Reincarnated Sword Ghost

Chapter 90 : The Iron-Blood Gate

The Iron-Blood Gate

'Seven days.'

Jeong-un repeated to himself.

He planned to complete his mission and leave Kaifeng in only seven days and nights.

The seven-day deadline was simply calculated based on the distance to Mount Song.

From Kaifeng to Mount Song, where Shaolin was located, it took several days on horseback.

If he wanted to arrive safely and on time, he could not afford to waste time here.

It was not that he took this task lightly.

The Musan Group guys were notorious, even judging by a glimpse—they were the worst of the worst.

It was astonishing that such men had permeated a big city's back alleys for so long.

Jeong-un had no intention of neglecting either arriving at the Shaolin Assembly on time or uprooting those men from here.

'Was it a coalition of three sects?'

Yang Se-ok had informed him about the Musan Group, which ruled Kaifeng's backstreets.

Musan Group was not a single sect.

Black Hand Gate, Iron-Blood Gate, Ghost Face Gate.

These three sects had united to form the Musan Group that ruled Kaifeng's underworld.

'Did they make some sort of pact?'

All of their names sounded ridiculous.

It was almost as if, without those names, they feared they wouldn't be seen as proper outlaws.

'Jeon Seok-gyeon, right?'

Originally, he came from being the Gate Leader of the Iron-Blood Gate, but after winning the succession struggle with the former leader, he became the head of the Musan Group.

He was the ringleader of men who lived by killing and oppressing others.

Someone able to get away with such things for so long in a city of this size was not to be underestimated.

He had heard that Jeon Seok-gyeon's martial arts weren't particularly high-level.

As was typical among outlaw gangs entrenched in city centers, he relied less on overwhelming force and more on every sort of cunning and deceit.

The mere fact that Jeon had connections to the District Head told him all he needed to know.

That was probably why even decent righteous sects could not easily lay a hand on him.

'First, I have to meet him.'

Only then could he cut off his neck—or whatever else needed doing.

But, like any true underworld boss, his whereabouts were always elusive.

It meant he was not someone whose face could easily be seen just by looking for him.

Not even his residence was fixed, and it was said that he slept at a different tavern each night, keeping the location a close secret.

'A suspicious man.'

Changing his sleeping place every night? It meant he valued his life.

Even outside of the orthodox martial people, there would be plenty out for his neck.

As many as he had harmed, so too must the grudges piled up like mountains.

It would hardly be strange if someone tried to assassinate him while he slept.

Yang Se-ok had spoken in a similar tone, saying he didn't care what method was used—just remove him, by any means necessary.

Clearly, this was not an honorable duel or a formal match to the death. Even so, Jeong-un shook his head.

'Assassination, is it?'

That was something he was not confident in.

For Jeong-un, assassinating someone whose very whereabouts were unknown seemed absurd.

He decided to take a different approach.

'I need to go somewhere I can see his face.'

Or put myself in such a position, at least. And do it all within seven days and nights.

Jeong-un decided to start from the very bottom.

And do it at top speed, too.

* * *

Dusk had fallen, but the streets were still packed with people.

The gentle moonlight barely touched the ground before being wiped away by the shadows of passersby.

As the street vendors on either side gradually packed up their stalls, drunken visitors going in and out of the taverns filled those empty spaces.

Laughter and loud voices burst forth without end, every manner of emotion swirling in their tones.

Jeong-un stood among the crowd.

"......"

From time to time, some passersby glared at him, bothered by the way he stood tall in the middle of the street.

But soon enough, everyone flinched, shut their mouths, and made way for him.

It was only natural.

Though his clothes were not made of expensive silk, his neat, unwrinkled blue martial garb and the noble bearing of his exposed face made him look unmistakably like a young master of high birth.

On his waist, next to a norigae, hung a jet-black sword. No one dared provoke someone with such an appearance.

After slowly scanning the street from near to far, Jeong-un finally started to walk.

'There it is.'

He watched a pavilion rising up some distance away.

'Divine Wind Pavilion...'

Jeong-un gave a wry smile as he looked at the large nameboard.

For such a dignified name, the atmosphere as seen from afar was quite the opposite.

A tavern built up five entire floors.

Red lamps hung from every level, shedding a bewitching light.

The closer he got, the stronger the mysterious and thick scent that pricked at his nose.

He saw crowds of people going in and out through the front entrance.

Ahead stood a man who looked like a servant, and two others who appeared to be guards for the tavern.

Jeong-un walked up and asked the servant,

"I'd like a drink."

"...!"

The servant, turning absentmindedly toward the voice, opened his eyes wide.

Then, after quickly scanning Jeong-un from head to toe, he bowed obsequiously and asked naturally,

"Excuse me, but may I ask who you are and where you're from?"

"Does one's name matter if all you want is a drink?"

Jeong-un answered curtly, and the servant hurriedly bowed his head.

"No, sir, not at all. You looked so distinguished, I wondered whether you were the son of some established clan."

"I'm from out of town. You wouldn't know if I told you."

"I understand. Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Then, this wa—"

"Take me to the best place you have."

Jeong-un interrupted him calmly. The servant blinked in surprise and stared at him.

"Yes, sir. This way, please."

Turning to lead the way, the servant exchanged glances with the guards—some tacit signal passing between them.

