Chapter 420: A Battle of Wits and Hearts (5)

Strategist Bang — Bang Jeommyeong — was in high spirits.

It had been ages since he’d had wine poured for him by a woman, and before the first toast was even raised, his filthy hands showed no sign of leaving the courtesan’s chest.

Sect Leader Lee Wangchul of the Killing Moon Sect smirked and said,

“Hmph, well, it’s not like the courtesan’s trying to run away. Looks like you’ve been starved for quite a while.”

And then came the snide jabs—

“You’re not the sort who enjoys women, aren’t you? That explains that dirty look in your eyes when you see me. Or maybe that handmaid hanging around you is actually your concubine, and from the way you moon over her every day, you’re completely whipped. You’ve brought shame to men everywhere.”

Rumors about the reclusive Strategist Bang had already been spreading—that he’d never once come to a company banquet—filthy rumors that only grew with time.

But watching his behavior today, those rumors would be snuffed out in an instant.

Still, there was the faint hope that, as a strategist of the sect, he might try to keep up some decorum instead of pawing like a wild beast that hadn’t seen a woman in ten years.

Regardless, a Killing Moon Sect banquet was... enjoyable.

Truly enjoyable.

A way of reveling that was unrestrained, obscene, deeply improper, and thoroughly unsanitary.

Beasts, the lot of them!

Unfit to be called human—perfectly qualified as animals.

Then, all of a sudden, Strategist Bang staggered to his feet.

“Oho.”

“Strategist Bang? Where are you going?”

“Just going to drain the lizard for a moment...”

Former Chief Steward and now Killing Moon Sect Vice Leader Wang U gave a sly, knowing smile.

“Ahh. I see.”

The Killing Moon Sect hoodlums snickered.

Unorthodox bastards had a way of obsessing over the most useless things in life.

Some of them prided themselves on their drinking capacity.

Orthodox martial artists, once they felt they’d had enough to risk a mistake, would cover their cups or step outside to purge their drunkenness in the open air.

But the Unorthodox lot had no such restraint—they drank to the bitter end.

Because purging alcohol was, in their minds, unmanly.

A man, they believed, should sooner die of alcohol poisoning than spit out the drink he had swallowed. A bizarre sort of pride.

So the veins stood out on Strategist Bang’s forehead.

“It’s not that—I really am just going to take a piss.”

“They all say that, and then they come back looking perfectly fine. Isn’t that right? Making excuses like a woman, only to spit out the wine they just drank.”

“Hmph. Then why don’t you come along and see for yourself?”

“What would I want to look at another man’s dick for? I’ll just count how long it takes you to finish. If it’s a long time, you know what that means.”

“My piss flows like the mighty Yangtze. Come with me and listen if you want—you’ll be so entranced by the sound, like the sky’s been torn open, you’ll lose your soul. Now then, everyone—if Vice Leader Wang comes rushing back claiming the heavens have collapsed, you’ll know it’s just the power of this strategist’s piss.”

The room erupted in laughter.

Wang U’s face twisted as if he’d bitten into a stone.

In martial arts, he might have had a chance, but trying to outtalk a man who made his living with words? Foolish.

Strategist Bang, having easily slapped down Wang U’s provocation, swaggered out through the sliding paper door, shoulders high, steps weaving.

He glanced around, spotted the empty wooden placard marking the privy, and took one step, two—

Then, suddenly, the door slid open, and a pale, expressionless face appeared.

“Consumption of more than one bottle of alcohol. You have broken your promise. You are a liar.”

“Ah, hell! You scared me. When did you get here?”

“I was carrying out my mission. But you have far exceeded the agreed limit. This is a serious act of deception.”

“Hmph. Aren’t you just using your ‘mission’ as an excuse to loaf around? Wipe your mouth—there’s still stuff on it.”

The corners of Rangrang’s mouth were smeared orange with chili oil, and a thick black streak ran down her left cheek—probably from gnawing on a skewer.

“This was nothing more than replenishing energy for my mission. Regardless, I will consider this an active act of deceit.”

“Ahem. That’s why I’m going to sober up now, isn’t it? As long as I don’t get drunk, it’s fine.”

“Suit yourself. Do as you will.”

Rangrang snapped the door shut.

Strategist Bang clicked his tongue.

“What, is she sulking? Hah. Unbelievable. A monster corpse-woman putting on airs and pretending to be human—stuffing herself with expensive dishes, no less.”

He muttered as he walked down the corridor—until, from the privy, a woman emerged.

He stopped dead, forgetting his need entirely, and stared blankly.

The face—pure sensuality—marked her as a courtesan, he thought. But here? In this backwater Gwangju? And not just high-class—top-class, top-top-class.

His assumption was not unusual.

By Central Plains standards, having a lewdly beautiful appearance was considered shameful for a woman, so such features were often hidden under heavy makeup.

But those who did not hide them—who flaunted them—were the flowers that ensnared men: the courtesans.

“You, you—what’s your name?”

Gyeon Pohee looked at the middle-aged man addressing her in blunt speech.

Her thought process unfolded:

You were spoken to in banmal.

Is he old? No.

If not, does he know me? No.

If not that, is he a master? No.

“Me? I’m Gyeon Pohee. Who’re you?”

She gave back exactly what she got.

If you put it nicely, it was like a mirror. In Qing’s eyes, it was just childish.

“Ahem. I’m Strategist Bang Jeommyeong of the Killing Moon Sect. They call me strategist, but I’m practically second-in-command.”

