Episode 57. Feels Like a Little Rakshasa
The old warrior known as Daenachal was dead.
He died by the hand of me—the tavern boy of Ilyang, the master of the Hao Sect, the liberator of the Black Lotus Pavilion, the lord of the Black Cat Hall, the regular at Chunyang Tavern, and the patient of the Moyong clan’s physician.
That was quite the résumé. My progress was astonishingly fast. I thought I was doing rather well for myself.
Not killing all his disciples had been no easy feat either. In my previous life, I would’ve dragged those demoralized wretches by the hair and beaten them to death. The fact that I didn’t meant progress. Had I done so again, I’d already have regained my old nickname—Mad Demon.
I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to delay it for as long as possible.
After all, the former Mad Demon, Gwangseung, hadn’t even arrived in the Central Plains yet. If rumors of a new Mad Demon spread too early, he might come for me first—and I had no desire to be dragged off to Zhejiang before I’d even stabilized Ilyang’s underworld.
Even though I’d grown strong enough to kill Daenachal, my respect for Gwangseung’s strength hadn’t changed. No one understood better than I how terrifying that man was.
I turned to the three who had not fled—Baekin, Cheongjin, and Baekyu. They stood awkwardly, clearly waiting to collect Daenachal’s body for burial, but my silent gaze kept them frozen in place.
“You three handle the body,” I said finally.
At that, they descended from the wall and approached cautiously. They had already seen my movement skills and knew escape was futile.
“Since it was your master’s dying wish, take off your masks.”
Resigned, Baekin nodded and removed his mask. Cheongjin and Baekyu followed.
I memorized their faces, then spoke to Commander Byeok. “If any of these disciples defy Daenachal’s final will, spread their portraits across the land. You can manage that, right?”
Byeok glanced at the three and nodded. “Easily done.”
I began organizing the chaos. “The Black Cat Hall will clean up the corpses in the streets and put its house in order. The Twelve Divine Generals will speak with me first. After that, take the body. Commander Byeok, Hongshin, Geumhae—you come in too.”
Sitting at the head seat, I looked at the disciples arrayed before me. “From now on, I’m the eldest brother.”
“…”
“If I’d taught you something, I’d be your master, but I’m younger, so eldest brother will do. Anyone object?”
The air was heavy with Daenachal’s death. Baekin, who looked around twenty-seven, was the only one to answer. “The master’s last words were so. We’ll follow them.”
Of all present, only Hongshin and Geumhae truly understood me—they’d eaten from the same pot and nearly gone mad beside me. The rest likely thought my words were the ravings of a lunatic. That was fine. Understanding takes time.
The key thing was this: Daenachal was dead, and they could now remove their masks.
“Listen carefully,” I said. “If I have to repeat myself, I’ll challenge you to a life-or-death duel.”
Hongshin replied brightly, “Yes, eldest brother.”
Ah, the bond of shared pork bone stew runs deep.
Geumhae stayed silent, perhaps too frightened of both me and Baekin to speak.
“Baekin,” I said, “did you respect your master?”
“Respect… no. It was more love and hate.”
“Which parts were love, not hate?”
He replied, “He kept the southern lands safe from rival sects. Even surrounded by larger powers, he had the courage of a warlord. The masks symbolized that. They told others—my disciples are assassins; touch me and you’ll die. For all his flaws, he protected Namhwa from other black factions.”
“So, in short, his private life was filth, but he led the underworld well?”
Baekin nodded.
I was slowly gauging their temperaments. Baekin—calm and steady. Cheongjin—silent, all muscle and bone. Baekyu—clever but weaker than the other two. Years of rigid hierarchy had made them stiff; even talkative Hongshin kept quiet.
I decided to break the mood. “The old man’s dead. Let’s lighten up.”
Blank stares. I sighed and repeated, dead serious. “I said, lighten up.”
“…Yes.”
“Understood.”
“I don’t know how many men each of you command,” I continued. “After the funeral, clean up your stupid messes. Black can’t suddenly become white, but I’ll clear your name in public.”
Geumhae spoke up. “Is that even possible?”
“Join the Hao Sect. I was never black or white. Just… Hao. A sect for workers, wanderers, and strays. All the forces the Four Gods oversaw will now answer to me. Since it’s a sect for those who work, what do we do first?”
No one answered. Too many options, too little clue. Truth be told, I didn’t know either.
“Report in often. Come if problems arise. For now, keep your domains, but stop doing the filth black sects are known for. I didn’t even bring my own men to take this place.”
My “men,” as far as I could recall, consisted of… Cha Seongtae. That was it. I decided not to elaborate.
