Episode 77. A Gamble of Deception
The pressure points I had sealed wouldn’t hold for long—I hadn’t driven my internal energy too deep. I stood before the two women and said flatly,
“If you scream or say anything other than what I ask, I’ll pull this dagger out. When your points loosen, if either of you can move faster than me, you’re free to draw too. Take it as a life-or-death agreement. If you understand, blink.”
The first to regain her voice was Heuk So-ryeong, while Baek So-ah blinked silently.
“Only the throat point is released,” So-ryeong rasped, breathing unevenly as if drunk.
I asked, “Did Pyeong Gunsa order you?”
She looked at me with regret already filling her eyes, like someone who’d just realized she’d made a grave mistake by speaking too soon.
“Still confused? I get it,” I said calmly. “You probably don’t know yet who you should fear more. Understandable.”
I rested my finger lightly on the hilt of the Flash Dagger and asked again, “Did Pyeong Gunsa order you?”
Silence would mean death. She answered quickly, “Yes.”
I lifted my finger from the dagger. “Close one. Heuk So-ryeong, right? Don’t forget—if I kill you, Baek So-ah’s still alive. And once she’s terrified enough, she’ll tell me even more than you just did. So keep that head clear.”
“Understood,” she said immediately.
I turned to Baek So-ah. She hurried to speak. “My throat point is released too.”
“Good. Let’s make this fun,” I said, snapping my fingers. “You’ll answer my questions in rhythm—together. Hesitate, and the slower one gets a dagger through the heart. Let’s see who dies first.”
I paused for a beat. “First question. Who’s Pyeong Gunsa’s superior? One, two, three.”
“The Gambling King,” they said in unison.
I clapped lazily. “Correct. You live another minute. Second question: is the Gambling King above or below Dong Bang-yeon? You understand the metaphor, right? Up, down… life hanging by a thread. One, two, three.”
“Above!” they shouted together.
“Oh…” I stroked my chin. So far, predictable. The real question was next—the one even I didn’t know.
“Third question,” I said slowly. “Who is the Gambling King? One… two… three.”
“Uncle Gu Yang-bok,” So-ryeong blurted.
I froze for half a heartbeat but kept my expression neutral. “Gu Yang? The innkeeper of the Narak Tavern?”
Both women nodded. “Yes.”
I brushed my hair back, recalling the man. In my previous life, Gu Yang-bok had always been known as a man who made no enemies—a generous soul who often poured free drinks, never pressed for debts, and gambled away his own coin with a smile. Everyone called him “Uncle Gu Yang” with respect.
“Well, that’s a surprise,” I murmured. A battle between the Jaha Tavern and the Narak Tavern, was it?
I couldn’t help wondering—was Dong Bang-yeon perhaps his disciple?
“Good work,” I said at last. I re-sealed their pressure points lightly and lifted each woman, placing them gently on the bedding—So-ryeong to my right, So-ah to my left, leaving the center empty as if I lay there between them. Then I reinforced their pressure points with more internal energy.
I pinched So-ryeong’s cheek. “You took an aphrodisiac earlier. Sweet dreams.”
I lowered the tent’s canopy to cover them, pocketed the Flash Dagger, and headed straight for the Narak Tavern.
When I walked in unannounced, the room went quiet for a moment—just a single, meaningful pause—before the murmurs resumed. A good kind of silence. One that meant people were aware of danger but didn’t dare show it.
I took a seat. The young server, Jo-pal, approached. “What will you have, sir?”
“White liquor. Any kind.”
“We don’t have ‘any kind.’”
“Then bring whatever’s boring enough to fit that description.”
“Right away.”
He returned with a bottle of baekju and a plate of dried river fish. Surprisingly expensive fare for a tavern’s default appetizer. I stared at the drink, lost in thought, until a familiar old man shuffled out from the back—Gu Yang-bok himself, eyes half-closed, wearing the same unbothered expression I remembered.
“I’ll buy that drink,” he said. “Pour me one, stranger. You’re a new face among gamblers.”
I poured him a cup without hesitation. He drew a pipe shaped like a carved jade finger—Manguch’o, the Forget-Me Smoke—and lit it. The smoke coiled upward in a pale ribbon as he sipped his drink and glanced at my untouched cup.
“Another,” he said.
I gestured lazily with my chin. “Pour it yourself.”
I answered in deliberate disrespect, watching the crowd from the corner of my eye. None dared turn their heads, but a few faces had gone rigid. It made me laugh inside. What a world—so many layers of deceit.
Gu Yang-bok smiled faintly. “You don’t drink?”
I didn’t respond. He sighed. “So-ryeong and So-ah… I’ll apologize for that. Seems Pyeong Gunsa’s little trick was exposed.”
