Episode 98. Today, I Am the Black-Clad Man Himself
Heuk-uin (黑衣人)—the black-clad man.
Someone dressed in black. Simple and clear in meaning.
But in the martial world, the term carries a strange nuance. Not exactly a fool, but somehow… dangerous. Someone who seems like he might be quite strong.
Yet the moment his mask comes off, the mystery collapses. That’s the essence—mystery must be preserved.
And I, perhaps the only one in the martial world who has ever truly studied the essence of the black-clad man, am an expert on the subject.
The black-clad man expert—that’s me.
First, the basic posture: arms crossed.
Favorite locations? Walls, rooftops, above gates, alleyways. The key is in the entrance—stepping from the shadows, arms folded, with a low, rumbling laugh.
“Heh, heh, heh…”
Three times is best—no more, no less. But the tone must be right. Not too lively. Somewhere between a “heh-heh” and a “ho-ho,” low and deep. Anything like “hee-hee” or “huh-huh” is the laugh of perverts or lunatics like the Left Priest. Not recommended.
The true black-clad man must be heavy as shadow, mysterious as moonlight. That balance—those two essences—are the heart of it.
But let’s be honest. There are limits.
From my experience fighting top masters across the martial world, most so-called black-clad men are idiots. The truly powerful reveal themselves without disguise. If we use the arbitrary ranks martial scholars love so much, the black-clad man sits around first-rate—maybe slightly above or below.
But when I take on that role, the reason is simple:
Because I want attention.
Yes, there’s a word for people like that in the martial world—attention-seekers.
In proper Jianghu slang: Gwan-jong (關種) Ijaha. That’s me.
Tonight, near Paegeomhoe’s territory, I booked an inn room, waited for moonrise, and prepared to transform into my black-clad alter ego.
The subordinates of Black Cat Sect had prepared fine black garments. As I held them, even my righteous spirit felt grander, deeper, darker.
When did this tradition of black-clad figures even begin in the martial world? Just looking at these garments made me feel like I could commit greater mischief with greater style.
Under the moonlight, standing with arms folded, even I couldn’t tell—was I a ridiculous fool, the master of a secret shadow sect, or a mysterious new power rising to shake the world?
I stripped off my ordinary clothes, put on black shoes, black pants, and a dark upper robe. Tightened the belt. Then slipped into a long black overcoat, collar slightly raised, to emphasize that I was no mere fool.
Truly, there had never been a more perfect black-clad man in martial history.
Ironically, the darker your clothes, the more visible you are in light. That’s why I’m convinced—ninety percent of all black-clad men are attention seekers.
Sure, in a poor countryside with no oil lamps, black works well. But in any decent sect compound, the lights burn all night. Showing up dressed like this? Ridiculous.
I tucked my precious throwing knives and fire talismans into my inner robe, strapped my sword Black Cat Fang to my waist.
The target: Paegeomhoe’s headquarters.
From now on, my words would be heavy, my steps light. My gaze cold, my heart grand.
I sat cross-legged, waiting for Nam Garak—who was also transforming next door—and entered meditation.
Normally, meditation clears one’s mind and calms the heart, seeking the elusive Dao, contemplating life, or wondering why all the beautiful women had disliked me.
But my head was a chaos of thoughts: Pig bone soup. Dukang wine. “Ahh…” Those bastards. That damned Ilwido-gang.
“Confusion. Endless confusion.”
A man who grows more confused the deeper he meditates?
That’s me.
I tried again—focused, calmed my mind, sought inner balance… and fell asleep.
Sweet nap.
.
.
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
I blinked and saw a black figure step inside.
“Ah, Nam Garak.”
He looked at me and said, “Master, you seem tired.”
“Nonsense.”
I suppressed a yawn, nostrils flaring, and inspected his outfit.
“Perfect. Nammyeong Guild’s preparation is impressive.”
He crossed his arms proudly. “Heh-heh-heh, Black Cat Sect is not bad either.”
“We were born for this, name and all. Let’s mask up.”
He pulled out a full black hood that covered his entire head. I produced a sleek black half-mask that tied behind my head, framing my jawline perfectly. Stylish. Functional. His, on the other hand, looked like… a boiled egg.
I frowned. “Tacky.”
“…What?”
“Got another one? Lend it.”
I sighed and handed him a spare mask from my pack. Meticulous wall inspector.