“Anyway,” I said, “if something pisses me off, I’ll bring the whole Hao Sect down on you and hand your businesses to the nearest tavern boy. Don’t make me regret sparing you.”
Baekin remained composed. “Understood.”
I nodded lazily, then added, “I’m not a kind man. Patience isn’t my strength. Sparing someone takes dozens of deep breaths. Just like I did for you three.”
Cheongjin replied, “Then we’ll cast away the deeds we did behind the mask, along with the masks themselves.”
“Exactly. That so hard?”
Baekyu answered, “Not impossible, but not easy.”
“Why?”
“Our master had allies and enemies. The closest ally was Elder Ilryong. They exchanged gold and women freely. He’ll be furious first.”
“And?”
“Then there’s the Cloud Rain Society—our worst enemies. Their leader cut off Master’s right arm. Now that he’s dead, they’ll celebrate. And many others bore grudges against him. How they’ll move, we can’t predict.”
I let out a breath. “Good. That’s a relief.”
Hongshin blinked. “Relief? Why?”
“Means there are still bastards left to kill. By the way, that Cloud Rain—does it mean what I think it means?”
“Yes. Clouds and Rain, as in the pleasures between men and women.”
“Huh.” I tilted my head. “Never heard of such a brazen, perverted sect name even in my last life. What’s their leader’s name?”
“Seomun Su-gyeong.”
I smirked. “Alias ‘Mr. Water,’ right?”
“You know him?”
“Heard the name.” So that was the same man. Once, the Martial Alliance had beheaded him and his men in the streets, drawing public outrage—only to learn later that it hadn’t been official orders, but a rogue avenger acting alone.
I turned to Commander Byeok. “First, put out a bounty for Elder Ilryong.”
“Understood.”
“Then send a letter to the Cloud Rain Society under the Black Cat Hall’s seal.”
“What shall it say?”
I waved a hand. “Something like, ‘Quit fooling around and behave.’ You’re better with ink—handle it.”
Byeok nodded, brush in hand. “So a letter disguised as diplomacy but written like a declaration of war?”
“Exactly.”
He chuckled softly and went back to sketching the disciples’ portraits.
Baekyu ventured, “The Cloud Rain Society is formidable. Is provocation necessary?”
“Chicken disciple.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up. Their name offends me. That’s reason enough.”
Baekyu clamped his mouth shut.
I looked around. “If someone cut off our master’s arm, it’s only natural to seek revenge.”
Baekin furrowed his brow, then nodded. “Agreed.”
Of course he was. As Daenachal’s oldest disciple, he likely held grudges of his own.
Commander Byeok added shrewdly, “We can send the letter later, after things settle. For now, I’ll prioritize the hunt for Elder Ilryong.”
“Do that. Baekin, Cheongjin, Baekyu—arrange the funeral. Correct the master’s misdeeds while you’re at it. If anger lingers, or if you find me unworthy, you’re free to leave—to Ilryong or the Cloud Rain Society. I don’t chain men.”
I glanced at Hongshin and Geumhae. “If that happens, you needn’t call me brother anymore. Go on, you three.”
They rose, glancing once more at the masks on the table.
“Leave them,” I said. “You’ll need them when you decide to do evil again.”
“We’ll take our leave, eldest brother.”
“We’re going too.”
Once they departed, Geumhae asked quietly, “Can we trust the Four Gods?”
“Trust, distrust—what’s it matter? The only thing I trust is martial skill. Betrayal, plots, rebellion—none of that matters if we grow stronger each day. In fact, it’s better if one traitor gathers all the dissenters against me. Then I can crush them all at once. Let it flow as it will. Let’s live cheerfully.”
Hongshin smiled faintly. “Cheerfully, then.”
I suddenly remembered something. “Hong, go settle my tab at Ilpyeong Tavern. Commander Byeok will pay. And there’s a weaver’s house nearby—an old lady. Tell her politely I sent you, and retrieve the Black Cat Mask from the lady’s room—drawer or under the bed. Give her some coin too.”
“Yes, eldest brother.”
I turned to Geumhae. “You won’t have to pay tributes to Daenachal anymore.”
“That’s right.”
He swallowed nervously. “Should I… pay them to you now?”
“No need.”
“Then what—?”
“Use every coin you used to tribute him to strengthen yourself. If you were stronger, your clan wouldn’t have needed to offer money at all. Baekin’s far stronger than you. Train harder.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Your internal energy…” I paused and sighed. “Ah, sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Sorry, but there’s no way to return what I took. My techniques only absorb—they don’t give back. At least you didn’t die like Daenachal. Be cheerful about it.”
After saying that, I suddenly felt it—like I’d become a little Daenachal myself.