Chapter 16: Chapter 16
“It’s too dangerous! The Slaughterhouse are assassins acknowledged even by the Heavenly Demon’s Throne. Not just the rank and file, but their leaders, the Sa brothers…”
“Which is why you lay low. Until I’ve wrapped everything up.”
Chwi Hong-ran’s face crumpled with worry. Jang I-seo responded with an easy smile and glanced away.
The crescent moon hanging in the night sky was beautiful.
But did they know? The ones about to be cut down weren’t bathed in moonlight. They were the ones trying to catch him.
‘Should visit the Heavenly Demon Treasury for the first time in a while.’
A night that gave rise to many thoughts.
* * *
– Three days later.
A spring breeze drifted by, like any other day.
Children played atop the rainbow-arched bridge over the lake while old men cast fishing lines, whiling away the hours.
A typically tranquil afternoon in Wolha Village. Yong-tae and Mae-gi of the Black Dragon Faction leaned against the railing, gnawing on chicken skewers.
“Nothing beats chicken skewers after a meal.”
“Told you. The chef here knows what he’s doing. I’ve been saying, this is worth collecting protection in food instead of cash.”
“Nobody else takes payment in food either, boss.”
“You idiot. That’s called mutual aid.”
“Yes, sir. You’re right, boss.”
The two men chuckled.
Thugs, sure, but not quite what you’d expect once you got to know them.
Just then, Mae-gi stiffened and whispered.
“Boss. Something strange just entered my field of vision.”
“What. There’s nothing by the lake. Just carp.”
“Not ahead. To the side.”
Yong-tae turned his head from the scenery to look sideways. At the far end of the bridge, a group of strangers was approaching.
They came in all shapes and sizes. At their center, a massive man wore his hair in a topknot alone at the crown, like a Yuan dynasty general. The rest were uniformly rough-looking.
“Looks like they’re from another village… Should I round up the boys?”
“Wait.”
Yong-tae pressed down on Mae-gi’s shoulder, still staring ahead, and studied the approaching group from a slouched angle.
His pupils gradually widened.
“Th-those guys!”
“You know them?”
Know them? Yong-tae’s lips trembled as he answered.
“You. Send word to Jang I-seo. Right now.”
“Sir? Haven’t seen that gentleman in days.”
“If he’s still in Wolha Village… it’s already too late to run.”
“What?”
As Mae-gi recoiled in alarm, Yong-tae whipped his head back. The group swept past them along the bridge.
And Mae-gi saw them too.
These men, who shared absolutely no common feature, had exactly one thing in common. Two characters tattooed on their hands and necks.
Slaughter. Kill.
“S-s-Slaughterhouse…”
The Demonic Cult’s worst assassination syndicate had arrived in Wolha Village.
*
Three years ago.
The day Mao was elevated to Seventh Young Master and entered the Seventh Small Palace.
It had been the happiest day of his life.
‘Hey! Brother I-sin said you can live with me! Hahaha! I told you to trust me, right?’
He was overjoyed to escape the Ma family estate, where he’d been treated worse than a slave. And beyond that, Ma I-sin, who had never once granted him a single request, had permitted the servants who’d been his only friends to accompany him into the palace. Mao had been so happy he could fly.
‘R-really?’
‘You mean it?’
‘Yeah! From now on, just trust me. No more walking on eggshells. Live easy.’
‘Mao…’
He’d shown off, and they’d embraced, laughing through tears of joy and sorrow.
But as happy days never lasted for the unfortunate, the very next day…
‘Ch-cheol-yeong… Jang-deuk!’
The worst day of his life arrived.
They’d cried tears of gratitude. He’d teased them for it while swallowing back his own pain.
And yet.
Why?
‘AAAAAAAAGH!’
He’d screamed endlessly, clutching the mutilated corpses of his friends.
But the despair didn’t end there.
‘Released? You’re telling me they were released!’
Two men walked out of the Guardian Dragon Hall, grinning, receiving bows from the officers waiting outside.
A muscular man with gold teeth and a long blade scar running down the left corner of his mouth. Sa Do-cheol. Beside him, his tall brother with hair tied up top. Sa Ho-jeong.
The Sa brothers of the Slaughterhouse.
They’d walked free, declared innocent of any crime.
One reason.
‘B-Brother…?’
A man in a distant carriage, receiving the Sa brothers’ bows.
The Bloodless Duke, Ma I-sin.
Because he was the one behind it all.
‘As Hall Master, I have no face to offer. The consensus from above was that family matters should be resolved internally… Still, I felt it my final duty to at least inform the Seventh Young Master of the cause. That is why I summoned you here. Now… take care.’
The Guardian Dragon Hall Master’s words didn’t even register. All that burned into his mind was Ma I-sin, glancing at him with cold indifference. That expression, utterly unbothered despite everything being exposed.
‘What could you possibly do even if you knew?’
That was what those eyes said.
In that moment, everything inside Mao collapsed.
Should never have brought them. Should’ve known. Pathetic bastard like me, who was I trying to save? Nothing I do ever works.
Endless self-abuse and nihilism consumed him.
From that day on, Mao put everything down and became a good-for-nothing.
Just hate me. I’ll hate you back.
That way, it won’t hurt when someone dies.
“Hah…”
Mao’s eyes opened. A familiar, depressing sight filled his vision. A faded ceiling engraved with a yellowed dragon whose colors had long since faded.
