Chapter 296: Off Track (8)

The Jangheung Sangbang branch chief in Naknyeong, Choi Yangsu, was restless—like sitting on a bed of thorns.

Or in the Central Plains idiom, it was like lying on a bench made of logs: stiff, tense, and deeply uncomfortable.

Even if news traveled slowly in the Central Plains, how slow could it be in a district packed with merchant estates?

Besides, merchants were a breed born with ears wide open, always twitching for anything that smelled like money.

And wasn’t this one of those once-in-a-decade moments?

A time when grain literally turned into gold?

So hearing that a relief rampager was knocking down merchant houses one by one on her way over—well, of course he couldn’t sit still.

There was no way to feel at ease.

Still, he’d done a decent amount of preparation.

Unlike the minor Sangbangs of Naknyeong, this was the great Jangheung Sangbang—the number one merchant guild in all of Shaanxi Province, known across the entire realm.

So unlike some two-bit corner store, they had deep and sticky ties with the local bureaucracy.

They even had the Naknyeong Hyunseung himself agree to personally bring constables and block the gate.

“Branch Chief!”

“Well? Did she leave? That bitch—did she go back?”

“About that... she crashed into the estate—”

“What!? How!? Didn’t Hyunseung-nari promise to guard the entrance!?”

“He is guarding it, sir, just as agreed, but... she broke through the wall and came in...”

The branch chief nearly blew a gasket.

Through the wall? That was something only actual bandits would do.

No, even bandits didn’t smash walls.

They’d go over them, or sneak through entrances—but break down a wall? That was wild.

“Wait—did you say Hyunseung-nari is still guarding the entrance?”

“Yes. He insisted he would continue guarding it, just like he promised...”

Now the branch chief’s head was going to explode.

He’d asked the guy to stop intruders, and the bastard was still standing at the gate, even after someone had already broken in.

A silent threat:

We fulfilled the contract, so don’t forget to pay.

Watching the robbery but guarding the gate—

Classic government scam.

No wonder merchants had an age-old saying: Never trust an official.

The branch chief could only pound his burning chest in frustration, until a subordinate tried to reassure him.

“But sir, didn’t we summon all the first disciples from Naknyeong Wuguan? She can’t just ignore Naknyeong’s top martial house.”

“Branch Chief!”

Another clerk burst in before the sentence finished.

The look on his face was all the branch chief needed to know.

“Sigh... Let me guess. They let her through?”

“They seemed to know each other already...”

“Ugh. These country bumpkin Wuguans. I never expected much anyway.

You bring in someone remotely famous and they wag their tails like dogs.”

Still, in Naknyeong, the most reliable way to grease the wheels had always been to dump silver into Wuguan’s lap.

He’d only borrowed their prestige in the first place.

But his real hope lay elsewhere.

“What about the old man?”

“He should be facing her right about now.”

“Good. If he’s stepped in, then we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The old man was a master of the Enlightenment Tier—Hwagyeong—renowned throughout the Central Plains.

A brat like her—arrogant, wicked, uncivilized, and brainless—wasn’t even a match.

The branch chief finally began to relax.

****

In the Central Plains, there’s a saying: "One against ten thousand."

It means a person so powerful they could face ten thousand on their own.

It originally referred to the legendary war machine, General Xiang Yu.

Xiang Yu wasn’t just a brute with overwhelming force—he was also a master of strategy and tactics, a true god of war.

He just had no sense of subtlety and tried to solve everything through violence, which is why he failed.

In any case, this moment now—was exactly like that idiom.

One overwhelming master unleashed his aura, and the once-roused crowd deflated like candles in a gust of wind.

Qing took a good look at the old man’s face and ran the numbers.

He didn’t look like a saint, but he wasn’t outright evil either.

Qing, by nature, was kind to people.

Beasts with high karma debt weren’t really people, so they didn’t count.

But if someone was a person, Qing treated them with basic courtesy—

Unless they were a raging asshole on first impression.

She pressed her hands together and bowed.

“Hello. I’m Ximen Qing. May I ask your name, sir?”

Her courtesy was impeccable.

The old man’s intense aura eased a bit.

