Where My Sword Points (3)

"Please reconsider, Lord Bangju. If we truly attack the Byeok clan's martial sect, it will surely provoke public outrage among the martial world."

The one earnestly pleading was Jeong Yeo, the Vice Lord of the Yang Armory.

He had only learned of what was happening far too late.

"Public outrage? Did you just say public outrage?"

"My lord…"

"My son nearly died. And you're bringing up that? Who exactly do you think will be outraged?"

"Young Master Yang…"

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence—that Yang Gongja had deserved what he got.

He also couldn't utter the words that you can't hide the sky with your palm.

Yang Gicheol shot him a glare sharp enough to kill.

"Please reconsider."

"Tch tch. You're such a spineless worm."

"My lord!"

Jeong Yeo never thought of himself as a man of honor.

He wasn't exactly a righteous warrior, nor was he entirely a villain—perhaps somewhere in between, a man comfortably steeped in worldly compromise.

No, if he was being honest, he leaned more toward evil. He'd turned a blind eye more than once to the Lord's atrocities.

But evil had its degrees.

And no matter how he looked at it, this went too far.

Who in their right mind would think of hiring vagabond warriors to wipe out an entire martial clan just because their son got beaten up?

"Please, I beg you to reconsider."

At that moment, another man in the room finally spoke.

He was none other than Hyeolgyeon—the man Yang Gicheol had summoned.

And who was Hyeolgyeon?

He could be summed up in one line:

A man who would kill his own parents and children for the right price.

Some even suspected that the wife and children he claimed had died early on were sold off for money.

That's how far his reputation went.

However, whenever there was a job that required discreet handling, Yang Gicheol always called upon Hyeolgyeon. When it came to getting things done, his efficiency was as dependable as his greed was vast.

—"You'll have to pay me more. I looked into it, and the leader of that clan has a stellar reputation."

—"Since when do you care about the reputation of the ones you kill?"

—"Guess it comes with age. Maybe I'm finally maturing."

—"How much more are you asking for?"

—"At least twenty thousand nyang."

—"You're not maturing—you're just getting greedier."

—"Just give me a yes or no. We're not exactly in the habit of exchanging jokes, are we?"

In the end, Yang Gicheol agreed to pay him twice the originally discussed amount—twenty thousand nyang.

In return, Hyeolgyeon promised to provide a scapegoat to take the fall for the massacre. He would use some nameless vagabond to frame the entire incident as an act of personal revenge: that the vagabond and his group had wiped out the Byeok clan in retaliation for a woman being violated.

He planned to pin the whole thing on Byeok Lidan, claiming that he had assaulted a woman, and that the woman's lover—a wandering warrior—had sought revenge by killing everyone.

To complete the lie, the avenging vagabond would supposedly have taken his own life at the scene.

And for that narrative to hold, they were already spreading rumors that Byeok Lidan had assaulted a woman.

Overnight, the Byeok clan would become a wretched sect deserving of annihilation, while Yang Gigang would emerge as a chivalrous hero who was injured trying to stop the atrocity.

That's the power of money.

Everything had gone smoothly—until the very last moment, when Deputy Leader Jeong Yeo discovered the plan. The operation had been carried out behind his back precisely because it was certain he would try to stop it.

Listening in, Hyeolgyeon casually threw in a comment.

"Why the act? You don't exactly look like the righteous type."

Jeong Yeo frowned, glaring at him.

"This isn't any of your business."

A tense silence filled the room, the air between them heavy with unease.

Hyeolgyeon smirked, easing the tension—not because he was intimidated, but more as if to say, "You're not even worth the trouble."

"Stiff, aren't we."

Then he turned to Yang Gicheol and spoke with an air of warning.

"This kind of job should be done swiftly and cleanly. As you know, ronin have no sense of loyalty. Delay too long, and secrets start to leak. If you don't give a clear decision now, I'll disband the group immediately. Of course, you won't be getting the deposit back."

