Chapter 347: The Night at the Joint Mountain
The group had barely entered the territory of the Joint Sect before they returned, leaving Seolhwa wide-eyed with surprise. “Why are you back so soon?” her expression seemed to ask.
It wasn’t long before she noticed the man slung over Namgung Myung’s back. His hair, a striking yellow similar to Seolhwa’s, caught her attention.
“Who is he?” Seolhwa inquired.
“We don’t know. You should,” Namgung Myung replied, assuming that people with similar features must know each other.
Sometimes, even the flimsiest assumptions turn out to be true, whether by chance or fate.
As Namgung Myung laid the man on the ground, Seolhwa’s expression turned serious.
“Hmm…”
It seemed she recognized him. Namgung Myung, with a triumphant air, said, “See? You know him, right?”
“Looks like it.”
“That’s why we brought him. Is he a friend?”
“Not exactly a friend, but he might be someone I’ve been looking for.”
It was precisely the answer Namgung Myung had hoped for. Breaking the neck of an innocent or a friend would have been problematic.
The group examined the man’s face. His distinct features and closed eyes made it difficult to discern his expression. Judging by the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he seemed to be at least fifty. His skin was rough and scarred, like fish scales, evidence of a hard life.
Seolhwa fell silent, lost in thought.
The group waited for the man to wake or for Seolhwa to share her thoughts, filling the time with chatter that soon turned into a discussion of swordsmanship between Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong.
Instead of wielding swords, they exchanged insights and philosophies about martial arts, hoping to gain new understanding. Dang Moo-jin and Hong Geol-gae listened intently, eager for any enlightenment.
“Hyun Gong, how many arms do you have?” Namgung Myung teased.
“Two, obviously. Can’t you see?”
“Really? Then try blocking this with just two.”
The discussion soon devolved into a scuffle. Hyun Gong, caught using a trick instead of admitting defeat, had claimed a third arm appeared to exploit Namgung Myung’s opening. Namgung Myung wasn’t innocent either, exaggerating his techniques and even inventing some on the spot.
Theoretical debates rarely end well when pride is involved. The result was a split lip for Hyun Gong and a bloody nose for Namgung Myung.
Namgung Myung wiped his nose, commenting, “So, when’s that guy waking up?”
“You should know,” came the reply.
There are pros and cons to pressure points and neck holds. Pressure points are clean but difficult if the opponent resists. The real issue is you can’t target both the speech and paralysis points simultaneously. Block the speech point, and they thrash; paralyze them, and they scream.
Knocking someone out with a pressure point is ideal, but it’s hard unless there’s a significant skill gap. A neck hold silences and subdues in one move, but you can’t predict when they’ll wake, and they might die if you’re unlucky.
Namgung Myung checked the man’s breathing. “He’s alive. He’ll wake soon.”
After checking a few more times, the man stirred.
“Looks like he’s waking up.”
With a groan, the man took a deep breath and opened his eyes, freezing at the sight of the group. Even in his dazed state, he knew this wasn’t normal.
“Ah, Miss!” he exclaimed.
Seolhwa, feigning a stern expression, confronted him. “Quiet. You ran off with Baek Hyang-ah, didn’t you?”
The man protested, “Baek Hyang-ah? You knew her best, Miss. Why ask me?”
“Don’t play dumb. She disappeared when you did. Why else would a criminal like you be wandering here instead of the West?”
“I’m innocent! I ran to avoid punishment for something I didn’t do. I have nothing to do with Baek Hyang-ah!”
Seolhwa hesitated. His earnestness was unexpected. But Hyun Gong, listening nearby, interjected, “He’s lying.”
That single statement convinced everyone, including Seolhwa. She didn’t know everything about Hyun Gong, but she trusted his ability to discern truth from lies.
“He’s lying, so spill the truth unless you want trouble!”
“Why trust him so blindly?” the man challenged.
“You don’t need to know,” Seolhwa retorted, drawing her sword.
The man continued to plead his innocence, but realizing his lies wouldn’t work, he muttered something in a foreign tongue.
“What did he say, Seolhwa?” someone asked.
“A curse,” she replied.
A loose tongue invites trouble, and the penalty for such was a swift kick from Hyun Gong to the man’s pressure point.
It wasn’t a thug’s kick but a precise strike from a martial artist. The man gasped for air, but soon, with defiant eyes, he grinned.
“Ha, ha.”
He seemed accustomed to pain.
Seolhwa pondered how to make him talk, but Hyun Gong had a solution. “Seolhwa, let’s leave this to the human butcher.”
“The human butcher?”
“Dang Moo-jin. He’s a master at this.”
”…”
It wasn’t wrong.
But before starting the interrogation, Dang Moo-jin needed to know something. He asked Seolhwa, “This man committed crimes against the Northern Sea Ice Palace, right?”
“Yes. He was caught embezzling under the guise of tax increases and suspected of stealing the palace’s elixirs. He survived the interrogation on the second charge, but the evidence was clear.”
“Embezzlement? So he was a high-ranking official?”
“Think of him as both an official and a martial artist. At least a few thousand households suffered because of him.”
A few thousand? That was no small theft. Dang Moo-jin’s guilt faded.
“I’m innocent!” the man cried again, but Hyun Gong cut him off.
“He’s trying to lie his way out.”
Dang Moo-jin didn’t immediately agree, scrutinizing Hyun Gong. He wasn’t entirely trustworthy either.
Sensing Dang Moo-jin’s doubt, Hyun Gong confidently declared, “I’m sure. I stake Elder Yeongbo’s honor on it.”
Why he would gamble someone else’s honor was unclear, but it was effective. Hyun Gong wouldn’t lie about that.
Dang Moo-jin approached the man, crouching before him. Their eyes met.