“They call me Yura Dal,” he said.

A sudden intake of breath from the crowd.

Was he famous? Qing had no idea.

But there was a trick to that.

Qing also inhaled with them—then exhaled at just the right moment:

“Yura Dal!”

“Fifth of the Five Outlaws!”

“Master of the Iron Whip Chain!”

If you didn’t know who someone was, you could just shout their name real loud and act like you did.

Famous people appreciated being recognized.

Even if you were faking it.

Qing had no clue who he was.

But judging from the crowd's reaction, he really was Enlightenment Tier.

She didn't know, but Yura Dal was indeed famous.

Not for his skill, but for his background.

His nickname made it clear—he was a wandering rogue.

The Five Outlaws referred to the top five vagrant fighters of the realm.

Even if he was the lowest-ranked of the five, it still meant he was the fifth most fearsome rogue in the entire Central Plains.

But Qing didn’t care.

All she knew—just now—was that he was an old master whose name everyone seemed to know.

His karma score: 36.

For a sword-user, that was excellent.

So he wasn’t some murderous bastard. That was enough.

Qing decided to try the soft route—open her damn mouth.

“Sir, the city’s been hit by a terrible disaster—”

“Enough. I don’t concern myself with such things,” Yura Dal cut her off.

And just like that, he’d accomplished the rare feat of shutting down Qing’s hellmouth before it fully opened.

“You know this already,” he continued.

“I’m a rogue. A rogue is a sword for hire. And does a sword choose who it cuts? I’ve already been paid. I’m just a blade, swinging in the hand that bought me.”

Textbook rogue logic.

The kind of words only a rogue who’d lived a long life could say with pride.

“I’ve been asked to let no one through. And so I won’t.

If you really want to get by, you’ll have to resolve this the martial way.”

He reached for his waist and unsheathed his weapon—

Not a sword, but a segmented iron whip made of nine metal rods linked together: the Gujeolpyeon.

A strange, brutal weapon.

And the very reason they called him Gujeol Rogue Yura Dal.

“Resolve it the martial way.”

Of course. That was fair.

Qing blinked and asked, baffled:

“Sir? Aren’t you Enlightenment Tier already?

I thought you might offer me a few moves of handicap, or something like that...”

“Pah. Was I born at Enlightenment Tier?

Why the hell should I go easy on someone just because I’m old?” he replied.

“I... see...”

Maybe it was a rogue thing?

It was a fair point, but damn if it didn’t feel petty.

Not that Qing lacked confidence.

She’d handled Peak Tier masters before—

So even if this one was Enlightenment Tier, why couldn’t she take him too?

Sure, the last Enlightenment Tier she’d fought had used some Earth Element bullshit to turn himself into a walking rock, but still.

I can use internal force now. That’s all that matters.

Qing cupped her fists and spoke:

“Ximen Qing, outer disciple of Shinnyeo Gate, here to seek instruction.”

“But tell me, just how much would it cost to keep a master like the Gujeol Rogue as a live-in guest?”

One of the branch chief’s subordinates asked curiously, now that the chief had finally calmed down.

Merchants, by their very nature, would rather be the head of a snake than the tail of a dragon.

They hate working under others. Most dream of breaking off and opening a Sangbang of their own someday.

Of course, the ideal is to start under someone and then eventually devour them whole—

But with a giant like Jangheung Sangbang, that was laughable.

So while working under someone else, the smart thing was to learn all the tricks of the trade.

And that question—how much it cost to employ an Enlightenment-tier master—was exactly that: a merchant trying to learn.

“To host a master known across the land? Gold and silver won’t cut it.

Masters like that have money thrown at them everywhere they go. Why would they want yours?”

“Then how did we get the old man on our side...?”

“Ahem. Benevolence. Righteousness. Human kindness.”

“There was a story... years ago, a woman showed up at the Sangbang, carrying a sick child. Boldly declared: this child is the Gujeol Rogue’s blood.

Said if we cured the kid, he’d owe us a debt he couldn’t repay.”

“What—you mean good fortune just walked through the damn door on its own?”

“But grabbing that fortune when it appears—that’s the real skill. Ahem.”

