten Thousand Gold Merchant, I'd given Yang Jeong the rough story. Like with A-so, he needed the bare minimum explanation. Thus, my past self became his "acquaintance."
'Not a lie.'
By the time we grew accustomed to the high-end, practical comfort,
we three crossed mountains, passed villages.
Swapping horses and drivers midway, we reached the border of Shaanxi and Shanxi.
Hayang County. The Yellow River's tributary brought frequent travelers to this modest village.
"Good work."
"Yes, sir. I'll return at dawn tomorrow."
The middle-aged coachman headed for the stables.
"We'll stay here tonight."
"Yes, young master."
"Any business here?"
Yang Jeong scanned the large village.
"A bit."
We'd traveled day and night till now. Fatigue had built up inevitably, and arriving at a village made it perfect for rest.
"Felt like time to rest. You've both worked hard—take it easy."
"Huh? Going alone?"
A-so's eyes widened round.
"I'll secure rooms at an inn."
Patting the young lad, Yang Jeong yielded to my will without fuss.
"Might as well have a proper meal for once, you two."
I handed him a money pouch.
"And you, young master...?"
"I'm fine."
I warned A-so, who fretted about skipping meals.
"Lots of martial artists around. Ronin too. Snooping's fine, but pick wisely for inns in strange lands."
"Wisely?"
"Check the entrance tables. Too new means frequent replacements from fights; too worn means awaiting the same."
Signs of frequent clashes.
"So, somewhere in between."
"Got it."
Yang Jeong answered, grasping the intent. Not Shandong here—better safe. Inns topped spots for martial artist brawls.
Leaving them, I strolled the market.
Seedy street stalls doubled as brokerages matching people.
A wrinkled old man yawned lazily, chin propped.
"Slow on jobs, eh?"
Swatting flies.
"Who're you?"
"Got some questions."
They brokered people, but in villages like this, ronin were prime. Once bustling "ronin markets" had shrunk in these peaceful times.
"Looking for war merchants."
Merchants catering to such ronin, peddling arms and gear on battlefields.
"...What merchants?"
I sought tools—naturally illicit groups. I'd used them plenty pre-army days, but the old man seemed genuinely clueless.
"Never mind. Sorry to waste your time."
Then.
"Hey."
A girl A-so's age tugged then released my hem as I turned.
"Hm?"
"Young hero, why seek war merchants?"
"No idea what you're asking."
Don't dodge. Grinning brightly, the girl replied.
"I know a good spot."
Not Beggar Clan by looks, but similar rags—this bold girl flashed a number.
"Got only silver taels. Up for it?"
Questioning if she could handle it or if worth it, she beamed wider.
"No war merchants in this village."
"Figures."
"None nearby either. Used to be plenty."
"So, a separate spot for local ronin."
I leaned down to eye level with the child.
She paused dramatically, then whispered in my ear.
"Here's the thing."
Her tiny hand formed a screen—no leaks allowed.
"There's a place called Black Spot."
"Black Spot?"
"Ah! Don't say it so loud!"
The girl frantically checked surroundings. No one minded a beggar girl amid the busy crowd.
"Ahem! It's originally for martial artists."
Acting uninvolved, her practiced speech grew fishier by the minute.
"Catering to high officials or famed warriors."
Worn rags filthy with dirt on face and limbs. But clean teeth. Hair too.
"Same now, but dealing to ronin means they stock everything. Whatever you seek, young hero—they've got it."
Black Spot had claimed the war merchants' turf. I'd known similar outfits; now I had the name.
"What makes you think I seek something?"
"Well, hunting war merchants—not a smithy or beggar, so... high-end goods they don't usually carry?"
"Spot on."
"Ehehe."
"No gift, though."
"Ah! Wait, that's not—"
"Kidding."
The girl's mouth flapped.
"T-teasing a young girl like me in broad daylight... You're no young hero—you're a flower prince!"
"Busted."
"Eh... Was it a secret? Then you'll silence me for good?"
She hugged herself dramatically. I reached out, plucking a small pouch from her sleeve gap.
"Neat sleight of hand."
"..."
"Heard what happens if you pick the wrong martial artist's pocket? In the Hawkeye Sect."
I flicked a silver tael from the recovered pouch her way.
"...You called me flower prince."
Stunned, she pocketed it and played cool.
"And what's the Hawkeye Sect?"
"The ones guarding that silver."
"How'd you know?"
"How? You just said."
Groups running black markets or backing them weren't common to begin with.
"Plus, your handiwork."
The Hawkeye Sect: info network of thieves, pickpockets, gamblers, courtesans—gathering, sifting, selling worldly news. Unorthodox counterpart to the Beggar Clan, business expanding with murim shifts.
"Lead the way."
Her words and deeds screamed trained handiwork.
"Where? The Hawkeye thing is..."
"Don't care. To Black Spot."
No backing out on the spot now.
"...One more tael."
Bold as brass.