Bu Eunseol, tasked with eliminating the Namsagok assassins operating in Yueyang.
As night fell, he stealthily approached the Namsagok’s stronghold outside the southern gate. But suddenly, the assassins emerged, heading somewhere in a hurry. Sensing something amiss, Bu Eunseol silently followed them and witnessed them attacking the disciples of the Hyungsan Sect.
“They’ve truly fallen,” Bu Eunseol muttered under his breath, observing the Hyungsan Sect’s swordsmanship against the assassins.
Supreme martial arts? Secret inner techniques? Such things weren’t essential to cutting down an enemy. What truly mattered was a fierce will to kill and unyielding confidence.
But the Hyungsan disciples lacked both the will to kill and the confidence, their faces betraying despair with every swing of their swords.
“They won’t last a quarter-hour,” Bu Eunseol noted with a low scoff, watching the clash.
And indeed, within moments, all the Hyungsan disciples except Myeong Un lay wounded on the ground.
“Who are you?!” the lead assassin shouted.
Snapped out of his thoughts, Bu Eunseol’s masked eyes narrowed into a faint smile, sending chills down the assassins’ spines.
“Kill him n—” The assassin’s words were cut short.
No need for talk. Having resolved to exterminate the Namsagok assassins, Bu Eunseol drew his sword and pierced the leader’s throat in one swift motion.
“Gurk.” With a choked gasp, the assassin collapsed like a felled log.
The remaining assassins began to encircle Bu Eunseol.
Swish, swish, swish.
They split into two groups, circling him like two snakes entwining each other in a dizzying dance—the Namsagok’s famed Poison Fang Formation.
“Pointless movements,” Bu Eunseol remarked.
The Poison Fang Formation’s intricate maneuvers should have disoriented any opponent, but to Bu Eunseol, trained in the Way of the Beast, their movements were crystal clear.
“To confuse an enemy, you must move faster.” Without hesitation, he thrust his sword to the left.
“Ugh!”
A groan erupted as another assassin was struck, his sword piercing a vital point in the formation’s weak spot.
Slash, slash!
As Bu Eunseol effortlessly disrupted the formation, one of the assassins shouted, “He’s a master of breaking formations! Keep your distance and use hidden weapons!” The assassins retreated to create space, readying their projectiles.
But that was their mistake.
“Who discusses strategy in front of the enemy?” Bu Eunseol sneered.
Unleashing his Swift Beyond Shadow, he wove through the scattered assassins, cutting them down one by one.
“Urgh…” Terror filled the eyes of the assassins as they watched their comrades fall.
No retreat, no attack was permitted.
Bu Eunseol’s sword, moving like a phantom, severed their lifelines with precision.
‘Their skills are mediocre,’ he thought. Having faced far stronger opponents, Bu Eunseol found the Namsagok assassins numerous but unremarkable in skill.
“All or nothing!” an assassin cried, realizing escape was impossible.
Whoosh!
Over twenty swords surged toward him like a tidal wave. Bu Eunseol’s eyes gleamed as he faced the onslaught.
The assassins’ swordsmanship wasn’t about refined techniques but raw intent to kill.
‘And intent can become a technique in itself.’ His sword moved naturally, countering the barrage. ‘Intent can be transformed into momentum.’ With newfound clarity, Bu Eunseol tucked his sword behind his back.
“...!” The assassins felt a strange pressure at their fingertips, their swords veering off course.
“What’s happening?!” Panicked, they swung their poisoned blades again, but Bu Eunseol shifted into an odd stance.
Clang!
Their swords began clashing against each other.
“It’s the Heavenly Tyrant Sword Momentum!” an assassin gasped, recognizing the technique only master swordsmen could wield. They scrambled back in fear.
“No other tricks?” Bu Eunseol asked, advancing with a calm expression.
The assassins retreated further, trembling.
“So this is the level of Namsagok.” He couldn’t hide his disappointment.
On Hell Island, even teenage assassins used bizarre, desperate methods—poison, hidden weapons, even sacrificing comrades or themselves in mutual destruction.
‘To think the martial world’s Namsagok would be this ordinary.’ It wasn’t that Namsagok was weak; Bu Eunseol’s skills had grown exponentially, though he remained unaware of his own strength.
“No need to get cocky!” one assassin shouted, glaring at him. “We’ll make sure the main sect deals with you!”
Crunch!
A grotesque sound came from the assassins’ mouths as dark blood trickled out. Realizing they couldn’t defeat or escape Bu Eunseol, they bit down on false teeth laced with deadly poison.
Thud. Thud.
As the assassins collapsed like logs, only groans filled the forest.
Turning, Bu Eunseol saw the surviving Hyungsan disciples, tears streaming down their faces—not from pain, but shame.
A lone masked youth had defeated assassins nine of them couldn’t overcome.
Swish.
Oh Giheun, wiping his tears, staggered toward Bu Eunseol and clasped his hands.
