Chapter 34

“Didn’t I say I’d return?”

Who on earth was he talking to? It was a line Cheolmyeongho muttered alone in the chaotic battlefield where no one answered him.

Meanwhile, numbness began spreading through Cheol Myeong-ho’s arm. But then something strange happened. The moment a face he remembered appeared before his eyes, the pain gripping his entire arm vanished as if washed away. In a way, this was also the essence of the Poisonous Demon’s identity. When consumed by fierce determination, he could easily endure most pains, hardships, and difficulties.

Cheol Myeong-ho roamed the area where Dan Woo-seong had begun his rampage, singling out only those who had relentlessly pursued him to the death earlier and smashing their skulls with his iron-tipped umbrella.

“······Two thousand eight hundred ninety-eight.”

Dan Wooseong’s words echoed like an auditory hallucination in his ears.

“You rat? You poisonous snake?”

Cheol Myeong-ho answered alone, like a madman.

“Uh, no. I’m Dokjonghori.”

He had to keep muttering the words because only by spewing venom could the pain subside. He was determined to reach one hundred thousand times and hear his friend say, “That’s just like you, Venomous Snake.”

Truthfully, without the nickname Dokjonghori, Cheol Myeong-ho had nothing left.

His martial arts weren’t strong, his family had fallen apart long ago, the woman had left, and there was no one around he could call a friend.

No, there was one.

After all, he had bought him noodles when he was hungry.

Cheol Myeong-ho was a peculiar thinker. He didn’t dwell on Dan Woo-seong taking back all that money. Those three bowls of noodles bought when he was hungry mattered more. Because if Dan Woo-seong had told him to get lost right then, he wouldn’t have had a word to say.

Cheol Myeong-ho, holding a black umbrella and wearing a hideous mask, wandered aimlessly through the increasingly chaotic Yookwan downtown area.

Whenever he spotted one of the pursuers, he relentlessly chased them down and brought his heavy iron umbrella crashing down on the back of their head. Most were already injured or terrified, making killing them surprisingly easy.

Come to think of it, just how much stronger had that friend of his become, the one who’d ordered him to do a hundred thousand repetitions?

Whenever he grew tired, Cheol Myeong-ho would occasionally stand blankly, watching Dan Woo-seong fight.

‘Ah, that guy really fights well.’

Admiration and envy mingled together.

‘I want to fight like that too.’

Cheolmyeongho turned his head and saw the minions of the Jangsanpa and Nopobang factions, who usually didn’t get along, lying side by side in perfect harmony.

Quite a few others lay dead in bizarre positions scattered about.

The leaders of the Gyoryongbang and Hongrakbo factions had each been stabbed in the gut by the other’s blade and died.

Some had died in each other’s arms. These, of course, had their skulls crushed and ascended to heaven. With so many present, quite a few managed to flee.

They were the wisest ones.

Danwooseong made no effort to pursue those who fled. He was selectively killing only those who charged at him and black-clad men who appeared skilled in martial arts.

What should I call this situation?

The appropriate term was this:

Black-market crackdown.

Most of the fairly strong guys Cheol Myeong-ho remembered were already corpses.

Cheol Myeong-ho, true to his vicious nature, had been searching for familiar faces when he suddenly stopped in his tracks upon witnessing an unexpected scene.

Seeing such carnage, more than a few were delighted. He could hear merchants murmuring.

“Does this mean we don’t have to pay tribute anymore?”

“They’re all dead or fled—who are we supposed to pay?”

“They’re saying the young master of the Eunha Trading Guild might take it over.”

Passing by, Cheolmyeongho responded to the merchants’ words in a dismissive tone.

“He’s not that kind of guy.”

“Huh?”

Cheol Myeong-ho, wearing a bizarre mask, glared at the merchants.

“He’s not that kind of guy. He’s got more money than you lot. It’s a pointless worry.”

Cheol Myeong-ho understood the small merchants’ feelings best.

The crowd watching the fight was absurdly cheering for the young master of the Eunha Trading Guild. They weren’t weak-minded people who thought he was powerless.

The crowd was cruel enough. Some merchants, wielding fish-cutting knives, slit the throats of those who had bullied them or extorted payments, causing trouble.

Especially those who worked as butchers killed the black-clad gangsters without hesitation.

This incident was seen as the very opportunity for the bustling district of Yukwan to break free from the black market and achieve liberation.

They joined the purge.

Some butchers encouraged their comrades, even getting brothers to join in. Pickaxes and sickles appeared; others wielded crude axes and knives snatched from someone, charging forward.

Amidst the chaos, Cheolmyeongho laughed inside his face mask.

“Kekekekeke… How amusing. How very amusing.”

It was a daily life that had been dull and tedious. It felt like a festival of liberation from oppression had begun.

Cheolmyeongho suddenly startled himself with his own laughter. He realized it had been an awfully long time since he’d laughed out loud.

‘Ah, so this is what laughing feels like.’

Amidst the joy, his thoughts became jumbled. Cheolmyeongho swayed and moved as if dancing at the site of the bloody festival, muttering to himself.

“I want to become stronger.”

He wanted to become insanely strong.

Not like this man wearing a blood-stained mask at this bloody festival, but like that childhood friend over there, running wild. Cheol Myeong-ho, who had been laughing like a madman, suddenly glanced around before slamming his black iron umbrella forward.

“Two thousand eight hundred ninety-nine!”

As his muscles sent the signal that they were ‘painful,’ Cheolmyeongho responded as if he were far away.

“I am Cheolmyeongho, the poisonous dragon.”

A man wielding a black umbrella passed through the crowd.

People, recognizing the madman, stepped aside first.

This poisonous bastard incessantly counted the number of times. His lifelong obsession had shifted from solely money to solely becoming stronger.

