Abolition of the Wicked - Chapter 81

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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#Chapter 81

He’d suspected it from the moment he walked in, and sure enough, when the bill came due, his hunch proved right.
“Put it on my tab.”
The restaurant owner, Wang, his face fell.
“If I add up everything you already owe me, it comes to a silver coin. You’re saying you want to run up another tab?”
When Seong Dong-cheol, a man of considerable bulk, widened his one good eye, Wang felt his knees buckle involuntarily.
“You think I’m going to stiff you for a meal this cheap?”
“No, that’s not… it’s just…”
It was common knowledge that the proprietor of the restaurant across the way had his legs broken by Seong Dong-cheol over a dispute about outstanding debts.
Even after being dragged to the magistrate’s office, he’d taken a few beatings with the rod and carried on with his old habits regardless.
With a man who didn’t even fear the magistrate, Wang had no recourse.
‘Sigh. The protection racket goons don’t show their faces when you actually need them.’
His only consolation was that the protection fee had been reduced to one-fifth of what it used to be.
As Seong Dong-cheol turned to leave the restaurant, he stopped dead in his tracks. Two men, each built even more massively than he was, stood blocking the doorway.
When Seong Dong-cheol tried to push past, they didn’t budge, standing their ground.
“Who the hell are you two?”
“Gutsy bastard, aren’t you? Trying to eat free from a restaurant under the Oseong Underworld’s protection?”
“Oseong? What kind of nonsense is that? So what are you going to do about it?”
Seong Dong-cheol lifted his shirt slightly, revealing the hilt of a sword tucked into his waistband.
“Heard that blades don’t go deep into an Oseong punk’s belly?”
One of the gangsters turned to Wang.
“How much did this bastard eat?”
“One hundred and twenty copper cash, sir. He ate quite a lot…”
“That’s everything you owe us total?”
“No, sir. If I add up everything he’s eaten without paying, it comes to at least a full silver coin…”
Under Seong Dong-cheol’s vicious glare, Wang flinched and lowered his head.
“Wang, you really think these bums can protect you? You think they can protect your sly wife and those three rabbit-faced brats of yours?”
The gangster on the left spoke.
“Of course we can.”
“How the hell are you—”
Seong Dong-cheol couldn’t finish. The gangster’s fist drove into his belly with such force it stopped his breath.
“The Oseong Underworld always pays back what it owes.”
Seong Dong-cheol was dragged out of the restaurant by the back of his neck, his hand reaching for the sword at his waist.
“Looking for this?”
The gangster had already plucked the blade from Seong Dong-cheol’s waistband and held it in his grip.
“Give it back, you son of a bitch!”
Seong Dong-cheol lunged forward, and the gangster’s fist connected with his face—a punch that reverberated through his bones and teeth. And it didn’t stop there.
For the first time in his life, Seong Dong-cheol took a beating like this, in front of so many witnesses. Compared to the gangsters’ fists, the rod beatings he’d taken at the magistrate’s office were little more than a grandfather’s switch on a child’s backside.
“P-please… please… spare me…”
The words came out unbidden, but the gangsters’ fists and kicks didn’t stop. Only when he had no strength left to beg, no voice left to cry out, did the blows finally cease.
“The tab.”
At first, he couldn’t tell what they were saying—his eardrums might have burst—and it wasn’t until two more hits that he understood.
When he pulled out his purse from his breast, one of the gangsters snatched it. Seong Dong-cheol, who trusted no one and carried every coin he had on him, felt it slip away.
‘Three silver coins? Was it four?’
As long as they’d stop beating him, he didn’t care if they took everything. The gangster pulled out just one silver coin and tossed the purse back to him.
“Keep eating on credit. A guy like you, who feels so good in my hands when I hit you—that’s rare these days.”
The two gangsters politely handed one silver coin to Wang, the restaurant owner.
“If anything like this happens while we’re away, please let us know later, no matter when. We’ll make sure to collect that debt for you.”
“Oh, thank you so much.”
“No, sir. The Oseong Underworld only does what’s right. That’s what you pay protection for, isn’t it?”
The two gangsters maintained their respectful demeanor throughout, and even swept the unconscious Seong Dong-cheol away to somewhere out of sight.
“Now that the Hangju underworld has been unified under the Oseong Underworld, things really have changed.”
“I know. They dropped the protection fee, and their work is solid. You couldn’t ask for better.”
“I heard they shut down all the gambling dens. It’s like a neighborhood watch, not a triad.”
Complaints about the underworld in Hangju were quietly fading away.
“The truth is, most merchants aren’t really afraid of the Triads. It’s the street gangs—the local toughs with some fighting skill—that genuinely terrify them. If you deal with those thugs, the Oseong Underworld will start earning a reputation as a legitimate organization.”
Kang Chan-sik acted on Jo Ja-myeong’s counsel, and the results appeared swiftly. He was indeed sharp enough to minimize the friction from closing the gambling dens.
“For the time being, have your men patrol more diligently than the constables. If they occasionally apprehend common criminals—pickpockets, thieves—the effect will be doubled.”
“What about Wol-ha Giroo?”
Gwak Bong had kept herself entirely separate from the Oseong Underworld’s operations, but there was one thing she had requested.
―Make Wol-ha Giroo as much trouble as possible. Better still if you can ruin it entirely.
Once he heard the reason, it was clear why they’d become enemies. Of course, with the Jo Hwang-sega backing the establishment, it wasn’t an easy matter, but what could be done had to be done.
“You’ve already cast the bait, yes?”
“Surely you don’t actually believe Wol-ha Giroo will give up two hundred taels?”
“Of course not. I’m testing their reaction. You throw a light punch first, see how they respond, and then plan your next move accordingly. But there’s one thing that troubles me.”
“What?”
“After the Oseong Underworld unified Hangju, did they send tribute to the Ja-ryong Gate?”
“No.”
“Then why hasn’t the Ja-ryong Gate reacted at all?”