“Thank you for your help, benefactor.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Bu Eunseol said coldly, turning away. “I wasn’t here to save you.”
“Still… your actions saved our sect’s disciples, so we owe you our gratitude.”
“Think what you want.” As Bu Eunseol turned to leave, Myeong Un stumbled forward.
“Benefactor!” he called, biting his lip. “Please, at least tell us your name. The Hyungsan Sect will repay this debt someday!” Bu Eunseol met Myeong Un’s blazing eyes.
Gone was the playful, liquor-loving rogue; now, he had the gaze of a martial artist seeking strength.
“Quit drinking,” Bu Eunseol said.
“What?” Before Myeong Un could process, the masked figure vanished.
“Quit drinking…” Myeong Un muttered.
Hong Jeongun, standing nearby, mused, “Could he be… the manifestation of our Grandmaster Neung Ryeong, who ascended to immortality?”
Neung Ryeong, who vanished without leaving secret techniques, was believed by the Hyungsan Sect to have become an immortal.
“No way,” Oh Giheun said with a hollow expression. “His swordsmanship was closer to the demonic path. How could he be our Grandmaster?”
“Was it?” Hong Jeongun scratched his head.
Myeong Un shook his head.
“The way his swordplay shifted with the enemy’s movements… and he used the Heavenly Tyrant Sword Momentum. At his age, he must be a prodigy of the demonic path. Why would he help us?”
“No idea,” Hong Jeongun replied. “Who could he be?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Oh Giheun said firmly. “He saved our sect’s disciples. Orthodox or demonic, we owe him a debt. And to repay it… we must grow stronger!”
The disciples nodded, their lost fighting spirit reignited.
The Hyungsan Sect, once despairing over lost martial arts, had rediscovered its drive to reclaim past glory.
***
Time flows like a stream.
Six months had passed since Bu Eunseol joined the Yueyang branch of the Nine Deaths Squad.
He had tirelessly taken on missions—assassination, reconnaissance, intelligence gathering, theft, investigations, sect annihilation, and sabotage—handling every task with unmatched speed and precision, leaving no trace.
Strength wasn’t just about fighting.
It was about analyzing situations coldly, adapting to the unexpected, and reaching conclusions faster than others through diverse experiences.
That was true strength, he realized.
“What’s happening in the Yueyang branch?” Majeon’s leaders began to ask as difficult missions were resolved one after another.
“Number Eighteen. He’s handled them all,” came the report.
Unlike most operatives who specialized, Number Eighteen took on every mission, executing them flawlessly and faster than anyone.
“Intriguing.” Majeon’s leadership grew interested in Number Eighteen.
This led Bu Eunseol to an unexpected situation. Inside the secret room of the Haehyeon Bookstore, he stood frowning at Shang Liang and Ma Yun.
The reason? Shang Liang’s absurd proposal.
“Bodyguard?” Bu Eunseol asked.
The Nine Deaths Squad handled impossible tasks, but bodyguarding wasn’t one of them.
“Yes,” Shang Liang confirmed.
“I refuse,” Bu Eunseol said coldly, turning away.
His demeanor, hardened by six months in the martial world, was now as cold and unyielding as a seasoned warrior’s.
“I joined as a Killer.”
“Wait, hear me out,” Shang Liang pleaded cautiously.
Without Bu Eunseol, the Yueyang branch would grind to a halt. His exceptional performance had drawn a flood of near-impossible missions that no one else could touch.
“This comes straight from the top.”
Bu Eunseol’s eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “A Gapho mission?”
“Not exactly, but close,” Shang Liang said, scratching his head with a sigh. “It’s just not labeled as one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You and I can’t refuse it. It’s not a Nine Deaths Squad mission—it’s an order to the branch itself.” At Shang Liang’s gesture, Ma Yun handed Bu Eunseol a letter.
“...” Bu Eunseol’s brow furrowed as he read it.
The instructions were simple: go to the rendezvous point, follow the target’s orders, and protect them until they leave Yueyang.
In short, stay by their side for the duration of their stay.
“Who’s the target?” Bu Eunseol asked.
Ma Yun shook his head. “Don’t know. Only that they’re here for leisure.”
‘Someone important, then.’ For the higher-ups to personally order a bodyguard mission, the target had to be a major figure in the demonic path or closely tied to Majeon’s leadership.
“A branch directive…” Bu Eunseol muttered, his expression sour.
“The pay’s good,” Ma Yun added. “Ten thousand taels a day. Near Gapho rates.”
Ten thousand taels a day. Ten days would mean a hundred thousand tael—enough to live in luxury for life.
“I’ll take another mission,” Bu Eunseol said.
“You’re turning down ten thousand taels a day?” Ma Yun asked, incredulous.
“I don’t need money.”
“It’s an order from the top.”
“Don’t care.” Shang Liang and Ma Yun’s eyes filled with fear.
This madman would defy even the higher-ups!
Comments