The man thought Dang Moo-jin’s expression was too calm. Interrogators usually wore fierce expressions to intimidate.
But Dang Moo-jin’s face showed no anger or threat. It wasn’t due to uncertainty or lack of options.
He simply didn’t need a menacing atmosphere to extract a confession.
His eyes seemed to say, “You’ll confess everything eventually.”
The man realized death might be preferable.
So he dislodged the poison capsule hidden in his molar, biting down and swallowing it.
Crunch.
The centipede venom spread in his mouth, its bitter taste and smell overwhelming. Yet he smiled, satisfied.
The poison promised a painless death, a floating sensation, and bliss as life ebbed away.
But Dang Moo-jin wasn’t surprised. It’s common for shady characters to carry poison.
He gripped the man’s neck, not to stop the poison from descending but to prevent struggling.
“First, stop the poison from spreading.”
Dang Moo-jin’s right hand moved without hesitation, pressing the man’s pressure points to slow his digestive system.
“Now, make him expel the poison.”
Dang Mujin carefully applied pressure to the acupoints near the man’s spine, moving methodically from the navel to other key points on the abdomen.
The foreign man, instead of feeling the usual lethargy from the poison, experienced a violent churning in his stomach.
“What are you… Ugh!”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. His stomach and throat convulsed uncontrollably, trying to expel everything inside. It was an intense, unfamiliar sensation, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Desperately, he tried to hold back, but when Dang Mujin’s fingers entered his mouth and pressed against a sensitive spot on his tongue, he couldn’t resist any longer.
It was beyond human willpower to control.
Just as one can’t breathe with their nose and mouth covered, the man involuntarily vomited everything from his stomach.
“Ugh!”
The poison emitted a foul stench as it splattered everywhere.
Neither the man nor Dang Mujin’s friends had ever seen someone forcibly saved from such a deadly toxin.
“Wow,” Seolhwa murmured in awe.
Dang Mujin gave a light smile and moved on to the next step.
Having saved the man’s life, it was time for interrogation.
Most would resort to knives or fire for such a task, but Dang Mujin’s hands were empty.
He placed a hand on the man’s thigh and spoke calmly.
“If you want to confess, do it now. You won’t get another chance for half an hour.”
“Half an hour?”
“Yes. I’ll give you a chance to confess every half hour.”
Who sets a timer for an interrogation? The fear of unknown pain is half the battle.
When the man remained silent, Dang Mujin nodded.
Then, his fingers dug into the man’s thigh.
“Ugh!”
The pain was significant but not unbearable.
Dang Mujin murmured, “If you feel like confessing, speak up. If you can’t talk, tap the ground. If you can’t move, blink. Remember, it’s half an hour.”
The man wanted to retort, but he couldn’t. Dang Mujin’s words seemed to slow down, as if time itself was stretching.
His voice, initially at a normal pace, slowed to a crawl, like a child learning to speak.
Dang Mujin’s final words echoed in his ears.
“Of course, it won’t feel like half an hour to you. Hang in there. You won’t die, so don’t worry.”
The assurance of survival sounded ominous.
A strange sensation spread from where Dang Mujin’s fingers had pressed.
It felt like thousands of insects were crawling through his veins, spreading throughout his body. Yet, when he looked down, there was nothing there.
But he could feel them, as if they were about to burst through his skin.
Still, nothing was visible on his thigh, just a small spot of blood where the fingers had pressed.
Yet, the man saw the insects emerging from his skin.
His senses and mind were at odds. His eyes and logic told him there were no insects, but his body felt them. His mind twisted, showing him what wasn’t there.
“Aaah! Aaaah!”
Overwhelmed by pain and confusion, the man writhed and screamed, prompting Dang Mujin to press a point to silence him.
The man gasped silently, his body twitching.
With nothing else to do, the group started betting on when the man would confess.
Seolhwa thought he’d last at least a couple of hours, maybe not confessing at all.
The man was resilient, having withstood harsh interrogations before without breaking.
But Dang Mujin’s friends thought it would take an hour.
Despite Dang Mujin’s skills, they believed the man’s pride would make him hold out at least once before giving in.
Dang Mujin, however, was certain.
“Half an hour will do.”
Exactly half an hour later, the man broke down, tears streaming as he confessed everything he knew.
Once again, Dang Mujin was right.
The man cried out, “Baekhyang! It was Baekhyang! I helped Baekhyang escape! The leaders ordered me to open the gate at night, promising to cover everything else…”
Hyeongong asked Seolhwa, “Who are these leaders?”
“One manages the palace’s resources, the other is a martial arts instructor.”
But the man, ignoring their conversation, continued desperately, fearing the return of pain if he stopped.
“So I opened the gate at night! But something felt off. I thought they’d return after getting Baekhyang out, but they never did… That’s when I realized I’d been used and followed them, hoping to survive!”
In short, the leaders had fled with Baekhyang, using the man as a pawn.
Dang Mujin asked, “So why did you come to the sect?”
“I just did as I was told!”
“You’d better explain.”
The man hesitated, looking at them with a lost expression. He had nothing more to say.
“Where is Baekhyang?”
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t! They said they’d contact me if I waited here!”
After such torment, he wouldn’t lie. Dang Mujin asked again.
“Anything else you want to share?”
Silence.
Dang Mujin glanced at Seolhwa.
After a moment’s thought, she nodded.
There was no need for further suffering.
Dang Mujin pressed a point, granting the man a painless death.
He collapsed, relief on his face as he passed.
Dang Mujin looked at the body briefly, then stood.
“Now, let’s figure out our next move. And Seolhwa, it seems things are getting complicated. We need to hear your side of the story.”
Seolhwa nodded.