Crunch!
Startled gasps echoed through the manor, even among the Seven Slaughterers of the Central Plains.
As the doors shattered, the scene inside came into Yuwol’s view.
There were five of the Seven killers present. They encircled the members of the Liu Merchant Guild, who were kneeling in the courtyard, as if ready to kill them.
A fleeting moment of silence followed.
Just as the third-ranked killer closest to Yuwol moved his lips to speak—
Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!
A sharp gust of wind swept through.
At that instant, all five killers collapsed simultaneously, their bodies flipping over as they hit the ground.
They had died together, so their final screams blended into one.
None of them knew how they had perished.
Only after they fell did the hostages grasp what had happened.
Tiny arrows, embedded precisely in the foreheads of the fallen assassins—each barely a quarter the size of a normal arrow.
Yuwol now held an unusual weapon in his hand.
It was a type of crossbow designed for rapid-fire, but its shape and size differed greatly from the ones commonly used by government forces or sects.
It lacked the typical semi-circular metal draw mechanism, making it only half the size of a standard crossbow. But the most remarkable feature was the number of arrows loaded in its magazine.
The most advanced repeating crossbows in the martial world, such as the Six-Shot Repeating Crossbow, could fire up to six bolts in succession.
Yet, Yuwol’s crossbow held a staggering forty-eight bolts in its magazine.
Faintly engraved on the side of the weapon was a single inscription:
Flying Strike Bolt.
It was the invention of Phantom God Demon, one of the Six Demon Lords of the Demon Cult, and the exclusive weapon of the Black Wind Brigade—the Flying Strike Bolt.
The sound of a woman pierced the air as a door burst open.
Second-ranked killer, Yi Sal entered using Lady Shim, the wife of Master Liu, as a human shield. He cowered behind her, pressing a blade to her throat.
“You bastard! Move and this woman—”
Swish!
Before he could finish, an arrow struck Lady Shim’s left arm.
“Aaah!”
She screamed, clutching her arm. Her body instinctively recoiled from the blade, exposing Yi Sal’s face.
Swish!
Another merciless bolt sliced through the air.
Yi Sal’s final thought—“This lunatic!”—remained in his throat as he collapsed. He had never imagined that his opponent would shoot the hostage without hesitation.
In mere moments, six assassins had fallen.
As Yi Sal crumpled backward, an arrow embedded in his forehead, the only sound left in the room was the ragged breathing of Il Sal, the last survivor.
“If you come in… I’ll kill every—”
Yuwol was already inside.
Swish!
A short, strangled cry was all Il Sal could manage before silence consumed the room.
With the final assassin dead, the battle was over.
From outside, Zheng Ji and the sub-branch warriors cautiously stepped in, their jaws hanging open.
They alternated between staring at Yuwol and the corpses of the Seven Killers.
“Wait… it’s already over?”
To Zheng Ji, it had all happened in the blink of an eye. Not a single casualty, aside from Lady Shim’s injured arm.
Yuwol motioned for Zheng Ji to take the hostages outside.
The moment the order was given, the warriors swiftly moved to clear the area. Master Yu, his shaken wife, and their household members were escorted out.
Once they had all left, Yuwol spoke in a low voice.
“You’re done hiding, aren’t you?”
His chilling voice drifted over the corpse of Yi Sal and reached the rooftop.
Rustle.
An old man appeared atop the roof. His frail frame was hunched, his long, sickly-green nails glistening ominously.
“Impressive, truly impressive!”
The voice grated on the ears, matching his disturbing appearance.
He was none other than Poison Claw Elder, a rogue martial artist infamous throughout the martial world.
Though he followed the ways of the Dark Path, he did not belong to the Dark Alliance. He lived by his own rules, having killed many Dark Alliance experts over the years.
Yu Wol’s voice remained calm.
“Was this your doing?”
Poison Claw Elder smirked as if it were obvious.
“We’re both professionals. No need for dramatics.”
He clicked his tongue at the corpses of the Seven Killers.
“Those kids just wanted to survive… What a shame.”
But despite his words, there was amusement in his expression.
Yuwol gazed up at him lazily.
“I’m busy. Get to the point.”
The old man’s grin widened.
“Seven Strikes Abyss… the martial world sings your name, yet you remain elusive. I didn’t want to climb all the way to Great Heaven Mountain just to find you.”
