As Bu Eunseol closely examined the book, Ma Yun tilted his head curiously.
“That’s a low-tier mission issued recently. No need to bother with it.” When Bu Eunseol stared at him intently, Ma Yun shook his head. “You’ll see if you read it, but it’s a dull job with a pitiful reward for the work involved. Practically unpaid labor.”
“Money isn’t important,” Bu Eunseol replied.
“Not important? Then what is?” Ma Yun pressed.
Instead of answering, Bu Eunseol continued to stare, prompting Ma Yun to speak reluctantly.
“Namsagok is an assassin sect originally active only in the Hubei region. But they’ve recently expanded their operations into Hunan Province.” Clearing his throat, Ma Yun continued. “Namsagok isn’t even affiliated with Majeon, and they’re the kind of scum who’d kill a child for the right price. Not to mention, they operate as stealthily as rats.”
“So, factions not aligned with Majeon can all be dealt with by the Nine Deaths Squad, is that it?” Bu Eunseol asked.
He always inquired about details beyond the mission itself. But Ma Yun cut him off sharply.
“I don’t provide information beyond what’s necessary for the mission.”
“Hmm.” Bu Eunseol let out a low hum as he stared at the book’s contents.
Then, he tucked the booklet labeled “The Recluse” into his robes.
“I’ll take this one.” As Bu Eunseol abruptly turned and left the old bookstore, Ma Yun muttered with a puzzled expression.
“Brother, that guy’s really strange.”
“Why? Did he pick another grueling mission?”
“No, it’s the Namsagok elimination mission that came in this time.”
“What?” Shang Liang blinked in disbelief. “Why would a skilled guy like him bother with assassins?”
“Could it be… he’s like that Number Eleven from before?” Ma Yun muttered, watching Bu Eunseol’s retreating figure. “It feels like he’s doing this because he’s obsessed with the taste of blood.”
“That makes no sense,” Shang Liang retorted.
“Why not? Haven’t there always been guys who join the Nine Deaths Squad just to butcher people?” Among the Nine Deaths Squad, some joined not for atonement or money but for the thrill of blood and slaughter.
“He’s young, with a fierce look in his eyes and a cold way of speaking… He’s exactly that type,” Ma Yun added.
“I didn’t get that impression,” Shang Liang countered.
“Then why would someone with his skills take on a pointless low-tier mission like this?”
“Hmm. You might have a point.” Bu Eunseol chose missions to gain real combat experience, but to them, it looked like he was driven by a thirst for carnage.
Shang Liang furrowed his brow briefly before shaking his head.
“Damn it. I thought he was a decent guy, but to think he’s a bloodthirsty maniac.”
***
A group of martial artists walked along a winding river.
Their attire was shabby, but their eyes were clear, and they wore hero headbands. These were the disciples of the Hyungsan Sect, hurrying along after leaving Jianghalu tavern.
“We’ll have to sleep outdoors tonight,” the middle-aged man leading the group said, gazing at the setting sun.
This was Oh Giheun, the head disciple of the Hyungsan Sect.
“Ugh, because of that guy!” grumbled Hong Jeongun, a lanky disciple, as he smacked the head of the youngest disciple, Myeong Un, who had tried to scam free drinks from Bu Eunseol.
“It’s because of you that we lost half a day and ended up like this!” Hong Jeongun snapped.
Myeong Un, looking aggrieved, protested, “It wasn’t me, it was the liquor bug in my stomach…”
Smack. Hong Jeongun smacked Myeong Un’s head again, baring his teeth.
“Stop spouting nonsense and start preparing the fire!”
As if accustomed to camping, the Hyungsan disciples moved efficiently. Some gathered branches for a fire, while others pulled out cloth from their packs and cut wood to make a tent to shield against the night dew.
Crackle.
The night deepened. The Hyungsan disciples, settled in a spot surrounded by rocks, sat around a campfire, falling asleep one by one.
Chirp chirp.
The occasional sound of crickets broke the silence. Hong Jeongun, hands behind his head, looked at Oh Giheun, who was gazing at the bright moon.
“Senior Brother, can’t sleep?” Oh Giheun smiled faintly and shook his head.
“No, I’m just enjoying the night scenery…” But his eyes weren’t on the scenery at all.
Understanding his mood, Hong Jeongun sighed.
“I know… It’s a bit degrading for the proud disciples of our sect to be hauling goods like couriers.” In truth, the Hyungsan disciples were out in the martial world at the request of the Ami Sect to deliver the Golden Spirit Pill to the Wudang Sect.
“It’s not just hauling. It’s a sincere request from the Ami Sect. Master had no choice, given his connection with Jeongan.” Despite his words, Oh Giheun’s expression was grim.
No matter how far their sect had fallen, the Hyungsan Sect once commanded the Southern Mountains. To be reduced to delivering goods for another sect stung their pride.
“Master said this would be the last time we take on such tasks,” Oh Giheun added.
But the sect’s finances were in ruins. Without such jobs, they’d starve. Shaking his head, Oh Giheun changed the subject.
“I’m worried about our youngest disciple. I hope he stops wandering soon.” Myeong Un was the last disciple taken in during their master’s later years.
Despite his sharp mind and prodigious talent for martial arts, mastering all of Hyungsan’s secret techniques in just a year, he had recently taken to drinking heavily instead of training. They had scolded and cajoled him, but he wouldn’t listen.
“Don’t worry too much, Senior Brother. He’ll come around and bring glory to Hyungsan,” Hong Jeongun said.
Oh Giheun gave a bittersweet smile.
“If only Myeong Un had joined us earlier, he might’ve been chosen as one of the Eighteen Righteous Successors.”
The Righteous Successors was a Martial Alliance project to train exceptional young martial artists by freely teaching them the secret techniques of orthodox sects.
