The Reincarnated Hunter Sweeps Up All Fortunes - Chapter 45

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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 45
45
Four days later.
As if it were a lie, the purge of the Hangzhou Three Tyrants had ended.
It began suddenly one day, and just as suddenly, it was over.
The Evil Sect members who had clashed blades on Market Street vanished as though it were all a dream, and the screams of the dying in the alleys fell silent just the same.
‘So Cho Pae was telling the truth.’
A faint admiration rose in Im Gang’s chest for the Sub-leader who guarded the Hangzhou Three Tyrants with such precision.
The incident had apparently been named the Hangzhou Blood Incident. The Evil Sect members were already using the term among themselves, and it had begun to circulate naturally among the common folk as well.
Blood Incident—an affair of blood.
Well, it was suitably sinister for those Evil Sect devils.
‘But there’s still no work.’
That was what truly occupied Im Gang’s mind.
The Hangzhou Blood Incident had ended, yet the Intermediary Office had no commissions.
Ordinarily, when a major incident like this concluded, cleanup work and miscellaneous jobs would pour in by the dozen, but even those seemed to be handled internally by Evil Sect organizations like Ubomun.
No jobs coming in. He’d earned enough coin in the meantime to live comfortably, but that was beside the point.
It was unsettling—he’d been living as a third-rate vagrant for too long not to notice the drought.
“Hmm…”
He exhaled heavily in frustration and looked up at the sky, where white flakes were falling in thick clusters.
The lack of work at the Intermediary Office was partly due to that white garbage.
Hangzhou itself cleared the snow periodically, but outside the walls it piled high enough in places to reach a man’s waist.
With the roads blocked, travelers couldn’t pass; with no traffic, no incidents occurred; and with no incidents, there were no commissions.
It was good news for criminals without ties to the Martial World.
‘Ah. I wish I could learn the Dapseol Muhun.’
They say that when Divine Footwork reaches its peak, you can run across snow without leaving a single footprint.
You’d be able to move freely even across that snowfield.
Im Gang took a running leap over the courtyard where snow had accumulated to his ankles.
Thump.
His feet sank deep.
So that’s why Divine Footwork is so crucial. It’s not just about moving fast—it’s about being able to move fast in any environment.
Which is useful when you need to flee, naturally.
‘This is frustrating.’
Living like a loafer—eating, sleeping, doing nothing but drifting—kept his body at ease but left his mind restless.
In the end, Im Gang decided to go out. It was better to wander about than to stay home and do nothing but martial training.
“Hey! Sweep up the snow!”
“We just did it! …Damn it, why does the sky keep dropping this white garbage?”
Market Street was reclaiming its vitality, proof that the Hangzhou Blood Incident was truly over.
Recovery wasn’t complete. The gaps left by those who had died in combat were still wide, and more than a few merchants had fled in panic.
But Hangzhou was a city of pleasure.
It wasn’t the sort of place that would crumble so easily.
New shops were actively hawking their wares, and established ones were solidifying their position like old roots.
‘Oh. New shops have opened.’
As Im Gang was surveying Market Street this way,
“Sir! How about some skewered meat?”
A child’s voice rang out from somewhere. Turning to look, Im Gang saw a boy of about ten years old energetically soliciting customers in front of a cart selling meat skewers.
“Freshly grilled! Please, do try some!”
Im Gang felt a slight admiration.
‘When I was that age, people wouldn’t even talk to me just for having a sword at my hip.’
Soliciting customers while carrying a blade?
That took no ordinary nerve.
When Im Gang had first become an orphan, it was the same. He was too afraid of Martial World customs to speak freely to anyone armed with a sword.
Especially after he’d nearly died once.
Not wanting to die again, he would slip away whenever he saw martial artists.
Yet this boy solicited without hesitation from those who wore blades.
‘The kid’s got spirit.’
Im Gang smiled warmly.
As a reward for his pluck, he decided to buy a skewer.
“Give me one.”
“Yes! Thank you so much!”
The boy grinned widely and handed over a skewer. Im Gang passed him a coin.
The moment he received his change.
‘…?’
Im Gang felt a thin slip of paper pass into his palm along with the coins. He kept his expression neutral and smoothly pocketed it with the rest of his change.
‘A note?’
The boy resumed his bright smile as though nothing had happened, calling out to another customer.
‘Impressive.’
Im Gang felt genuine admiration.
A child so young, already infiltrating and passing information.
What major organization employed him?
Well, it was obvious enough—there was only one operation that would use a boy for something like this.
‘It has to be Hao Men.’
He stepped into an empty alley and unfolded the note.
—Transaction complete. Visit soon. Same location as before.
‘Ah. Right.’
With everything that had happened—the Explosive Demon Army incident, the Hangzhou Blood Incident—he’d clean forgotten about this matter.
It was about disposing of the Jeongmyeong Pearl and other miscellaneous items he’d left with Hao Men. And also the matter of the martial techniques.
‘Has it been a little over a month? Or not quite?’
His memory felt hazy.
So much had happened since he’d left things with Hao Men.
He’d been kidnapped by the Explosive Demon Army and forced into Demonic Cultivation, then backstabbed, thrown in prison, assigned to guard Ubomun’s sub-leader, survived the Hangzhou Blood Incident—the list went on and on.
Looking back at all that, forgetting this didn’t seem so unreasonable.
Im Gang crumpled the note, pocketed it, and moved on.
* * *
The meeting place was the same as before—Hao Men’s pawnshop.