"There's no need for that," Yang Gicheol replied firmly. "Everything will proceed as planned."

After driving in his final nail, Yang Gicheol turned to persuade Jeong Yeo.

"Though the Byeok clan may have declined, their influence still extends across many regions. If we seize those areas, our sect's power will double."

If things went as planned, they stood to gain hundreds of thousands of nyang in the long run. Compared to that, twenty thousand nyang was pocket change.

"The reason the Byeok clan holds such sway in the Shandong region is because the warriors there deeply trust Clan Leader Byeok," Jeong Yeo said.

At that, Yang Gicheol's expression soured.

"Are you implying that my character falls short of his?"

"That's not what I meant, sir."

"Trust? Such nonsense doesn't exist in the martial world. There are only two things here—strength and weakness. The strong rule, and the weak are ruled. The strong survive. The weak die."

Jeong Yeo remained silent. He had always known his master was ambitious—but he hadn't realized the extent of his grotesque greed until now.

"If you truly go through with this attack on the Byeok clan, I can no longer serve under you."

That was his final stand.

He had been with the Yang clan for twenty years, enduring countless hardships together. One thing was certain: without him, Yangsobang would never have grown this powerful.

He thought that if he opposed the plan this strongly, Yang Gicheol would eventually give in with a reluctant sigh.

But Yang Gicheol's response was utterly merciless.

"How dare you set conditions before me? Get the hell out before I beat you to death right here and now."

Jeong Yeo felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Before I beat you to death…?

He'd never heard such harsh words in his life. A wave of bitterness surged through him like a storm.

What on earth… what have I been doing with my life until now?

Rather than hatred for Yang Gicheol, it was rage toward his own foolishness that consumed him.

Fearing he might start crying if he stayed any longer, Jeong Yeo rose from his seat.

"Stay put and reflect until I call for you again!"

He left the room without a word.

From behind, he could hear the cackling laughter of Hyeolgyeon.

"No one should be left walking out of the Byeok Clan's gates that day."

"Don't worry. Not only those with the surname Byeok—I'll wipe out even the dogs they raised."

Just before the door shut, Jeong Yeo caught that chilling exchange.

His fists clenched tightly.

He wanted nothing more than to storm back in there and beat those two bastards to death.

Then he would die.

That was the limit of the morality and strength he could muster as a human being.

But even so, he had no intention of staying in this place that had now lost all meaning to him.

Once this incident was over, Yang Gicheol would no doubt try to coax him back with sweet words.

He would leave before that happened.

If he stayed, he'd only be discarded in a far more wretched manner later.

"Damn it… I really wanted to build Yang So Bang into the greatest clan under heaven."

He trudged along, weighed down by the sorrow of leaving the place he had devoted his entire life to—when suddenly, an unshakable sense of discomfort crept over him.

Lifting his head, he saw a young man sitting casually on the roof.

The blood dripping from the sword he held contrasted sharply with the bright blue sky behind him.

"Who are you?"

"Who else could it be?. It was me."

Reflexively, Jeong Yeo reached for his sword.

"You really going to act like a fool right to the end?"

At my words, he flinched and froze mid-motion.

"You really want the last moment of your life to be dying for trash like him?"

A heavy silence weighed down between us like a suffocating fog.

I was overwhelming Jeong Yeo with sheer presence.

He didn't recognize me.

Well, even if he had seen me once or twice before, it would've been impossible to associate the eyes and aura I had now with the infamous scoundrel of the Byeok clan.

"Did you enter the murim world just to serve men like that?"

I could sense the wavering in his eyes. His heart was shaken.

I leapt down in one smooth motion.

Startled, Jeong Yeo blinked at the agility of my movement.

There are feats of physical skill one can display even aside from inner power—and I had shown him the essence of my footwork on purpose.

And Jeong Yeo had the skill to recognize it for what it was.