Pretending not to notice, Jeong-un followed him in with an expressionless face.

As soon as they entered, the servant led him straight to the stairs.

Jeong-un furrowed his brow slightly; the scent that had hung in the air outside was almost overpowering within.

'They must have strong stomachs.'

Leading him up the stairs, the servant struck up conversation.

"Is this your first time in Kaifeng?"

"Yes."

"How did you find your way here?"

"It's visible even from afar."

"You've come to the right place. Our Divine Wind Pavilion is a famous spot in Kaifeng, you know."

In this way, they climbed all the way up to the fifth floor—the highest, which seemed reserved for the best rooms.

As they turned into a corridor, a cacophony of sounds spilled out from behind the doors lining both sides: shouts, raucous laughter, and music with untraceable melodies.

Jeong-un quietly extended his sensitivity, probing the way ahead.

'Over there.'

Before the servant could suggest a room, Jeong-un pointed with his forefinger and spoke.

"I'd prefer that room."

It was the room right next to the one at the very end of the corridor.

The servant looked put out and replied,

"Wouldn't another room do? That one hasn't been cleaned yet."

"It's fine—I'll take that one."

"Sir, we need to prepare to receive customers. That room isn't ready yet."

"I said it doesn't matter."

"If you would just take this one here instead..."

Jeong-un stepped closer to the servant and continued,

"It's been strange for a while now. First you ask my identity, then whether I'm new to the city, and now you won't let me have the room I want? Trying to size me up, are you? If you took me for a fool, I can't say I find that very pleasant."

Startled, the servant bowed deeply.

"N-no, sir! Not at all! But it really is difficult to let you have that room..."

"Is it so hard to have a quiet drink by myself?"

"......"

Wearing a troubled look, the servant finally seemed to resign himself and nodded.

He then led Jeong-un to the room he had indicated.

The moment the door opened, a burst of raucous laughter erupted from the next room.

After all, this was only a guest room in a tavern—thin wooden partitions for walls.

Every sound from the neighboring revelers came through clearly.

But Jeong-un, unconcerned, entered and took the seat of honor at the table.

The room was quite large and antique-looking, as if someone had taken care to make it presentable.

"Bring me your most expensive wine and food."

"How many women would you like?"

"......"

Jeong-un, thus far calmly collected, flinched for a moment.

After all, this was a tavern. It was a natural question.

Hiding his brief embarrassment, he spoke smoothly,

"No women. You."

"...?"

"Sit here and keep me company."

Then, he unbuckled his sword and set it on the table.

Tang!

Startled by that, the servant wordlessly nodded.

Soon food and drink were brought in. Jeong-un sampled the unfamiliar wine and dishes.

The food was mediocre, and the wine was terrible.

Maybe it was just because he wasn't knowledgeable about alcohol, but to the boy's tongue it just tasted bitter.

He knocked back a few cups, dispelling any intoxication using the circulating energy technique.

The servant sat just outside the door, quietly on edge.

Without sparing the servant a glance, Jeong-un spoke dispassionately.

"Terrible."

At the abrupt comment, the servant looked up, startled. Jeong-un went on,

"The food is cold, and the wine has no aroma. This is supposed to be one of Kaifeng's best spots? Nonsense."

"Excuse me...?"

"Especially the wine—I'd say it's just watered down. There's no trace of bouquet at all."

He was saying whatever came to mind. He didn't really know the details anyway, and his true aim was something else.

"I heard all the taverns in Kaifeng are run by men from the Iron-Blood Gate. Is that true?"

"...!"

The servant's jaw dropped.

He reflexively glanced toward one wall—the very one that had until now been echoing with raucous noise.

For some reason, it was now silent.

Ignoring that, Jeong-un continued,

"Perhaps this one is also managed by their lot?"

"S-sir..."

"Ah, if so, that explains it. After all, what would rootless thugs really know about anything?"

The servant's face turned deathly pale in an instant.

"Originally, drinking and song were noble pursuits for scholars. No matter how much you try, you can't imitate that kind of elegance. I understand."

"P-please, could you keep your voice down...?"

"But isn't this really going too far? Even for rabble living such lowly lives, you'd expect them to at least have tongues in their mouths. What on earth do they eat to survive every day...?"

KWAANG!

Suddenly, the wall next to him exploded into pieces.

The thin wooden partition was smashed to splinters flying in all directions.

The servant, as if waiting for this moment, screamed and bolted out the door.

"You little bastard, just what do you think you're saying?"

"Do you even know where you are, punk?!"

Five hulking men glared, growling. Jeong-un looked up and asked,

"You, Iron-Blood Gate?"

"That's right, you little shit! Are you finally coming to your senses now?!"

"......"

Jeong-un nodded and spoke,

"That's a relief. I wondered, since your energy was so lousy."

"What did you say?"

Gripping the sword he'd laid on the table, Jeong-un thought to himself,

'Assassination, huh.'

Right now, Jeong-un wore the martial garb and norigae issued by the Heavenly Martial Hall.

Thanks to a certain technique, his features had subtly shifted, making him look like a completely different person.

In other words, whatever he did from now on, no one would ever suspect him.

'That is assassination.'

And with that, a flash of the sword sharply gleamed.