Chapter 415: When Mom Follows the Shamans to the Hills (11)

Bang Jeommyeong, a strategist of the faction, was a member of Nangogak under the Unified Alliance of Demonic Sects—known in short as the Demonic Alliance.

The name Nangogak came from Nango, the so-called “physiognomy of a traitor.” Even from its naming, it was steeped in nastiness.

Officially, the elders claimed it was the perfect title for a strategist of the demonic path: a name that embodied both the cunning unbound by morality and the ruthless ambition to rise to fame by devouring those above you.

But given that martial artists of the Demonic Factions were notoriously hostile to anyone with the ji (scholar) character in their title, it wasn’t hard to guess the real reason. In their eyes, weaklings who couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag but dared to brag about their cleverness were insufferable.

In any case—

Bang Jeommyeong thought:

I really can’t do this shit anymore. Fuck.

And thinking it only made him feel all the more pitiful.

He couldn’t even voice his complaints—if he said them aloud, someone would take offense later and trip him in the hall, shove him in passing, or otherwise make his life miserable.

That was how strategists were treated among the Demonic Alliance’s martial artists.

“Why aren’t you answering? I said, let’s have fireworks.”

“Uh... when you say ‘fireworks’...”

“It’s the martial world’s grand tournament—we’ve gotta put on a real show! Don’t just fire off one or two. I want the whole night sky lit up like daytime. You get what I mean?”

“Well... for fireworks, we’d need the authorities’ permission.”

“What? Why the hell would we need their permission to light fireworks?”

“Because... they use gunpowder...”

“What? Fireworks use gunpowder? That explains the smell. But why’s that a problem?”

Gunpowder was a highly restricted substance.

To launch fireworks as a private group, you had to grease the palms of officials with a hefty bribe, hire a proxy to smuggle stock out of the imperial workshops in Beijing, and then borrow an official’s name to authorize the display—matching the rank to the scale of the show.

For a small handful of fireworks, a county magistrate would suffice, but if you wanted to brighten the whole sky, you’d need at least the name of a Provincial Intendant to smooth things over.

Meaning bribes on top of bribes, the cost of the gunpowder itself, and then even more bribes.

All that money, just for one night’s spectacle.

“Tch, so expensive? But that just means it’ll raise the Demonic Alliance’s prestige that much more. Put in the request. And make sure you write down that it was my idea, alright? What’s the word... proposal? Petition?”

“Well, the budget...”

“That’s Nangogak’s problem. Isn’t that why you strategists exist?”

“...Yes, sir.”

The Martial World Grand Assembly.

The Demonic Alliance’s answer to the Righteous Faction’s own grand tournament—because if the righteous forces gathered, the demonic ones had to do the same.

It was inevitable.

And all the work, of course, fell to the lowly hands of the administrative staff.

If they would just leave it to the staff, fine—but there were always people with bright ideas that were impossible to implement.

It was obvious what these schemes were for: to look good in front of the Alliance Lord.

Later, when the Alliance Lord was pleased, they could sidle up and say, Oh, that was my suggestion! Haha! Doesn’t this fireworks display capture the Demonic Alliance’s true spirit?

The Demonic Alliance Lord was an unparalleled martial genius—not only in his own skills, but in teaching others.

They said a single casual remark from him could spark instant enlightenment.

The rapid progress of those close to him in recent years was proof enough.

So of course, everyone scrambled to catch his eye.

“If my name gets left out, I swear—I’ll kill you.”

With a childish threat like that, the elder patted—no, from Bang Jeommyeong’s point of view, smacked—his shoulder and walked off.

Bang Jeommyeong didn’t dare sigh, just swallowed his resentment. Fireworks, my ass. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

And then the doors of Nangogak burst open, admitting yet another elder.

“Ah, Strategist Bang. Good work. I’ve had an idea.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve heard the righteous bastards built a floating arena on the canal?”

“Well... Lake Dongting is too far north, so—”

“No, no, let me finish. If we set up a floating arena now, people will just say we copied them. So we’ll make an aerial arena instead! Build a tall tower and fight in the sky!”

“...Then, how would the audience—”

“Build the seating higher too!”

“...And how exactly—”

“Why are you asking me? You figure it out.”

Bang Jeommyeong’s shoulders sagged.

Fuck this. I can’t do this anymore.

Then—

“Oh, right. Here.”

The elder suddenly produced a fine lacquered box.

Inside, on silk lining, lay a calligraphy brush made from weasel fur—a true treasure to a man of letters.

“Uh... is this for me?”

“Not from me. You’ve got connections in Gwangju, don’t you? The Lord of the Killing Moon Sect sent this for your son.”

Bang Jeommyeong blinked.

“I’ve never even been to Gwangju. Are you sure? I know the name of the Killing Moon Sect, but I’ve never had dealings with them.”

“No idea. Guess they’re trying to make a connection with Nangogak. Well, Strategist Bang, looks like people are lining up to be on your side—you’re about to rise fast, eh?”

Again with the shoulder-smacking, hard enough to bruise.

Bang Jeommyeong looked down at the precious brush.

The Killing Moon Sect, was it?

Why send this to him, a mere bottom-rank member of Nangogak?

He didn’t know—but it was a fine gift, and the fact that it was meant for his child made it even more welcome.

He couldn’t think of any way to repay it except to see they got a good seat at the grand assembly.

****

Just as Gwangju Zen Hall was a coalition of related trading guilds, the Golden Pavilion was a union of moneylenders and street thugs.

And while Gwangju’s usurers were being swept away, everyone had been too busy watching the Earthwork Immortal Lady’s sword dance—well, hammer dance—to notice.