Im Gang opened the door with familiar ease and stepped inside.
“Welcome, honored guest.”
“…Huh?”
Instead of the old man with the liver spots, there stood a weasel-faced figure with thin whiskers.
His eyes were narrow slits, and the thin whiskers around his mouth gave him a distinctly rat-like appearance.
Im Gang hesitated for a moment.
“…And the elder?”
“Ah, that gentleman…”
The rat-faced man shook his head with a regretful expression.
Im Gang’s face went rigid. He’d never been particularly close to the old man with liver spots, but they’d grown accustomed to each other through repeated visits.
A relationship of sorts had formed. But if that old man was gone…
“He’s retired and resting comfortably.”
“…”
Im Gang barely swallowed down the curse that rose to his throat, his gaze turning cold and sharp as he stared at the rat-faced man.
‘As cunning as his face suggests, this one.’
That expression and tone had been 100 percent code for “he’s dead.” The violent urge to rip those whiskers clean off was barely suppressible.
“You’ll want to head downstairs.”
“Understood.”
Downstairs, a woman with her face veiled in silk was already waiting.
She rose from her seat and bowed respectfully, pressing both palms together.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Cho Hong, branch director of Hao Men in Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province.”
Im Gang went very still.
It wasn’t the title of branch director that had shocked him.
‘Cho Hong?’
The surname Cho?
A face surfaced in Im Gang’s mind—that of Cho Pae, sub-leader of Bigeomun, one of the Hangzhou Three Tyrants, a man whose ruffian charm was oddly mixed with straightforwardness.
Im Gang asked carefully.
“Is there any connection between you and the sub-leader of Bigeomun?”
“Pardon? Ah. Cho Hong is a professional name. Some do occasionally mistake us, but I have no relation whatsoever to Bigeomun’s sub-leader.”
Cho Hong smiled softly.
Beneath her gentle voice lay what felt almost like resolve—a signal that there were no personal connections to speak of. Cho Hong moved past the question into the business at hand.
“First, let me report on the items you entrusted to Hao Men for sale.”
Cho Hong opened a thick ledger and began explaining methodically.
“All items including the Jeongmyeong Pearl have been successfully sold. After deducting our commission, that comes to five hundred thirty silver taels, plus two taels in currency exchange, plus seventy-five copper coins—for a total of five hundred thirty-two taels in silver and seventy-five copper coins.”
Im Gang felt a thrill as his wealth more than doubled. He couldn’t quite recall what he’d sold, but something must have fetched a good price, and he let it go at that.
“Thank you.”
“I’m the one who should be grateful.”
Cho Hong told him to open the box she’d set beside her.
As he swallowed hard and lifted the lid, silver ingots spilled into view—mountains of them.
He nearly drooled; only the greatest effort kept his mouth from hanging open.
Before proceeding further, Cho Hong rose from her seat once more. She pressed her palms together respectfully and bowed deeply.
Im Gang looked at her, puzzled.
“The martial secrets themselves defy any attempt to assign them a monetary value. I beg your understanding on this point.”
Im Gang’s eyebrows twitched slightly.
It seemed these supreme techniques were worth far more than he’d imagined.
“For this reason, I humbly ask that you accept the position of Honored Guest to the Hao Men.”
“Honored Guest?”
Im Gang’s eyes widened a fraction.
An Honored Guest occupied a position fundamentally different from a Retained Retainer—who provided services to a sect or family in exchange for maintenance. An Honored Guest was essentially nobility, a status of genuine distinction.
He stroked his chin, considering. Even if the Pyowyeong Divine Footwork and the Yangon Guhoe Gyeol were valuable, could they truly compare to such a position?
Absolutely not.
The nature of nobility—and particularly that of Honored Guest—differed between his past life and this one. The distinction between Righteous and Evil Sects was also crucial. And an Honored Guest of the Hao Men might represent something else entirely.
“What changes if I become an Honored Guest?”
“Allow me to explain the privileges that accompany such a position.”
“Please.”
“First, we provide one thousand silver taels each month. Alternatively, you may request assistance from the Hao Men equivalent to one thousand silver taels in value.”
Im Gang’s eyes wavered.
A thousand silver taels—no trifling sum by any measure.
And every month, she’d said.
…Could the Pyowyeong Divine Footwork and the Yangon Guhoe Gyeol truly be worth so much more than he’d conceived?
“Second, we provide you access to the Hao Men’s first-class intelligence four times each month.”
This time his eyes didn’t merely waver—they shook visibly.
Boom.
One of the Martial World’s two premier information networks, mentioned in the same breath as the Bigeomun? That was the Hao Men?
There was no need for scholarly elaboration at this point.
This alone was extraordinary.
But Cho Hong wasn’t finished.
“Third, you are granted the right to accept requests from the Hao Men at your discretion.”
“…?”
The right to accept requests?
For a moment, he didn’t grasp what she meant.
Requests from the Hao Men were essentially commissions—direct assignments from the sect itself, bypassing intermediaries like the Intermediary Office.
So why speak of it as a right?
Then it struck him like a burst of fireworks.
‘If I wish, I can pick and choose which Hao Men commissions to accept!’
Understanding flooded through him.
What else could you call this but revelation?
Yet even now, Cho Hong’s recitation continued.
“Fourth….”
“Fifth….”
“Sixth….”
…Wait?
How far does this generosity extend?
Im Gang began to feel a creeping fear of the Hao Men itself.

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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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