Part 18 - The Underworld, Martial Artists
Luoyang's daytime was busy—unceasingly busy.
Since ancient times, Luoyang had been an indispensable political, economic, and cultural center of the continent.
The present-day Luoyang stood as the hub of a massive logistics and distribution network encompassing the entire northern inland regions of the continent.
The Grand Canal of the Yellow River was one of the greatest reasons Luoyang had grown into a super-metropolis with a population in the millions. The sheer volume of goods flowing in and out through this artery was beyond imagination.
It was common enough to see Semu merchants—foreign traders drawn by interest in the inland Central Plains.
Among the crowds of peculiar goods and merchants of every stripe, there were still those who naturally drew the attention of everyone around them.
They were none other than Yeon Sang-hyeon's group.
"Oh! Is she not truly a beautiful young lady?!"
When a Semu merchant exclaimed in clumsy Central Plains speech while staring at Jeong-a, a nearby Central Plains merchant hurriedly grabbed his sleeve.
"You fool! Where do you think you're pointing?"
"What's wrong?"
As the Semu merchant blinked in confusion, the Central Plains merchant subtly jerked his chin toward Jeong-a's back.
"Can't you see the guards there? They're from the Luoyang Sword Clan."
The moment the words Luoyang Sword Clan were spoken, the Semu merchant instantly withdrew his finger.
"...That Luoyang Sword Clan?"
"Yes. That very Luoyang Sword Clan."
The Semu merchant could hardly be blamed for his reaction.
From the moment one first set foot in the northern inland regions, one of the most frequently repeated warnings concerned the Luoyang Sword Clan.
Though only a single man dressed as an ordinary guard followed her, Jeong-a did not receive so much as a single flirtatious glance.
Likewise, the road naturally parted in the direction their group traveled.
"Hm. I have something to take care of separately. I'll rejoin you later."
At Yeon Sang-hyeon's words, the guard blocked his path.
"What are you saying? Surely you don't mean to leave without your escort—me?"
Yeon Sang-hyeon looked at him as though he were talking nonsense.
"Of course I'm leaving you behind. Just protect Jeong-a properly."
The guard pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a sigh.
"No, what kind of absurd—eh? Eh?!"
In the brief moment he closed his eyes to sigh, Yeon Sang-hyeon had already vanished.
"The young master went that way!"
At Jeong-a's gesture, the guard sprang upward.
"Ohhh! A martial artist!"
"That's lightness skill!"
Exclamations erupted from all around, but he paid them no heed and landed atop the roof of a four-story building.
He hastily enhanced his eyesight and scanned the surroundings, but he could not see the First Young Master—nor even his shadow.
"What in the…?"
It was enough to make ghosts wail.
Despite constantly circulating his internal energy for escort duty, that First Young Master had vanished before his very eyes without leaving even the slightest trace.
Doubts surged regarding the true nature of the First Young Master known as the Swordless, but now was not the time.
Should I report this first?
But to whom could he even report it?
Even if a report were made, it would only lead to trouble.
Judging from the Sword Clan's attitude toward the First Young Master, all responsibility would inevitably fall on him first.
"Damn it…!"
Spitting out a curse, he returned at once to Jeong-a's side.
"Attendant lady, I'm sorry, but you'll have to attend to your business alone. I need to find the First Young Master as soon as—"
Before he could finish, Jeong-a nodded.
"I can take care of myself. Please don't worry, and take care of the young master."
Her calm response made the guard click his tongue.
"Aren't you worried at all?"
Jeong-a smiled faintly and shook her head.
"For some reason, it's hard to even imagine that something might happen to him."
"…That may be so."
In truth, the guard felt much the same.
If he truly believed the First Young Master to be in danger, he wouldn't be standing here chatting leisurely with her.
The moment he judged that he had completely lost track of the First Young Master, regardless of consequences, he would have already fired the exclusive signal flare kept on his person.
"Still, I'll continue searching for the young master."
"I'll see you later."
Before Jeong-a could finish her farewell, his figure vanished, and she shrugged her shoulders and continued on her way.
***
In a secluded corner of Luoyang, some distance away.
That back alley, shrouded in deep shadows cast by surrounding buildings, was a place ordinary citizens would never dare approach.
The old tattooist who ran a shop there was a retired member of the underworld, infamous for his stubbornness and foul temper.
Yet today, his demeanor was unusually cautious.
Leaning comfortably back in a chair was a man of truly enormous build.
His very bones seemed different, and with thick layers of flesh atop them, he looked less like a man and more like a full-grown bull sitting there.
Completing the ferocious impression were the countless skull tattoos—large and small—that covered his massive body.
The tattooist was currently engraving yet another skull, and even the already inked black skulls numbered well over a hundred.
What was even more astonishing was that the man receiving the tattoo was enjoying a nap.
Sleeping while needles repeatedly pierced raw flesh.
"Hm-hm."
