Chapter 11: Chapter 11
The next day.
The gates of the Seventh Small Palace swung wide open. Mao stepped out, scratching his crotch. His sunken eyes betrayed a sleepless night.
Passing through the bamboo forest, he reached a stream where women were beating laundry with wooden bats. They stopped mid-swing, scrambled to their feet, and bowed their heads.
Mao walked straight up, stripped off his clothes, and dove into the downstream water.
“Wait, that’s where the lye water…”
Floating soap scum be damned, he surfaced with a gasp, scooped water with both hands, and drenched himself to the neck. His shoulders shuddered, sending murky rivulets downstream. The women grimaced, yet even through their disgust, his features remained irritatingly handsome. A truly disagreeable contradiction.
Emerging from his impromptu bath, Mao circulated his internal energy once. Fwssh! Water droplets flew in every direction.
“Gyah!”
The women were drenched on the spot. Cries of contempt rang through the forest at the violation. Mao cruised past them without a backward glance.
Such was the good-for-nothing of Wolha Village.
But today he was especially malicious. The reason was the same as his sleepless night.
Jang I-seo.
A Seventh Grade Ghost who had the audacity to knock him out cold, then declare he would formally assume the adjutant position the next day. That was the cause.
“You think I haven’t seen your type before? Must’ve thought I was easy prey, living alone. But Jang I-su. You know something?”
Mao snatched a pastry from a toddling girl, bit into it with a crunch, and flashed a cruel smile.
“I don’t do mercy.”
Waaah! The three-year-old burst into tears.
Whether he lacked mercy or simply lacked sense, Mao’s resolve was firm. Tomorrow, he will throw Jang I-seo a proper welcome party. That was why he’d come to the market today.
“You’re here.”
Reaching the end of the market, two rough-looking men standing guard at a narrow alley bowed deeply.
Mao acknowledged them with a glance and walked in. Men who’d been feigning indifference rose and greeted him identically as he passed.
“You’re here.”
“Seventh Young Master, welcome.”
They belonged to the Black Dragon Faction. An organization that had ruled Wolha Village for years.
Cheonsan was a small nation composed of tens of thousands of cult members.
Not everyone could hold official positions, and the cult’s reach couldn’t extend to every corner. So groups like this, loyal to the cult but operating independently like minor underworld factions, existed here and there.
Among them, the Black Dragon Faction was run by Sixth Grade Ghost Yong-tae, a man with at least the basics in order.
Creeak!
The building’s door opened. Mao walked in, approached the central table where a gambling game was in full swing, and flopped into the empty chair with the red cushion.
A man in his late thirties with sharp, piercing eyes looked up. Boss Yong-tae.
“Seventh Young Master. What brings you without warning? Care to join a round? I’m on a lucky streak tod…”
CRASH! Before he could finish, Mao swept the entire gambling spread off the table and onto the floor. The players jumped. Yong-tae’s eyes bulged.
He’d been winning every hand…
“You. Not busy, are you.”
He had been. Right up until Mao walked in.
But years of eating scraps at a madman’s table had honed his survival instincts. Sensing the shift in Mao’s mood, Yong-tae signaled his men to usher the customers out. Then he laced his fingers together, rested his chin on them, and replied coolly.
“What’s the matter?”
Mao grinned.
“Got a bastard running his mouth. Needs trimming.”
“That’s my specialty. Who?”
“Jang I-su. Some punk who thinks he’s going to be my adjutant.”
Adj-adjutant! Hearing the word, his face went pale. However pathetic Mao’s life had become, an adjutant was a Third Grade Ghost, an elite among elites.
Yong-tae scratched his temples and offered an awkward smile.
“Well, this is unfortunate. My father’s beloved only son has just received the devastating news of an unexpected bereavement, so I’m currently in mourning and…”
“Since when does a funeral matter more than this? And you’re an only son!”
BANG! Mao shot to his feet and hurled the table across the room. Yong-tae’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. That was solid iron, over two hundred jin. One hundred twenty kilograms. Thrown by sheer muscle.
“It doesn’t matter. No, not at all.”
“Right? Then from now on, the Black Dragon Faction handles this Seventh Grade Ghost.”
“Wait, why does the Seventh Young Master need to decide…”
“Hold on. Seventh Grade Ghost? The one who wants to be your adjutant?”
“Yeah. Said he’s a squad leader.”
Hah. A hollow laugh escaped Yong-tae. A Seventh Grade Ghost daring to covet a Third Grade Ghost’s adjutant seat? When a Sixth Grade Ghost like himself was scraping by like this? The bastard’s liver had escaped his body entirely.
“I’ll crush him.”
“He’ll show up at the palace tomorrow. Come early and wait.”
“Consider it done. I’ll bring every man I’ve got.”
“You’re a man who gets it. And by the way, that money on the floor is finder’s keepers. Right?”
No, fuck! Right? He wanted to scream “obviously not,” but what choice did he have? Grit your teeth and smile.
Mao scooped up the gambling pot, waved casually, and drifted out like a phantom.
“Take care…”
Yong-tae bowed him off, then scowled the moment Mao vanished.
“That good-for-nothing bastard. Sees it, it’s his. No wonder flies swarm around him. Now even a Seventh Grade Ghost is latching on? Unbelievable.”
Rich, coming from a Sixth Grade Ghost. But not entirely wrong.
“What was the name again? Jang I-su?”
