Chapter 251
Chapter 251
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 251
Chapter Title: Kongtong Sect
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By the time Dang Mujin and his group finished cleaning up the forge, a few locals had wandered over and asked,
"New faces. Where are you folks from?"
"From a little village up northwest, called Jo-haeng."
Dang Mujin rattled off a made-up village name on the spot. Most of them looked puzzled, but one man's reaction stood out.
"Jo-haeng Village... Ah, ah! That place? The one with the big zelkova tree at the edge of town, right? I think I passed through about ten years back. Nice little spot. Even got a meal out of it, as I recall."
Someone pretending to know a village that had just been invented on the fly.
Truth be told, plenty of people in the world love acting like they know things they don't.
The big zelkova tree he mentioned as a landmark was the kind you could find in any village around here. If anything, finding one without a massive zelkova was the hard part.
Still, in situations like this, a know-it-all could be useful. Dang Mujin smoothly picked up the thread.
"Yeah. Tiny place, but you knew it. It's gone now, but it used to be pretty decent."
"Gone?"
"We were scraping by just fine until a few years ago, but then these martial artists started showing up, demanding this and that. We held out a few times, but when they kept coming back once or twice a year, we couldn't take it anymore. So not long ago, everyone just up and left the village behind."
The know-it-all nodded sagely, like he had the world all figured out.
"Sounds like unorthodox martial artists. Martial folk are all the same, but righteous sect types are still miles better than the unorthodox scum. Once those devils get a taste, they squeeze you dry without even letting you catch your breath. Good thing you got out when you did. Smart move."
Even in Pingliang County, it seemed the unorthodox martial artists had a rotten reputation.
Thanks to the eager know-it-all, everyone bought Dang Mujin's story hook, line, and sinker. An unexpected act of mutual aid, you could say.
Another man spoke up.
"You fixing up the forge to live in?"
"Yeah. I've picked up some smithing, so I can make basic iron tools. Sell some farm implements, and that'll keep food on the table. No owner hanging around, I hope?"
"Nah. Business dried up ages ago, and he left Pingliang. Said he had relatives out east and was starting fresh there... You friends know your way around iron too?"
Eyes turned to Hong Geolgae and Hyeon-gong. Dang Mujin waved it off.
"This guy's a herb gatherer from Jo-haeng. Came along when we bailed. What good's wandering an empty village with a gourd? And that clean-cut one? Local loafer back home. Not much he can do, but figured we'd make something of him together."
"Hrm."
A five-knot Zhongjing branch chief demoted to town beggar, and the next Wudang sect leader reduced to village bum. But the explanation was so damn convincing, no one batted an eye.
"Fair enough. Good luck settling in. Need anything, just holler."
No harm in an extra smith next door. Handy for slipping in favors among neighbors.
The locals left with satisfied looks.
*
Word spread quietly among Pingliang's farmers: a young smith from out of town was making some solid farm tools.
But no lines formed to buy Dang Mujin's wares.
Unlike weapons, dull farm tools didn't mean life or death.
Farmers didn't rush for new ones unless their old gear gave out completely.
Of course, Dang Mujin's forge got established a bit faster than most, and business was decent enough. For now, that was all.
Naturally, no Kongtong Sect martial artists came sniffing around.
While Dang Mujin and Hyeon-gong built rapport with the locals to pick up any gossip, Hong Geolgae roamed the streets freely.
One morning, something flew at him from the side.
He snatched it midair. A ripe persimmon, deep crimson.
"Hey, get anything decent to eat today?"
Myosun, a local beggar Hong Geolgae had befriended in Pingliang, strolled up.
Myosun was mute, his nickname from his harelipped upper lip that split like a rabbit's.
Hong Geolgae bit into the persimmon.
"Me? Nah, I don't starve."
"Figured you might be hungry, so I shared. Lucky bastard."
"If you're peckish, swing by the forge and grab a bite. My pals won't mind."
"Think I will."
Myosun had already mooched a meal or two from Dang Mujin's crew.
And he felt no shame. Myosun was the type who gave back as much as he got.
"Sounds good. I'll drop by soon. If street punks give you trouble, let me know."
"Got it."
Unlike most beggars, Myosun was legit Beggars' Sect.
Not some one- or no-knot scrub—full two-knot member.
His skills were solid second-rate, enough that local thugs wouldn't even meet his eyes.
To Hong Geolgae, though, Myosun's martial prowess meant zilch. They just clicked, same age and all.
Myosun eyed Hong Geolgae, then crossed his arms to flex his sturdy biceps.
"Hong Geolgae. Why not join the Beggars' Sect while you're at it? Learn some kung fu. You're fit enough—it'd help a ton."
Accepting that offer and learning from Myosun? Nothing funnier in the world.
Hong Geolgae waved off half-eaten persimmon in hand.
"Nah, I'm good."
"In a small village, maybe not, but in a big place like Pingliang, you want to fly under the radar? Better learn now. Unarmed beggars have it rough in old age. Start young, and it'll serve you thirty, forty years."
"I'm fine. I don't pick fights with folks."
"No telling what tomorrow brings. And looks like you're sticking with those forge buddies long-term. Least you could do is learn some moves to shield them from trouble down the line."
Who was worrying about whom?
If Myosun knew what Hyeon-gong or Dang Mujin really were, what face would he make? They planned to lay low in Pingliang, so he'd never find out.
The optics were a bit off, but Myosun's offer came from genuine goodwill. Hong Geolgae nodded.
"If I ever feel like it, I'll holler."
"No pressure."
Hong Geolgae headed with Myosun to Pingliang's outskirts, where beggars clustered. They hung back there, dipping into town only to beg.