He’d clearly realized I already knew. Still, it surprised me how quickly he’d dropped the pretense.
He looked around, then raised his hand. Every patron in the tavern rose and silently filed outside. When the door shut, he smiled again, deep wrinkles creasing his face.
“Young man, I assume you’re not here to ruin my business entirely. The challenge fee was ten thousand taels. Add the bookmakers’ stakes, and that makes fifty thousand. Take it as my goodwill and leave. Many masters of the dark paths have taken such offers before—though never this much.”
“Fifty thousand?” I echoed.
He nodded. “Fifty thousand.”
I met his eyes. “Most who fought Dong Bang-yeon ended up dead. The few who won disappeared within days. Strange coincidence, don’t you think?”
His half-lidded eyes opened, sharp now. “I don’t know why you’re doing this alone. Did I kill someone close to you? Did Dong Bang-yeon slay your brother? Your master? You’re too young to have lost fortunes to gambling. So why?”
Before I could answer, someone stormed in from outside. Gu Yang-bok raised his hand. “Stay put.”
I glanced sideways—tall, broad shoulders, eyes like blades. Dong Bang-yeon. The undefeated King of the Martial Gamble. He grabbed a chair, sat right beside me, and crossed his arms, exuding silent challenge.
Gu Yang-bok extended a hand toward me. “My offer still stands—fifty thousand. What say you?”
Dong Bang-yeon scowled. “Why give this fool anything?”
“Quiet,” Gu Yang-bok cut him off. “He’s still my guest.”
I looked between them. “What you two run isn’t martial gambling—it’s fraud gambling.”
Gu Yang-bok chuckled. “Business is business. Big or small, it’s all the same. The most profitable kind of gamble is always a con.”
“Compared to your tricks, mountain bandits look honest,” I said.
“If my trade wronged you, I’ll raise the offer,” he said coolly.
I tapped the table with one finger. “The worst thing about gambling is that it’s fun. Too fun. Hard to quit. Some only stop after losing everything—or a few limbs.”
He smiled faintly. “You speak from experience.”
“Fighting gambles are fine. But scam gambling? That’s filth. You bribe every dark sect in the region to stay away, spreading coin like seeds. Men lose their homes here, their lives—and you keep expanding your empire under the guise of entertainment. You’ve turned tragedy into industry.”
“Do you intend to negotiate or lecture me?” he asked.
“Both,” I said. “Let’s end this the way it began—with a gamble. One last con game.”
“What kind of game?”
“In the arena. You, your champion, everyone—against me.”
“……”
“If you win, I die. If I win, everything you own is mine.”
I watched his face. “What’s wrong, innkeeper? Too generous an offer? Or are you scared you’ll lose everything in a single roll of the dice?”
He weighed the terms carefully—true to his title, the Gambling King. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll draw an even worse hand.”
“Why’s that?”
I scratched my cheek. “Because my men arrive tomorrow. Tonight’s your best odds.”
Dong Bang-yeon grinned. “Crazy bastard. Let’s do it.”
Gu Yang-bok didn’t answer right away—always cautious, never betting on a losing hand. That’s what I hated most about him.
“You hide behind the title of Gambling King,” I said coldly. “Drugging challengers, sending women, using aphrodisiacs, killing survivors, bribing the underworld, feeding off lives like a leech—and you call yourself a king?”
I smirked. “Uncle Gu Yang. Quite the honorable gambler, aren’t you?”
He asked, “If you’re so confident, why not kill us here and now? Wouldn’t that be smarter?”
“Smarter?” I leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Don’t lump me with your kind. You live in gambling dens—I live in the martial world. We’re not the same breed. You’ve spent your life cheating others—so let’s see you gamble properly, just once.”
Dong Bang-yeon flared with killing intent. Gu Yang-bok lifted a hand to stop him, then looked back at me. “You said you’re from an inn. What are you really?”
I answered plainly, “I’m the keeper of the Jaha Tavern.”
And silently added in my mind: A madman, yes—but not yet a demon.
Gu Yang-bok nodded slowly. “Then so be it. Gather your men and meet us in the arena. That’s where I have the advantage. As long as you don’t regret it.”
“Regret’s for the weak,” I said, standing. “Let’s go, you filthy insects.”
Dong Bang-yeon rose too—towering, muscles coiled. “You’re eager to die, aren’t you?”
“Oh, listen to that tone,” I mocked. “So serious. So majestic. Must be the King of the Martial Gamble himself. Strict, solemn, dignified—how noble.”
He inhaled sharply, barely restraining his fury. Behind him, Gu Yang-bok murmured, “Save it for the arena.”
I grinned at them both, turned on my heel, and walked out.