Episode 49. Today’s Humiliation
The Black Cat Hall’s men had blocked Geumhae’s carriage with another one, creating a chaotic scene. Horses neighed wildly, people shouted, and in the midst of the confusion, one of Geumhae’s men slapped my subordinate—disguised as a coachman—across the face.
I wasn’t angry because my subordinate got hit. After all, that “coachman” was a Haomun man by trade.
So to my eyes, it wasn’t a subordinate of mine being struck—it was an innocent coachman getting slapped in public. That, I couldn’t let slide.
Without slowing my steps, I leapt into the air.
The flying kick—an attack any boy can perform by age seven or eight and still use until eighty—is the universal art of all unremarkable men. And since I’m a proud representative of that very group, of course I can execute it perfectly.
First, extend the right leg. Bend the left leg slightly for balance. Stretch the right arm in line with the right leg. Keep the left fist drawn like a bowstring, ready to counter.
Textbook form. Even the instructors of the Martial Alliance would have nothing to criticize.
Smack! The man who had struck my “coachman” flew backward, drawing everyone’s attention.
Geumhae, hidden behind his golden boar mask, turned toward me. I couldn’t see his expression, but I could feel his glare.
“What’s a stinking servant doing here?”
“Stinking servant, you say? Fair enough. But mocking me for smelling even after I’ve bathed—that I can’t forgive.”
“What nonsense are you babbling? Think I’ll just ignore you because you’re my senior’s servant?”
The man I’d kicked earlier staggered up. “I’ll handle him, my lord.”
Arms folded, I waited until he charged—then moved faster than his eyes could follow. My side kick struck him before his sword even left its sheath. He tumbled across the ground and lay still.
No inner energy in the first kick. Inner energy in the second. That’s the difference.
When I go easy and they still don’t learn, there’s only one remedy—go harder.
Geumhae scratched his cheek outside the mask, analyzing me carefully. “I’ll have to bring this up with my senior.”
Then, sensing something off, he glanced around at the coachmen’s faces, their demeanor, and muttered, “So that’s it. This was deliberate.”
He straightened, voice rising. “You know who I am, don’t you? A disciple of Master Daenachal and a representative of the Geumsan Merchant Guild. If you’re Myo’s men, then your entire hall will face the Master’s wrath. And if someone paid you to stage this, my guild will find out. Be grateful I have another appointment—walk away while you can.”
He pointed at me. “And you—you’re no mere servant. With money, your identity will come out soon enough.”
He thought I was an infiltrator—an outside spy posing as a servant. Smart enough to imagine possibilities, at least.
I stepped closer, nodding. “Figure it out however you like.”
“Don’t come closer. You still stink.”
I stepped right up to him. “Told you, I bathed. You’re asking for a beating. Surround him. Make sure he doesn’t run.”
My men spread out, blocking every path.
Geumhae and I locked eyes.
If his strength ranked around seventh or eighth among the Twelve Generals, that meant mid-tier among them—formidable enough.
He lunged forward with his right palm. I met him with my left.
Crack—! The air trembled as our palms clashed, and our inner energies collided.
Wind burst outward, inflating Geumhae’s wide robes like sails. He’d chosen a contest of inner strength—a typical move for a rich man’s son who’d never dirtied his hands in a real fight.
Unfortunately for him—and unexpectedly for me—something else happened.
The Celestial Core began to absorb.
Because our palms were perfectly aligned, his inner energy was instantly sucked into mine.
Startled, he pulled back and attacked with his left palm. I instinctively countered with my right.
Crack!
The pull grew stronger. The ground beneath our feet caved slightly from the pressure.
His energy poured into me uncontrollably. His body trembled, sweat streaming down his face as his golden boar mask split clean down the middle.
Finally, I saw his face—pampered, untested, dripping with panic.
“L-let go…!” he gasped.
I realized then how ruthless the Celestial Core could be. It devoured energy without mercy.
If I stopped carelessly, the backlash from his still-flowing chi could wound me internally. So I focused, waiting for the right moment.
When enough of his energy had been drained, his resistance weakened sharply. I cut the connection cleanly, and Geumhae collapsed on his rear with a dull thud.
“Came for money, took his energy instead.”
He stared at me, pale and trembling. “What… did you do to me?”
Does he even realize I spared him? There are few gentlemen like me left in this world.
“You attacked first. I defended. My art merely repelled your power—had I not stopped, you’d be dead. You know that. Want me to drain the rest while I’m at it?”
