Chapter 17: Reunion

A long time ago—

Back in the feudal era of ancient Central Plain, a saying has been passed down:

“The dead tell no tales.”

And why not? It’s not wrong, is it?

If the dead could speak, wouldn’t they be zombies rather than people?

No, even zombies usually can’t speak properly— that’s common knowledge.

Perhaps that’s why.

The ancient Central Plain’s ancestors, blessed with miraculous wisdom, devised an ultimate technique to keep their secrets safe.

That technique was none other than—”Kill them all, leave no witnesses.”

Worried that someone might sell the location of your tomb to grave robbers?

No problem! Just kill everyone involved!

Quick and easy.

No prior knowledge required.

The chance of exposure? Zero.

Ah, what a brilliant method!

The very essence of assassination!

No need for blood oaths, no need to send spies to dig up information, no need to tremble in fear of betrayal.

This was ancient Central Plain— no CCTV, no forensic science.

Just kill them all, and the only thing left will be corpses. 

Everything else will vanish into the abyss.

“We have no choice but to silence them all.”

Only then did Jeom Soi belatedly realize that the situation had spiraled beyond expectations.

That bastard Cheongun— his martial arts, the aura of his internal energy— there was no doubt he was a righteous martial artist from an orthodox sect.

But “kill them all”?

And the way he said it without hesitation, as if it were nothing, suggested he had done this more than once or twice.

At that moment, Cheongun stomped his right foot, channeling his full energy into the ground.

Boom!

Wooden splinters and stone fragments erupted violently from the floor.

The foundation of all swordplay lies in one’s center of gravity.

But when the ground beneath their feet exploded, the enemies’ movements faltered for just an instant—creating an opening.

Whoosh—!

In a flash, Cheongun’s figure vanished, leaving behind an afterimage.

Slash! Stab! Crunch!

As if teleporting, he reappeared without a trace, cutting and piercing shoulders, shins, ribs, ankles, and backs.

And true to his word of leaving no witnesses, he swung his sword with the intent to kill every last one of them.

With each swing, crimson sword energy burst forth like flames, slicing through the assassins as if they were blocks of tofu.

How is this even possible?

Just how much internal energy does this bastard have to unleash sword energy like it’s nothing?!

Gaaahhh!

Chaos erupted in an instant.

Screams and the sound of flesh being cleaved tangled together, while blood splattered in all directions, soaking the walls and floor, filling the air with the metallic stench of gore.

Amid the carnage, Namgung Yul struck at every opening, and Cheongun— never one to miss a chance— rushed in to deliver the finishing blows.

It was a flawless combination.

When Jeom Soi was staring blankly, blinking his eyes, all six of the men he had hired were already corpses rolling on the floor.

There was no greater mess than this.

Cheongun flicked the blood off his sword and spoke to Jeom Soi.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“P-please spare me!”

Jeom Soi immediately slammed his head against the floor.

Naturally, there was no mercy in return.

Instead, they sneered at him as if to say he’d walked right into this.

That look in their eyes— no matter how much he appealed to their pity, they weren’t the type to change their minds.

Jeom Soi’s head whipped around.

In his line of sight was Namgung Yul, standing beside Cheongun, shaking the blood off her sword.

Her skin was milky white and smooth, her refined attire clearly marked her as someone raised in luxury, and her eyes gleamed with profound mystery.

At a glance, he was clearly the young master of some noble family.

Women— no, people like her— were supposed to be more susceptible to pity than men!

Jeom Soi slammed his head against the floor again.

His forehead split open, blood trickling down.

“Young master, please spare me…”

Jeom Soi kept his head pressed to the ground, rubbing his hands together like a fly.

Most of those affiliated with the Haomen Clan were like this.

They had no real talent to speak of, yet their vanity was boundless. 

Unable to survive on their own, they formed organizations to flaunt their collective strength and live arrogantly.

That was why their own lives were so precious to them.

There was no such thing as loyalty to the group.

“Please, show me just a little mercy… I have elderly parents and young siblings to feed…”

Namgung Yul’s eyes narrowed.

“A reason.”

“Huh?”

“Give me a reason. A reason why we should spare you. If you can recall any good deeds you’ve done, tell me. I’ll consider it.”

“……”

How could there be any?

Even if he tried to make something up, his mind went blank.

“There isn’t one, is there? Of course not. People who’d kill their own parents for money— what good deeds could they have done?”

Damn it.

Jeom Soi turned his head again to look at Cheongun.

Then he grinned foolishly.

“Hehe, give me a chance.”

“Should I?”

“Damn it.”

Squelch!

The blade pierced straight through Jeom Soi’s throat.

As Cheongun twisted and pulled out the sword, blood gushed out like a fountain, and the man’s body crumpled to the ground.

“…Tch.”

Cheongun clicked his tongue.

His appetite was ruined in the middle of his meal.

With a swift motion, he sheathed his sword and walked toward the entrance of the tavern.

****

Sichuan Province.

Saint.

Bathed in the harsh afternoon sunlight, a boy and a woman entered the bustling streets.

Both were draped in loose robes that covered their entire bodies.

Cheongun and Namgung Yul had scavenged through an inn to find coats likely worn by wandering swordsmen, using them to conceal the bloodstains covering their bodies.

Inside the city walls, the scent of human activity was overwhelming.

