Unwi shook his head.

“Not enough.”

“Then name it. Whatever it is, I’ll fill the gap.”

“Ten drops of Refined Azure Spirit Oil every fortnight, plus five stalks of Hundred-Year Ginseng and one Five-Hundred-Year Ginseng.”

“...Would Dalmada not be acceptable instead?”

Unwi chuckled.

“Then let’s go with that.”

“...I feel like I’ve been played somehow... Fine. I accept.”

“Deliver the elixirs and pills I mentioned by tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

“And I’ll entrust the sale of Shinsamhwa to you as well.”

A smile spread across Seo Hyo’s lips.

“Of course. There will be plenty of visitors to the black market, so sales won’t be an issue.”

However—

“This agreement begins only once your business is concluded successfully, young master.”

Unwi nodded.

Seo Hyo offered a cupped-fist salute and lowered his head.

“Next time, I’d like to play a game of Go with you.”

“Aren’t we playing already?”

“...”

“Whether I hold black or white, we’ll find out when the time comes.”

“...Understood. And before I go, I’d like to offer you a small gift.”

“Let’s see it.”

Seo Hyo’s gaze flicked to the letter beside Unwi.

He didn’t read it directly.

Nor did Unwi ever mention its contents.

But someone of Seo Hyo’s caliber couldn’t not know what it contained.

“I’ll handle it for you.”

Unwi picked up the letter.

“You mean this?”

“Yes.”

A small flame flared in Unwi’s palm.

With a whoosh, the letter crumbled into ash and scattered.

“Seo Hyo.”

“Yes, young master.”

“You and I are friends.”

“...That’s a relief. I was worried we might not be...”

“But before being friends, we’re both people who move for our own benefit.”

“...”

“If either of us ends up owing the other, then that balance is broken—and the relationship won’t be the same.”

“You’re speaking of balance, I see.”

“So there’s no need to say more, is there?”

Seo Hyo smiled faintly.

“Understood. Then let’s consider the matter of that letter erased. And when all this is over... I’ll come see you again.”

With a nod from Unwi, Seo Hyo’s body vanished like smoke.

Unwi turned his head.

Listening closely, he could hear the gentle breathing of the sleeping chief steward.

A sigh slipped from his lips.

It seemed he would need to summon Yangso again.

***

The rain washed over the blood-soaked earth.

Four figures ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) stood among the scattered corpses.

Cheonpung, Ju Soa, Wonyang, and Han Murin.

The bodies belonged to members of Jeogan’s Hong Family caravan.

Naturally, the warriors, merchants, and porters who had accompanied them were among the dead.

No exaggeration—they had truly slaughtered every last one.

Cheonpung stared down the mountain path and spoke.

“Get ready. The last caravan should be arriving soon.”

They had long since surpassed the hundred kills Unwi had asked for, but none of them intended to stop.

Once a blade is drawn, it must see its end.

They’d followed the original route to the letter. All that remained was the destruction of the caravan from Hwayeong Sword Sect—then it would all be over.

Once they returned, Unwi would surely praise them.

That alone kept them going.

The current time was myosi—between 5 and 7 a.m.

Daylight was beginning to break. They had to finish this quickly and return to Yangryeong.

But strangely, the caravan wasn’t showing.

“...Did we get the timing wrong?”

Cheonpung scratched his head and let out a sigh.

Time passed, and kept passing.

This wasn’t good.

No matter how hard it rained, once the sun was up, someone would come snooping.

We should pull out.

He was just about to say it—when a torchlight appeared in the distance.

It was the caravan, pushing through the rain.

A relief.

Cheonpung began walking forward, and the others followed.

But the closer they got, the more something felt off.

“...There’s only one wagon.”

No carts, no porters.

Cheonpung raised his hand. Everyone froze in place.

“...Something’s wrong.”

Ju Soa, Wonyang, and Han Murin all felt it.

Something had gone very wrong.

As they stopped, the wagon did as well.

The coachman stepped down and slowly began to walk toward them.

Only then did his black robe become clearly visible.

Embroidered in crimson over his chest was a single character: 炎—Flame.

Everyone froze in shock—but none more than Han Murin.

Crimson Flame.

In this vast martial world, only one sect embroidered that symbol over the right chest.

“...Hondo... Mayeomgung...”

Han Murin’s eyes began to blaze. If Ju Soa hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulder, he would’ve drawn his sword and rushed in.

But that would’ve been a mistake.

A very serious mistake.

The man lifted his head—and his gaze was frigid. With each step he took, ashes scattered across the ground.

Only Ju Soa among them recognized who he was.

“...Black Flame Demon Beast, Wurin...”

The martial force of Hondo Mayeomgung was centered in its elite Mayeom Pavilion, divided into four grand units.

This man was the Commander of the Mars Unit—and his cultivation stood at Transcendence Realm.

“I came because the air reeked of blood... and sure enough, it was you.”

His voice was low, calm—but brimming with confidence.