I crouched to meet his eyes. He stared back, stunned and speechless.
“Check the carriage,” I ordered my men. “If we’ve taken something, might as well take it all.”
“Stop!” Geumhae barked. “Some of that belongs to Brother Baekyu. You can’t handle the fallout.”
“Baekyu, huh?”
Whether that was a threat or a slip, I couldn’t tell. I gestured to my men. “Bring me the small box.”
They opened it before I even spoke. Inside were four century-old White Flame roots—identical to what I’d just bought.
I smirked. “Selling three to the Black Cat and four to Baekyu? Planning to ruin me with a rigged duel and make a fortune on bets, huh?”
Geumhae sneered faintly. “You got proof?”
I slapped him across the face. “No, you bastard. What do you all think?”
One of my men said, “It’s match-fixing, sir. Instead of letting martial skill decide rank, this middleman’s playing both sides. Shameless.”
Well said.
I glared down at Geumhae. “I just wanted some gold, but now—if word gets out, both the Black Cat Hall and Daenachal will be furious. The Geumsan Guild might not survive it. What do you think our Hall Master would do if he found out?”
Another clever subordinate offered, “Probably demand half their fortune, sir.”
Geumhae’s face went white—not from the slap, but from the thought of losing his family’s wealth.
Since he clearly didn’t know how to threaten properly, I decided to demonstrate. “Should I report you to the Black Cat Hall? Or to Daenachal himself? You choose. Either works for me.”
“Fine by me,” one man said. “Same here.” “Or both?”
I shook my head. “That’s no fun. Life’s about amusement. Pick one, Geumhae. Time’s ticking.”
I mimed drumming on a small barrel. “Doo-goo-doo-goo-doo-goo… Well?”
Geumhae sighed heavily. “If you wanted revenge, you’d have killed me already. No, this is about my family’s wealth. Fine. Let’s be honest—tell me what you want. Spare me from my master’s wrath, and I’ll pay you handsomely.”
Before I could answer, a calm voice came from down the road.
“Brother, I’m here.”
All eyes turned. Hongshin approached, looking weary, holding a mask in her hand—stained with blood. Her sleeve and arm were streaked red as well.
Geumhae blinked in surprise. “You?”
She looked back at him. “You got caught too?”
Then she handed me the bloodied mask of Nok-sul, the Green Dog. “Ambush failed, but I finished it one-on-one. He’s gone to heaven. Could you give your poor junior some medicine? My stomach’s acting up—I barely made it through the fight.”
I rose, nodding. “Good work, Junior. A promise is a promise.”
Geumhae looked from her to me. “Who the hell are you?”
I frowned, but before I spoke, Hongshin slapped him hard across the face.
“Watch your tone when you speak to our senior.”
I nodded approvingly. “Well done, Junior.”
“Thank you, Senior.”
I glanced around. “Alright, load the box back into Geumhae’s carriage. Clean up and return. That one who’s unconscious—bring him back and release him later. I’ll be taking Hongshin and Geumhae somewhere.”
I nudged Geumhae’s backside with my foot. “Call your driver. We’ve got a stop to make.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Hongshin raised her hand. “Golden Pig, don’t talk back to Senior.”
Even without speaking, Geumhae somehow got slapped again. Smack!
I looked between the two of them—Hongshin, fierce and smug; Geumhae, utterly humiliated. Was he always submissive to her, or was it because I’d drained his energy? Either way, she seemed to be taking revenge for what I’d done to her earlier.
“Disciples shouldn’t strike each other so often,” I said calmly.
Geumhae rubbed his cheek and looked away. Hongshin bowed her head slightly. “We’ll behave.”
The three of us boarded the carriage—Hongshin and Geumhae side by side, me opposite.
The driver asked, “Where to, sir?”
“Hongshin’s been cut, Geumhae’s internally injured. Naturally, to a physician.”
“Any particular one, sir?”
“The one your master frequents.”
“Ah, understood.”
I held out my hand to Hongshin, and she placed the Green Dog’s mask in it. She already knew what I meant—no words needed.
Slowly, I lifted the mask and set it over my face. Hongshin bowed. “Greetings, Brother Nok.”
Geumhae’s eyes widened in shock. “…!”
Still bowing, Hongshin glared at him. He hesitated, then awkwardly mirrored her gesture. “G-greetings, Brother Nok.”
I answered coldly, voice firm beneath the mask. “At ease.”
“Yes, sir.”
“…Yes, sir.”