“This doesn’t even surprise me anymore.”

I looked down at Baek So-ah and Heuk So-ryeong, both unconscious without so much as my permission, and said it flatly.

Back in my Crazy Demon days, I’d beaten down plenty of notorious female demonic masters. But I’d never once beaten a woman to death indiscriminately—especially not one weaker than me.

And now, here they were, passed out, at their most vulnerable, testing my conscience.

Suddenly, a few faces of those female demonic masters came to mind. I compared them carefully to the two women lying unconscious before me.

Evil spares neither man nor woman.

But demonic women had a common feature: their faces lacked signs of good fortune. Instead of blessings, their facial lines often showed hints of seduction.

Not the kind born of lust for men, but from the techniques they trained in.

Those who practiced yin-absorbing methods like Dual Cultivation Techniques often forcibly extracted vitality from boys or young men to maintain their youth.

The problem was, back in my Crazy Demon days, the women I fought had all been real masters. I had to go all out against them—and even now, I wouldn’t underestimate them if they showed up again.

So I stared carefully at the unconscious Baek So-ah and Heuk So-ryeong, wondering if they were the same women from back then, just in their younger days. If they were, I’d kill them right here and now without hesitation.

“You’re not them.”

I grabbed the collars of Baek So-ah and Heuk So-ryeong and sat them up, then slapped each across the face.

Smack! Slap!

“Consider yourselves lucky.”

The two slowly began to regain consciousness.

Outside, people were still shouting “Fire!” as they rushed toward the arena, but the risk of it spreading was minimal. The arena was a self-contained structure with a sunken central layout.

As soon as the two opened their eyes, they started crying again.

“Stop that damn crying.”

I walked over to the corner and splashed some water on my face.

“Best shut your mouths before I toss you into the flames.”

After washing up, I pulled a chair up to the bed, sat down, and glared at them.

Being the generous man I am, I explained the background of tonight’s fireworks.

“The Narak Society is no more. Dongbang Yeon is dead. Pyeong Gunsa is dead. Gu Yang-bok’s dead too. Plenty of others died along the way. If you two don’t want to be opening a rainbow gambling den with those other dead bastards in heaven, answer my questions properly. Got it?”

The pressure points must’ve been released, because they both gave short replies.

“Yes.”

“I made a proper deal with Gu Yang-bok. If I defeated the Narak Society, everything they had would become mine. As you can see, I won. Gu Yang-bok screamed about getting a cut of the pot and then ascended. Hope he gives up gambling in the afterlife. Now, take a moment of silence for the late Gu Yang-bok.”

“……”

While fumbling inside my robes for the Flash Dagger, I added,

“Do I need to draw a blade to get that moment of silence?”

“We’ll do it.”

I watched as they both closed their eyes in silence. Heuk So-ryeong’s eyes twitched under the lids, and Baek So-ah let out a thin string of white snot.

“Open your eyes.”

Once they did, I asked in a warm, positive tone,

“He must’ve gone to a better place, right?”

They answered in unison.

“Yes.”

I immediately straightened my expression.

“No. No way in hell.”

“……”

“No one who’s conned that many people is going somewhere good. He shouldn’t go to a better place. You agree with me, don’t you?”

“Yes, we agree.”

“Since he died in a fire, he’s probably gone straight to the mouth of hellfire. Tomorrow, my subordinates will be here with carts and wagons. You two are going to spill everything you know about where Gu Yang-bok hid his assets. Help them cleanly recover the Narak Society’s funds. Can you do that?”

“Yes. We can.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Excellent. Rest up. If you think of escaping now that your pressure points are open… you remember, right? The rainbow gambling den.”

Baek So-ah spoke up.

“Isn’t the fire still spreading outside?”

“The fire? Ah, right. I’ll go handle that.”

“You could just let us go instead.”

“Shut it. Fire comes first.”

I got up, pulled aside the curtain of the Phoenix VIP Room, and stepped outside. Of course, the flames were still contained to the arena. I wandered through the chaotic streets and entered the now-empty Narak Inn.

