Episode 80. Mine Alone.
“This no longer surprises me.”
I looked calmly at Baek So-ah and Heuk So-ryeong, both unconscious without my permission.
During my Mad Demon days, I’d beaten down infamous female demons, but I’d never beaten a woman to death who was weaker than me—let alone one who had already fainted and dared to test my conscience in such a pitiful state.
For a moment, I recalled the faces of a few of those female demons and compared them to the visages of the two women lying before me.
Villainy doesn’t discriminate between men and women.
But female demons share one thing in common—their faces are devoid of fortune. Where blessing should rest, lust seeps through instead.
It isn’t lust born of desire for men, but rather the byproduct of the martial arts they practice. Those who cultivate dual-essence arts like the Yin-Yang Absorption Technique often steal the vital energy of young men to preserve their youth.
The problem was that, even during my Mad Demon years, the female demons I fought were formidable opponents. If these two were of that kind, I could not afford carelessness even now.
I scrutinized the fainted Baek So-ah and Heuk So-ryeong, wondering if they might be reincarnations of those same women. If they were, I’d have killed them right here and now.
“You’re not them.”
I grabbed them both by the collars, sat them upright, and slapped their cheeks once each.
Smack! Slap!
“Consider yourselves lucky.”
The two slowly regained consciousness.
Outside, people were still shouting “Fire!” and running toward the arena, but there was no danger of it spreading—the structure was self-contained, its central floor sunken deep below.
As soon as they opened their eyes, both women began to weep again.
“Enough crying.”
I washed my face lightly in the corner and said coldly, “Before I toss you into the flames, I suggest you keep those mouths shut.”
After washing up, I placed a chair before the bed and sat, fixing them with a glare.
Since I’m a kind man by nature, I explained the situation to them.
“The Narak Society is gone. Dong Bang-yeon is dead. Pyeong Gunsa is dead. Gu Yang-bok is dead. Many others too. If you don’t want to join them in the heavenly gambling halls up in the clouds, answer my questions properly. Understood?”
Their sealed meridians must’ve cleared—they both replied briefly, “Yes.”
“Gu Yang-bok and I made a man’s promise. If I defeated the Narak Society, everything it owned would become mine. As you can see, I won. Gu Yang-bok shouted for a cut of the winnings and ascended to heaven. I do worry he might keep gambling up there. Now, take a moment of silence for his soul.”
“……”
I patted my chest where I’d stowed the Flash Dagger and said, “Do I have to draw my blade before you start?”
“We’ll do it.”
I watched as the two bowed their heads in silent prayer. Heuk So-ryeong’s eyes trembled, while Baek So-ah sniffled, snot running down her nose.
“Open your eyes.”
Once they obeyed, I asked brightly, “He went to a good place, don’t you think?”
They answered in unison, “Yes.”
I straightened my face. “No. There’s no way he did.”
“……”
“You don’t swindle that many people and end up in paradise. He’s gone straight to the mouth of the fire hell. Tomorrow, my men will arrive with wagons and carts. You’ll tell them where Gu Yang-bok hid his fortune and help recover every last coin of the Narak Society’s assets. Can you do that?”
“Yes, we can.”
“Good. Get some rest. But if you think you can run just because your meridians are free… you remember the Rainbow Gambling Den, don’t you?”
Baek So-ah asked timidly, “Isn’t the fire still spreading outside?”
“The fire? Ah, right. I’ll handle that.”
“You could just untie us instead.”
“Shut it. Fire first.”
I stepped out through the curtain of the Phoenix VIP room. The flames were confined to the arena. As I walked through the chaotic streets, I slipped into the now-empty Narak Inn.
There was no sign of the inn boy, Jo Pal, and the untouched bottle of Baekju still sat on the table. All the Narak Society’s men were gone as well.
Just as I had sent the other inn boy, Ilbo, to the Black Cat Clan, Jo Pal must have left carrying Gu Yang-bok’s letter to Nammyeong Society.
I rolled up my sleeves. “Let’s see what kind of place the Gambling King lived in.”
I moved deeper inside, passing narrow corridors and checking the kitchen, the boy’s quarters, and the storage room until I reached the end.
There, an incongruously thick iron door stood defiant.
Without a key from a corpse, I drew the Flash Dagger and heated it with internal flame. Once the blade glowed red, I inserted it into the keyhole and then kicked the door open.
Boom!
Inside lay a chamber as large as the entire inn. The Gambling King’s quarters, it turned out, were nothing but a gilded prison—a vault built to guard the fortune he hoarded so greedily he could no longer leave home.
“What a meaningless life you led, Gambling King.”
The room overflowed with luxurious furniture and rare collectibles—things no mere innkeeper could have amassed. I had no interest in trinkets or art, so I only glanced around.
On the desk Gu Yang-bok used, a half-written letter remained.
“The Narak Society has been attacked by a madman. His martial level is immeasurable, our methods useless. He knows much about us. Though I have long aided Nammyung Society in all things, I never sought their help, but now…”
The letter ended there, a thick brushstroke drawn across the center.
