Chapter 7
Inside the Geumhwa Guild it was quiet, indifferent to the commotion outside.
It was evening but still early. Even so, the silence felt almost dreadful — as if the guild’s current state were being announced by the stillness itself.
“First things first: clean up.”
There was no one blocking the main gate, so I could have passed through without interruption. But I had no intention of taking the easy route from the start.
“I am…”
A small but clear voice echoed through the Geumhwa Guild.
“…Geum Ja-mun, eldest son of the Geumhwa Guild. From this moment on I will deal with the filth trying to swallow the guild. All members of the troupe, do not go outside until I finish cleaning.”
At once the uneasy atmosphere stirred. They didn’t appear from their rooms, but their emotions were plainly felt: surprise, disbelief, expectation, worry — and from others, hatred and rage.
Taking all of those feelings on, I stepped forward. It wasn’t long before I finally met the enemy.
“Who are you!?”
“Reveal yourself!”
Though I had already declared myself Geum Ja-mun, it seemed their ears had not caught the name. Then again, I hadn’t spoken it for their benefit.
“Ask Yama who I am.”
Would that old man answer politely? Who knew. There was no need for a long conversation. I drew my sword and merely swung it — without a single tremor.
Sss—
The unswerving blade cut down everything that stood in its way.
Thunk.
Blood spattered; the number of fallen grew. Some trembled with fear, others burned with fury. My gaze did not linger on them.
“So this is it.”
My body had bled many times in a previous life. I thought nothing there could surprise me — and yet there was something new.
“To wield a sword entirely by my own will.”
When I was a sword, cutting an enemy had been both my will and the will of the one who held me. But now it was different. Everything was my will and my choice. It felt unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. After so many years I’d come to walk alone, and a thrill rose in me.
At that peak of feeling—
Vrrm.
The gray sword uttered a sound of its own. If another sword spirit had been here, it might have stopped at being intoxicated by its name; but I could hear the sword speak.
“Exciting.”
The gray sword, which had always complained of boredom, said something new. The content was not exactly pleasant, so I asked it.
“Was cutting people, seeing blood, so exciting for you?”
Swords like that were usually called demon-swords or killing-swords. Was the gray sword that kind? I didn’t mind, but I felt some disappointment — those types were common and not particularly good. Above all, demon- and killing-swords couldn’t hold spiritual power. I’d hoped for something better.
But it seemed I had been mistaken.
“A little more.”
At last the gray sword revealed its true mind.
“Destroy…evil.”
It wanted to annihilate.
The gray sword was not a mere demon- or killing-sword. It was a living sword that consumed such blades. And with that came its name.
“Malice-Eradicator. That will be your name from now on.”
The moment I named it, change came as if it had been waiting. A silver light mixed with gold burst from the blade. The Malice-Eradicator began to accept spiritual power.
“You there! Stop!”
At that moment, new enemies arrived in time. I smiled faintly.
“Good. I needed somewhere to test you.”
“I’ll go along — try to run wild however you like.”
As if waiting for that prompt, the Malice-Eradicator pulled me forward.
The moonlight hid behind clouds. In the pitch darkness, black lines appeared and vanished in quick succession. The movement was concise, stealthy, and merciless. These were the abilities and traits the Malice-Eradicator had developed. The sword swallowed the sound of air and even the cries of its victims, so the bloody fight held an eerie calm that didn’t suit the gore.
“A brutal shadow blade.”
Even now the Malice-Eradicator silently cut down foes and devoured their sounds. Yet—
“Crude.”
Its path was clear, but monotonous and linear; sharp but lacking true edge. Because of that, its strikes were sometimes blocked. Still, it cut enemies easily because of the gap between me and them, not because the sword was weak. It was only beginning to gather spiritual power and form its vessel — like a human taking its first steps.
“Play enough — now leave it to me.”
Having taken its first steps, it was time to teach it to walk properly. That was my duty. Vrrm. The Malice-Eradicator yielded to my will while expressing a little regret. But that regret soon turned to surprise and admiration.
“Sometimes, flowing with a strike is better than always forcing through.”
I had already decided how best to use the sword’s abilities. I extended my free left hand — the one not holding the Malice-Eradicator. My sleeve fluttered, but unlike the Malice-Eradicator, it made no sound. Of course, it couldn’t swallow the opponent’s cries like the sword could — yet, using less force than the sword had used when it pulled me in, I felled the enemy. I continued dispatching foes in that manner. Afterward, with one last enemy remaining, I asked:
“Can you do it?”
