Myeongshin swung the dagger in a trance.

Sparks flew as his blade clashed with the Salwang’s.

It was the fight between the greatest and the second greatest of the Underworld.

A single slip would mean death.

Their blades moved so fast they were barely visible.

He had sparred lightly with the Salwang before, but this life-and-death battle was a first.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The daggers stabbed at each other in rapid succession.

With equally swift footwork, Myeongshin evaded the incoming blade by shifting his torso with focused spirit-art.

Metal rang against metal—sometimes a clear ring, other times a harsh scrape.

“He’s strong!” Myeongshin’s hand sensed it before his mind did. The Salwang’s strikes hit with weight—and still he held back. Myeongshin, by contrast, poured everything he had into the fight.

Despite the gap in skill, they were evenly matched thanks to his resolve.

Myeongshin fought with death in his heart. His willingness to die barely compensated for the difference in ability.

In an instant, a hundred exchanges passed.

Clang!

With a resounding crash, they each retreated a step.

They stood on the rooftop across from the tavern.

Myeongshin’s breathing was ragged, but the Salwang remained calm. Their skill difference was exactly this much.

“But it’s fine,” Myeongshin thought.

Having accepted death, he felt no fear.

Whenever he set out on an assassination mission, he imagined failure and his own death.

He pictured warriors rifling through his corpse to see who had sent the killer.

No one would bury him; they’d dump his body in a field for wolves to devour.

He had always believed that would be an assassin’s end.

And yet, to die facing the Salwang?

“This isn’t a bad way to go.”

At that moment, the Salwang glanced toward the tavern. Through its windows, he caught glimpses of the fight inside.

“She won’t come out alive,” Myeongshin said calmly.

“She ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ will,” the Salwang replied.

Myeongshin had dropped his formal tone, but the Salwang didn’t mind.

“Then all your devices were pointless,” he said. Myeongshin knew that was why he’d been brought outside.

“I appreciate your faith,” Myeongshin said.

Even so, he had three reasons for coming out here. First—

“It won’t matter to her.”

He believed in Geom Mugeuk.

The man he’d read about and the man he’d seen in person—together they formed an undeniable conclusion.

Though they’d met only days ago, no one had influenced him so profoundly.

He’d even thought he should rewrite his report on him. Of course, that would never happen now.

His second reason was that if he’d stayed at the tavern, the Salwang would have stayed too.

That would make things harder. Better that Myeongshin stall the Salwang while Geom Mugeuk handled the others. Only faith in Geom Mugeuk could justify that choice.

His final reason was a desire to kill the Salwang himself.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he craved the personal closure.

Then—

Shik!

He narrowly avoided a flying hidden blade. It wasn’t meant to kill, but to draw his attention.

On the adjacent rooftop stood Hyeolla, the man who had mocked Myeongshin earlier and had his tongue cut out by the Salwang.

With his eyes and expression, Hyeolla begged the Salwang to leave Myeongshin to him.

Hatred burned in his gaze—he believed Myeongshin had cost him his tongue.

The Salwang looked from Myeongshin to Hyeolla, then nodded.

Normally he would have taunted Myeongshin mercilessly, but now he said nothing.

Hyeolla charged with his sword.

Myeongshin met him blade-to-blade, refusing to dodge.

Assassins plan and strike to kill. When their target is unguarded, they stab effortlessly—so they must never use martial arts footwork or skills. To do so is to admit poor preparation.

Fighting openly now, he fought not as an assassin but as a warrior.

It was pure fundamentals: martial skill, hidden-blade technique, and footwork.

Shiiik!

A sword brushed Myeongshin’s cheek, its cold chill lingering, yet he advanced, dagger extended.

Hyeolla twisted away and thrust his sword. Myeongshin twisted too.

The blade aimed to slash his face but Myeongshin had already ducked and thrust his dagger into Hyeolla’s abdomen.

Cheng-cheng-cheng!

Hyeolla’s sword reversed to block.

As befits the Underworld’s foremost killer, their duel was extraordinary.

Their movements were like wind; their attacks as fierce as beasts.

The metallic clinks continued without pause.

Gradually, the sword began to yield to the dagger.

Hyeolla, once the Underworld’s rising star, had been confident he’d defeat Myeongshin.

But this wasn’t an assassin’s duel but a warrior’s, and he was losing on fundamentals.

“Damn it! I will never lose to you!”

Yet as he fell back, his arms and legs grew uncoordinated.

Thunk!

Blood spurted from Hyeolla’s shoulder.

He had considered himself the second greatest, but the gap in skill was greater than any lost tongue.

Hyeolla prepared a decisive move, but Myeongshin seized the fleeting opening.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

His dagger plunged quickly into Hyeolla’s chest.

“Graaahk.”

Hyeolla coughed blood, his eyes pleading at the Salwang for aid. He felt betrayed, but the Salwang could not help.

Since fighting Myeongshin he had sensed Hwi’s presence—should he expose an opening, Hwi would strike a fatal blow.

The cult leader’s guard.

Earlier he had wanted to kill Myeongshin but dared not because of Hwi.

To kill rashly would mean his own death. His opponent was skilled enough to make that instinctive threat real.

Then—

Papapapapapapahk!

Bullets tore holes in the tavern wall opposite. A smell of blood wafted through; the fight inside raged on.

Myeongshin steadied himself before Hyeolla’s corpse. He understood why the Salwang had not intervened—he felt Hwi protecting him.

He thought of Geom Mugeuk.

“You truly—” he began.

The Salwang watched the tavern silently, then said abruptly, “Your vengeance should target the one who hired you, not me.”

“Indeed,” Myeongshin conceded.

