There was not the slightest hint of martial spirit on that youthful face—so much so that it made him all the more uneasy.
“Should I have just ambushed him and ended it?”
Too late for regrets, Oh Gwiseong quietly began drawing up his inner energy and said,
“So you're not really one of those Reclusive Cave Daoists after all?”
“I am indeed a disciple of the Three Spirits Palace, a sect devoted to Daoist cultivation. However, I insisted—against the elders’ wishes—on continuing the martial path.”
“Hmph. So you mean the celestial path didn’t suit your nature, and you picked up some martial arts instead. But are you saying you’re strong enough to be this confident?”
“I’m afraid I can’t properly assess my own level. That’s why I intend «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» to find out—right now.”
“You’re going to gauge your martial skills... against me?”
“That’s correct. And before that, there are some things I’d like to know about you.”
The Divine Night Killer, Oh Gwiseong, found this absurd—but also curious.
“What could you possibly want to know about me?”
At that, Kwak Yeon finally opened his eyes and looked him dead in the face.
“I need to determine whether or not you’re someone I should draw my killing sword against.”
Oh Gwiseong had roamed the martial world for thirty years, but he’d never heard anything quite so bizarre.
To decide whether to kill someone by first talking to them?
“What kind of lunatic is this?”
And yet, the Reclusive Daoist’s eyes were perfectly calm. Clear. Sane.
So Oh Gwiseong asked,
“All right, what do you want me to tell you?”
“Anything you wish to share.”
Oh Gwiseong was mildly intrigued. He wanted to see how the pup would react once he learned the truth of who stood before him.
“I’m known as the Divine Night Killer—one of the finest assassins alive. I work alone. No affiliations. I’ve long since stopped counting, but I’ve certainly killed more than two hundred people over the past thirty years.”
He half-expected this young hermit to piss himself right there.
“Were all of them contract kills?”
The calm in the boy’s expression irked him. He wasn’t trembling. He wasn’t flinching. He didn’t even look impressed.
“Of course not. You think first-rate assassination fees grow on trees? Half of them I probably killed just for fun.”
“You killed people... for amusement?”
At the faint twitch in Kwak Yeon’s gaze, Oh Gwiseong gave a slow, oily smile.
“I feel ecstasy when I kill. That’s why I became an assassin. Pleasure and profit—what more could a man want? Trouble is, contracts don’t come in every day. So what’s a man to do? Even if it doesn’t pay, I’ve still got to keep my blade warm.”
Seeing the Reclusive Daoist rise, Oh Gwiseong unsheathed his willow-leaf saber.
“Well now, this is a novel kind of fun. From now on, I should tell my story before I start carving. Watching someone soil themselves makes the whole thing even better.”
But that particular idea was destined to die just moments later.
With half his torso cleaved clean through—from shoulder to waist—he wouldn’t be killing anyone again. Nor living, for that matter.
Coughing up thick, black blood, Oh Gwiseong tried to retrace the moment it all went wrong.
He felt no bitterness toward his killer. No regret over the loss.
Because when you face a master of Fire and Sword Fusion—someone whose sword aura has fully awakened—such feelings are nothing but luxury.
“Should I not have said that?”
When he’d confessed to killing for pleasure, the Reclusive Daoist had said that was enough.
He had hoped to rattle the greenhorn, to freeze him with fear. Instead, it had led to this.
Oh Gwiseong looked down at his beloved saber—severed, ruined, soaking in his blood. Not once in all its years had that treasured blade ever been broken.
Now it lay shattered like a rotted branch.
“I left you alive a little longer,” said the Reclusive Daoist in a gentle voice, “so you could briefly understand what those people you murdered might have felt.”
Oh Gwiseong shuddered at the kindness in that tone.
“Don’t trouble yourself trying to feel guilty or repent. I never expected you to.”
He reached into his robes and drew out a pouch of gold. Oh Gwiseong’s eyes widened.
“Don’t misunderstand. I’m only taking what was promised for my head. The rest will go to whoever cleans up your corpse.”
He tucked the pouch into his sleeve and stood.
“The night won’t last long. I won’t stay to watch you die—I have someone to visit before dawn.”
To Oh Gwiseong, that parting remark was the one bright spot in his misery.
He hoped the Reclusive Daoist would pay a visit to that bastard gang leader who had sent him here. Maybe they'd die together.
“Still, I should thank you,” the Reclusive Daoist said. “You gave me the chance for my first sword strike to be against evil.”
Oh Gwiseong had no idea what he meant by that.
“Thank me... for what?”
And with that unanswered question, the Divine Night Killer closed his eyes for the final time.
The last ember in the fire flared briefly, then vanished. The flames were gone.
Sagungjin, the Gang Chief of the Black Snake Gang, woke with a start, a chill running down his spine.
He assumed it was his son stirring and glanced quickly at the bed.