While Dang Mujin and Hyeon-gong strained to overhear talk, Hong Geolgae didn't need much effort for Kongtong Sect intel.
Beggars had no real jobs. Full belly or empty, they lounged. Lounging meant killing time with nothing better.
Their one pastime? Spinning every trivial scrap they'd seen or heard.
Hong Geolgae sprawled slantwise like the rest, ears perked. Chatter flowed.
"Song the potter's daughter-in-law looks ready to pop any day. Might score something soon."
"Wang the merchant's caravan hit trouble. Face like thunder yesterday—went begging there today, got nothing but curses."
Most beggar talk was begging tips. Not Hong Geolgae's focus.
Next up should've been Kongtong Sect stuff. Pingliang was their turf, after all.
But oddly, Pingliang beggars hardly mentioned them.
Not a peep in three days.
Finally, Hong Geolgae asked Myosun point-blank.
Casual, bored tone as always.
"Thought coming to Pingliang meant Kongtong stories galore."
Myosun perked up.
"Why? Eyeing the Kongtong Sect?"
"Nah, not really... Martial artist tales are just fun to hear."
"Fair."
Myosun's face took on smug confidence—like a proper martial world denizen proud of it.
"Like you figured, used to be tons of Kongtong talk."
"Yeah?"
"Kongtong folks would come down and cause havoc. Kongtong's righteous, but most of their martial artists hail from unorthodox roots—you know that?"
Myosun dropped his voice like sharing insider secrets only martial folk knew. Common knowledge, really.
"Heard something."
"Tons of rough types in Kongtong. Newbies who couldn't hack the Daoist life would sneak down to Pingliang and cut loose."
"What kind?"
Hong Geolgae prodded, and Myosun whispered,
"Rapes, robberies galore. Deaths weren't rare either."
"What? They allow that?"
"Hell no. They bail after one spree, figuring they can't stick the Daoist grind."
"Oof. Victims had nowhere to turn, huh."
Hong Geolgae played along, but Myosun shook his head.
"Nope. Kongtong hunted those runaways down, no matter what. Apologized to victims and families, emptied their coffers for compensation too."
"That much?"
"Yeah. Plenty in Pingliang hate Kongtong. But nobody calls them irresponsible."
"Hm."
"Not all. Kongtong doesn't forgive sinners. Executions aplenty, plenty more meridians severed and dumped."
"Lots of deaths, then."
"Eight or nine out of ten."
Myosun's details were suspiciously vivid. Like he'd seen heaps of it.
Yet Hong Geolgae, in Pingliang over a fortnight, heard zero tales of Kongtong thugs rampaging.
Channeling Hyeon-gong's style, he probed slyly.
"Didn't know it was that common."
"Common... Yeah. Used to be."
"Used to?"
"Once a month, like clockwork."
"Not lately?"
"Lately? Quiet. Near a full year without incident."
A year.
Hong Geolgae pieced it with his own experiences and the Wudang conference intel.
Yu Jing-gwang killed previous Kongtong leader Mulangja about two years back.
Then some Sang Yu Daoist or whatever led for about a year.
Finally, Baek Ya-hyo from Wudang conference took over roughly a year ago.
Baek Ya-hyo's reign synced with the calm.
'Something there.'
Made sense enough.
The Baek Ya-hyo he'd met was no pushover. High skill, plus that irritating aura.
A faint-presence, low-skill leader's Kongtong wouldn't match one under Baek Ya-hyo.
But pushing more might raise flags.
How to fish for earnest answers without suspicion?
'Got it.'
If Hyeon-gong were here, he'd say exactly this.
"Guess Kongtong martial artists decided to play nice starting last year."
Instead of spilling theories, Hong Geolgae played dumb.
Myosun snorted pityingly.
"As if. About this time last year, Kongtong blew up internally. Settled down after."
"Internally?"
Myosun fell for it—er, Hyeon-gong's ploy, really.
One nudge, and sensitive info poured.
"Yeah. Heard some black-hearted unorthodox holdovers banded together for a revolt. Kongtong crushed the troublemakers... But casualties were high—deaths, severed meridians. Pingliang folks love it, though. Cleared out the bad apples."
"Ooh."
Jackpot intel today.
Hong Geolgae nodded, ready to wrap up and report back.
"Wild story. Better not blab."
"True, keep it zipped. Oh, some of those meridian-severed Kongtong guys are holed up in that shack over there. Wanna peek?"
"Didn't you say eight or nine out of ten die?"
"Flip it: one or two in ten survive. We beggars scraping by don't baby folks much—most die from festering wounds or starvation. But some pull through. The decent ones."
No pretty sight, surely.
Still, Hong Geolgae nodded.
He hadn't come to Pingliang to lounge in pretty views.
Myosun led him to the shack.
Inside reeked brutally. Even beggar Hong Geolgae pinched his nose.
'Festering wounds mixed with piss and shit. Lucky it's not summer.'
Four or five souls lay sprawled within.
Bedsores riddled their skin. Flipping them regularly could've prevented it, but beggars had no cause to pamper Kongtong sinners.
Feeding them this long was mercy enough.
Fresh scars marked limbs—meridian severance.
But not just limbs. Most were blinded, eyes gouged. Tongues lolled severed in gaping mouths.
'Gruesome punishment.'
Hong Geolgae shook his head, turning to leave.
But the skinniest one deepest in... his face rang familiar.
'...Huh?'
The only woman among them.
Emaciated like the rest, eyes sightless, but Hong Geolgae glimpsed her former self in those features.
The Kongtong warrior who roamed the north, snaring unorthodox foes.
Heartier than most men.
Yagul Dal-eum lay in the shack.