On the wall beside the desk hung six portraits. I recognized the last one immediately—Nam Ga-rak, Master of Nammyung Society.
Apparently, the Narak Society had supported six successive masters of Nammyung Society.
I stared at Nam Ga-rak’s portrait. I knew the man’s name and face, though we’d never fought. “He rose high but died suddenly at the hands of a master… Who was it again? Not Gwang Seung… Ah, the nameless assassin.”
The assassin had remained obscure, and the murder was left unsolved, but Nammyung Society had blamed a killer guild called Il-wi Do-gang and declared open war.
Nammyung Society was destroyed soon after. Yet, people spoke more of their defeat than Il-wi Do-gang’s victory—for though Nammyung fell, they dragged their enemy into ruin with them.
They fought like madmen to the bitter end. Dealing with such an organization required thought.
But that incident was years away—useless for now.
I tore Nam Ga-rak’s portrait from the wall, then the other five, and threw them all to the floor. Behind them, a hidden iron door revealed itself, sealed without keyhole or latch.
Scanning the wall and ceiling, I traced imaginary lines back to the desk—it had to be connected by a mechanism.
I opened and closed the drawers, then pressed down on the inkstone. It wouldn’t budge, but when I applied balanced external and internal strength, I heard a clank of metal.
When I pushed the iron door, it clicked and swung outward. A second series of gears whirred inside.
“…!”
The hiss of air warned me just in time—I sidestepped as a needle shot from within and struck the far wall.
Thunk!
What in the world was worth hiding behind such traps?
Keeping my distance, I peered inside and saw a stack of thin, flat metal slabs. I fetched the lantern from the desk to light the space.
“Hmm…”
At first glance they looked golden, but no—they were black. Rough, solid, and dense.
I drew the Flash Dagger, pried one out, and laid it on the desk. After confirming no poison coated it, I scraped the surface with my blade. It left only a faint scratch.
“Blacksteel.”
Gu Yang-bok, who already paid heavy tribute to Nammyung Society, wouldn’t have offered them Blacksteel. Where had he found it?
I transferred the slabs to the desk. Beneath them sat a small booklet and a pitch-black ring, but I studied the steel first.
Something struck me, so I fit the pieces together with the Flash Dagger—forming a long, black sword.
It was astonishing. Not because it was a Blacksteel sword, but because it had been sliced apart so cleanly in the first place.
Who could possibly cut Blacksteel? Not even the greatest masters of my Mad Demon days could have done this.
Perhaps Gu Yang-bok had planned to melt it down into new weapons. But now the reason he hadn’t was lost with him.
Even without being a smith, I could tell this sword was centuries old. Most believe Blacksteel can never be broken, but this changed my mind—nothing in the world is truly unbreakable.
Its owner must have been a supreme master. Yet when the blade shattered, the wielder must have died too—his convictions breaking with it. Only then did I begin to understand what Gwang Seung once told me:
“If your conviction breaks, you’re already dead. So don’t worry.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
It seemed to mean that attachment to weapons can hinder one’s progress in martial arts. I realized that Gwang Seung’s words must be interpreted differently depending on one’s own strength and experience. In my past life, I probably hadn’t understood even half of them.
I then took the booklet and ring from the vault and set them on the desk, opening the thin book first.
“The Great Sword Saint, Gu Yang-Muguk. The Heavy Sword of Martial Perfection.”
I smiled as I read the next passage.
“Gu Yang-Muguk fought me seven times and lost each one. His pride was immense, but strength decides the victor in the martial world. I knew before each match that I would win, and so the outcome never moved me. Gu Yang-Muguk could not accept it, nor did he ask why he had lost. Though I understood his heart, that heart prevented him from advancing further. When I pointed out his flaw, he replied that it was too late to start anew. I disagree—when has learning ever been too late? Yet I know human will seldom follows reason. When I told him honestly that I’d fought only a handful of duels since stepping into the world, he was shaken to his core. I hadn’t meant to drive him into madness, but his spirit training lagged far behind his swordsmanship. Many martial artists suffer the same fate. At his dying request, I have summarized the Muguk Sword Technique I faced. Those who inherit it must use it for righteous purposes. Should they use it otherwise, their end will be tragic.”
—Signed, Gi Seong-ja.
The writing style was identical to that in the manual of Golden Nine Roaming Art; I knew at once it was Gi Seong-ja’s hand.
Now I understood why Gu Yang-bok had hidden it.
Gi Seong-ja’s martial knowledge was far beyond his grasp. He wouldn’t have understood it even if he’d tried. And that prophecy—use it wrongly and meet a miserable end—must have weighed heavily on his heart.
But in this age, no one understands Gi Seong-ja better than I do.
Thus, the Muguk Sword Technique could only be truly mastered by me—and me alone.
A thought struck me suddenly.
To have challenged Gi Seong-ja, creator of the Golden Nine Roaming Art, seven times…
Gu Yang-Muguk—just how strong were you?