The branch chief glanced around and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Picture it. A whore in rags barges in, saying her kid’s the child of a legendary master.

Would you believe that? And don’t forget—she wasn’t even a stranger. The front gate guard recognized her. Bargain-bin level.”

“Still. What’s the cost of medicine? If a few coins lands you a legendary master as your servant, that’s a hell of a deal, isn’t it?”

“Tch tch. Easy for you to say now, after you know the story.

But imagine some two-bit prostitute, face you recognize, shows up yelling her daughter’s the child of a top-tier master.

Would you just go, ‘Ah, of course, madam,’ and shell out for treatment?”

“Sangbangs get hit with scams every damn day.

You think we’re gonna fund every sob story just because it’s cheap?

You think we’re a charity? This is a business.”

When a child’s sick and there’s no hope, mothers will say anything.

The Sangbang got every kind of con artist imaginable.

Charlatans with miracle tonics, people trying to {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} sell family heirlooms, or claiming they’ve got the business deal of a lifetime.

Miners demanding capital for gold veins they “just found.”

Once a month, guaranteed, someone shows up saying they’ve got a divine treasure sword they can’t wield and want to sell.

“So that’s where our head merchant’s insight came in. He knew the truth.

Or maybe...”

Maybe he knew it was bullshit, but since the kid was a girl, he figured the investment would pay off later.

The branch chief swallowed that last line.

Either way, later on, the Gujeol Rogue showed up in the capital, met the girl, and...

Whether it was fatherly instinct, or he had another way to confirm it, or maybe he just got lonely in his old age and wanted a daughter—

She dropped the ‘pretending’ and became the real thing.

After that, Yura Dal said:

“This fool failed to recognize his own flesh and blood, and nearly lost her to some pitiful fever.

Her life was paid for in advance. I’m just repaying the debt, as a rogue does.”

“Ohh... that’s a damn fine story.”

“Right? And he’s been living here as a guest ever since—for over five years now.

And he still says the girl’s life hasn’t been paid back in full.

Our master merchant’s virtue must be immense.”

And that’s why the branch chief could breathe a little easier.

Surely a man repaying a daughter’s life wouldn’t betray them.

****

Yura Dal paused.

“Hold on. Did you say Shinnyeo Gate?

Why is a disciple of Shinnyeo Gate wandering around alone?

Isn’t that the hermit sect that cuts all worldly ties once someone joins?”

“I only studied under Master Seomun Surin as an individual disciple,” Qing replied.

“I wasn’t officially registered with Shinnyeo Gate.

Even if I were—if a disciple is capable of protecting herself, she can get permission to descend the mountain.”

Shinnyeo Gate wasn’t that closed off.

If you were a first disciple, you could just ask for leave and go out for a bit.

I mean, how else do their girls end up falling for men and leaving the sect?

You weren’t gonna meet any dudes on Shinnyeo Peak, the sacred, no-men-allowed mountain.

So clearly they snuck out, flirted, made out, and got knocked up out in the world.

Yura Dal’s expression hardened.

“Wait. Just now—you said you’re Master Seomun’s personal disciple?”

A personal disciple meant one a master accepted outside of formal sect registration.

They weren’t allowed to teach sect secrets.

Usually, there was a reason they couldn’t formally induct them—but they were often extremely close.

There were other weird disciple types too—like named disciples and heirs.

Heirs were the full package—true successors, inheritors of everything.

Named disciples were fakes. You got to borrow a master’s name, nothing more.

Weird, sure—but in places like the Buddhist or Daoist sects, it was common:

You’d pay a donation, do a year or two of chores, learn some basics, get a title, and head out.

If Qing had heard that, she’d probably shout something in English like “monastery stay!”

Which... wasn’t far off, conceptually.

Anyway—Master Seomun? Qing’s eyes widened.

No way—another network connection?

“Wait! You knew my master?”

“Ahem. You should’ve said that first.”

Yura Dal replied, then swung his segmented iron whip with a flourish.

Somehow, the long weapon curled neatly into place around his waist—clicking into its sheath like it was built to fit—and left only the hilt visible.