***

Yeo Dong-sul was inwardly unsettled. The place he’d come to, thinking it was the Ja-ryong Gate, had somehow become the Cheolhyeol Faction.
It was remarkable that a major sect like the Cheolhyeol Faction had relocated its headquarters from Haenam Province to Jeol-gang Province without even a whisper of rumor. Though of course, word would spread eventually.
“Please forgive us for the disarray—the move still isn’t entirely complete.”
Jeong Pyeon-ho, master of the Crimson Hall within the Cheolhyeol Faction’s external divisions, received Yeo Dong-sul. After exchanging hollow pleasantries about welcoming him to Jeol-gang Province and hopes for future cooperation—words without sincerity—Yeo Dong-sul brought up his business.
“Originally this was a matter I should have taken to the Ja-ryong Gate, but now that the responsible party has become the Cheolhyeol Faction, I confess myself at a loss.”
“From this point forward, the Ja-ryong Gate’s affairs are the Cheolhyeol Faction’s affairs. Please, speak freely.”
“But the matter is far too trivial for the Cheolhyeol Faction to concern itself with.”
“Is it some Triad harassing a giroo?”
If it had been an ordinary establishment, a sect master like Jeong Pyeon-ho wouldn’t have bothered to meet him in person. But Wol-ha Giroo was run by the Jo Hwang-sega, the wealthiest family in Jeol-gang Province.
Now that the Cheolhyeol Faction had established itself in Jeol-gang, it could only benefit from cultivating a strong relationship with the Jo Hwang-sega.
“My original intention was only that much, but seeing the Cheolhyeol Faction with my own eyes, I realize that alone won’t be sufficient.”
“What would you have us provide to fill that gap?”

