Chapter 53: Chapter 53
“I’m exhausted today. Let’s skip the unnecessary pleasantries. Here.”
Ting!
Jang I-seo flicked a strange two-toned coin, white on one side and black on the other, from his fingertips.
The Crow Cleaner snatched it from the air faster than the eye could follow, produced a magnifying glass, and authenticated it.
Satisfied, he nodded, pocketed it, and spoke.
“Is this place all you need?”
If anyone loved money as much as Jang I-seo, it was the White Crow Gate.
“Yeah. For now.”
“By tomorrow, no one will know what happened here.”
Naturally. The White Crow Gate’s work was thorough. Not just cleanup, but for client confidentiality, the same assigned agent handled every job continuously.
That consistency was why Jang I-seo trusted them and had used them for years.
Jang I-seo smirked, then asked a question that had just occurred to him.
“By the way, could even the Cult Leader detect this? Can you fool that man?”
“…That man? The Demonic Cult needs to learn sooner rather than later that you’re a subversive element.”
“You’re one to talk. What’s the Demonic Cult to you? Skip the nonsense and answer. Can you work without the Cult Leader knowing?”
“…Concealing human affairs works only on humans. You cannot deceive the eyes of a god.”
A god. So that was the level. Jang I-seo exhaled a shallow breath. From every angle, the Heavenly Demon was extraordinary. To be called a god by the White Crow Gate.
The Crow Cleaner waved his black-gloved hand as if telling him to leave.
“You’re in the way. If there’s nothing else, go.”
That was the plan anyway. Jang I-seo pushed through the throbbing pain and stood.
“Ah, but do you also do background checks?”
The Crow Cleaner glanced at the corpse on the ground.
“…This one?”
“Yeah. Something bothers me. I want to know what martial art he practiced.”
“…Three nyang.”
“Never mind. Leaving.”
When something lacked value, Jang I-seo turned away without hesitation.
He raised a hand in farewell and departed. The Crow Cleaner watched him go, then whistled through his lips. Phee.
Men wearing black crow masks, distinct from the white-masked handler, strode in from all directions. Their attire wasn’t robes but a bizarre one-piece body suit that clung tight.
“Let’s begin.”
At the Cleaner’s gesture, the men set to work noisily.
As if nothing had ever happened.
* * *
By the time Jang I-seo reached the Wolha Village market alley, the moonless night had faded and the sky was gradually tinting blue.
His internal energy was bottomed out, and the aftereffects of the fight with Sa Do-cheol had kicked in belatedly.
He couldn’t walk fast. A few steps, then rest. A few more, then rest again. Time had slipped away.
Even now, sweat beaded on his skin. Not the best condition.
But seeing the market alley still peaceful and quiet drew an involuntary smile.
It proved no one had been hurt. That they’d fought well.
“Huu…”
He walked through the empty alley once more.
The predawn silence washed over him. This was, fundamentally, a spy’s life. Night, not day. A mask on the outside. Behind it, designing and moving where no one could see.
No glory. No encouragement.
When departing, when seeping back in.
Coming like wind and vanishing. That was a spy’s fate.
This time would be no different.
Jang I-seo passed through the alley and climbed onto the Rainbow Arch Bridge.
He turned his head toward the lake. The sky was brightening. A red morning sun rose in the east.
He stared, lost in the moment.
“Hey, Jang I-seo!”
Someone called his name. In a voice so genuinely relieved.
Startled, he turned. His vision filled with countless people running toward him.
“What took you so long! I was dying of sleep!”
Mao, grumbling.
“You’re back.”
Chwi Hong-ran, smiling as if to say he’d been through hell.
“Adjutant Jang…”
Maeng Hwi, on the verge of tears.
“He’s here-!”
Mae-gi and the Black Dragon Faction, jumping for joy.
“Waaaaah!”
And a crowd of villagers, cheering in welcome.
“…”
Jang I-seo stood stunned, suddenly surrounded.
“Hey, Jang I-seo. Do you know how I fought today? You’ll be amazed when you hear.”
“Ridiculous. Adjutant Jang. He didn’t do anything. I did everything. Look. I got hurt…”
“We finished things off, young masters!”
“You shut up!”
What was this?
“So did we actually beat the Slaughterhouse?”
“Obviously we beat them.”
“Jang I-seo. You tell us.”
Everyone stared with wide eyes.
What was this, truly.
This mission had gone somehow wrong. This was far removed from the essence of a spy.
But…
Grin. Not bad.
A genuine smile formed on Jang I-seo’s lips. And he spoke.
“The Slaughterhouse won’t be coming back. Everyone suffered well.”
Waaaaaaah!
A roar of victory echoed loud.
Jang I-seo shook his head and murmured to Chwi Hong-ran.
“Let’s throw a feast soon. A real one this time.”
“Yes.”
One thing remained.
The instigator of everything. The Ma family’s legitimate heir.
The Bloodless Duke, Ma I-sin.
That was all.
The morning of Wolha Village greeted by smiling faces.
* * *
– Don-u Village, Lust Flower Tower.
“Hah. Something’s off.”
Meanwhile, Yong-tae, who’d been busy looting the empty headquarters, stood before a cabinet that occupied an entire wall, deep in thought.