But Sa Duyeong lay motionless, like a stone statue.
Sagungjin instinctively reached for the sword at his waist.
“May the Immeasurable Buddha grant peace. Let there be no needless noise.”
He turned his head—and froze.
There, seated calmly at the table in front of him, was a young man in a robe bearing the distinct Taiji emblem.
Right inside the inner quarters—past layer upon layer of guards—without a single alarm. Not even Sagungjin, a master of the peak realm, had noticed him enter.
In that instant, Sagungjin understood: the title of Reclusive Daoist had been nothing but a shell.
He let out a breath and nodded, his face stiff.
“So that’s how it is.”
Kwak Yeon spoke, noting the swift assessment befitting a man of command.
“Won’t you come sit?”
Sagungjin took the seat across from him. Kwak Yeon gestured.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate a cup of tea.”
“If you don’t mind it cold, I’ll gladly pour you one.”
At Kwak Yeon’s nod, Sagungjin lifted the teapot and filled the cup to the brim.
Kwak Yeon drained the teacup in a single, unceremonious gulp.
“I wonder—do those of the dark path receive guests with tea rituals as well?”
“The dark path,” the Black Snake Gang Chief answered solemnly, “is still a part of the martial world.”
“Then it seems there’s still room for conversation.”
Kwak Yeon reached into his sleeve and placed a pouch on the table. A black snake was embroidered upon it.
The Gang Chief’s expression froze.
He knew exactly what it meant for that pouch to be returned—intact and untouched.
“What is it you want?”
He understood why a man capable of killing the Divine Night Killer would come knocking. Still, the fact that he spoke of negotiation gave him a sliver of hope.
“Why, your life, of course. When you gave the order to draw the sword, surely you accepted that risk?”
The Gang Chief’s face twisted.
“The decision to send the assassin had nothing to do with my son. He’s been unconscious since returning to the compound.”
He unfastened the sword from his waist and laid it flat on the table.
“I acted alone. Take my life, as you intended, and leave in peace. No one in this gang will pursue you. One of the few strengths of the dark path is that it’s not loyal enough to avenge a dead leader.”
“For someone so protective of his son’s life,” Kwak Yeon said coldly, “you certainly didn’t teach him well.”
Sagungjin flushed red.
“Now see here, Daoist Kwak. Even if you hold the advantage, that’s going too far. Especially when you’re speaking to the man whose son you’ve condemned to a bed for life.”
“I’ve never turned a blind eye to the rotten things my son did. I’ve paid reparations. I’ve punished him.”
“And you think tossing a few coins at someone erases the shame they’ve suffered? You’re only convincing me further that I shouldn’t show you mercy.”
“As a guest who’s been served tea, I’ll make two proposals. The choice is yours.”
“The first is simple. I’ll finish what your pathetic son began—and end his life.”
“That cannot happen. He’s already lost everything that makes him a man. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
“The second is this: disband the Black Snake Gang.”
Sagungjin stared at him in disbelief.
“That's absurd. If you'd asked me to empty my coffers and offer public apologies, I’d at least consider it.”
Kwak Yeon drew the Cheonggang Sword.
A wave of blue sword energy burst forth—and neatly sliced the ornamental stone on the table in half.
“I’m not here to negotiate beyond these two options.”
Sagungjin’s face darkened to a deathly black.
It was the first time in his life he had witnessed sword energy that condensed and sharp—sword aura made manifest.
The message was perfectly clear.
Trembling, the Gang Chief spoke.
“Disbanding this place won’t change anything, Daoist Kwak. Another gang will rise in our place before long. You’ve spent your life on the mountain—you wouldn’t know, but that’s just how this world works.”
“I’ve seen enough in the last few days to understand that much. Light casts shadows, after all.”
“So that those who slither beneath the next shadow might, at least, feel a moment’s fear.”
Kwak Yeon sheathed his sword and rose.
“If you choose the second option, I’ll reduce your son’s recovery time to within ten years. It’s late, but you may yet live to hold a grandson.”
Sagungjin bit his lip for a moment, then asked,
“Daoist Kwak—may I ask just one thing?”
“Was this the Zhengwuguan’s plan?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The Zhengwuguan—the secular branch of Wudang—has been backing a dark path faction called the Ghost Sound Gang. They want to drive us out and take over the black market. And not just here in Geyang-hyeon. It’s happening elsewhere too.”
He’d heard grumblings from the townsfolk, vague resentment toward the Wudang Sect. Now he finally understood why.
“If this was orchestrated by the Zhengwuguan, it could stir up real trouble. However minor our gang might seem, we’re still part of the Demonic Alliance.”
“And why would that be a problem?”
“Because it would violate the pact between the Demonic Alliance and the Martial Alliance: that the righteous sects claim the day, and the dark sects rule the night.”