Episode 158: Yangyang

Dang Mujin and his companions made their way to the outskirts of Yangyang, heading towards the Jin family estate.

“What if we run into the Taeui Sword Sect?”

“Well… I doubt we’ll see them.”

Dang Mujin figured the chances of encountering the Taeui Sword Sect near the Jin estate were slim. The sect harbored a deep grudge against him and Namgung Myung, but they weren’t the type to easily ally with the likes of the notorious Salmak, a group infamous even among the dark sects. Their brief collaboration with Salmak had been an anomaly.

The last thing the Taeui Sword Sect had witnessed was Dang Mujin and his group fleeing, pursued by assassins. They wouldn’t have expected them to turn the tables and eliminate the assassins, let alone return.

As expected, there were no signs of the Taeui Sword Sect around the Jin estate. After a quick survey of the area, the three of them leapt over the estate’s wall.

The estate was spacious, but its layout was sparse. Aside from a few small structures like a shed and an outhouse, there were only three large buildings. There weren’t many signs of life either.

It would have been odd if the place were bustling with assassins.

Hong Geolgae spoke up. “Which building should we hit first?”

“No need to worry about that,” Dang Mujin replied.

An assassin who had spotted them bit down on a small wooden whistle. The piercing sound cut through the air, and the doors of the buildings swung open, revealing a dozen assassins.

Dang Mujin and Namgung Myung assessed the assassins’ skills. With the more formidable ones either dead or fled, none of them seemed particularly threatening.

As Hong Geolgae and Namgung Myung readied their weapons, Dang Mujin stopped them. “I’ll handle this. Just make sure none of them escape.”

“Are you sure?”

“More than enough. We don’t need to hold back now.”

There were only two kinds of people here: allies and those about to die. There was no need to restrain his techniques.

Hong Geolgae stayed on the wall, while Namgung Myung leapt to the roof of the tallest building. Dang Mujin descended from the wall and approached the assassins.

The assassins couldn’t hear the conversation between the three, but they understood that Namgung Myung and Hong Geolgae weren’t joining the fight immediately.

Dang Mujin sheathed his sword with a metallic click. The assassins’ eyes darted, searching for an opening.

He murmured, “Do your best.”

The assassins moved cautiously, appearing hesitant but actually spreading out to make it harder for Dang Mujin to track them.

As soon as Dang Mujin reached into his robe, two assassins lunged at him with their swords. He sidestepped with a graceful movement, evading the blades, but then daggers flew at him, aiming to disrupt his movements. He twisted his body to avoid the critical hits, though a couple of daggers grazed his skin, leaving a stinging sensation that oddly thrilled him.

“Haha!”

In his hand, six slender needles appeared.

With a flick of his wrist, the needles sliced through the cool night air.

The assassins, unfamiliar with facing someone who used needles as weapons, managed to dodge them. Like sparrows scattering in autumn, they leapt in all directions, and the needles cut through empty space.

Yet, some felt a sharp sting before they even landed. The needles had struck the back of their necks and shoulders.

The positions of the needles told the assassins much. They had dodged them, but the needles had changed direction mid-air, a feat beyond their capabilities.

Fortunately, the poison on the needles wasn’t lethal. The affected areas felt stiff, indicating a paralytic poison.

Most of the assassins charged again, but one attempted to flee over the wall.

Hong Geolgae intercepted, striking the fleeing assassin’s head with his staff. The assassin stumbled, then fell headfirst over the wall, his neck snapping.

With the first unexpected death, Dang Mujin clicked his tongue.

“You’re all going to die anyway. At least try to take a piece of me with you.”

The assassins glared at Dang Mujin before charging once more.

They were killers, some with a few, others with dozens of lives taken. Many were killed for missions, others for sport.

But this situation was fundamentally different.

They hadn’t been ordered to kill Dang Mujin, nor did they have a personal vendetta against him.

Yet, they swung their swords and threw their weapons with all their might. It was the only choice they had.

There was no other reason.

A short while later, Dang Mujin murmured, “Fourteen.”

Fourteen assassins were still alive. The only one dead was the one whose head Hong Geolgae had smashed.

None of the living were fatally poisoned or severely injured. Their breathing was slow but steady, and though their senses were dulled, they were intact. They were simply immobilized by the paralytic poison.

Dang Mujin began dragging the assassins into the largest building.

Hong Geolgae approached. “Need a hand?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Dang Mujin had acquired a few minor wounds, and his clothes were torn in places. He was breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his face.

Yet, his expression was bright, like a child excited to play a prank with friends.

After several trips, Dang Mujin had moved all the assassins inside. They lay neatly, staring up at the ceiling.

He asked, “Any of you never been on a kill mission?”

Their mouths and tongues were paralyzed, so no answer came. But one assassin’s eyes darted frantically, as if trying to communicate.

Dang Mujin approached him. “What is it? Never been on a kill mission?”

The assassin blinked with effort.

“I see.”

Dang Mujin drew his sword and swiftly beheaded the assassin.