He tossed the egg-hood aside and tied the mask properly. “Lucky me.”
“Let’s move.”
“Out the window? Over the roofs?”
“No. Down the stairs.”
“Won’t people stare?”
I exhaled sharply. “Enjoy it. Endure it. That’s the life of a man who seeks attention.”
“Right.”
“Besides, if we walk boldly through Paegeomhoe’s territory, they’ll assume we’re their own black-clad men. It’s perfect camouflage.”
“Fair enough.”
We clomped down the stairs, paid for our room, and asked the innkeeper to burn our old clothes. He agreed, trembling. No trace left behind.
As we stepped outside, I gestured toward the street. “See that? The charm, the power, the majesty of the black-clad man. Ordinary people tremble before us. That’s the rule of the Jianghu.”
“Stop saying stupid things in that serious tone. It’s confusing.”
Under the bright moonlight, I looked up. “Beautiful.”
Nam Garak followed my gaze. “So bright.”
“Perfect night. Dry air, clear sky. If it had rained, our plan would’ve failed. Even heaven sides with us.”
“Lucky indeed.”
We strolled through the busiest part of town, on purpose. The crowd parted before us like the sea.
We were the very embodiment of swagger.
I cracked my knuckles loudly as we walked. “Security will be tight.”
“Naturally.”
“Hey, Black Nam. Fire’s optional. What matters is pissing them off.”
“What nonsense is that?”
“Just irritate them however you can. Observe the alleys carefully too—we’ll need them to escape.”
He nodded. His lightfoot skill was second only to mine—perhaps only Hong Shin could rival him in speed.
We crept through the shadows until Paegeomhoe’s grand estate loomed ahead. The main hall rose three stories high, with more than thirty black-tiled roofs glinting under the moon. A grand plaque read Kang Clan Manor.
“So the leader’s name is Kang?”
“Yes.”
The plaque looked old. A wealthy man turned underworld lord, perhaps. A luxurious mansion reeking of money and arrogance.
“Move freely,” I said. “But I’ll destroy that main building.”
“My blood’s boiling already.”
We hadn’t brought many subordinates—few were skilled enough to wreck this place and still escape alive.
The virtue of a black-clad man is to enrage, not to get caught.
“I’ll go first.”
I crossed my arms as I strode toward the main gate—then dropped them because they went numb. Feeling the rush, I leapt high and kicked the grand plaque with full force.
CRAAASH!
Nam Garak’s shocked voice came from behind. “What the—”
I punched the gate, flooding my fists with inner fire.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Nam Garak caught up, yelling, “Then why even wear black?!”
“The clothes are just for flair. I’m still me.”
“Unbelievable…”
I stared through the shattered gate, thinking: A man who knows the art of the black-clad, yet never acts like one—that’s me.
“A real man enters through the front door.”
Chaos erupted within. Shouts, doors slamming, dogs barking.
I shouted back, furious. “Shut those dogs up! Damn mutts!”
Nam Garak burst out laughing and disappeared into the darkness. I vaulted onto the rooftops, sprinting across them. Below, black-armored guards swarmed out like ants.
For a moment, I looked up again. “Wow… that moonlight.”
Nearly mesmerized, I drew Black Cat Fang, reflected the moon off its blade, then sheathed it again—no point cutting the air. Then I dashed forward, leaping from roof to roof until I reached the tallest one above the manor.
Standing there, arms folded once more, I looked down upon the whole compound.
My chest swelled with pride.
“Heh-heh-heh, heh-heh… HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
With arms spread wide, I declared war upon Paegeomhoe.
“Come at me!”
Just as I’d expected, black-clad warriors of Paegeomhoe rushed toward me, leaping across walls and roofs. Idiots. How could they tell friend from foe dressed like that?
Still, all attention was mine—and that was perfect. Nam Garak could light the fires while they chased me.
I thought of all the sleepless nights I’d endured lately, looked down at the roof below, and imagined that bastard leader of Paegeomhoe sleeping soundly, eating well, and enjoying himself here.
Rage boiled in my chest.
As their black figures closed in, I wrapped both hands in blazing flame.
Whooosh!
With Tugye’s power fueling it, the fire was more violent than ever before.
Normally, it would be called Double Flame Dragon Hands—but tonight, I wasn’t myself.
I was the Black-Clad Man.
I joined my burning hands above my head—and brought them down like the descent of a colossal dragon of black fire.
KWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!