His eyes flicked toward the manor's entrance—

The guards stationed there sat slumped against the wall, their heads lowered.

"Are they dead?"

I shook my head.

Their pressure points had simply been struck—rendering them unconscious.

"Wait here. This is the moment your life changes."

Without waiting for his reply, I opened the door and stepped inside.

He was likely wrestling with all sorts of thoughts now, but in the end, he would stay and wait.

If he weren't going to…

He would've drawn his sword already.

As I opened the door and stepped inside, both Yang Gicheol and Hyeolgyeon jumped in surprise.

"You?!"

Yang Gicheol recognized me instantly.

Even if my aura had changed, how could he not recognize the man who had beaten his son half to death just a few days ago?

"That's right. It's me."

"Me? What kind of insolent way of speaking is that?"

Yang Gicheol scowled, glaring coldly at me—but my next words were even colder.

"And you're the kind of man to talk about manners, when you gave the order to massacre the family of someone who once called you hyung? What kind of bastard are you?"

Struck right in the heart of the matter, Yang Gicheol was left speechless.

Instead, he bristled with murderous intent, like he might swing a palm strike at any second.

But he held back. He was being cautious.

It was clear he still didn't understand—

How I'd gotten in here, or how I could stand here so boldly.

He turned to Hyeolgyeon and gave a curt order.

"Get rid of him."

Once again, Yang Gicheol proved himself to be the kind of man who always put his own safety first.

He was wary of me now.

So then…

Could I kill Yang Gicheol?

With only five years of internal energy and the still-undeveloped body of Byeok Lidan, could I truly kill them?

My answer was: Yes.

If I had come to any conclusion like "it would be difficult" or "there are too many variables," I wouldn't be standing here now.

But I was confident I could kill them.

If it turned into a contest of inner force or dragged out into a prolonged battle, of course I would be at a disadvantage.

But I had no intention of letting it come to that.

The most decisive advantage I had was this:

They didn't know who I really was.

Back when they visited the Byeok clan, I saw Yang Gicheol strutting around with his hands behind his back, putting on airs—and I knew.

He was rusted.

If Yang Gicheol were the most skilled martial artist in Shandong, then yes, he'd be difficult to deal with.

But he was merely the head of the largest organization in Shandong.

The title "the best" might be the same, but the meaning was vastly different.

When was the last time Yang Gicheol had real combat experience? A year ago? Two? Perhaps over ten years had passed since he last drew blood.

The bigger the organization one leads, the further they drift from the battlefield.

In truth, that man Hyeolgyeon was likely the more dangerous of the two.

Just like Yang Gicheol, Hyeolgyeon also revealed exactly what kind of man he was.

"I'll need five thousand more nyang," he said calmly.

"You mad bastard! That punk's one of the ones we're going to kill anyway!"

"Not here, he's not."

"You're asking five thousand to take down a mere brat?"

"Then do it yourself. Surely a brat like that isn't even a mouthful for the great Bangju?"

With arms crossed, Hyeolgyeon actually stepped back a pace, smirking.

"You son of a—!" Yang Gicheol snarled as he glared at me again.

But he still couldn't make heads or tails of me. I was supposed to be nothing more than a brat—not even worth his time. And yet, something about me made him hesitate. Even he couldn't understand why.

He might have lacked combat experience in recent years, but clearly, his instinct for danger was still intact.

"…Fine. Five thousand it is."

Only then did Hyeolgyeon flash a sly grin and step forward.

"Much obliged… brat."

But despite his words, Hyeolgyeon wasn't letting his guard down.

Having lived the life of a rogue warrior, he had sensed the danger I exuded even faster than Yang Gicheol did.

He had simply judged that—while I was dangerous—it wasn't enough to threaten him.

A fatal misjudgment.

I wasn't letting my guard down either.

This was the very first real battle since my reincarnation.