.

.

.

Danwooseong had known all along that Dokjonghori had potential. He merely gave him an opportunity. However, seizing that opportunity was not something just anyone could do.

Danwooseong had glimpsed the potential in Samaguk, and even placed a small hope in the youngest. Each carries a spark within their heart.

All that was needed was for that tiny spark to become a blaze, filling their hearts completely.

While Dan Woo-sung was crushing Jikye’s men, he witnessed the Umbrella Ghost running around like a madman, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

He could see it clearly even from afar.

The stubborn one swung the iron-tipped umbrella just as he’d been taught.

But he could say with certainty that neither Cheol Myeong-ho, nor Sima Gyeok, nor Lee Ja-eon could come close to Dan Woo-seong’s state of mind.

In this lifetime, he would become an undefeated warrior.

However, the martial world Danwooseong desired was one separated from the powerless. Who exactly are the powerful squeezing the lifeblood out of?

It wasn’t about money that drove this massacre.

They had only rampaged for half an hour, yet now, save for Dan Woosung, none remained standing properly.

The Red-Yellow Alliance had literally disintegrated.

Dan Woosung didn’t kill them all alone.

Ordinary merchants and laborers, boatmen trying to drown their daily weariness in a cup of liquor, and shop assistants who had been beaten and humiliated countless times joined in to capture the fleeing black-clad figures.

Danwooseong certainly lit the spark…

Those who burned were ordinary commoners.

Before long, everyone who had been carrying on their livelihoods in the bustling district of Yukwan had poured out and occupied the entire area.

This was something Danwooseong hadn’t anticipated.

People swarmed toward Danwooseong. Were they trying to buy him a drink? Or perhaps utter a few awkward words to express their gratitude?

Danwooseong wasn’t interested.

After deliberately sending away those approaching him, he headed toward Yanghwa Street without saying much.

It was truly a grand feast.

What would become of the wealth Jikye had amassed?

Dan Woosung suddenly looked back.

The ordinary people of the bustling district of Yukwan were all staring at Dan Wooseong.

The money the enemy had hoarded was theirs too.

It was likely wealth accumulated through tribute payments.

Later, they planned to send Commissioner Yi Hwa-eon to appoint a single representative from the bustling district of Yukwan, then allow only that representative to join the Merchants’ Association. After all, it was Dan Woo-seong’s initiative, so they intended to protect it.

That was also the purpose of the Merchants’ Association.

After finishing his noisy stroll, Dan Woo-sung only realized he was thirsty once he arrived at Yanghwa Street.

His steps naturally led him to the inn where he had smashed chairs and tables earlier, earning extra money.

The waiter, who had been wiping down tables, walked out and greeted him familiarly.

“Your Highness, where have you been?”

Danwooseong replied.

“Drink.”

Jeomsoi grinned and said, pretending it was a joke.

“You didn’t go off and cause trouble somewhere again, did you?”

Dan Wooseong looked at Jeomsoi as if he found it strange, and only then did Jeomsoi startle and say.

“Ah, I was just joking, Your Highness. I apologize if I offended you.”

Dan Wooseong replied curtly.

“No. Actually, yes. The tavern was a bit noisy.”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Dan Wooseong glanced at a few chairs and tables. They didn’t look newly bought; it seemed someone had replaced some nails and table legs with new ones. Jeomsoi said with a flustered expression.

“Ah, I recycled it. It seemed too wasteful to throw away.”

Jumso-i seemed to have pocketed the money, but Danwooseong didn’t care.

“Let’s have some Maotai. No need for snacks.”

“Understood.”

Maotai was a deep-aroma liquor, not overly potent. He planned to quench his thirst and return, so he took a seat outside the inn. He was curious about the name of the subtly perceptive shopkeeper, but he didn’t bother to ask.

After downing a few cups of liquor, he planned to catch any stragglers fleeing this way while they were still drinking. After all, Yanghua Street was Danwooseong’s territory, and he intended to make it impossible for the Black Path to set foot there.

Just as Danwooseong poured and drank two cups of moatai alone, Cheolmyeongho appeared, breathing heavily. He tucked a black iron umbrella under his arm and spoke. His face was still covered.

“Give me just one cup.”

Dan Woosung poured liquor into both cups. Cheol Myeongho held his cup and looked at him.

Neither man had much to say.

They met each other’s gaze for a moment before simultaneously downing their drinks.

Cheolmyeongho set his wine cup down on the table and said.

“A hundred thousand times isn’t that many. Wait. I’ll come back. Once I finish a hundred thousand times, you’ll have to tell me what comes next.”

With just those words, he gripped the black iron umbrella in his right hand and headed off somewhere.

He was truly a busy man.

The waitress brought over a plate of dry snacks, unsolicited, set it down, then stared blankly at the man who had taken a sip of liquor and was leaving. She asked,

“What was that beggar brat saying?”

“He’s a madman. Don’t give him any mind.”

“Hmm, I see.”

Danwooseong watched the departing Cheolmyeongho with an expressionless face.

The downward strike, what came next, was really nothing special.

It was merely a difference of thirty thousand strikes versus fifty thousand.

He was a man qualitatively different from Sima Gyeok or the youngest, who would have made him master even a sword technique that never existed in the world. Cheol Myeong-ho would have a sword technique that suited him. If Cheol Myeong-ho did as he was told, he planned to teach him the horizontal slash next. The horizontal slash would also likely require hundreds of thousands of repetitions.

Next would be repeated thrusting practice.

If you accomplish all of this, things become simple.

Danwooseong wasn’t teaching sword techniques; Cheolmyeongho would forge his own sword style.

This too was martial arts.

ⓒ Yoo Jin-seong

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