***

The iron cauldron glowed red-hot inside the furnace.
“Whatever’s inside, at that temperature it should turn to ash, shouldn’t it?”
Gong Seong-tak’s remark made Seo Seok-san shake his head.
“No—it will become the purest distilled essence instead.”
If the Bloodwind Four Lions was right, that’s what would happen. But if they were wrong, only ash would scatter, just as Gong Seong-tak had said.
“The water hour, you said?”
“Yes. And put it straight in there after.”
Outside the blacksmith shop stood an enormous stone basin, roughly three yards wide and two yards deep, with chunks of ice floating in its water.
The moment the water hour arrived, Gong Seong-tak, without waiting for further word, hurled the iron cauldron into the basin with his tongs.
A sharp hiss erupted, and steam billowed out, turning the air around them as hazy as a lakeshore on an early morning.
After another water hour had passed, Jang Man-dok hauled the iron cauldron out. The Bloodwind Four Lions watched with tense focus as Jang Man-dok began twisting the lid.
Creak-creak! Creak-creak!
As the spiral-grooved lid twisted outward inch by inch, their expressions grew increasingly rigid.
Finally Jang Man-dok opened the lid. Because of Jang Man-dok’s large head, the contents were hidden from view. So Do Pyeong-su hurried to ask.
“What’s inside?”
Jang Man-dok closed the lid again without showing it to anyone.
“Did it fail?”
A twitch.
The corner of Jang Man-dok’s mouth moved. Even without Geom U-bin or Do Pyeong-su having to say it, everyone could see it was the expression of joy.
They raised both arms in celebration as though they’d just perfected the supreme martial art of the realm.
“Not quite yet. There’s still the process of putting it into the Saegiuju and letting it age.”
Of course, but having produced the original essence rather than ash meant they’d achieved eighty percent success.
After sending the three men on ahead, Yeon Geum-hong asked Gong Seong-tak a question.
“Do you know how Hang Ju-sa-ung has been doing lately?”
“I last saw him about two days ago.”
“Isn’t he practicing the Jin-cheon Noe-gak technique?”
“He said he’d focus on cultivation practice in the Underground Cultivation Chamber for the time being. His expression was so serious that I just nodded along.”
Martial arts typically rises in stages, brick by brick, like building a wall, but sometimes fortune descends like a sudden heavy snowfall in the night, granting advancement all at once.
Geom U-bin had already experienced such a moment once, and perhaps another was now upon him.
For most Murim martial artists, such a phenomenon arrived once in a lifetime—if fortune smiled at all—but with Geom U-bin, it seemed it could visit him countless times over.
Sudden enlightenment was undoubtedly a blessing, yet sometimes it ended in calamity, a Demonic Cultivation Deviation that consumed all.
So Yeon Geum-hong carefully descended into the Underground Cultivation Chamber. She had thought she might use this space again someday, but she hadn’t expected to come down so soon.
Since it had been maintained all along, the chamber was pristine. The double iron doors installed within showed not a speck of rust.
Yeon Geum-hong opened the door carefully without announcing herself. As she passed through both gates and entered, she saw Geom U-bin in the center of the cellar, practicing fist techniques.
His body, moving neither fast nor slow, was drenched with sweat.
On the surface, there was nothing remarkable about it. But before even half a quarter-hour had passed, Yeon Geum-hong let out a gasp of wonder.
That was the Chui-hwa Nak-su she had taught him. Rapid and dazzling, the technique was difficult at its foundation, easier from the Fourth Realm onward, but so forbiddingly complex that most abandoned it by the Eighth Realm.
Yeon Geum-hong, blessed with exceptional talent, broke through to the Eighth Realm in merely five years. But ascending to the Ninth Realm had taken her a full three years.
Yet the Chui-hwa Nak-su that Geom U-bin was displaying now had reached the Tenth Realm.
Even while mastering all the martial arts of the Bloodwind Four Lions, his progress was twice as swift as her own.
His movements, which had flowed like salmon struggling upstream, now settled into stillness like moonlight descending upon white snow.
Geom U-bin finished the fist techniques with controlled breathing and smiled at Yeon Geum-hong.
“What do you think?”
“May I be jealous?”
She closed the distance in an instant and wrapped her arms around him.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s thanks to you and the other disciples.”
“We’re merely stepping stones. Until you become the finest martial artist of this age, those stepping stones will never be removed. But surely the Chui-hwa Nak-su isn’t the only technique you’ve brought to the Tenth Realm?”
“No. The martial arts of the other three disciples have progressed somewhat as well.”
For such a humble man as Geom U-bin to say “somewhat,” he had likely reached realms that would leave others speechless.
“How much longer will you remain in the Underground Cultivation Chamber?”
“At the earliest, four days. At the latest, five.”
“I’ll wait. When you emerge this time, I want to be the first to spar with you.”
Yeon Geum-hong walked with light steps to the Brewery. The three men were pouring Oseong Liquid from an Iron Cauldron into ceramic vessels.
“Where have you been?”
“You didn’t skimp on my Yeogeum Wine, did you?”
“I knew you’d be suspicious, so I set yours aside separately.”
She dripped exactly three drops of Oseong Liquid into each ceramic vessel that would yield thirty bottles of Yeogeum Wine.
Once the Oseong Liquid was squeezed out, it was enough to fill ten cauldrons total.
“Two more months of waiting, then.”
Satisfaction bloomed across everyone’s faces, but Yeon Geum-hong’s shone brightest.
“You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
“Hehehehe… There’s something a hundred times better than making Oseong Liquid.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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