Chapter 47
River of Three Crossings or the Avici Hell—
In short, it was a technique you could only learn after going through hell at least once.
“Yeah, I’ll pass for now.”
He quickly made up his mind.
Someday, he might end up in hell—but that day wasn’t today.
If he ever did go after finishing all his business, maybe he could learn it then.
Not that he was sure it would even be useful by that point.
More importantly—
“Finally, I can breathe.”
Indeed, there’s nothing like random thoughts to calm your breath.
His chest had been tight moments ago, but after a bit of mental wandering, it eased again.
“Alright then… time to move.”
He turned his gaze forward.
About a hundred paces away, a mountain stronghold came into view.
It was the place Sahun had told him about—the hideout of Doosanbaek.
And according to Sahun’s additional intel—
“It seems Doosanbaek has brought in other Green Forest strongholds as reinforcements.”
In other words, there were now more scum to deal with tonight.
Sahun had even provided an exact headcount.
One hundred and five.
One of them would be Doosanbaek himself.
For a Green Forest bandit camp, that wasn’t a huge number—
but for one man to wipe out quietly, it wasn’t exactly small either.
If any of them managed to flee en masse, there was a risk some would escape.
And under no circumstances could anyone discover that he was the one who struck this place.
Otherwise, instead of fighting each other, the Guhjung Association and the Green Forest would both turn their arrows toward the Geumhwa Merchant Guild.
So even if a few slipped away, one thing was clear—
he had to conceal his identity.
“…Should’ve brought something to cover my face.”
There wasn’t anything on hand that could serve as a mask.
He considered ripping a piece of his clothing to cover his face when another idea struck him.
There was one possible solution—Gillnang.
Just as he had stored Gillnang away, the creature itself had plenty of treasures stored inside.
Maybe, just maybe, there was something useful for this situation.
When he asked—
“There’s a mask called the Manbok Face—should I take it out for you?”
Manbok—meaning Ten Thousand Blessings.
Not like he could afford to be picky right now, so he asked for it.
But he had forgotten something.
Gillnang only stored items worthy of being called treasures.
“This thing…”
At first, it was a plain black stone mask.
But the moment Gillnang infused it with divine power—
“It sparkles beautifully, doesn’t it?”
Beautiful? Maybe not. But sparkling—that much he had to admit.
“…Could this be made of moonstone?”
As far as he knew, the only stone that shimmered under divine power was moonstone.
A gem rarer and more valuable than even luminous jade—
moonstone was said to be worth a hundred times its weight in gold, while luminous jade was already worth a hundred times that.
“To think someone made a mask out of something that precious…”
“One of these alone could feed three generations in luxury.”
Maybe he should keep it as an emergency fund?
But the thought barely formed before Gillnang interrupted.
“You have to return it when you’re done!”
So it wasn’t a gift—it was a loan.
When asked why—
“Because I need the Manbok Face to read books at night!”
Not the answer he expected.
A treasure pouch that reads books, huh?
It sounded absurd, but when he thought about Gillnang’s life—
centuries spent underground without light—
reading must have been the only escape from endless boredom.
“Still, using this just for reading is a waste.”
So he made a proposal.
“If you lend me the mask, I’ll make sure every time you read, your surroundings will be as bright as day.”
Not a hard promise to fulfill—just lighting a lamp, after all.
But since Gillnang couldn’t do that himself, the offer clearly appealed.
“Deal!”
Gillnang’s joy was genuine.
He even thought he should find the creature some more books later.
“Come to think of it, I never asked what kind of books you read…”
He considered asking now but decided against it—it’d only turn into a long story.
He had work to do.
After putting Gillnang away, he examined the mask.
A tiger mask carved from moonstone.
“Tigers ward off evil, don’t they?”
He was reminded of Baekho, the White Tiger.
The mask’s tiger face looked far more menacing than Baekho’s cute expression, its teeth bared in a snarl.
“If tigers really ward off misfortune…”
Then surely the real White Tiger’s energy would be even stronger than this mask’s.
Smiling at the thought, he put the mask on.
“…Not bad.”
It felt cool against his skin—not cold like stone, but refreshingly so.