“Killing Moon Sect? Sounds familiar. So? What about it?”

“Are you seeing clients right now? No, never mind—that doesn’t matter. How much? I can pay you in gold, as much as you want. Here.”

He grabbed her wrist.

“What the—why is a woman this strong? Why are you standing still like a lump?”

Pohee was a master.

She hadn’t retaliated simply because this barely second-rate punk had reached for her.

She tilted her head at the weak tug she gave to pull her arm back.

“Where are you going?”

“Heh-heh-heh. What do you think a man and a woman do when they meet? Heh-heh.”

She tilted her head again.

“What do they do?”

“What, you don’t know? Pour me some wine, give me a kiss, eh?”

“Why? I don’t want to.”

“What’s with this act, playing the fool? When your elder says ‘come,’ you should obey. Do I have to force myself on you? You’d better come quietly while I’m being nice. The result will be the same—don’t you know which way’s better, you stupid girl?”

As he yanked her arm, the resistance vanished. His pull brought her in without weight, as if through air—then, suddenly, the motion turned into a thousand-catty force twisting his wrist.

The torque ran up his elbow, into his shoulder, swelling and growing until it became an unstoppable wave that swung his whole body.

Bang’s body spun like a waterwheel, arm as its axis.

It was as if heaven and earth themselves were spinning, leaving him dizzy and disoriented—

And in the fading edges of consciousness, he barely recalled a legendary technique based on the same principle:

Geongon Daenai — Grasp Heaven and Earth, Turn Them Over.

Then came a cold voice:

“What have you ever given me to make me less stupid? I’m attractive, but stupid and insignificant—a fool, a fool, you know what that is?”

It was such idiotic nonsense that he let go of the last thread of consciousness he’d been holding onto.

And his final thought before blacking out was:

It’s called foolish charm, you dumb bitch...

****

Fortunately, Strategist Bang wasn’t left on the cold floor for too long.

When the “I’m going to take a piss” strategist failed to return, Sect Leader Lee Wangchul told someone to go find him.

If a weak-livered scholar had drunk himself into the privy and drowned, that would be a serious problem.

To everyone’s surprise, the one who volunteered was none other than former Chief Steward Wang U.

“Vice Leader Wang? You?”

“Brother, I can’t keep snarling at him forever. We’re still part of the same Killing Moon Sect. Time to let him win one.”

Of course, Wang U wasn’t actually planning murder.

He was certain the man had either passed out in the privy or collapsed in some empty room.

He’d just drag him out, maybe dunk him in the cesspit. Once a man was known as the guy who fell in shit, it didn’t matter if he was a strategist—he’d be ruined. Might as well have killed him.

At least, that was the plan—until Sect Leader Lee added,

“Good thinking, brother. He might be a runt, but he’s a vital asset. You should coax him a bit, make peace like a man. I know you’ve been upset. Here, have a drink. I only listened to him because he’s narrow-minded, but I’ll put you right back in the Chief Steward’s seat soon enough.”

Lee handed him the cup with a look of approval.

Wang U downed it in one go, a sinister grin creeping across his face.

So that bastard was the reason I lost my position.

It was the proof he’d been waiting for.

Out in the corridor, they soon spotted a drunk sprawled on the floor.

At first Wang U thought he was just napping.

But no—his eyes had rolled back, his mouth was frothing, and his arm was twisted to ruin by some unknown method.

Wang U’s lips stretched toward his ears.

Among the Unorthodox, the sudden and violent death of a comrade was an everyday thing.

Clearly, the fool had picked a fight with the wrong master.

He drew his dagger, ready to finish it—

Just then, Strategist Bang stirred.

“Ugh... Vice Leader Wang...?”

“You fucking bastard. Yeah, it’s Vice Leader Wang. Feel good, making someone else Vice Leader in your place? You messed with the wrong person.”

“Not vice leader—slander, ack—”

The blade nicked his throat, making him clutch it with his good hand.

“If it was slander or whatever, you should’ve apologized first, asshole.”

Wang U spat, then kicked Bang hard in the back and turned away.

“Ghhhk... gghhhk.”

Bang tried to shout, but with blood flooding his windpipe, no sound came.

The crash of a door thrown open, and Wang U’s urgent voice:

—Brother! Brother, something’s wrong!

Just then, the sliding paper door in front of Bang opened silently.

At the base of the door, a face appeared—expressionless, eyes meeting his.

It was Rangrang, lying on the floor with her chin propped on her hands.

“This is why mutual trust is important. You can be betrayed at the moment you most need help. Do you understand?”

“Gghhk...”

“I can’t read expressions to interpret meaning, but judging by the shape of your mouth, you’re saying ‘save me,’ aren’t you?”

Bang’s eyes lit with desperate hope. Even with his slit throat, he nodded frantically.

And then, his pupils dilated.

Because for the first time, Rangrang’s face—usually expressionless, not human at all—showed emotion.

Her lips stretched wide, almost to her earlobes, revealing sharp, monstrous teeth.

“No. This monster corpse-woman has decided to stop pretending to be human. So ask another human instead.”

She slid the door shut.

Bang gurgled, blood bubbling in his throat.

In the haze of fading consciousness, an urgent voice rang faintly in his ears:

Strategist Bang! What the hell—! Stay with me! Blood—damn it, pressure, fuck. This was a real blade job—how the hell are we going to explain this to the Demonic Alliance...