The one who assaulted Gu-sam was a ruffian named Jang Ho-dal.
“Wha-what? That man is our boy’s uncle? Heavens, no. I have no such younger brother. What nonsense is this…”
The cloth shop owner, startled, waved his hands in denial. I wondered if he was trying to back out of it now, but after hearing him out, that wasn't the case. The cloth shop owner's surname was Bang.
Jang Ho-dal was a street thug who would occasionally show up, pick a fight claiming the clothes he bought here were defective, and extort a bit of money. He was neither family nor a friend. Jang Ho-dal couldn't extort money openly.
This was because the cloth shop, like most shops in the bustling Western Village that weren't under the protection of the Dragon Sky Escort Agency, paid a monthly tribute to the Black Night Gang. No one likes it when an outsider sticks a spoon in their rice bowl. This was even more true for those on the dark path.
Jang Ho-dal didn't have the guts to get on the wrong side of the Black Night Gang and end up as a corpse with a knife in his back while taking a piss in a back alley of the Western Village's entertainment district.
So, he could only lick his lips and bide his time, until he stumbled upon an unexpected opportunity. Hearing that the cloth shop's eldest son had come home beaten, he stepped forward, offering to get revenge on his behalf.
It was no use telling him it was fine, or trying to stop him by saying it was just a children's squabble. Jang Ho-dal rushed to the Wind River Inn like a hawk and beat Gu-sam to a pulp. Then he returned to the cloth shop and demanded silver taels for his troubles.
After extorting the money, Jang Ho-dal swaggered around as if he were a savior. I could guarantee that types like him never stop at just once. From now on, whenever the mood struck him, he would show up at the cloth shop and hold out his hand like a debt collector.
The cloth shop owner seemed to know this as well, seeing how readily he gave me the man’s name and the gambling den he frequented. He didn't seem to be lying. I would know for sure when I met him.
As I stepped back from under the eaves, the cloth shop owner called out to me urgently.
“Excuse me, Hero…”
When I turned back, he looked around furtively and asked cautiously.
“That boy, Gu-sam, is he badly hurt?”
In the dim lantern light, his rain-soaked face and careful voice were filled with genuine worry. I stared at him for a moment before turning and walking back into the rain without a word. The back alley that Gu-sam had once led me through was dark and desolate.
The rain, which had grown heavier, obscured my vision, but finding the gambling den was easy. Among the lit-up places, it was the only large building with burly men wearing swords guarding it. Even on a rainy night, it was incredibly noisy.
I scanned the various taverns with their doors open, then entered one at a decent distance. The small tavern had no empty seats. The faces of those sitting idly, nursing their drinks, were all thuggish or menacing.
They were the common criminals of the martial world, the sort who would probably have a mask tucked away in their clothes. Several of them reeked of blood. At a window with a clear view of the gambling den, a middle-aged martial artist sat alone, glaring at his empty cup.
At a glance, he seemed lost in deep thought, but it also looked like he wanted another drink but had no money.
“May I join you?”
The middle-aged man lifted his head. His gaze as he looked up at me was slightly unfocused. It wasn't because he was drunk.
His eyes quickly sharpened, glinting with a keen light. He wasn't drunk at all. It seemed he had been gazing at a distant place to which he could never return.
It was, after all, the perfect kind of night for ruminating on a bitter past. Restless and gloomy. Before the man could reach for the long sword propped up beside him, I quickly added, “There are no other seats.
I'll buy you a drink in return.” Gazing down at his empty cup, he nodded.
“Very well.”
I took off my bamboo hat and oilskin cloak and set them aside. I also unfastened my long blade and called the waiter to order some decent liquor and side dishes. As I picked up the liquor bottle, an idiot looking to sponge off us approached, swallowing his saliva.
The middle-aged man glared and growled.
“Get lost.”
The idiot flinched at the dense murderous intent and retreated. I had lived by the sword for a long time myself, but this man before me also seemed to have clung to life by bathing in the blood of others; his aura was deadly. And yet, his features were not particularly harsh.
There was no hint of maliciousness or cunning. Occasionally, you find swordsmen like this. Dignified murderers who, by some twist of fate, fell into this life but seem fundamentally different from the street thugs.
Still, he was just another martial artist who would draw his sword if things went wrong. A blade doesn't hurt any less just because the one who stabs you asks for your permission politely. I mentally pictured how I would fight him if we clashed.
I had just met this swordsman today. I had no thought or reason to fight him, but one might arise someday. It had happened a few times before.