Instead of answering, the Malice-Eradicator guided me once more. Thud. The last guard who had been on alert collapsed under its attack — not a single block, in one clean stroke. At the end, instead of the smell of blood there was a faint, peculiar scent in the air. I nodded slowly.
“That is the subtlety of shadow-aroma. You’re clumsy in places, but for a first time that was pretty good.”
A pleasant tremor came from the Malice-Eradicator — it said it wanted to hold more within its vessel. It was a willing response, but for now I soothed the sword.
“I’ll teach you one thing at a time when the time comes. Don’t be impatient; focus on making what you’ve learned truly yours.”
Vrrm! With that tremor the Malice-Eradicator fell silent. I wiped the blood from its blade, sheathed it, and waited. Before long, people came running — not enemies this time.
“Is that— Young Master Jamun?”
“Is that Young Master Jamun? You look quite different.”
“But that voice earlier was definitely Young Master Jamun’s—”
Those who crowded in were the family’s warriors and retainers. They were visibly flustered when they saw me.
“Can’t recognize me at first, huh.”
No wonder. They had rushed here thinking of the country; the Geum Ja-mun they remembered looked quite different from the one before them. Their attention quickly shifted to something else: someone noticed the fallen members of the Black Vanguard lying behind.
“Good heavens — all the Black Vanguard are down!”
“Did the young master really take them down?”
“Gah! Even the Black Vanguard leader is down!”
Shock and disbelief were natural. What I had done was impossible for the Geum Ja-mun they knew. If things remained like this, nothing would change. I searched the crowd for a familiar face and called a name.
“Songgok.”
A warrior belonging to the Geumhwa Guild stepped forward. He, too, was surprised, but having trained, he maintained his composure better than the rest. Still, it seemed he needed a moment of confirmation.
“Are you really Young Master Jamun?”
“What? Don’t you recognize me?”
“Sorry. Your appearance is… quite different.”
“That can happen.”
Though my appearance had changed, my face remained. I understood why they found my deeds hard to believe, so I didn’t take offense.
“I once gave your daughter a norigae ornament with a lotus pattern for her birthday. Do you remember?”
This was not a random approach. Before returning, whenever I had a spare moment I’d looked through memories related to the Geumhwa Guild. This was one of those memories — something only Songgok, his daughter, and I would likely recall.
“You really are the young master!”
Songgok’s distrust and unease faded from his eyes. The others watching also relaxed. Soon everyone wore the same expression — as if on the verge of tears. Their feelings came through: they had shown courage to come out for me, half doubtful but hopeful. I wanted to express my gratitude, but that would wait; there were other things to do first.
“I need to go to the patriarch’s hall. I must see Father. We’ll settle things after. Songgok, can you guide me?”
“Yes! I’ll lead the way!”
Songgok nodded solemnly and took the lead. I followed silently, observing him quietly. Something kept nagging at my eyes.
“He’s been poisoned by san-gong.”
His qi circulation was not smooth; his complexion was poor. That he had come out in such a state despite possible danger showed his deep loyalty to the Geumhwa Guild.
“He won’t be useless to keep around.”
I’d need people for the future of the guild and for what I intended to do. He might fill one of those spots — though he’d have to work to get better. I put that thought aside for later.
“San-gong poison, huh. The situation might be worse than I thought.”
That was why I was in a hurry. San-gong poison, which prevents one from using inner power, isn’t handled casually by martial men; the same is true for the Black Path (the Black Vanguard). Those who use it rarely consider themselves true martial men. If the Black Vanguard used san-gong, they would have used it in the fight — so the fact they didn’t suggested something else was afoot. I had defeated the Black Vanguard leader, but a strong sense told me it wasn’t over yet. That feeling was correct.
“We’ve arrived.”
When we reached our destination I could sense it clearly: other enemies hidden nearby.
“This secrecy… I see. They’re tied to assassins.”
So that’s where the san-gong came from — these men. It had been odd: how a mere band like the Black Vanguard could have been threatening enough to bully the Geumhwa Guild.
“To swallow a guild worthy of the Hundred Great Merchant Troupes, you need to reach this level.”
A cold sneer played at my lips. I had some idea what it felt like for blood to chill in one’s veins. Assassins — beings born to kill. To face them, I too would become a killing spirit.
“I’ll make you regret being seen by my eyes.”
I ordered Songgok to wait outside and entered the patriarch’s hall. I braced for blades to spring from the ceiling and the floor. Instead, I was greeted by an old man’s irritable voice sooner than I expected.
“Stop this at once!”