“But why?” Myeongshin knew the question unspoken in the Salwang’s words: Why betray me?

He felt no anger—such was the Salwang’s nature. He had spared Myeongshin’s life, trained him as an assassin, yet received no gratitude.

“Why did you kill your father?” the Salwang asked, his clear eyes ablaze with killing intent.

Myeongshin did not flinch. On the contrary, he welcomed it. In a fight of masters, the angrier the opponent, the better.

“Does that question sting? As you believe you did not betray your father, so I did not betray you.”

The Salwang stared wordlessly.

Myeongshin realized he had been drawn to the Salwang by those transparent eyes—more innocent than malevolent.

Sometimes appearance speaks louder than all else.

The Salwang advanced slowly, his gaze killing.

Myeongshin wiped Hyeolla’s blood from his dagger and moved to meet him.

He could have drawn the fight out with talk, but this vengeance was his alone, not Geom Mugeuk’s.

“I’ll fight with all I have.”

They clashed again.

Cheng-cheng-cheng-cheng!

Expected and unexpected strikes intertwined.

He blocked with skill, he parried with instinct.

His inner strength faltered, his arm screamed in pain, but he bit back the agony and fought on.

The might of the greatest is fearsome, but so too is the second greatest. Yet this gap could not be closed by will alone.

Snap!

Blood flew from his arm.

Shiiiiik!

An attack aimed for his heart—

A sword blocked the Salwang’s dagger.

It was Hwi, who had broken concealment to appear.

That moment, when the Salwang would have struck Myeongshin, was Hwi’s chance to attack him instead. But that would surely have killed Myeongshin, so Hwi chose to protect him.

Myeongshin pressed the wound’s pressure point to staunch the bleeding and said, “I did not want to owe you this debt. Thank you.”

Hwi offered no reply. He protected Myeongshin only because the Little Pill Master commanded it—no personal feeling was involved.

Myeongshin rose to fight again.

A voice came from behind.

“How many preparations did you make? I nearly died!”

Geom Mugeuk emerged from the tavern.

The Salwang was taken aback—he had not expected him out so soon, and unscathed.

Myeongshin too was surprised, but stifled it and asked, “How did my devices fare? I made most of them.”

“If I’d known they were yours, I wouldn’t have asked Hwi to save you.”

Myeongshin felt the praise: not reproach, but admiration for his hidden blades.

How many in this world could joke so calmly amid a deadly tavern fight? Instead of boasting, he uplifted his rival—true self-confidence.

‘I’ve lost.’

He felt respect for Geom Mugeuk—a young man earning his respect by saving his life.

“Are you badly hurt?”

Geom Mugeuk asked, and Myeongshin knew it was time to hand over the fight.

He did not insist on continuing. Sadly, he could not kill the Salwang with his own skill. Any stubbornness would only inconvenience Hwi or Geom Mugeuk. The Salwang was stronger than he’d imagined.

Myeongshin jumped down.

“Fighting with these smith’s arms was tough. I’ll rest awhile, so you handle him.”

Geom Mugeuk leapt up to Myeongshin’s spot.

“Thank you, uncle.”

He thanked Hwi for carrying out the Little Pill Master’s command to protect Myeongshin.

As Geom Mugeuk stood, Hwi’s expression changed. With the Little Pill Master now his charge, he became a different man—such is the loyalty of a martial guard.

Geom Mugeuk looked at Hwi and felt that Hwi had been waiting for this fight with the Salwang. This clash was the inevitable meeting of two opposed destinies.

‘If Hwi must fight, can I help him?’

He had something to offer as well, equal to his swordsmanship.

Looking down at Myeongshin from the rooftop, Geom Mugeuk asked, “Do you know why your leader allied with them?”

“I don’t. Do you?”

“They offered to make him king of all assassins—master of the night.”

Myeongshin thought it plausible. The man was obsessed with kills. Such a promise might have swayed him.

“They made it sound admirable, but in the end they’d use him as a tool.”

Geom Mugeuk’s clear eyes gleamed as he deliberately provoked the Salwang.

“No one who serves another is truly a ruler. A night-ruler bowing to a day-ruler—there is no grandeur in that. A ruler? He’d be no more than a mere instrument.”

Geom Mugeuk continued to taunt him, seeking to shake his resolve before the fight.

“He mimicked another’s life, but never asked what life he should live himself…”

At that moment—

Kaaang!

Two sword-trails appeared and vanished.

One would have bisected Geom Mugeuk; the other deflected an incoming attack.

Hwi had blocked the Salwang’s blow. Not to save Geom Mugeuk, but as a warning to silence him.

Of course, silencing him would never work.

With serene confidence that Hwi would block any strike, Geom Mugeuk resumed taunting.

“Do you know why he sought to break your principles?”

He asked because Myeongshin himself wondered.

“Why?”

“Because he was jealous. The greatest killed without principles; you, the second greatest, have principles.”

Kwak-kwak-kwak-kwang!

A murderous aura flared from the Salwang’s sleeve—far more powerful than any they had faced in the tavern.

But a more astonishing sight followed.

Hwi’s sword, spinning like a pinwheel, deflected every hidden blade sent by the murderous aura.

Myeongshin was stunned—it was unimaginable to parry those blades at such a distance.

‘The cult leader’s guard is far stronger than I thought.’

Hwi and the Salwang locked eyes.

No other motive was needed—they were the greatest adversaries of their martial world.

Today, the normally silent Hwi spoke.

“Assassins underestimate their guards. They think we only know how to protect. Today I will show them.”

He lifted his sword.

“How well a person who knows how to keep promises can kill when they set their mind to it.”