A subordinate arrived carrying a still-half-full sack and reported.
“Boss, we’ve loaded everything. But there’s hardly anything worth money. This is a total bust.”
“Hmm…”
“What is it, Boss?”
“You. Look at this. Isn’t it strange?”
“Sir. The strange thing is you staring at this one thing. Are you slacking?”
“Hey, you bastard. Just look. This is weird. Everything else is trashed to the point of being a ruin, but why is this the only thing intact?”
Fair point. Whether this was a human dwelling or a pigsty was debatable. Everywhere was broken and dark, thoroughly decadent.
But compared to that, the cabinet set into the wall was without a scratch.
“Well, isn’t this Sa Do-cheol’s room?”
At his subordinate’s suggestion, Yong-tae looked around and nodded. Could be. The cluttered floor and general disorder were the same as elsewhere, but this room seemed slightly larger.
“But why would a slob like this need a cabinet?”
“I… guess?”
“Suspicious. Very suspicious.”
He might be just a thug boss now, but back in the Guardian Dragon Hall, Yong-tae had been known as the bloodhound investigator. Yong-tae meant tracking. Tracking meant Yong-tae.
In that sense, this place gave off a peculiar scent.
A built-in cabinet with no door, purely for storage. And what was inside was nothing impressive. Mostly empty.
“Hmm…”
Yong-tae grabbed the cabinet and pushed it aside without thinking.
Then.
RUMBLE!
“Urgh!”
The cabinet slid open, revealing a hidden space.
“Hahahahaha! Found it!”
Yong-tae’s radiant smile bloomed.
The war against the Slaughterhouse. Total victory.
* * *
The northern edge of Cheonsan.
On the Cheonsan Northern Road, one of the two routes commonly called the Silk Road, sat a village called Jipha Village.
This village was truly unique.
In a word: it was part of the Demonic Cult, but also not.
Strictly speaking, it sat on the border between the Demonic Cult’s territory and the lands beyond. The main road running through the center served as the dividing line. South of it belonged to the Demonic Cult. North of it was managed by the nearby Shan Wang Jia, a tribe outside Cheonsan.
As a result, for cult members who couldn’t leave the main territory without permission, this was one of the few places to obtain goods from various lands.
Hence the name Jipha Village, meaning Collection Village. True to its name, goods from everywhere converged here. If it existed, you could find it.
From slave markets trading regardless of age, gender, or race, to food, silk, and daily necessities. To outlandish items never seen before. A bazaar where money bought anything.
And among these, there was a place where the most dangerous and illegal transactions took place…
That was the Bumun Inn, planted squarely on the central avenue.
The only place where the Demonic Cult and the outside world could meet, with its south and north gates.
A meeting ground.
*
A tall man with long curly hair stepped into the Bumun Inn.
His face radiated dissatisfaction with the world. The kind of presence that promised catastrophe if provoked.
The black-clad men following him were no different. Swords at their waists, murderous expressions. Not ordinary folk.
Entering through the south gate marked him unmistakably as a Demonic Cult member.
His name was Sa Ho-jeong.
The second of the Sa brothers, known as Mad Dog.
Surveying the boisterous inn, he claimed an empty seat near the entrance.
His subordinates took positions on alert, scanning the surroundings. Obviously a setup for an illicit deal.
But no one inside paid Sa Ho-jeong the slightest attention.
That was simply how things worked here.
Most hid their true faces, whether with masks or skin disguises. No one asked or looked unless they had an appointment. Even if blood splashed into their drink.
Question nothing. That was the rule.
Hence Bumun Inn. Question Not Inn.
Sa Ho-jeong, feigning total disinterest in anything but his own business, bit down on a cord and gathered his long hair atop his head.
He’d come all this way to trade Soul-Befuddling Powder with the Iron Horse Bandits.
Specifically, to coordinate the trade date and the drop location.
But,
“What? The Slaughterhouse?”
Right then. From the counter near the south entrance, a word reached his ears that he absolutely could not ignore.
The Slaughterhouse. That meant them.
“Ptui.”
Sa Ho-jeong spat out the hair cord and glared murderously at the counter.
There sat a man wearing a cross necklace and round Western sunglasses. His eyes were hidden, but his features seemed decent enough, around thirty or so.
Sa Ho-jeong knew him well.
No. The correct answer was that no one in this place didn’t know him.
His name was So-o. The proprietor of the Bumun Inn.
“Let’s talk later. Yeah, go on in.”
The person conversing with So-o left. Sa Ho-jeong ran his tongue across his teeth, rose, and swaggered toward the counter.
He slammed the counter. BANG! Leaned in sideways and demanded.
“What about the Slaughterhouse.”
How many people would feel pleasant hearing themselves discussed? Especially when the one hearing it was the second Sa brother.
“What about the Slaughterhouse!”
Answer wrong and a fist would fly. The proprietor, So-o, smiled ingratiatingly and spoke.
“Listen, brother.”
“Bullshit. Brother, my ass…”
“Hear me out. Where are we.”
“What, you bastard. It’s the Question-Not Inn. Answer me. What about the Slaughterhouse.”
Wow. What a temper.