When the middle-aged man who had taken over Jang Tae’s house fell silent, Jeon-sang’s face contorted.
“Hey, stop darting your eyes around and speak straight! Where is Jang Tae? Where is he?”
Deciding words were not enough, he grabbed the man by the collar, shook him violently, and pressed him fiercely. From the time he left the Black Night Gang until now, Jeon-sang had always acted like a gentleman, polite and courteous. Perhaps his direct superior, Bok Ha-gyu, had ordered him to serve with the utmost respect.
Everyone in our party was a master far stronger than him, so there was no reason for his pride to be hurt. Tang Hye-seo was a woman, but she was an acquaintance of Gwang-hyo and me, and a member of the Tang Clan, whose infamy was known throughout the world.
If he so much as rubbed her the wrong way, he might find himself drinking poisoned tea at any moment. Seeing only his affable side until now, I had forgotten. Jeon-sang was also a man of the dark path, a martial artist who had cut his teeth in the Black Night Gang.
Only then, terrified, did the middle-aged man’s mouth open.
“He’s… he’s alive.”
The news about Jang Tae he wanted to hear came out, but Jeon-sang’s expression grew even more menacing.