***

Neither Jomsoi Jo Pal nor anyone else was there. Even the untouched liquor remained where I’d left it. Naturally, all the martial artists of the Narak Society were gone.

Just as I’d sent Jomsoi Ilbo to Heukmyo Pavilion, it seemed Jo Pal had taken Gu Yang-bok’s letter and left for the Nammyeong Society.

Rolling up my sleeves, I muttered,

“Let’s take a look at the gambler king’s lair.”

I headed deeper in, passing through narrow corridors, checking the kitchen, the Jomsoi’s room, the storerooms—one by one—until I reached the end.

There, blatantly out of place in a guest inn, stood a thick iron door.

I hadn’t taken the keys from the corpses, so I pulled out the Flash Dagger and heated it with Flame Meridian Force. When the blade glowed red, I slowly inserted it into the keyhole. Then I stepped back and kicked the door open.

Boom!

A massive room, nearly the size of the entire inn, appeared.

Looking around, I realized the Gambling King’s sanctuary was nothing more than an oversized prison. The man had locked himself in, obsessed with guarding the wealth he hoarded.

“What a pathetic life for a so-called Gambling King.”

Inside were all kinds of luxurious furnishings and collectibles.

These weren’t the kinds of things an innkeeper should be able to gather. I wasn’t interested in antiques or aesthetic value, so I just glanced around.

On Gu Yang-bok’s desk sat an unfinished letter.

“The Narak Society has come under attack by a madman. His martial level is immeasurable, our techniques ineffective, and he seems to know the inner workings of our organization. Though I’ve faithfully followed the Nammyeong Society’s commands and supported them in every way, I’ve never before asked for help…”

That’s where it ended. A black ink line trailed off across the middle.

Glancing at the wall to the right of the desk, I saw six portraits hanging. I didn’t recognize the first five—but the sixth was unmistakable.

Nammyeong Society Leader, Nam Garak.

The Narak Society had apparently supported six generations of Nammyeong Society leaders.

I stared for a moment at Nam Garak’s portrait. Of course, I knew his name and face—but since I’d never fought him directly, I had to rely on scattered intel and memories.

“He was doing quite well, then got killed out of nowhere by some expert… who was it again? Not Gwangseung… ah, the Nameless Assassin.”

The guy who killed Nam Garak never bragged about it, so the incident got buried, like some unsolvable mystery. In the aftermath, the Nammyeong Society accused the assassin group Ilwido River Crossing and declared all-out war.

And then the Nammyeong Society fell.

But what lingered in the martial world was not talk of Ilwido’s victory—it was the scandal of Nammyeong’s downfall.

Part of that was because Ilwido suffered massive losses. Another was that the Nammyeong Society had launched an insanely brutal war against one of the most formidable organizations in Jianghu.

They were lunatics who fought until their entire group was wiped out. Which meant I needed to carefully consider how to deal with them.

The assassination of a Nammyeong leader had taken years of preparation. So this wasn’t something I could use immediately.

I suddenly pulled Nam Garak’s portrait off the wall. Then I removed the rest and tossed them to the floor before staring at the wall again. Behind the spot where the six portraits had been hung, right in the center, was a metal door that looked like a hidden vault.

It had no keyhole or visible locking mechanism—just an odd, seamless iron panel. I looked up at the wall and ceiling, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) then traced an imaginary line back to the desk. No matter how I looked at it, the opening mechanism had to be connected to the desk.

I opened and closed each drawer, then grabbed the inkstone on top of the desk. It wouldn’t budge. Pressing down gently, I felt a strong resistance.

So I combined a bit of external force and palm energy, and pushed.

A metallic clunk echoed from somewhere.

I went to the wall and pushed on the door. It opened outward with a click, followed by a series of mechanical noises.

“……!”

As soon as I heard a faint whirring sound, I stepped to the side. A steel needle launched from inside and embedded itself in the opposite wall.

Thunk!

What the hell was so important that they’d rig that kind of trap?

From a distance, I peered inside—and found something utterly ridiculous: neatly cut slabs of thin metal.

I couldn’t touch anything blindly, so I brought over the desk lamp and shined it in.