His weapon was a steel club—about the length of a grown man's forearm.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

He swung it twice, short and sharp, before immediately unleashing a deadly barrage.

Bang! Papapapang! Bang!

The steel club tore through the air with terrifying momentum. A direct hit would've pulverized bone.

It grazed my shoulder by a hair's breadth.

Indeed, Baek Lidan's body was slow. Had I not predicted the direction of the attack by reading Hyeolgyeon's movements, this single strike might've ended everything.

This battle wasn't being fought with Baek Lidan's body—it was my experience doing the fighting.

The onslaught of continuous swings brought a chilling tension, a constant reminder that even one mistake would mean death.

And in response to that pressure, something erupted from deep within my chest—like molten lava surging upward.

It was… fighting spirit.

PAAANG!

This time, my skull nearly got smashed.

Even amidst this life-threatening chaos, I was—strangely—relishing the joy of battle, something I hadn't felt in ages.

It struck me anew.

I was, through and through, someone who loved to fight.

It was because of that nature that I had once risen to the pinnacle—to the title of the Greatest Under Heaven.

The final years of my past life, devoid of battles, had been unbearably dull.

Bang! Crunch!

Furniture in the room shattered under the rampage.

Yang Gicheol, watching from the sidelines, smirked.

To him, it must've looked like I was being overwhelmed.

He probably thought Hyeolgyeon had already won.

He might even be regretting that extra 5,000 nyang now, thinking,

"Had I known, I should've just handled him myself."

Hyeolgyeon paused his assault for a moment.

"You rat bastard! You sure are good at dodging!"

He was savoring what he believed was a guaranteed victory.

But what he considered a moment of leisure… was a fatal opening to me.

To him, it may have lasted only an instant—but to me, it stretched into an eternity.

My sword flashed through the air.

Chwararararak!

Piiiiiiiiiiik!

Two distinctly different shockwaves tore through the air as my sword sliced forward.

Hyeolgyeon's movements halted.

Sarak.

The hem of his robe was cut diagonally. A red line appeared beneath the tear.

Sarak.

The opposite side of his robe was slashed next—again, a red line revealed itself.

A blood-red, tilted cross—an X—was etched across his chest.

I stepped slightly to the side.

And then—

Chwaaaaaaaak!

The red lines split open, and blood gushed out in the exact shape of the wounds.

It was the first form of the Chuhon Suragombeop—Chalnain: The Slashing of the Instant.

Had I used my full power, his body would've been shredded into pieces.

But using only three years' worth of internal energy, this was the limit of its destructive force.

After spewing out an enormous amount of blood, Hyeolgyeon collapsed on the spot.

Thud.

He was already dead before his body hit the floor.

I turned my head toward where the remaining two years of internal energy had been directed.

Yang Gicheol was staring in shock at Hyeolgyeon's corpse.

But then, as heat welled up in his chest, he lowered his gaze.

Blood was blooming across his white robes, pouring out from his chest.

Through the torn fabric, a spiral-shaped wound could be seen—

The mark left behind by the second form of Chuhon Suragombeop: Jinmyeongin (True Name Seal).

I had split my five years of internal energy:

Three years' worth into Chalnain, the "Slashing of the Instant," for Hyeolgyeon—

And two years into Jinmyeongin, for Yang Gicheol.

Now, I had not a single thread of internal energy left.

Until I cycled my breathing and circulated energy again, I was completely defenseless.

But Yang Gicheol wasn't in any state to take advantage of it—he could barely stay alive.

Yang Gicheol vomited a mouthful of dark blood.

He must have never imagined that I, who had just been pushed around by Hyeolgyeon, would turn my sword on him.

Even if he had been prepared, it would've been nearly impossible to evade the strike.

Had he not twisted his body on instinct at the last moment, he would've already been dead.

Blood from his mouth and chest now soaked the floor in a deep, wet red.

He had likely never seen so much of his own blood in his life.

"…S-save me."