The Hyungsan disciples had applied, but their talents weren’t enough to pass the second stage, forcing them to turn back.
But if Myeong Un had been there?
He would surely have been among the eighteen chosen Righteous Successors.
“What’s the use of dwelling on the past?” Oh Giheun said with a bitter smile, looking at the sleeping Myeong Un. “It’s not like I don’t know what fate feels like.”
Hong Jeongun’s expression grew heavy.
They all knew the truth. Myeong Un wasn’t wandering aimlessly—he was drowning in deep despair.
Without the Hyungsan Sect’s premier techniques—Double Power, Ascendant Sword, Fire Lotus Secret, or Lute Sword—no matter how much he mastered the sect’s remaining arts, he could never surpass the first-rate barrier.
“But if it’s Myeong Un, he might break through that limit someday,” Hong Jeongun said.
Oh Giheun smiled faintly.
“I can only hope so.” The two brothers gazed at the sleeping Myeong Un with gentle eyes.
“Go to sleep, Senior Brother. We need to hurry tomorrow.”
“Right…” As Oh Giheun nodded, his eyes flashed.
He spotted something glinting in the trees.
‘A poisoned blade?’ It was a blackened sword, designed to suppress light reflection.
Ordinary eyes would’ve missed it, but Oh Giheun’s keen night vision caught the faint glimmer.
“Ambush!” he shouted, drawing his sword.
The sleeping Hyungsan disciples sprang up.
Whoosh! Hidden weapons rained down from the trees.
Clang. The disciples drew their swords, deflecting the projectiles.
“Argh!”
“Ugh!” But screams soon erupted. The hidden weapons were launched with such cunning, and most of the disciples lacked real combat experience.
Swish.
Black-clad assassins surrounded them.
The Hyungsan Sect had only nine disciples. The assassins numbered over forty.
‘We were too careless!’ Oh Giheun cursed inwardly.
Having traveled safely to Yueyang, they’d grown lax, treating the delivery of the Golden Spirit Pill like a leisurely trip. They should’ve chosen their campsite more carefully and set up a watch.
“Hand over the Golden Spirit Pill, and we’ll spare your lives,” the lead assassin said, stepping forward.
“There’s no need to risk your lives in a fight, is there?”
‘They already know we’re carrying the Golden Spirit Pill,’ Oh Giheun realized, gritting his teeth. Nothing was more terrifying than assassins with precise information. They were confident enough to reveal themselves openly.
“I refuse,” Oh Giheun declared.
“I don’t understand. Why do couriers stake their lives on their cargo?” the assassin sneered.
“We’re not couriers! We’re disciples of the Hyungsan Sect!” Oh Giheun shouted, suppressing his anger.
The assassin laughed mockingly.
“That’s what I mean. Even if you’re from a fallen sect, why play the courier?” The assassins had known all along they were Hyungsan disciples.
“You bastards…” Oh Giheun growled, gripping his sword.
The lead assassin clicked his tongue.
“Typical orthodox sect fools, clinging to pride over life, only to die like dogs.” He turned to his men. “They won’t listen. Finish them quickly, and let’s move.”
Shing.
The assassins drew their poisoned blades, the acrid smell confirming the venom.
“Disciples, draw your swords and fight!” Oh Giheun roared.
The first to respond was Myeong Un, his sword flashing with precision, striking the vital points near an assassin’s shoulder.
“Gah!” Myeong Un disabled an assassin’s arm in one strike, surprising the others.
“Kill that young one first!” the lead assassin shouted.
Hong Jeongun raised his sword and yelled, “Protect Myeong Un!”
Clang! Clang!
The forest rang with the clash of weapons. Myeong Un cut down three assassins, but his fellow disciples struggled, staggering under the onslaught.
“Brothers, hold on!” Myeong Un shouted, swinging his longsword, but it was futile.
The outcome was already decided.
“Argh!” One by one, his brothers fell, struck in non-lethal areas like legs and arms, collapsing in agony.
“Ugh…” A low moan of despair echoed.
Of the nine Hyungsan disciples, only Myeong Un remained standing, sword in hand.
“Haa… Haa…” The lead assassin tilted his head, observing Myeong Un’s labored breathing.
“Strange. The younger one’s stronger than the older ones?” Another assassin laughed.
“What, does your Hyungsan Sect stop training as you age? Haha!” Myeong Un wanted to retort, but he lacked the strength to speak.
‘It’s all my fault.’ Regret surged within him. If he’d trained harder, if he’d escaped his despair sooner…
He could’ve defeated these ruthless assassins and saved his brothers.
‘But…’
Thud.
Myeong Un dropped his sword, his head hanging low. Regret always comes too late. He had no strength left to even lift a finger. No amount of struggle would change the outcome.
“Pity. You’ve got some talent,” the assassin said, clicking his tongue as he raised his poisoned blade. “Loose ends must be cut. We can let the others live, but this one dies.”
Slash!
As the poisoned blade swung toward Myeong Un’s neck—
Clang!
A loud crash rang out as the blade was knocked back by something.
‘What?’ The lead assassin’s eyes widened as he looked down.
A small stone had fallen to the ground.
‘A master!’ Someone had infused the stone with such powerful inner energy that it struck like a steel ball.
“Who’s there?!” the assassin shouted.
A gust of wind swept through. It was the movement of a master, perfectly concealing their presence.
Swish.
Black mist rose from the ground, coalescing into a human form. A faint shadow appeared before the assassin like a ghost.
Clad in black night attire with a mask covering their face, they carried two swords—one at the waist, one on the back. Despite their appearance, they exuded the aura of an orthodox martial artist, not an assassin.
It was Bu Eunseol.