The Seventh Small Palace.
It had been three days since Ma Jin-gu’s visit. Mao rose from bed, scratched his disheveled hair, and stepped through the broken doorway to survey the corridor.
As expected.
Not so much as an ant today, either. Dead silent.
“Figured.”
Mao snorted with a predictable expression and shuffled to the end of the corridor. He sat cross-legged at the edge of the porch.
Rattle.
He threw the sliding doors wide open. Sunlight poured in, and the green bamboo forest stretched before his eyes.
The front gate had vanished entirely, leaving a gaping hole. Beyond it, a dark forest path.
Nowhere was there any trace of Jang I-seo.
All that talk of bets and Young Cult Leader, all bluster in the end. He’d fled far away, terrified of the Slaughterhouse.
“Adjutant, my ass. I never expected anything anyway!”
…Didn’t I? Did I?
“As if. Hahaha!”
Mao forced a hollow laugh, then his face went blank again. He stared straight ahead and muttered.
“Course he left. He was scared too. Good riddance. Since he’s gone, he should go far. And never come back.”
Hmph. Mao snorted, straightened his back, and corrected his posture.
Shhh. Shhh.
Moments later, the bamboo rustled. His ears perked up.
They were here.
The uncomfortably chaotic rustling of leaves. A faint, bloodstained scent spreading through the air.
Them.
Footstep, footstep.
A group emerged into the shaded single path between the bamboo.
The Demonic Cult’s worst assassination syndicate.
“Slaughterhouse…”
And the one leading them was a man Mao recognized. One of the officers who’d greeted the Sa brothers upon their release from the Guardian Dragon Hall three years ago.
“Pay my respects to the Seventh Young Master.”
A top-knotted warrior, tall and imposing, with cold eyes that yielded nothing.
“I came bearing a message from the Slaughterhouse.”
Sixth rank in the Slaughterhouse.
The top-knotted assassin, Mak-gwi.
* * *
Meanwhile, at that same hour.
The cult members in Wolha Village, knowing nothing, trembled in terror.
“Waaah!”
“It’s okay, Hye-i. It’s okay.”
Villagers huddled with their backs against the bridge railing, centered around a mother clutching her three-year-old daughter. Every one of them trembled like leaves, skin deathly pale.
Naturally.
“That way?”
“Nothing. The bastard already bolted, hasn’t he?”
Men wielding menacing blades, combing through the surroundings like ransacking a house. The Slaughterhouse assassins.
Assassins were supposed to take lives silently, like thieves in the night. But these men had no such principles.
They unleashed violence in broad daylight without hesitation. Their search methods were brutal and blunt.
“Someone here must know something.”
Even now, they grabbed villagers at random, herded them into one place without explanation, and pressed cold steel against them.
Terror spread like plague. The villagers prayed someone would just give them what they wanted quickly.
Fortunately, one assassin produced a portrait, unfurled it, and addressed the crowd.
“Everyone, look carefully. If you’ve seen a man who looks like this, raise your hand and speak up. If we find him fast, nothing happens. But the longer this takes…”
The assassin’s gaze flickered to the hand of a man standing by the railing.
Stab. He drove his short sword straight through it.
“AAAAGH!”
Screams erupted. The assassin’s lips curled upward. He yanked the blade free and continued.
“This gets noisy for all of us. So if you know something, stop dawdling and start talking. Though I don’t mind if you’re slow. I like noise. Especially when women and children cry… can’t get enough of it.”
“Ah, ah…”
The assassin licked his lips. Hye-i’s mother pulled her child tighter and squeezed her eyes shut.
Resentment was useless. This was Cheonsan, called the stronghold of evil. Weakness itself was a sin. All she could do was pray this moment passed safely.
But it was only the beginning.
“Heh. Why’s no one answering? Ah, you thought I was full of shit. Fine. Let’s see.”
One assassin shoved through the crowd, pushing people aside.
The others watching from behind snorted. “There he goes again,” and headed the opposite direction to search.
And then.
“Little brat’s been hiding here, huh?”
The assassin who’d pushed into the crowd crouched down, licking his bloodied dagger, and locked eyes with the three-year-old girl.
A chilling smile spread across his face.
“N-no…!”
Everyone despaired at what was about to follow. Mother and child brimmed with tears.
Please, please, someone help us.
Too terrified to voice the words, she prayed silently with every fiber of her being.
Then.
Shlk. One hand covered the girl’s eyes while the other, like sleight of hand, stripped the assassin’s dagger from his grip and plunged it into his throat.
“…Huh?”
So fast there was no time to scream.
The child’s mother, utterly shock-stricken, slapped a hand over her own mouth and turned her head, trembling.
And there he was.
An old man, index finger pressed to his lips, grinning.
No. Jang I-seo, disguised as an old man.
SPLASH!
He hurled the assassin over the railing, straightened his hunched back, and walked forward.
After three days of silence, he’d reappeared in Wolha Village.
“What the hell. He actually killed him? Shit. Boss said just scare them, don’t kill.”
The assassins on the other side heard the splash and the commotion and turned around.
“This is gonna get needlessly complicated. Wait. Who the hell is that?”
Their gazes locked onto the old man’s back as he walked away alone.
They exchanged glances, frowned with suspicion, and quick-marched toward the villagers.
And realized.
“Fuck… get that bastard!”
The body floating on the lake wasn’t a villager. It was a Slaughterhouse assassin.