“So you started this mess?”
“Exactly. What? Feeling guilty over the lives lost because of you?”
Yuwol let out a dry chuckle.
Poison Claw Elder’s grin grew as he continued.
“I told them I’d go find you myself, but they tried to stop me. That only made me more curious. So how about this? Just give me a taste of your Seven Strikes, and I’ll leave quietly. Don’t worry, I won’t spread rumors if you fail to kill me within seven moves. I know how important reputation is for someone bound to an organization—”
He never finished his sentence.
Swoosh.
Yuwol had already closed the distance, his figure flickering forward in an instant.
Poison Claw Elder reflexively lashed out with his right claw. He had no time to think—no time to utter even a single curse.
Yuwol’s speed defied imagination.
The old man’s deadly claws, which had stripped flesh from countless victims, slashed through empty air.
Crack!
A sickening crunch filled the night.
“Urgh!”
Yuwol had caught Poison Claw Elder’s right arm under his armpit and snapped it cleanly.
Without hesitation, he seized the old man’s throat and leapt down.
Thud!
Poison Claw Elder crashed to the ground like a discarded rag doll.
Yu Wol stomped on his chest.
Crunch!
Three, maybe four ribs shattered instantly.
“Guh…”
Poison Claw Elder had so much to say—praise, curses, regrets—but all that came out was a gurgle of blood. His arrogance had cost him dearly.
As Yuwol pressed his foot harder against the old man’s chest, his gaze swept over the five decapitated bodies of the Liu Merchant Guild members.
“You caused five deaths.”
Poison Claw Elder’s eyes trembled.
Yuwol now aimed the Flying Strike Bolt at his face.
The old man’s desperate, pleading gaze met Yuwol’s unreadable eyes.
A smirk curled Yuwol’s lips.
“We’re both professionals. No need for dramatics.”
Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!
Five bolts pierced Poison Claw Elder’s face.
Chapter 2: Register of the Dead
Half an hour later, Yuwol sat in a marketplace twenty li (10 km) away, enjoying a bowl of noodles.
An old man ran a cart stand, his silver hair as thick with wrinkles as the deep flavors in his soup.
Across from Yuwol, the old man fanned himself idly.
After Yuwol slurped down the last of the soup, the old man finally spoke.
“It’s been a while.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Yuwol’s response was curt. His Seven Strikes Abyss Sword was wrapped in white cloth, and his bamboo hat hung on his back like a shield.
Unbothered by Yuwol’s bluntness, the old man chuckled.
“I figured as much. That’s why I came all the way here. You on a job?”
Yuwol nodded.
“I need to get moving soon.”
“You should be busy. It’s good to be busy when you’re young.”
The old man began fanning himself more quickly.
“It’s already getting hot.”
“Still no news?”
The old man smacked his lips and shook his head.
“It’s embarrassing to even say there’s no news anymore.”
A flicker of disappointment crossed Yuwol’s cold gaze.
The old man was an information broker, a retired veteran of Tong-eui-mun, a renowned intelligence organization in the martial world. He had taken up selling information as a pastime to earn some pocket money, and it was five years ago that he first crossed paths with Yuwol.
What Yuwol had asked him to investigate was a particular martial art.
Five Coloured Blood Hand.
“The martial art you’re looking for hasn’t been used even once in the past ten years. Are you sure such a technique even exists?”
Yuwol silently nodded and pulled out a pouch of money, placing it in front of the old man.
“Well, I suppose it’s just a job for me as long as I get paid.”
Sighing, the old man accepted the pouch and added with a weary tone,
“I’ve spent my entire life digging up information, but I’ve never run into something this frustrating before.”
Just as Yuwol was about to stand up, he noticed two children watching him from a distance. A boy in tattered clothes and a girl who seemed a little younger. Their identical eyes and facial structure made it obvious they were siblings.
To be precise, it wasn’t Yuwol himself that had caught their attention—it was the bowl of noodles sitting in front of him. They licked their lips and swallowed repeatedly, unable to hide their hunger.
When their eyes met Yuwol’s, the children flinched. It was because of his sharp features and the scars on his face.
Without a word, Yuwol placed a few coins on the cart’s counter.
“You kids are lucky today.”
