Episode 55. Where Will I Fall?
The Yellow Ox Envoy emerged from the house where the old woman had been weaving and walked straight toward the tavern.
Just as I was pouring a drink for the tavern boy, he arrived. Without a word, Yellow Ox grabbed the boy by the hair and snarled, “You see anyone come out of that house?”
The boy flinched in panic. “Ah—n-no, sir. No one came out. I didn’t see anyone.”
Yellow Ox turned to me. “And you?”
I calmly extended my left hand and pointed behind him. “Not that way—over there.”
As soon as he glanced back, I pulled him in with the Absorbing Star Art and clamped a hand around his throat.
“Gk—!”
Yellow Ox was the same bastard I’d once told Hongshin to kill—a brute who never hesitated to torment the weak. And now he’d dared to grab the tavern boy right in front of me.
My left hand crushed his neck while my right fist slammed into his mask.
Crack!
The mask shattered instantly, revealing his true face beneath. I stared into his eyes and drove my fist into his face again and again—thud, thud—until bone gave way and his features collapsed. Then I tossed his broken body into the middle of the street.
The corpse rolled several times before coming to a stop.
The tavern boy stood trembling like a leaf.
“Don’t be frightened,” I told him. “This is just how things go in the martial world.”
I poured some Dougangju over my bloodstained knuckles, wiped them clean, then refilled my cup and offered it to him.
“Drink.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
He accepted the cup with both hands this time—good manners born of fear. I didn’t blame him. Still, he looked too shaken, so I tried to calm him a little.
“Noksul died earlier. That one was Huang-o.”
“Ah, I see…” he murmured faintly.
Had Yellow Ox fought me properly, he might have lasted a moment or two. But he hadn’t even suspected the man drinking with his tavern boy was his enemy.
I downed another drink. The boy’s face remained pale as paper.
“Go inside and rest,” I said. “I’ll finish the bottle. I’ll send someone to pay later.”
“A-alright…”
He scurried back into the tavern just as two minor envoys rushed up to inspect the corpse.
“He’s still nearby,” one said.
I chewed on my dried side dish and looked up at the Black Ox and Red Ram envoys. Hyeonchuk, the Black Ox, turned and barked at me, “What the hell are you looking at, bastard?”
I calmly turned my gaze away, picked a chopstick from the holder, and infused it with wooden energy. Then I flicked it toward his face.
Thunk—! The chopstick buried itself right in his forehead.
The Red Ram chose flight over fight, darting away with his lightness skill while shouting, “Senior! Over he—”
Whack! The half-full Dougangju bottle spun through the air and smashed against the back of his head.
As he collapsed forward, I grabbed another chopstick, rose from my seat, and hurled it down at him.
Thunk. Another perfect hit.
The Twelve Generals now had three corpses lying in the main street. Yellow Ox had died careless and sudden; Hyeonchuk and Jumi were weaklings from the bottom ranks, no match for anyone serious.
Hongshin and Geumhae were lucky—eating, riding carriages, visiting physicians—but war was never merciful.
I stood, brushed the crumbs from my hands, and walked down the street.
Up ahead, Baekja appeared, running my way. I met his eyes briefly, then slipped into a side alley and leaned against the wall with my arms folded.
Suspicious, Baekja doubled back and entered the alley. He froze when he saw me standing right near the entrance and instinctively thrust out his right palm, releasing a surge of internal energy. A practitioner of palm arts, then.
Thud! I caught his strike with my left palm, twisted my wrist, and locked his hands together.
In an instant, the Absorbing Star Art flared to life, draining his internal energy as I sprinted deeper into the alley. When his strength finally slackened, I yanked him close and slammed my fist into his throat.
“Ghk!”
I struck once more, snapping his neck between my fingers, then dragged the limp body behind me.
Listening carefully, I heard no one nearby. I stripped off his white robe and mask, putting them on myself. For a moment, I gazed down at his face, then laid him in the corner of the alley and covered him with a beggar’s straw mat.
“Next life, try not to meet someone like me.”
I straightened my new robes, adjusted the mask. If anyone noticed my trousers didn’t match—well, they’d deserve a medal for observation.
Confusion was the goal, not perfection. War was chaos, after all.
Counting the dead, only the Four Envoys and Daenachal remained.
I reviewed the match bracket. Five against one—still absurd.
Judging from what I’d seen, I had a rough sense of the Envoys’ strength, but Daenachal’s true power was unknown. Best to wait, just a bit longer.
‘One more death,’ I thought.
I steadied myself, suppressing the boiling anger in my chest. Then, invoking the Wooden Fowl Meditation, I cleared my mind entirely.
Stepping out of the alley, I saw the remaining Envoys examining the corpses and murmuring among themselves.
Baekyu’s voice carried. “We won’t catch him. He’s faster than all of us. He’ll pick us off one by one. What now? If we stay like this, we’re just playing into his hands.”
Cheongjin nodded. “We stick together. The four of us as one—he won’t dare approach.”
I joined them silently, standing beside the Red Envoy, pretending to examine the dead. “What a pitiful way to go,” I murmured.
Jeoksa, the Red Envoy, offered another idea. “We should return to Master.”