I had shared a table with someone by chance and gotten quite friendly, only to have to kill each other a short time later. To stay as far away as possible from the King of the Underworld, one must always consider the slightest possibility and prepare for it.
Hell is a place I will go to someday, but there is no good in rushing. Whether he was truly short on wine or not, the middle-aged man downed a cup without hesitation. As I refilled his empty cup, he finally gave an awkward smile.
“Here I am, drinking without even exchanging names. I am called Won Seo-gang.”
“My surname is Jeong.”
“So you are Great Hero Jeong. On your way back from somewhere pleasant on such a dreary day?”
“Perhaps.”
I trailed off, my gaze drifting to the window. In the pitch-black darkness, the gambling den flourished as if it would never be extinguished. Won Seo-gang chuckled as if he understood.
“Here to play tiles?”
“Is that the gambling den?”
“They say it’s the biggest gambling den in the Western Village. Since it’s run by the Black Night Gang, you don’t have to worry about not being able to take your winnings.”
“Are there gambling dens where you can’t take your winnings? The problem is what happens after you step outside.”
Following my gaze around the room, Won Seo-gang let out a dry laugh.
“Heh heh, that’s true as well.”
The criminals gathered here were likely not all here just to drink idly. Their dark intentions were obvious from the way they took seats with a clear view of the gambling den. No matter how hard they try to hide it, a person who has just won money has it written all over their face.
Quietly following them, stabbing them in the back, and stealing their pouch is a common occurrence in any city in the Central Plains. A rainy night like tonight was perfect for hiding one's tracks. The burly men only kept order inside the gambling den; they couldn't care less about what happened outside.
In this world, there is no easier way to earn someone’s grudge than by winning money at a gambling den. The losers might follow you with weapons, and if the sum is large, the gambling den itself might hire assassins. It was the same at the last table I ever sat at.
I had shared my winnings generously, but before I even left the alley, I was surrounded, front and back, by bastards with knives. I didn't want to cause that kind of trouble, not even in my hometown. That was why I was waiting outside instead of going in.
Just watching from here made my fingers itch instinctively. If I got swept up in the atmosphere of life’s losers, their eyes bloodshot with fervor, I might get the urge to teach them a lesson and ruin my plans. Fiddling with my cup instead of the tiles, I waited for a long time.
A worker wearing a straw raincoat passed in front of the tavern, pulling a cart. Wondering what he was doing in this weather, I watched as the cart stopped in front of the gambling den. A burly guard at the entrance gestured, and the worker pushed back his bamboo hat.
A gloomy face was revealed in the light. Where had I seen him? I narrowed my eyes, trying to remember.
It was in the mountains on my first day home. He was the man who had been surrounded by villains with swords, trembling as he dug what was to be his own grave. Seeing that he was still alive and well, the grave-digging in the mountains must have just been a threat after all.
The man carried a few wine jars into the gambling den, then pulled his cart and disappeared down the alley. I wondered who he was. I was sure I had seen him when I was young, but I couldn't remember at all.
My thoughts didn't linger for long. Someone came out of the gambling den. This time, it was another familiar face.
He reached out a hand to check the downpour, then scowled and spat a curse. Taking the broadsword he had left with the guards, he strapped it to his waist and walked off into the rain toward the other end of the alley.
“I must be going.”
I drained my cup and stood up. I fastened the long blade to my waist, put on my oilskin cloak, and donned my bamboo hat.
“There’s still wine left.”
“Drink your fill.”
“Next time, the drinks are on me.”
“Very well.”
I had paid when the drinks arrived, so Won Seo-gang did not stop me. As I stepped out into the night street, which was like the belly of a whale, heavy raindrops battered my entire body. Though it was late spring, not far from summer, the air was cold enough to feel a chill.
The warmth from the liquor in my body began to fade, leaving me with a shiver. Rain like this slowly saps your body heat and stamina, even with an oilskin cloak. I had to finish this quickly and go back.
I glanced behind and around me as I quickened my pace. The loud patter of the rain conveniently muffled my footsteps. Keeping my eyes on Jang Ho-dal’s back as he walked, avoiding the puddles, I recalled the information I had heard from the innkeeper.
The innkeeper hadn't given me a lengthy description of Jang Ho-dal. He had only said that the Hero would know his face. He was the bandit-like ruffian who had tried to pick a fight with me at the inn on my first day home, the one who had crumpled after I struck him in the solar plexus.
That man was Jang Ho-dal. According to the cloth shop owner, he had been bragging that he would be joining the Black Night Gang soon. The Black Night Gang did not accept just anyone as a member.