Clearing his throat softly, the old tattooist set down his needle and raised a metal mirror to meet the man's gaze.
"Does it please you?"
The man, who had been covering his face with a hot towel, slightly lifted it and looked into the mirror.
The baleful gleam beneath the towel shone like burning coal, and the hand holding it was covered in scars and calluses.
"Good. Next."
He covered his face again and leaned back deeply into the chair.
"Yes, I'll continue."
Letting out a sigh of relief inwardly, the tattooist began preparing to engrave the next skull.
Meanwhile, the man resumed his nap, enjoying the comfortable chair, the warm towel, and the gentle heat of the brazier.
The tattooist clicked his tongue inwardly.
As expected, these so-called martial artists truly existed on a different plane from ordinary humans.
And just as the tattooist picked up his needle once more—
"…!"
Someone silently clamped a hand over his mouth from behind.
The tattooist instinctively tried to resist, but when he saw the cold blue gleam of a blade at his throat, he raised both hands to show he had no intention of fighting.
Another man appeared and raised a finger to his lips.
The man was not large, and he was lean, but the exposed muscles were grotesquely defined, and his eyes were as sharp as blades.
K-Killers…!
Reading the situation immediately from their movements and bearing, the tattooist—himself once of the underworld—decided to cooperate quietly.
He slowly nodded and retreated as the killer guiding him directed.
As he moved aside, two more killers entered through the doorway.
With blades clenched in their mouths, they advanced through the cramped tattoo shop without sparing him a glance.
"..."
In an instant, the number of people inside the tiny shop had more than doubled, yet not a single breath or sound could be heard.
Their target was clear.
Two killers positioned themselves precisely to strike the bull-like giant of a man, their raised blades gleaming blue.
"…!"
There was not even a battle cry.
The two blades flashed simultaneously toward lethal vital points.
Crunch!
The tattooist could not believe his own eyes.
The man, who had clearly been asleep, had caught the descending blades from both sides with his bare hands.
"Gah…!"
Before the tattooist could even gasp properly, the two attacking killers were smashed into opposite walls.
The one on the left had his ribcage caved in, while the one on the right had his jaw crushed.
Instant death.
Now standing, the man looked so massive his head nearly touched the ceiling.
He still gripped the blades in both hands.
Blood streamed from his tightly clenched fists, ran down his forearms, and dripped onto the floor.
"Heh heh heh heh."
A thick, low laugh befitting his size filled the room.
"You can hide your presence, and hide your killing intent—but you can't hide the sharpness of a blade."
With eyes overflowing with murderous intent, the man looked down at the remaining killers.
"…Kill him!"
The two remaining killers charged head-on.
"Hah."
Letting out a short scoff, the man spun the blades in his hands and adjusted his grip.
It looked almost like a flourish for show.
By the time that motion ended, the killers' blades had already reached the very tip of his nose.
But—
The blades in the man's hands flashed.
A blade that pierced one killer's abdomen burst out through his mouth, while the blade driven into the other's shoulder emerged from his opposite flank.
Though the killers' blades had clearly been closer, the man—who seemed to move later—stood unscathed, while the killers were chopped apart and collapsed to the floor.
He moved later, yet was faster.
He moved only his arms, yet was stronger.
"This is the difference between a martial artist and insects like you. Do you understand?"
Tossing the blades aside carelessly, the man dragged over the fallen chair and sat down.
Then, drenched in blood and viscera, he spoke to the old tattooist, who stood frozen stiff.
"Hey. I'll need four more skull tattoos."
"Y-Yes! Yes!"
The tattooist sprang to his feet and began preparing again with trembling hands.
"Oh my, looks like you really did a fine job again, little brother."
Poking his head into the shop was a man almost identical in build and appearance to the one in the chair.
The only real differences were the positions of their scars and tattoos.
"Hey, big brother. You're here. I had a bit of fun on my own while you were gone."
"Well done. That aside, though…"
He scratched his filthy stubble.
"In the end, we couldn't find that mask artisan bastard. Nor the ones who went after him."
The man in the chair snorted.
"See? You can't trust outsourced trash."
The man outside smacked his lips.
"Still, didn't our guys take care of that mask artisan's family?"
The seated man shrugged.
"I heard they were only supposed to rough them up, but ended up killing them all by mistake."
"Hah. Hot-blooded idiots."
"Our Black Bone Sect kids do tend to have a lot of bloodlust. We're not much different ourselves. Heh."
The man standing outside shook his head and spoke again.
"But something's been bothering me. I heard something strange from the guys in charge of that district earlier."
"What is it?"
The seated man frowned, as if sensing something amiss.
"They say the mask artisan's shop is still operating just fine."
The man in the chair sprang to his feet.
"What? That mask artisan bastard?"
"Well… apparently not, according to the guys."
"Then?"
"Well, it seems…"
The man recalled what he had heard.
"They said it was some pale-faced fellow who looked like a Scholar."