Episode 65. The Executioner Under the Moonlight
Yoo Sa-cheong’s words made my blood boil. No surprise there.
Moments ago, I’d felt like the commander of an army—now, thanks to him, I’d been demoted to a mere pawn on a chessboard.
Fight when told not to, don’t fight when told to. That has always been my guiding principle.
I repeated his words mockingly. “Keep fighting until it’s settled, you say… Did you just give me an order?”
I slowly raised one hand. “Ceasefire.”
“…!”
“Senior brother?”
“Master?”
Both allies and enemies turned their eyes toward me.
I lowered my tone. “Good. Now it’s confirmed—Yoo Sa-cheong is behind all this. So we’ve all been dancing in his palm, huh? A gambler can be forgiven. But the owner of the gambling den never is—because he’s the one who always wins the most. And worse, we don’t even know how much he’s made. My proposal is simple: temporary truce.”
Yoo Sa-cheong chuckled. “You’re spewing nonsense like a mad dog.”
“A fair point,” I said. “But if we keep fighting, the ones who’ll lose the most are Ilryong Old Army and Master Su.”
Ilryong’s pale face twitched. “Why do you say that?”
Master Su added flatly, “I’ve never lost in my life.”
I nodded. “You wouldn’t lose if you split Nanhwa between you. You’ve both done your calculations, I’m sure—but I see it differently. The most important fact is this: Yoo Sa-cheong didn’t bring any troops. That’s the key. I guarantee it—if this continues, more than half of your men will die by my hand. Mine will fall too, of course, but the only one who won’t lose a thing is Yoo Sa-cheong, the man who started this mess.”
He interjected coldly. “What are you trying to say?”
“He probably convinced you that conquering Nanhwa without the Great Butcher would profit you. But while you fight, your men will all die—and I won’t. In the end, the only ones dying are your followers.”
“Get to the point,” Yoo Sa-cheong snapped.
“The key is that in a truce, no one should lose. You both still have the money he gave you, don’t you?”
Hong Shin raised her hand. “Senior brother, what do you mean by ‘still have the money’?”
“It’s a trick of perception—a give-and-take illusion. Ilryong and Su received a large sum from Yoo Sa-cheong, which remains within their sects. They intend to repay that debt with the spoils from Nanhwa. They’d rather steal from others than return what they already have. Understand?”
“Understood.”
“Yoo Sa-cheong played them perfectly. He lends a lump sum, tells them to repay it by conquest—so he wins twice. And again, notice: he’s the only one with nothing to lose. He brought no army, fights no battle, and came alone. Tell me, Ilryong, Su—what’s the worth of your followers’ lives? You haven’t even calculated it. That’s your mistake. Anyway, that’s the situation.”
I swept my gaze across the battlefield. “The one I want isn’t Ilryong or Su. If both sides stay put…”
I smiled behind my mask. “Then I’ll take Yoo Sa-cheong first. I keep my word. If you accept, I’ll remove my mask right here. A small price to pay—but worth it to catch him. Keep in mind, he’ll try to provoke you to fight again. Let’s hear what he has to say now.”
Yoo Sa-cheong looked ready to stir them up—but then stopped, lips tight. Even Ilryong and Su turned uneasy eyes toward him. Finally, he scowled and spoke.
“You’re really going to listen to this fool?”
I burst into laughter. “Hahahahahahaha!” Then pointed at him. “See? Exactly my point.”
I straightened my face. “Let me catch him. After that, fight if you want.”
I removed the Black Cat mask and handed it to Hong Shin. She bowed slightly. “Thank you, senior brother.”
Facing the crowd, I asked, “Anyone here recognize me?”
Would anyone in this place know the shop boy from Ilyang County? Of course not.
“I’ve already taken a loss here. If I’d stayed masked, I could’ve assassinated half your leaders by now. Ilryong, Su—the choice is yours.”
Yoo Sa-cheong turned to Ilryong. “Can you handle this, old friend?”
Ilryong’s voice turned icy. “Did you really think I was just a pawn on your board?”
“Of course not,” Yoo Sa-cheong lied smoothly.
Ilryong glanced around. “Here’s my counterproposal. I won’t accept a truce just yet. But we’ll form a wide encirclement. Then you and that loudmouth will fight to the death. Whoever wins, I’ll withdraw my troops. That way, the blame falls on the survivor, and a true temporary truce is achieved. What do you say, Master Su?”
Su barely suppressed a grin. “The senior’s words are wise.”
So that was their plan—if Yoo Sa-cheong won, they’d crush Nanhwa entirely. If I won, they’d withdraw and let me carry the blame.