For a dark path organization, they charged a hefty entry fee of two silver taels. In return, once you were a member of the Black Night Gang, you didn't have to worry about your livelihood. You wouldn't get beaten up, either.
Jang Ho-dal often boasted that once he was part of the Black Night Gang, there were more than a few people he would teach a lesson to. But this time, it seemed he was serious about joining, because he was desperately trying to get money together.
That was why he had stooped so low as to get involved in a children’s fight. From what I heard, it had something to do with me. After the thorough beating at the inn, he had been running around, his eyes red with rage, vowing to tear me to shreds.
What would happen if that man entered the fold of the Black Night Gang? He would use the killers of the Black Night Gang to find out where I lived. Perhaps he already knew.
If I had stabbed him in the solar plexus with the blade instead of the scabbard back then, none of this would have happened. My reluctance to see blood on my first day home had caused trouble for so many people, and now it had come full circle to put a knife to my own back.
Even if it wasn't for Gu-sam, I had to kill that man. To prevent my precious home from being stained with filthy blood and to avoid a clash with the Black Night Gang. Just breaking one of his legs and crippling him would be worse than not touching him at all.
I will kill him.
Here.
Jang Ho-dal turned into a left alley at a spot where the Black Night Gang's headquarters was visible in the distance. It was a path that led to a slum area crowded with shabby wooden shacks. Following him in, I drew my long blade and dashed forward.
The distance closed in an instant. Finally sensing my presence, Jang Ho-dal turned around. His eyes widened in shock as he drew his broadsword.
Clang!
He somehow managed to block the strike aimed at his face, but that was my intended move. Using the rebound, I spun my long blade in a circle above my head. At the same time, I used my footwork to move to the left and slashed diagonally across his exposed left torso.
Splurt!
A foul-smelling spray of fresh blood erupted from the wound that split him open from chest to belly in a single breath. Splattered with blood on my bamboo hat and oilskin cloak, I took a few steps back. No further attack was necessary.
The sensation of the blade's tip as it cut through muscle and bone told me the blow was more than lethal. Jang Ho-dal made a gurgling sound in his throat and collapsed. He didn’t die instantly.
He coughed futilely in the cold rainwater, dying quickly as blood poured from his body. Even a great immortal would not have been able to save him. I stood in the rain with my long blade lowered, watching.
I could have ended it in an instant, but I didn't want to lessen his suffering. Watching the wicked man struggle and die in pain and terror, I felt like an envoy of the underworld. The desperate coughing, which had persisted stubbornly, faded away.
Soon, his breathing stopped too.
Swoooosh!!
The sound of the rain swelled to fill the silence. I didn't know if this paid for all the sins he had committed in his life, but he would not be able to sin anymore. I placed my blade against his neck and pushed his shoulder with my foot.
He had died with his eyes wide open. I wiped the blood from my long blade on his clothes, where the rain had washed it clean, and sheathed it. Kneeling on one knee, I searched his clothes.
His expression when leaving the gambling den hadn't been good, and just as I expected, his pouch was light. From behind, I heard the urgent sound of footsteps splashing in a puddle. I quickly retreated into a side alley and hid myself in the darkness.
A faint moonlight peeking through the dark clouds revealed the forms of two thugs running with swords in hand. Whether they had followed him from the gambling den or came from the tavern, their purpose was the same.
“Fucking hell, someone already got to him?”
“I told you we should have hurried!”
“Do you know how vicious this bastard is? You think the two of us could have taken him?”
“Shit, if I’d known it would turn out like this, I should’ve just killed him back then…”
“Didn’t you say we should just lay low until he joined the Black Night Gang?”
“That’s because the bastard boasted that he knew a big brother in the Black Night Gang every time he opened his mouth. He said all he needed was the entry fee.” …
“And you believed that?”
“You didn’t?”
Their voices were unfamiliar, but I had seen their faces before. They were part of the same group that had been drinking with Jang Ho-dal at the Wind River Inn on my first day home. The two of them had helped the collapsed Jang Ho-dal escape after I struck him in the solar plexus.
I thought they had some sense of loyalty back then, but were they actually just waiting for an opportunity?
“Damn it all… Just strip him.”
The two idiots lacked both the skill and the courage to be killer bandits. Still, reluctant to leave empty-handed, they stripped the clothes off the corpse. Taking his undergarments, shoes, and even his broadsword, they fled into the rain.
