Chapter 209: The False King (3)

“This is the amount collected this time.”

“Hm.”

Gokmyeong, who had been skimming the documents, nodded.

“It’s increased again.”

“At the foundation of every great undertaking, there is money. A great undertaking without secured funds is no different from shouting about powerless justice.”

“You’re right.”

“From here on, we’ll raise the collection amount by five pun at a time. Gradually, but when we raise it, we need to raise it decisively—so the people above will pay attention.”

“Hm, yes.”

For some reason, it was a lukewarm response. The scribe smiled.

“You seem quite frustrated.”

Gokmyeong smacked his lips.

“Taking enough time is important, just like money. But there’s nothing to be done about feeling impatient.”

The scribe bowed his head.

“As I told you before, power gained easily leaves no regret when it is lost. Ink Dragon Manor is not like the usual Dark Path alliances that sprout up like mushrooms and then vanish. To establish itself as the axis of wealth, steadiness is essential.”

“I know. I know, and yet what can I do about being impatient?”

“Please trust me and endure just a little longer. Countless petty men have collapsed from a lack of patience. I believe you are someone worthy of leaving your name in the history of the Dark Path.”

Gokmyeong cleared his throat.

He knew it was meant to lift him up. Still, whenever it surged up like this, a subordinate’s encouragement gave him real strength.

“Right. Being impatient won’t change the outcome. There’s nothing to do but trust and wait.”

The scribe smiled.

“Those are truly correct words.”

Thousand-Eyes Fortress was a fairly famous intelligence sect even within the Dark Path.

But that fame proved, if anything, that Thousand-Eyes Fortress’s capabilities were at an ambiguous level. The Dark Path’s truly capable intelligence groups were not known to the outside world.

Still, Thousand-Eyes Fortress was famous for more than information.

Money.

Besides information, Thousand-Eyes Fortress had secured considerable financial power through illegal businesses.

And that meant, in turn, that Thousand-Eyes Fortress’s martial strength could also be interpreted as considerable. In the Dark Path, there were an unusually large number of people who coveted money.

“But this much, we have to watch.”

Killing Intent gathered in Gokmyeong’s eyes.

“It’s fine if we’re not first. But we must not fall behind those worse than us.”

The scribe lowered his head.

“If there is a sect that enters Ink Dragon before our fortress, I will quietly wipe that sect out.”

“Good.”

Gokmyeong smiled.

A reliable subordinate.

In truth, this subordinate had not been with him long. At most, about half a year. But before even a month had passed, he had made him his right arm.

Because he was smart. This one had a dignity and wisdom the other subordinates lacked.

And Gokmyeong’s unconventional treatment quickly bore fruit.

“You worked hard today. I’ll go first.”

“You worked hard.”

“Oh, and.”

From the top floor of a ten-story building, Gokmyeong’s eyes—looking north—turned unusually serious.

“This fortress is an intelligence organization. We must not forget why we’re in the northernmost part of Hunan Province.”

Vigilance toward the north.

Gathering money and sending it to Ink Dragon Manor was important, but so was watching the north as an intelligence organization. This was not to curry favor with Ink Dragon Manor—it was work they did under Ink Dragon Manor’s orders.

“If you see even the slightest suspicious bastard, attach the ants no matter what. Don’t ever let them slip away.”

“I will remember it.”

“Good.”

Even after hearing the answer, Gokmyeong stared out the window for a long while before turning around.

Whew... I want to get drunk today. It’s been a while—maybe I’ll have a heavy drink...

In that instant, Gokmyeong’s eyes went wide.

...!!

Every hair on his body stood on end.

His mouth began to dry, and his back turned damp. He couldn’t even draw the iron claws hidden up his sleeves.

It was coercion.

Just seeing the other party made his body react first. The moment he fully recognized them, even a single whisker of his beard stiffened.

“Hm.”

A voice, suddenly.

The scribe also jerked around in surprise.

Hk!

The top floor of the ten-story building where the two of them stood.

In one corner of a space no one could enter without permission, a middle-aged man sat perched on a table, skimming the very documents Gokmyeong had been reviewing until moments ago.

He had an antique air about him.

Clothes and cap worn in perfect order. Even the garments themselves were lavish—so much so that calling them jeweled robes would not have been excessive.

At his belt hung a pitch-black longsword that stood in stark contrast to his splendid attire. Long, and thick as well, the blade gave an impression less of sharpness than of raw sturdiness.

Wh-who?!

The scribe looked at Gokmyeong with shaking eyes.

In that moment, his face went pale.

Someone Fortress Lord Gok can’t beat!

Gokmyeong’s face was full of extreme tension and confusion. If this were someone he could handle, he would have drawn his iron claws long ago and shredded them.

Who is he?

Who was this, that he could slip past the senses of Gokmyeong—a Transcendent Peak master—and enter all the way in here?

“Incredible.”

The middle-aged man’s voice was truly pleasant to hear.

A low baritone that settled downward. The habitual trace of laughter in it eased the listener’s heart.

Of course, the two of them did not share that impression.

“For a bunch that’s nothing more than a somewhat-known intelligence sect, the monthly revenue you bring in is this much? Hah... It makes me realize all over again how much we underestimated you.”

The man sighed as he looked up at the ceiling.

“So this is why they call it empty talk at a desk. I thought you were the sort that would be crushed flat and die as easily as you were stepped on, but it turns out you weren’t common bugs—you were venomous insects.”

Venomous insects.

A truly irritating expression. Yet neither Gokmyeong nor the scribe could readily open their mouths.

The middle-aged man lowered his gaze and tossed the documents in his hand away at random.

THUNK!