“It’s Jang I-seo!”
“Right, right. Jang I-seo. Was that it? Hold on… Hey, what the hell are you? Why aren’t you outside? Hiding in here?”
Yong-tae whipped around. A subordinate with a vaguely familiar face hovered in the corner.
“I just got here recently…”
“You idiot! Show some manners when your seniors are talking! Get out, you bastard! Round up every last man!”
“Yes, sir!”
One subordinate bolted out the door at Yong-tae’s roar.
“Tch. Who trains these kids?”
Yong-tae clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
Tomorrow, the Seventh Small Palace will be noisy for the first time in ages.
Of course.
‘This is how he’d play it.’
Outside, the subordinate who’d fled stepped beyond the alley, swiped a hand across his face, and peeled away the disguise. Beneath it emerged a plain, unremarkable appearance.
The undisputed master of disguise.
Jang I-seo, the Hidden Pavilion’s finest operative.
Fooling him and springing a trap of his own was out of the question.
* * *
The next day.
The Seventh Small Palace bustled from dawn. Normally, true to its nickname “the Isolated Isle,” it should have been cloaked in gloom. Today, for reasons unknown, a crowd swarmed inside and outside the walls.
Every one of them was a rough-looking man in clean black attire. The Black Dragon Faction, led by Yong-tae.
“Boss, I’ve got everyone standing by at the entrance.”
Behind Yong-tae, who was touring the palace grounds, a man with a thin mustache, wide-set eyes, and a long mouth bowed. Vice Boss Mae-gi.
Yong-tae waved him off without looking back, distracted. He’d known the Seventh Young Master for years, but this was his first time inside the Seventh Small Palace.
His impression, however, was brief and blunt.
“It’s a ruin. Yeah. A ruin.”
Overgrown weeds, years-old cobwebs, the basics. The storehouse door hung half-open on loose hinges. Roof tiles were cracked everywhere, leaving pools of stagnant water. At this point, all the money he’d been squeezed out of felt like begging scraps.
“Even a ghost wandering the nine hells would pass on this place. Look. The bamboo’s shaking all eerie. Gotta finish the job and get out before the ghosts get me… Aagh!”
Yong-tae spun around and yelped. A man stood directly behind him, grinning with sunken eyes.
“S-s-Seventh Young Master.”
The master of this ruin of a palace. Mao.
He could’ve made a sound. Yong-tae wetted his dry lips, heart pounding.
Mao scanned the area and asked.
“Where is he?”
“He? Who?”
“Jang I-su.”
How should I know? The bamboo was so dense you couldn’t see a thing.
“Hard to say. Well, he should be coming, shouldn’t he?”
Yong-tae said it casually, but internally he doubted the man would show. Even if he did, he’d take one look from a distance and bolt.
By his own Mad Dragon Hall’s standards, even the stable boy mucking horse stalls was a Seventh Grade Ghost. This Jang I-seo was second-rate at best.
And with dozens of glaring thugs blocking the entrance, walking in took either courage or a death wish.
“The moment he shows, today becomes a day he’ll never forget.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. My boys don’t lose fights.”
At Yong-tae’s confident words, Mao smirked and turned away.
Over fifty men from the Black Dragon Faction.
No elite warriors among them, but men who knew which end of a blade to hold. More than enough to bury one Seventh Grade Ghost.
“Come on in, Jang I-su.”
Mao completed his preparations and waited with anticipation.
Shhh. Shhh.
At last, silence fell over the sky, broken only by the eerie rustling of bamboo.
‘He’s here!’
Mao started, his face flushing. He sensed it was the signal announcing a guest’s arrival.
Sure enough, Vice Boss Mae-gi turned his head toward the gate and bellowed.
“Boss! Someone’s here!”
Mao and Yong-tae exchanged looks and nodded.
Time to go greet him.
*
As promised, Jang I-seo appeared.
A small bundle slung across his back. This time, he’d come prepared to stay.
“So you’re the bastard who’s been getting fresh with the Seventh Young Master lately?”
The entrance was the first obstacle.
Dozens of armed men blocked the path with an intimidating wall of bodies.
Jang I-seo scratched his forehead and addressed the wide-eyed, broad-faced man standing directly in his way.
“Seems that way. And you are? You’ve got a wide field of vision, I’ll give you that.”
“Black Dragon Faction Vice Boss Mae-gi.”
“Right. The name fits. But a ‘Mae-gi’ in a ‘Dragon’ faction? Didn’t you join the wrong outfit?”
“What the hell is this bastard spouting!”
Mae-gi’s face flushed crimson. True to his thuggish nature, he threw a massive haymaker.
But that was third-rate brawler level at best.
Jang I-seo ducked easily, pivoted his entire body, and drove a fist at Mae-gi’s temple from an unpredictable angle.
Thwack!
But as if he’d seen it coming, Mae-gi’s forearm blocked it effortlessly.
“You blocked that?”
Jang I-seo was genuinely startled. He hadn’t infused internal energy, true, but even so, a third-rate thug had blocked an attack aimed at his blind spot.
Of course.
“Urgh!”
Bonk! Jang I-seo’s forehead lightly connected with Mae-gi’s nose.
He wasn’t worth being surprised at twice.
Mae-gi crumpled, blood gushing from his nose.
“You… you bastard… hitting a blind spot, that’s dirty…!”
Is that how this works?!