So when funeral processions began to line the streets, people could only stare and ask, Wait, what the hell? Why’d they all die at once?

It was the sort of bewilderment tinged with regret.

If they were going to die, they could’ve waited a bit—

Right now, everyone was still busy celebrating the Gwangju Zen Hall bastards’ deaths.

If they’d held off for three days, the joyous mood could’ve carried right into another round of drinking and gossip, using the dead as an extra snack.

The tongues and lips of Gwangju were nearly chapped from overuse.

“So why’d those money-grubbing bastards die?”

“It’s gotta be a curse. What else?”

“The Divine Lady’s something else, huh? Took care of the Zen Hall personally, and swept the Golden Pavilion away with a curse.”

And that “curse” walked right back into the shrine, calm as if she were coming home.

“As expected, Mother’s got style. Just killing them outright like that—is that even allowed?”

“What, I thought you went home? Haven’t seen a trace of you, then you just show up again.”

“Hey, you told me to behave, right? Your good son went around doing some good deeds. But seriously, Mother’s on a whole other level. I worried about maybe killing someone innocent, so I checked and double-checked before cutting their throats—but you just went straight in and killed the lot without a word!”

“Well, when you’re cleaning up trash, there’s no need to—”

Qing trailed off mid-sentence.

That strange, nagging feeling—something catching in her chest—suddenly felt clearer.

Strange. Why was it that every single one she killed was a villain?

Why had there been no exceptions?

Even when fighting the Green Forest bandits, there had been a few who, despite their double-digit evil karma, were spared as “lesser” villains.

But this?

No matter how vicious Gwangju Zen Hall had been, wasn’t it strange that all of them were scum?

Even the so-called “fourth generation” fledglings—shouldn’t they, by reason, have been too green to be that bad?

Did they have some kind of initiation ritual like those foreign bandit gangs, where you had to kill an innocent to be accepted?

Well, knowing how depraved these types were, maybe it wasn’t much different.

Or... was it the numbers she saw?

No—bad thought. Dangerous thought. Best to think good things only.

Good things... like my beautiful sworn sister’s face, her chest—huge chest—and the fact that I can grope that chest whenever I want. Ah, joy.

“Kya-ha-ha, that tickles! You really love boobs, huh?”

“There’s no one who doesn’t like boobs.”

At that, Yeom Hwiyeong’s eyebrows twitched.

“Mm... should I call you Aunt, or Mother? Affection’s nice and all, but maybe tone it down in front of your child?”

“Well, whatever. Being careful in your slaying of villains is admirable. Keep making sure you know who you’re killing.”

Yeom Hwiyeong’s face lit up with a broad smile—something Qing had no particular desire to see on a man’s face.

Then he dropped to one knee before her.

“...What now?”

“Is praise all I get? That’s not much of a bargain. Keep that up and your son might turn bad, Mother.”

“And if it’s not just words?”

Instead of answering, Yeom Hwiyeong bowed his head forward.

Qing’s face soured instantly.

“Unbelievable. You never run out of tricks, do you?”

She didn’t want to, but... well, maybe it was best to give him what he wanted.

It was impressive, after all, that he had gone out of his way to verify his targets before killing them.

Unlike Qing, he couldn’t see karma—and if a Profound Realm master like him went astray, the disaster would be immense.

So, for the sake of peace in the martial world, she could make this small sacrifice.

With a reluctant expression, she reached out and patted his head.

Fortunately, her left hand was full of soft, warm, resilient weight—more than enough to balance out the sensation in her right. Call it a net zero.

“Let’s be clear—I’m not praising you for killing bad guys. That’s just doing what needs to be done. I’m praising the effort you put into telling the truly bad from the not.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Suddenly, he caught her hand and rubbed his cheek against it.

Qing jerked like a cat dropped into water.

Yeom Hwiyeong chuckled.

“If I’m going to stay a good son, you might as well get used to it, Mother.”

“This is driving me crazy...”

Qing studied him closely.

Was this just a bored Profound Realm master playing “family” with her—teasing a junior because she responded reflexively despite herself?

Or was he serious?

Better if it was the former. The latter... well.

She had seen that warped vision in his formation—the twisted image of his mother.

Never having once seen her smile, only eyes sharpened with hatred.

Even in fantasy, the idealized mother who loved him—just thinking about it sent shivers down her spine.

Could a man really call a complete stranger—one much younger than himself—“Mother”?

It made no sense.

And yet, those eyes overflowing with desperate affection, that awkward smile unable to shake its shadow of fear, seemed to say:

Please love me. Please don’t abandon me.

When he’d first appeared, there had been something dangerous glinting in his gaze. But now—suddenly—he acted like some docile giant hound.

Was it since she had given him a name?

A badly-behaved giant hound, but still.

Qing’s soft heart couldn’t be too harsh.

“Enough. Lay off the ‘Mother’ for now. The Earthwork Divine Lady will disappear, and the Heavenly Flower Sword will stay.”

“Ah. So that’s how you’ll vanish? Well, shame, but it can’t be helped. Go on, then. Your good son still has a bit of good work left to finish.”

Qing tilted her head.

...Huh? That was easier than expected.

She’d thought he’d throw a tantrum.

Demand, Who are you to tell me I can’t call my mother “Mother”?

Or whine childishly about exactly how long he’d have to hold back.

She was underestimating a Profound Realm master.

And not just any master—one who had reached the realm long ago and only delayed his breakthrough to Perfected State in order to accept the Heavenly Demon’s Soul.

Light in his speech and loose in his manner he might be, but not light in substance.

Telling him to put “Mother” on hold for now was, to his ears, simply permission to say it again later—confirmation that she would, in the end, accept the role.

So Yeom Hwiyeong only grinned in quiet satisfaction.