Jang Ho-dal was left sprawled out, naked as the day he came into this world. The blood flowing from his body spread out like a long umbilical cord, blurring in the rainwater, creating a bizarre sight like a stillborn fetus.
Upon the fruitless naked body, which had grown much larger and committed many more sins than when it was a helpless baby, the fierce rain poured down relentlessly, as if delivering a whipping. The path home, taking a detour through the alleyways, was long and dark like a maze. It was the first murder I had committed since returning home.
I felt no regret or guilt. I just felt dirty. When I first became a martial artist, I used to regret killing people.
At some point, I started to regret letting them live more often. There were too many bastards in the world who deserved to die, and those bastards never forgot a grudge once they held one. I am one of those martial artists.
A bastard who deserves to die, and one who does not forget a grudge. Today, I was the one who killed, but someday, I will be the one who is killed. I had only been gone for a couple of hours, but my house felt as unfamiliar and desolate as if it had been abandoned long ago.
I washed the oilskin cloak and bamboo hat and hung them on the eaves, then tossed my long blade into the room. Even with the rain pouring down, the scent of blood still lingered at the tip of my nose. I stripped off all my clothes and went out into the yard.
The thick, pouring rain lashed fiercely against my face and body. Shivering from the chill that pierced my bones, I washed my hair, face, and body with the rainwater. I lit a fire in the brazier to warm the room, then warmed my body with hot tea before crawling into my blankets.
My dreams were unsettling, but I didn't have any nightmares. When I opened my eyes the next day, my body felt heavy. My head was hot, and I kept coughing.
I had a cold. * The rain stopped two days later. Gu-sam opened his eyes around the same time.
Whether it was his strong will to live or the skill of Physician Sang, he was up on his feet that very same day. A month later, the splint holding his left arm in place was removed. He wasn't well enough to deliver food, so I went to the inn for my meals every evening.
Even after cheating death, Gu-sam was still as cheerful and talkative as ever. I was relieved. But not everything was the same.
When I was eating at the inn, the neighborhood kids would flock in, looking for Gu-sam. They weren't there to fight, but to see their boss. Gu-sam had become the new boss of the alley in the Western Village.
The former boss of the alley, the cloth shop owner's son, Bang Hojin, was condemned as a coward who not only lost a fight but also tattled to the adults. The world of children has its rules too. Especially among boys for whom fighting was a daily affair, a tattletale was not even treated as a human being.
An adult getting involved in kids' affairs was an unforgivable foul, even worse than throwing dirt in someone’s eyes or brandishing a weapon. It was vaguely similar to the principle of non-interference between the authorities and the martial world, but the children's version was much stricter.
The idea that the authorities would not interfere in the affairs of the martial world simply meant they didn't care if martial artists killed each other. In reality, not only major sects like Wudang or Shaolin, but also the Five Great Families and even smaller factions, were all connected to the authorities in some way.
They continuously sent their lay disciples into the government or the military and sometimes secretly received help from the authorities to check or eliminate rival sects. In the world of children, there were no exceptions. Bang Hojin knew this well.
Though it was unintentional, the result was that he had tattled, and Gu-sam had nearly died. Everyone glared at him with contemptuous, dagger-like eyes. The one who saved Bang Hojin, who couldn't even lift his head, was Gu-sam.
He cleared Bang Hojin’s name, explaining that he wasn't a vile tattletale and resolving the misunderstanding. Moved, Bang Hojin wiped his welling tears with his sleeve, pledged his loyalty, and declared himself the boss’s right-hand man. Food deliveries started again.
I opened the door to a loud banging and found Gu-sam smiling brightly. Standing behind him, Bang Hojin bowed his head.
“You came together?”
“Yes. Hero, may I teach my right-hand man some fighting techniques?”
“Hmm. Do as you wish.”
While I ate, Gu-sam taught Bang Hojin footwork and fist and foot techniques in the yard.
“No Credit! Drunken Truth! Life is Fleeting!”
At first, he taught what he had learned, but later he began to make up his own names for the forms, moving his body in all sorts of strange postures. And Bang Hojin, with a solemn expression, followed along, sweating profusely, as if it were a secret manual of some world-shaking divine art.
It was so absurd that I stopped making my pinwheel to watch them, and a strange feeling came over me. Perhaps this was what the loyalty of the martial world, something I had never felt before, looked like. I put down my carving knife and looked up at the sky.
It was a brilliant blue. The branches of the trees were lush and vibrant with green. Listening to the nonsensical forms that Gu-sam was spouting, I closed my eyes.
A gentle breeze softly caressed my face. It was a calm and peaceful early summer.