The old man gestured for them to come closer. Hesitantly, they approached.
The old man brought over the small stool he had been sitting on and sat the girl down.
“Thank you.”
The boy bowed politely to Yuwol.
“I will repay this kindness someday.”
It seemed he was afraid Yuwol might see them as mere beggars.
As he stole glances at Yuwol, his gaze lingered on the sword strapped to his back. Summoning his courage, the boy finally spoke.
“Mister, when I grow up, I want to be a warrior like you.”
“I’m not a warrior.”
Yuwol’s blunt response didn’t deter the boy.
“No, you are. My late father told me that a true warrior is someone who doesn’t ignore others in need. To me, you are a warrior.”
A faint smile formed on Yuwol’s lips. It didn’t suit him at all—so much so that the contrast made it strangely captivating.
“You brat, you’ll starve before that happens.”
The old man chuckled, setting down two bowls of noodles.
The children eagerly began eating, shoveling the food into their mouths.
The boy gently patted his sister’s head and spoke kindly,
“Eat slowly.”
“Mhm. This is really good.”
“I’ll buy you plenty of it when I start earning money.”
“Really?”
Despite his ragged appearance, he tried to act like a dependable older brother.
Yuwol’s gaze deepened as he watched them. A sorrowful longing flashed through his eyes.
A distant memory echoed in his heart.
“Big brother, I love you the most in the whole world.”
The children had no idea what it meant to survive in the martial world. Especially not while taking care of a little girl.
They didn’t know how many predators lurked in the alleys, preying on orphans. If they kept wandering the streets like this, it was only a matter of time before the boy was sold off as a laborer on a fishing boat and the girl ended up in a brothel.
But for now, they were happy. At least, they hadn’t been separated yet. At least, they hadn’t experienced the pain of losing each other.
Clang.
Yuwol clutched his chest. A dull ache spread through him, and his demonic energy threatened to surge.
With a silent nod to the old man, he turned away from the cart.
The children were too absorbed in eating to notice his departure.
A short distance away, a man had been waiting for him. Seo wong, a member of the Black Wind Squad’s First Division.
When Yuwol approached, Seo wong bowed politely.
“You’ve arrived.”
“Where is it?”
“The Wu Manor. It’s not far from here.”
“And Chief Jin?”
“He infiltrated first. The auction will begin in half a shichen (1 hour).”
Seo wong took out a piece of paper and a wooden pass, handing them over.
“Here is the necessary information and an entry token. The original attendee has already been taken care of.”
Yuwol glanced over the paper before pocketing the pass.
Seo Ung added a few more details.
“The original owner of Wu Manor retired and moved away recently, leaving the estate empty. It seems the culprits are using it without permission. So far, we’ve confirmed that at least ten people have entered.”
Yuwol gave a silent nod.
At that moment, he recalled the warning Sa Dobin had given him before he left the mountain.
“If you pull the line, a monster might surface. Be careful.”
That brief statement carried a heavy meaning.
For the past six months, Sa Dobin had painstakingly set the bait, cleared out distractions, and patiently lured in his target. Now, the fish had bitten, and it was time to reel it in.
He had personally requested Yuwol to handle the matter—discreetly. That alone showed how difficult and sensitive this task was.
As Yuwol took a few steps, he glanced back at the cart. The children were still engrossed in their meal. The boy was transferring some of his noodles to his sister’s bowl.
A flicker of emotion crossed Yuwol’s gaze.
It was rare to see him hesitate, and Seo wong swallowed nervously as he watched.
Still staring at the children, Yuwol asked,
“Who’s in charge of this district’s branch?”
“The Wolf Blade, Zheng Ji.”
“Tell him to look after those kids.”
“…Pardon?”
“Repeat my words exactly. If he tries to recruit them into the cult or lays a hand on the girl, I’ll grind him into dust. Just keep an eye on them until they grow up. I’ll cover the costs and repay the favor personally.”
Knowing Yuwol’s temperament, Seo wong didn’t question him.
“Understood.”
With a firm response, Seo wong turned and walked toward the children.
Yuwol pulled his bamboo hat low over his face and took the opposite path.
With each step, the warmth in his gaze faded, replaced by the familiar icy sharpness.
His destination was Wu Manor—where the real work was about to begin.