The smells of food, grilled meat, and alcohol mingled in the air, stinging their noses.

Beyond that, merchants haggling, pedestrians bargaining, and the clatter of horse-drawn carriages blended into the chaotic scene.

Amid the bustling crowd, Cheongun muttered:

“It’s already hot enough— this is suffocating.”

“Still, we can’t wander around covered in blood. It’s not like we’re advertising that we just caused trouble.”

“Fair enough. But why did you follow me, Yul? I could’ve handled the battlefield alone.”

“There’s a bit of a connection to the battlefield we’re heading to. I thought I’d pay my respects to the owner.”

“So it’s not just because you were bored and wanted to tag along?”

“That too.”

“Thought so.”

Cheongun didn’t seem particularly displeased.

He knew the name of the battlefield and its location, but he had no confidence in finding his way there without getting lost.

This world was both a game world and reality.

Compared to when he was playing the game, the scale of the field itself was entirely different.

After all, no matter how vast a game’s open world aspires to be, it can’t compare to reality.

In a game, travel is as simple as clicking a mouse for the player’s convenience.

Because of this, Cheongun had no detailed knowledge of Saint’s layout.

What discrepancies might exist between the actual game and this reality?

What terrain and objects might fill every corner?

There was no way to know, so Namgung Yul’s company was, in many ways, a welcome convenience.

“This way.”

At her words, Cheongun looked up.

A wooden sign engraved with “Manryong Money Exchange” came into view.

The two pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.

“Welcome. I am Oh Myeong-seong, the owner of the Manryong Money Exchange.”

A man inside greeted them politely.

“Before you enter, could you remove your coats for identification?”

Cheongun and Namgung Yul took off their robes.

Despite their blood-soaked attire, the owner showed no particular reaction— a master of composure.

Then, the owner’s gaze locked onto Namgung Yul, and his eyes widened.

“Why, if it isn’t Lady Namgung! To what do we owe this visit?”

“It’s been a while. I suppose I should’ve given notice before dropping in.”

“Not at all. A valued client like Lady Namgung is always welcome at the Manryong Money Exchange. Please, have a seat.”

The owner pulled out a chair.

And Cheongun promptly sat down.

“…And this young man?”

“He’s a guest.”

“Customer?”

Jang Joo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

His face clearly showed suspicion.

Before he could utter a word about strict identity verification or anything of the sort, Cheongun swiftly pulled out a silk pouch from his waist and placed it in front of Jang Joo.

After a moment, Jang Joo glanced sideways at Cheongun, then deftly untied the pouch with practiced fingers to examine its contents.

It was a gold yuanbao.

Yet, Jang Joo remained expressionless, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, merely verifying the gold. 

Then, Cheongun slid another case toward him.

“!!!”

The moment Jang Joo opened it, his face twisted in shock.

Having spent his entire life handling money and treasures, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize this. 

His eyes widened instantly, and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Where did you get such a priceless treasure?”

“I received it.”

From whom?

Jang Joo swallowed the question rising in his throat.

Who gave it to whom wasn’t important.

What mattered was that a customer carrying such a treasure was standing right before him.

“It needs an appraisal.”

“Understood.”

“If you give us some time, we’ll send someone to deliver the results.”

“Do as you see fit.”

Then, Jang Joo abruptly turned his head.

“Lady Namgung, may we register your name as the guarantor?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Soon after, Jang Joo pulled out a box and unfolded a silk cloth.

He placed the golden plum on it, examined it meticulously from all angles, then swiftly wrote a few lines on a bamboo ledger with a brush.

Then, he showed it to Cheongun.

“If it’s genuine, this is roughly its value.”

“That’s accurate.”

“Shall I issue a full receipt?”

“Can I leave it here for now?”

“Certainly. At any branch of the Manryong Trading House, you can withdraw it anytime, anywhere.”

The Manryong Trading House was the largest trading house in the Central Plains.

Moreover, its backers had close ties to the imperial family, so even the unruliest of rogue factions wouldn’t dare cause trouble there.

There was no risk of fraud in such an establishment.

Cheongun nodded and rose from his seat.

“It’s an honor to serve such a distinguished guest. Please visit us anytime you need assistance. The doors of the Manryong Trading House are always open.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After exchanging pleasantries, he stepped out toward the entrance.

But then, he spotted a man who looked like a bandit approaching, grinning widely with bulging pouches in his arms.

The man stopped abruptly in front of Cheongun, who stood motionless.

Then, in an irritated voice, he spat out:

“The hell, not gonna move? What kinda brat blocks the way like this? Tch. And what’s this? Why is this gloomy bastard standing around like a damn wall?”

Without hesitation, the man yanked off the cloak draped over Cheongun’s shoulders.

Then, their eyes met.

Cheongun’s face was smeared with blood.

“!!!”

The moment he saw Cheongun, the man’s face turned deathly pale.

At that moment,

Namgung Yul whispered to Cheongun:

“That’s the guy. The one who boasted about being from the Blood Edge Pavilion or whatever.”

Ah, now he remembered.

The guy who’d demanded his seat at the inn while he was eating.

What was his name again?

Jin Cheonwoo, was it?

“M-my apologies. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Blood Edge Pavilion. Jin Cheonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know that man.”

“What was his nickname again? Black Blade or something?”

“Damn it, it’s Black Death Blade! Gah!”

Yep.

That’s the guy.