Blood sprayed, splattering onto the other assassins.

“Anyone else never been on a mission?”

No one responded. Dang Mujin nodded slowly.

“Then you won’t have any regrets.”

His words carried a weighty implication.

Some assassins struggled weakly, but none could rise.

Dang Mujin exited the building, closing and bolting the door behind him.

He approached the hearth, taking a small ember.

Namgung Myung’s eyes widened in alarm. “You’re not serious?”

“I am.”

The ember caught on the building’s pillar.

Though a light drizzle fell, it couldn’t quench the flame.

The fire climbed the pillar like ivy, spreading across the roof like a shroud. It descended again, like rain soaking a person.

Namgung Myung felt a tightness in his chest.

He had killed before, a fate inevitable for a swordsman and a man born into a martial family.

But his way was to deliver a swift, clean death with his sword. He had never killed like this.

“I understand your feelings, but this method is…”

“Too simple, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

”…Nothing.”

Dang Mujin set a small stool and sat, watching the building burn.

The crackling of flames filled the air, interspersed with faint groans or cries.

The scent of burning wood, both fragrant and acrid, enveloped the area.

And amidst it all, the faint smell of roasting flesh, though its presence was subtle. Compared to the building, a human body was small.

Dang Mujin tilted his head back, gazing at the night sky over Yangyang. Stars twinkled through the thin rain clouds.

He raised his hands, the flames rising between them. The sparks from the burning building looked like stars, the smoke like clouds.

Since the death of Gwai, a persistent heaviness had lingered in his heart. Now, it felt a little lighter. He felt a bit more at ease.

‘Thankfully, the drizzle will keep the fire from spreading too far.’

Dang Mujin propped his chin on his hand, watching the flames.

Namgung Myung turned to look at him, his face illuminated by the firelight.

He watched Dang Mujin for a long time, then let out a deep sigh.

In the dead of night, a fire erupted from the Jin family estate, casting a glow over the outskirts of Yangyang.

Most of the townspeople were deep in slumber, oblivious to the flames. However, the disciples of the Taeui Sword Sect, who were still awake, quickly noticed the blaze. The fire was coming from the Jin estate, the notorious hideout of the assassins.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the disciples sprinted towards the estate.

“Are the assassins setting the place ablaze and fleeing?”

“Seems like it. They’ve probably dealt with all their enemies.”

“Good riddance.”

As they approached, the disciples roused the nearby residents, urging them to evacuate. Though startled, the townspeople were grateful for the warning and hurried to safety.

Upon reaching the estate, the disciples noticed something peculiar. The fire was contained to a single building, not spreading to others. If the assassins had set the fire, the entire estate should have been engulfed.

Tense and alert, the disciples entered the estate. Near the well, they spotted three young men. Two stood, while one sat, all watching the flames.

“Those bastards!”

One disciple drew his sword, but hesitated, assessing the situation first. The fact that these young men had set the estate ablaze meant they had likely killed all the assassins, including those residing there. Remarkably, none of the young men bore any significant injuries.

‘Why are they burning the estate? Where are the bodies of the assassins?’

The thought was fleeting, as a strange smell mingled with the scent of burning wood. Faint screams emanated from the burning building, revealing the grim truth of the young men’s actions.

The disciple’s sword, drawn in anger, now trembled with fear. Revenge for their former leader was forgotten; they could barely stand their ground.

The leader of the Taeui Sword Sect felt similarly. His face betrayed not vengeance, but a fear he struggled to suppress as he approached the young men.

When he was just a few paces away, one of the young men spoke.

“Do not draw your sword.”

“Ridiculous!”

The young man continued, undeterred.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I’m not interested!”

The sect leader shouted, but the young man pressed on.

“The assassins killed someone dear to me. So I killed them in return. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve slain—over twenty.”

“Are you boasting of your cruelty, you heartless fiend?”

“No. What I’m saying is that mere retribution isn’t enough. Burning more than ten people alive can’t fill the void left by one.”

Dang Mujin looked directly at the sect leader as he concluded.

“Do not draw your sword. Even I can’t predict how far my next act of vengeance will go.”

His gaze swept over the disciples, who now took a closer look at Dang Mujin’s face. Despite the horror of the situation, he had a gentle demeanor. He wasn’t a villain masquerading as a saint. He was someone born good, who had lived a good life, but couldn’t remain good in every moment.

The disciples felt a profound fear in the face of this contradiction.

Dang Mujin stood silently until the building was reduced to ashes. Once the flames died down, he rose and approached the sect leader. Instinctively, the leader recoiled.

“I’m sorry for what happened to your father. But you know it wasn’t senseless slaughter.”

With that, Dang Mujin turned and walked towards the estate’s gate. The disciples stepped aside, allowing the three young men to pass.

Not a single disciple moved until Dang Mujin and his companions disappeared from view.

Silence settled over the scene.

With trembling hands, the sect leader lifted his sword and hurled it into the ashes.