It fit snugly, wrapping smoothly around his face without scraping.
And once it was on—
“I think I understand why Gillnang uses it for reading.”
He stood still, infused divine power into the mask, and looked around.
The mask didn’t just illuminate the surroundings—
it made everything look sharper, clearer.
And it wasn’t just his imagination.
“For something made of moonstone, it’s got some unusual properties.”
Apparently, there were hidden effects beyond its glow.
“Maybe it really does bring blessings like its name suggests.”
Of course, he didn’t expect ten thousand blessings—that would be greedy.
But even a tenth—no, even a hundred—would do just fine.
“Well then—let’s see what fortune tonight brings.”
Smiling, he started walking toward the mountain stronghold.
He’d already wished for luck. Now, it was time to act.
The stronghold’s name was Yeomwangchae—the Flame King Camp.
It had fewer members than most of the seventy-two Green Forest branches,
but each member was said to be far more skilled—and far more vicious.
Which explained why they were infamous for greed and cruelty.
In short, they were scum—nothing but a blight on the world.
And there was only one mercy he could offer such men:
Slice.
A swift, clean death before they even realized it.
Slice.
He cut down the two guards at the front gate without them even knowing what happened, then stepped inside.
He’d considered sneaking in quietly,
but really—what was the point?
None of them would be leaving here alive anyway.
Despite walking openly, no one reacted.
Perhaps they trusted their guards too much.
The entire camp was completely unguarded.
Everywhere he looked—wine jars scattered, bodies sprawled on the ground, heads buried in the dirt.
Not a single sober man among them.
And so, he easily cut down forty men in an instant.
Even the best swordsman couldn’t kill forty people beside him without anyone noticing—
yet not a soul stirred.
So much for the “skilled Green Forest bandits.”
Their end was pitiful.
And it didn’t stop there.
When he moved deeper into the camp, it was the same everywhere—
everyone dead drunk and helpless.
At first, he thought his timing was just lucky.
But after he’d slain eighty of them, unease crept in.
It was too easy.
Even drunk, these men had martial training.
At least a few should’ve woken up by now.
But not one had.
Before killing the next bandit, he used Myungan—the Eye of Clarity.
He only needed to check one thing: their cause of death.
Normally, it would say something like “death by decapitation.”
But this time—
“…‘Died from decapitation while in a drug-induced stupor?’”
Someone had spiked their liquor.
That explained it.
Well, no complaints here—it saved him effort.
As long as he could still deal with Doosanbaek as planned, this was a minor detail.
But then came the real problem.
“…He’s not here.”
Doosanbaek was nowhere to be found.
And then, something that made his head ache even more—
Corpses.
About ten of them, found deeper inside.
A tragedy for them, but a clue for him.
“These marks… palm strikes. A palm technique, huh?”
And not from multiple attackers—from one.
There was only one suspect.
“Doosanbaek.”
According to Hao Clan intel, Doosanbaek used the Iron Mountain Palm technique.
Victims struck by it would have their flesh harden like iron before death.
And that was exactly what he saw.
No other evidence was needed.
There were no signs of a struggle outside, which meant the killer wasn’t an outsider—
it was someone who had been inside all along.
“The question is—where did they all go?”
If only Doosanbaek had vanished, it could mean he killed them and fled.
But even the camp chief and roughly twenty others were missing.
“If he fled and they gave chase, there should be traces somewhere…”
Yet there were none.
There were tracks leading in, but none leading out.
Naturally, his eyes turned downward.
“…Don’t tell me—it’s underground again.”
He said it half in jest, but he already knew the answer.
In an enclosed area like this, vanishing without a trace left only one explanation.
“I won’t even need Sahun’s help for this one.”
The moment he was sure the ground was the answer, something near the chief’s chair caught his attention—
a huge double-bladed axe, blade pointing upward, handle buried in the floor.
Curious.
Normally, a decorative weapon would face forward for display,
but this one was tilted at an odd angle—like someone had turned it deliberately.
He walked up, gripped the axe, and applied strength.
It was heavy—larger than the chair beside it—but not immovable.
When he twisted it further—
Click!
As expected, the floor rumbled open, revealing a staircase leading down into the earth.