Typical. Old warriors like them never accept a deal that costs them.
But they’d forgotten one thing—
I’ve never been anyone’s pawn.
“Fine,” I said. “A duel to the death is always welcome.”
Baek In stepped forward, trying to stop me. “Senior brother, they just want to test your strength under the guise of fairness.”
I met his gaze. “Is that so? Clever bastards.”
I smiled faintly, and he wisely stepped back.
Ilryong raised his voice. “Widen the formation! No one leaves this field. Don’t interfere—this is a duel to the death!”
Master Su barked, “Spread wider! Anyone who runs dies!”
Yoo Sa-cheong turned, facing his subordinates and Lady Cheolseom, who stood blocking his path. Ilryong himself moved to seal the other side.
Yoo Sa-cheong sneered. “You’re all insane.”
Ilryong replied, “Why? Just win. Nothing’s changed. The only difference is that you’ll have to prove your strength yourself instead of hiding behind others.”
While they argued, I moved like a cat, circling behind him.
He scratched his chin, drew his sword, and spun just as I lunged. The tip of his blade sliced a few strands of my hair as I ducked low and thrust Heukmyo-ah straight ahead.
Klang!
He deflected it and countered with astonishing speed, unleashing rapid thrusts that split into three phantom blades—a mirage technique.
His movements were smooth yet firm, his stance unwavering, his swordplay fluid but grounded.
I parried each strike and thought, He’s from the righteous path.
That was no street-learned style. Every motion carried the mark of at least ten years of devoted sword training in a formal sect.
He’d acted like a money-grubbing observer, but his hidden skill was impressive.
Even I couldn’t strike back until I’d seen the full breadth of his form. Sometimes, the structured arts of the righteous path truly amaze me.
But while I could admire his skill—
He couldn’t possibly comprehend mine.
Because my martial arts have no origin.
Third-rate sword forms, borrowed spear styles, graveyard scythe swings, street brawls, gambling duels, stolen glimpses, scraps of half-burned manuals, golden monk’s techniques—everything I’ve ever fought through, every wound and scar, every moment I nearly lost my mind, all of it is my foundation.
I blocked every one of his attacks, watching as his swordwork flowed seamlessly from beginning to end—then began to twist, merge, and transform mid-combat.
I retreated deliberately, drawing him toward my line, then stopped dead center and met his flurry head-on.
A man who can hold firm against the righteous path’s swordplay with pure defense—that’s me.
Anyone with half a brain would start realizing something by now…
I kept defending, grinning. “Faster. Faster. Faster. Too slow. That move again—the third one.”
Sometimes, a fighter becomes so entranced by his own rhythm he can’t stop. Right now, that was Yoo Sa-cheong.
I suddenly gathered energy in my left hand and unleashed the Great Flame Rooster Hand Seal.
He slashed three times, slicing the fiery imprint into thirds in an instant.
When projecting inner force, one can either pack it with true power for attack—or create a hollow illusion to deceive. Both take immense skill.
Just as he had conjured phantom blades, I could conjure phantom force. When he’d cut through three false seals—
I shot forward like a storm, flung Heukmyo-ah aside, and vaulted at an angle as his sword came down.
Clang!
Left hand—Absorbing Star Technique. Right hand—Wood Puppet Finger Technique.
I pulled him off balance with the left, forced his stance to collapse, and struck his shoulder with the right.
As his sword arm stiffened, I landed and tapped his meridians in rapid succession with thumb and forefinger.
Tap, tap, tap, tap!
His body froze like a statue—shoulders locked, neck stiff, jaw sealed, lower body paralyzed.
I turned toward Ilryong’s camp. “This man is now my prisoner. My slave, my pawn, and my men’s captive. Whether I torture or kill him—it’s my decision. None of you will order me otherwise.”
I summoned Heukmyo-ah back with a flick of my hand. “Arrogant bastards.”
Feeling a sudden urge to taunt them further, I grinned. “Look at this—handing over your supreme commander just to save face. Ilryong’s blunder. An old man’s stubborn pride, a senile warrior’s folly.”
I mimed spitting water on the blade like an executioner, then began to dance around the frozen Yoo Sa-cheong, twirling my sword in a grotesque rhythm.
Hong Shin called out, “Senior brother, are you going to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just felt like being an executioner tonight. Sword dance under the moonlight. Executioner under the moon. Shop boy of Ilyang. Liberator of the Black Thread Society. Master of the Black Cat Hall… that’s me.”
I danced earnestly before the motionless Yoo Sa-cheong, the sword flashing crimson under the moonlight—
—as the drifting clouds finally passed, letting the full moon shine down upon me.