The two of them flinched despite themselves. The sound of the stack of documents hitting the table carried an oddly overflowing oppression.

At last, the middle-aged man’s eyes turned to Gokmyeong.

Hk!!

Gokmyeong stopped breathing.

FLASH! FLASH!

The glare fixed on him was so chilling it defied description.

Clear eyes, black and white distinct. On the surface, they were unmistakably that.

And yet, within those clear eyes, the boundless brutality of ambition bestowed an immense weight upon the one who met them.

...A monster.

Gokmyeong’s fingertips trembled.

This man is a monster!

He wasn’t releasing internal force. He hadn’t drawn his sword to display his power.

And yet he could tell from the eyes alone. That the other party was an extremely dangerous type. And that they had piled up martial arts to match the brutality they carried.

Astonishingly, Gokmyeong saw, in those eyes, the moving shadow of a living myth.

A shadow stronger than any master he had ever met—someone born human who had risen to the rank of a god, the shadow of the strongest.

Lord of the Manor?!

That was it.

Over the middle-aged man lay a similar shadow to Yangcheon, the strongest martial god Gokmyeong had ever seen.

Skill? He couldn’t even guess. The inferior cannot measure the superior. He knew the man was an outrageous master, but he couldn’t tell how strong.

Only one thing was certain.

This man is as dangerous as the Lord of the Manor!

Yangcheon, Fighting King, one of the Thirteen Seats of the Sacred Heavens.

This unknown middle-aged man’s danger was immense enough to evoke that absolute being.

It wasn’t because of martial arts.

It was because of the man himself—the ambition he carried, and the undisciplined brutality {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} ready to do anything for that ambition.

An eye of instinct born from handling immeasurable information.

To think that keen discernment would show itself at a moment of unavoidable danger like this.

“Truly interesting.”

The middle-aged man—Mo Yonggun—smiled.

“Your liver is no bigger than this, but the ideals you carry are lofty. Up to that point, it’s no different from the delusions of men who don’t know their place... but you have an eye for people.”

“...!!”

“What a pity. If you’d lowered your ideals and grown your courage a bit more, I might have offered you a place under me at least once.”

He read a person’s vessel at a glance.

A discernment far sharper and more accurate than Gokmyeong’s. Beyond innate talent, Mo Yonggun’s eye—tempered by cutting through the asura of power struggles—was already more than enough to speak of the world.

“But.”

Mo Yonggun turned his head toward the scribe.

“With such a fine eye, why are you raising a savage dog that’s been baring its fangs for your master’s flesh?”

Gokmyeong startled and looked at the scribe.

The scribe’s eyes shook as if an earthquake had struck. He was thrown into panic at having his purpose seen through at a glance.

Mo Yonggun’s smile deepened.

“Of course. Of all the means to chase dreams and power, nothing is as easy as using others. An easy road isn’t always the wrong one.”

“...!!”

“I wonder whether our operational team’s Left Palm will be able to settle in successfully, like you.”

Gokmyeong stammered as he opened his mouth.

“W-what do you want?”

“What I want.”

Mo Yonggun tilted his head.

“Certainly a pity. You ask about my purpose, not my identity? In most cases, that’s not easy to say. That’s why environment matters. If you’d met me ten years earlier, you could’ve grown into quite a decent talent.”

In that moment, the scribe reached toward the cord hanging from the ceiling.

Mo Yonggun’s eyes glittered.

HOOF!

The scribe yanked hard—then froze in shock. Only a severed piece of the cord was left in his hand.

“On the other hand, you’re utterly unusable. You’re smart, and you’re greedy, but your face is too half-baked. Fundamentally, you’re not someone I can trust.”

In an instant, lightning blazed in Mo Yonggun’s eyes.

Terror filled the scribe’s face.

“W-wait!”

SHRRRK.

Without an explosion or a roar, without even a cutting sound or the ring of a sword.

Just naturally.

The scribe’s body was cut into eighteen pieces and collapsed.

Blood streamed.

In an instant, the floor was stained red.

Huh—!

An unstable tremor spread through Gokmyeong’s entire body. He hadn’t seen what martial art Mo Yonggun used—he hadn’t even seen him strike.

SHRRRK. THUNK.

Mo Yonggun, having sheathed a longsword he must have drawn at some point, asked with a smile.

“Did you ask what I want?”

“Y-yes!”

“Hah, yes. That’s how you should come at me—so humbly. You’re growing on me more and more, Fortress Lord Gok.”

With his hands clasped behind his back, Mo Yonggun stepped onto the rapidly spreading blood.

FSSSS.

A foul stench of blood rose.

The terrifying True Qi flowing from Mo Yonggun’s toes evaporated every last bit of the pooled blood soaking the floor.

It was Inner Qi control of divine craftsmanship, unbelievable even while watching it. Even someone who had mastered great inner arts would find it hard to even attempt selecting only liquid and evaporating it in an instant.

“What’s your name?”

“...Gokmyeong. I am called Gokmyeong.”

“Good. Fortress Lord Gok.”

A cold smile fell over Mo Yonggun’s face.

“There’s a tiger I’d like to split in two at a stroke. Not that old, but as seasoned as a fox that’s lived for hundreds of years.”

“Y-yes?”

“He’s someone I’ll catch someday no matter what, but this time, I think I need to grind his fangs down. Because I’m riding on that tiger’s back as well.”

“...?!”

“So. For the time being, it seems I’ll have to use these quarters.”

“P-please do.”

“And one more thing.”

A horrific Killing Intent whipped across Mo Yonggun’s smiling face.

“Do you know the exact location of where Yangcheon has coiled up?”