The four of them stood frozen.

This wasn’t merely a martial artist. He was a disaster incarnate.

Had they placed too much faith in their intel?

Why in the world was the Mars Unit’s commander of Hondo Mayeomgung here—and alone, at that?

“Well, I can’t say it makes much sense... but thanks to you lot, I’ve got a lovely gift to bring back to Lee Jakyum. So I’m not complaining.”

He chuckled to himself.

Cheonpung was the first to raise his sword.

“...Ho? You draw your blade? Do you even know who I am?”

“I don’t.”

“Even if you don’t, surely you can feel the aura of someone in the Transcendence Realm. Can’t you?”

“I can.”

“...Are you insane?”

“Doesn’t matter if you’re transcendence or whatever. A blade in the neck kills just the same, doesn’t it?”

“...That... is true. You’re not wrong. Hah. You’re a funny one. Haven’t seen someone like you in a long time.”

Cheonpung grinned.

“You’ve got the feel of a Two-Sun Two-Wise cultivator. I like your guts and your confidence. Almost makes me want to drag you back to Hondo Mayeomgung. But let’s see what you’re made of first.”

Before he finished speaking, black flames erupted from Wurin’s body.

This wasn’t just demonic fire.

It was the culmination of Wurin’s decades of training in Demonic Flame Art—a technique called:

Black Flame Three Forms.

First Form: Flame Gorge.

Black fire surged from both his hands. Even under the pouring rain, it was untouched—naturally.

At the Transcendence Realm, cultivators could manipulate natural energy. The higher the realm, the more control they had over its essence.

A little rain couldn’t disrupt Wurin’s natural energy.

The demonic fire twisted and writhed like a living creature as Wurin lunged forward.

His target: Cheonpung.

Sensing the threat, Cheonpung gathered all his energy into his greatsword and swung hard.

Final form of Thousand-Kill Wolf Snow Slash: Piercing Starquake.

It clashed directly with the flames.

But instead of being extinguished, the fire engulfed him.

“Khugh...!”

Cheonpung was driven back, sliding across the ground as he lifted his head.

In an instant, his entire internal energy was depleted.

And Wurin looked at him with a curious expression.

“...Your spiritual power is far greater than expected.”

It was a genuine remark of admiration.

“I wonder what kind of monster you’ll grow into. For now, wait your turn.”

A smile curled on Wurin’s lips as he tilted his head back.

Whoosh!

A blade passed just over his face.

Wonyang.

“Precise and quick... but too linear.”

Before Wurin could react further, his eyes widened.

Another sword came at him.

He stepped back and twisted aside.

Whoosh!

Han Murin’s sword pierced the spot where his heart had just been.

There wasn’t a scratch on Wurin’s body. His robe hadn’t even been torn. But his eyes were still wide.

Because—

“...Demonic fire...? Are you a disciple of the Palace?”

The flame Han Murin had unleashed was unmistakably that of Hondo Mayeomgung.

And it was impressively pure.

Not something from Two-Sun Two-Wise—but rather from Five-Dragon Phoenix Star.

Now that he thought of it—

“...Your face... looks familiar somehow...”

But Wurin didn’t get to finish the thought.

Wonyang and Han Murin both slashed at him.

Thunk, thunk.

Wurin caught both blades like they were sticks.

Then fire began to crawl down their swords.

“Kh...!”

Cries of pain echoed as Wurin released their weapons and stepped back.

A snake-like blade cut through the air.

Ju Soa.

“...Look at this. Isn’t this a technique from Salgeommun?”

He kicked at the incoming blade.

Boom!!

With a thunderous crash, Ju Soa staggered.

She didn’t drop her sword—but it didn’t matter.

Wurin’s fist slammed into her face.

Crack!!

She slammed into the ground. Her black hat flew off, and the veil attached to it tore open.

Wurin saw her face—and licked his lips.

“So it is you. Thousand-Handed Beauty, Ju Soa. Said to be the closest to the most beautiful in the world... and it seems the rumors were true.”

Ju Soa wiped the blood from her forehead and forced herself upright.

That one exchange made things crystal clear.

Not everyone in this world could be like Unwi.

They wouldn’t survive this.

She sent a telepathic message to the Bunta members behind her.

—Run. Now.

But none of them moved.

Hadn’t they learned from Unwi?

There were things more important than death.

When walking the chosen path, danger was inevitable.

Overcome it, or die. That was all.

Had they bent or held firm?

Had they walked without shame?

That was what mattered.

“I said run!”

Ju Soa shouted—but they merely stood by her side.

Each of them picked up their fallen weapons. Wurin burst into laughter at the sight.

“What a cute little bitch. The ones behind you have loyalty, personality... even talent... And one of them’s clearly from the Palace. It’s a shame to kill such fine specimens.”

Ju Soa smirked.

Blood dripped from the corner of her lips.

“I am kind of cute. But my body’s even better. You’re not planning to kill me easily, are you?”