“Hm…”

I thought it was gold, but it was black.

The surface looked rough and dense.

I pulled out the Flash Dagger, inserted it between the slabs, and took one out to place on the desk. After checking for poison, I scraped the metal’s surface with the tip of the dagger.

It etched faintly, like a scratch—nothing more. The tip of the dagger couldn’t even pierce it.

“Black iron.”

No way Gu Yang-bok would’ve offered black iron to the Nammyeong Society. He’d already paid them plenty in tribute. Where he got this from was anyone’s guess now—he was dead, after all.

I moved the flat slabs of black iron onto the desk. Beyond them, I saw a small booklet and a pitch-black ring, but I focused on the metal first.

An idea struck me. I took the pieces and started aligning them with the Flash Dagger’s edge. Piece by piece, they snapped into place—forming a long, jet-black sword.

It was astonishing.

Not because it was a black iron longsword, but because I couldn’t fathom how someone had ever split such a blade into clean, flat sections like this.

What kind of martial artist could have cut a black iron blade like this?

Not even I, in my Crazy Demon prime, nor the masters stronger than me at the time, could’ve chopped black iron into pieces like this.

Gu Yang-bok probably intended to melt it down and forge something new.

But why he stored it here without touching it—now we’d never know.

I’m no blacksmith, but this thing looked like it came from hundreds of years ago. There’s a common belief that weapons made from black iron are unbreakable, but seeing this, I had to revise that.

There’s no such thing in this world as something that can’t be broken.

Its former owner must’ve been an incredible master.

But when that unbreakable sword shattered… its wielder must have died with it. The conviction in his heart must’ve snapped too.

Only then did I begin to understand something Gwangseung once said to me:

“When your conviction breaks, you’re already dead. So there’s no need to worry about it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.”

It now sounded like he meant that those who cling too tightly to weapons are limited in how far they can take their martial path. I realized then: Gwangseung’s words would change meaning over time depending on my experience and understanding. In my past life, I probably didn’t grasp even half of what he was saying.

I then pulled out the book and the ring from the vault and placed them on the desk. I opened the thin booklet first.

The Peerless Sword Master, Gu Yang Muguk.

The Heavy Sword of Martial Ultimate.

I smiled as soon as I read the next passage.

“Gu Yang Muguk, a man of great pride but little fame, challenged me seven times and lost each one. He was proud beyond measure, but in Jianghu, the strong always win. I already knew I would win before we fought, so I accepted the outcome with indifference. But Gu Yang Muguk could not accept it. He never even asked me why he lost.

I understand the hearts of Jianghu warriors, but how can I explain that it was his heart that held him back from the next level?

When I finally pointed out his flaw, he replied that it was too late to relearn everything. I disagreed. Learning knows no age. But I also understand that the affairs of men rarely go as one wishes.

When I admitted I had only fought a handful of times in Jianghu, Gu Yang Muguk was shaken even more. It was never my intent to drive him into deviation, but he had trained his sword for so long while neglecting the training of the heart. His mental discipline never caught up to his swordsmanship. This is common among Jianghu warriors.

Unable to overcome his inner wounds, Gu Yang Muguk died. At his request, I’ve left a summarized record of the sword technique I faced in him.

Whoever inherits this sword art must use it for righteousness. If used otherwise, I predict a miserable end.

—Giseongja

The tone was identical to what I’d read in The Golden Nine Free-Wandering Manual, so I realized even before finishing that this was written by Giseongja.

The reason Gu Yang-bok had hidden it was simple.

Giseongja’s martial arts were on an entirely different level.

There was no way Gu Yang-bok could understand it. Even if he tried reading it, the meaning would’ve been lost on him. And surely, that ominous warning about suffering a miserable end if used for evil had weighed on him as well.

But in all of Jianghu today, no one understands Giseongja better than I do.

Therefore, Gu Yang Muguk’s sword technique would be one that only I could fully comprehend and master.

And then a thought struck me.

To think someone had challenged Giseongja seven times…

Gu Yang Muguk—just how strong were you?

.