I glanced at him sideways. The same one who’d attacked me first earlier—and still thinking of Daenachal even now. Loyalty, or slavish obedience? Hard to tell.
Cheongjin disagreed. “If we go back now, Master’s temper will be worse.”
I listened in silence as they argued—predators squabbling in their own jungle. Baekyu, the White Tiger, said nothing, and the others turned to Baekin, the eldest, for a decision.
“You decide, Senior.”
Baekin finally spoke. “We’ll continue the pursuit. Cheongjin’s right—we’ll move together. Baekja, you report to Master. Tell him the disciples are dead, and that we Envoys went after the killer.”
“Yes,” I said curtly.
Cheongjin asked, “You mean we’ll be apart from Master for a while?”
Baekin’s tone dropped low. “The man’s true target is Master, not us. He didn’t start all this just to kill a few of us. I thought his rambling was nonsense before—but madmen often mean every word they say.”
“So when he said we should hold back… he meant it?”
“Seems so.”
“Then why kill the disciples?”
Baekin answered bluntly. “Because he’s insane.”
I nodded inwardly. “At least he’s perceptive,” I thought. The fools were calmly discussing survival over their comrades’ corpses.
Baekin went on, “If we stay together, he won’t dare strike. But he said something about a one-on-one duel… which means he might appear where Master is alone. You understand what I’m saying? Master hates using lightness skill. He’s probably still sitting in the Black Cat Hall.”
I thought, “Bad back, maybe?”
Given his missing arm, surviving this long must’ve left plenty of scars.
The others looked at Baekin with silent calculation. If Daenachal died, he’d inherit everything. No wonder he sounded eager.
To my surprise, he even tried to recruit me. “…We’ll make Baekja the new Envoy, start fresh together. Like he said—how long will we live as slaves? I’ve had enough of watching him torment the young.”
I nodded repeatedly, pretending agreement—then, stupidly, opened my mouth. “What if I just kill the Master myself? Wouldn’t that solve everything?”
All four heads turned toward me in perfect unison. “…”
I sighed. My two identities—Ijaha and Baekja—were blurring together. The mask truly did worsen madness; I was living proof.
Jeoksa still stood right beside me. With my left hand, I struck him suddenly, sealing his meridians, while my right unleashed the Fiery Rooster Palm forward.
A roaring burst of crimson energy erupted like a divine hand from my palm.
Baekin, Cheongjin, and Baekyu all responded simultaneously with twin palms.
BOOOOM!
The clash rocked the air. Baekyu was blasted straight back, tumbling across the ground, while Baekin and Cheongjin only staggered several paces before regaining balance.
Jeoksa stood frozen, paralyzed by my earlier strike.
I tore off his mask and placed it over the one I already wore.
Facing the three, I said coldly, “I’ve got the masks of the Black Cat, Noksul, Baekja, and Jeoksa. Think you’ll be any different?”
With Jeoksa as my hostage, none of them moved.
“I’ve always preferred one-on-one fights. Don’t push me further. So this is how the dark ones of the martial world fight? So filthy. If Daenachal and I fight to the death, everything ends. It was always that simple, but you insist on making it complicated. Baekin—what’s your choice?”
He replied at once. “We won’t step near the Black Cat Hall today. Spare Jeoksa.”
I patted Jeoksa’s head. “Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“He kidnapped women and delivered them to Daenachal. The lackeys did the capturing, sure, but he led it.”
Baekin fell silent. I grabbed Jeoksa by the nape and hurled him into a wall. His skull burst against the stone with a dull thud, and his body crumpled beneath it.
Not the only reason I killed him, of course. He’d attacked first earlier, and the notes in the Twelve Generals’ dossier said his loyalty to Daenachal ran deepest. And he’d recently abducted a blue-eyed beauty for him. Plenty enough reason to die.
I looked at the three who remained. “Four Envoys down to three.”
I pointed at each in turn. “Baekin. Cheongjin. Baekyu. If you’ve no will to live, come fight me—four against one at the Black Cat Hall. If you win, keep being his dogs. I’m going.”
I turned, still wearing Jeoksa’s mask, and walked toward the Black Cat Hall. They could’ve attacked from behind, but I didn’t look back. I wanted to retrieve Jeoksa’s weapon, but doing so would’ve ruined the moment.
At times like this, a man doesn’t show his back because he’s careless—he shows it because he must.
My nape prickled with tension, but I kept walking, step by step, toward the hall.
If they attacked even after all I’d said, they’d truly be beyond saving.
When I reached the Black Cat Hall, its gates still stood wide open.
I muttered as I approached Daenachal, “Your disciple returns. Jeoksa has come. Baekja has come. Hyunchuk and Jumi have departed, but Jahwa has returned alive. Huang-o burns in the Flaming Hell, Jeoksa falls to Avici Hell… and me—where will I fall, Master? Where are you, my wretched master?”
Inside the inner hall, the scene had changed. Daenachal now sat on the dais, and every subordinate of the Black Cat Hall knelt before him on my side of the room.
He’d wasted no time in setting up another little play of king and servant.
Wearing Jeoksa’s mask, I stared at him for a long moment, then called out softly, almost tenderly—
“Master…”