Black Sand Gang
Zhang Il (张一) was a man who ran a small inn on the edge of the village.
He was middle-aged, his hair starting to turn gray at the temples.
Over the years of doing business, he had experienced all sorts of dirty things.
His business was ruined more often than not by local hoodlums, and whenever so-called martial artists appeared, the day’s business went to waste.
Yet even Zhang Il had barely ever left not just Zhejiang Province, but even the outskirts of the village.
It was only natural. In an era where one’s job and place of residence hardly ever changed.
Beyond the mountain, mountain bandits would appear; to cross the river, river bandits.
Traveling a long distance was tantamount to risking one’s life.
In these times, those who abandoned their hometowns and wandered the Central Plains each had their own reason.
Perhaps they harbored ambitions to enter government service, or they wanted to earn a solid sum by selling wares.
Or they were martial artists who lived by the sword.
Zhang Il’s face darkened considerably.
Not long ago, his son had left home, saying he wanted to become a martial artist.
But even so, what could a lad who hadn’t even learned proper martial arts do but become a vagabond?
Sure enough, his son was hired by the infamous Black Sand Gang nearby.
Soon, there was no more news of him.
It wasn’t that he died young in some dispute among the Black Path. He truly vanished without a trace.
But for someone powerless like Zhang Il, there was nothing he could do against the Black Sand Gang.
Except to cling to vain hope as he languished away in sorrow.
The only thing he could place his faith in, perhaps, was the boy’s fellow gang member, who by reputation had some skill and decency.
Zhang Il remembered having met him once. He seemed barely of age. He had been polite in his own way.
Of course, there was no one who knew his whereabouts now, either.
Then what had happened to his son? Zhang Il forced himself to swallow his frustration.
He wanted to go to the Black Sand Gang and confront them directly.
But if he did, he’d just end up a cold corpse on a hillside the next day, so he repressed the urge.
As Zhang Il was swallowing down his frustration—
A man with a vaguely familiar face opened the inn’s door and walked in.
Not long after, a look of shock flashed in Zhang Il’s eyes.
The next day.
Seo Yeonwoo was walking at the village entrance.
It wasn’t that far from the place where he had slaughtered the Black Sand Gang trackers.
At his side, he carried the sword he had seized from the rough-bearded fellow.
Yet his steps were strangely lacking in energy.
Despite having rested a bit to relieve some of the exhaustion weighing on his body—
‘… I’m hungry.’
He sighed as he thought.
Fleeing the Black Sand Gang’s pursuit, he hadn’t been able to have proper meals, and after a round of swordplay, it was only natural to feel so.
To make matters worse, compared to before his regression, he was all but devoid of internal energy, so he had no way to resist his body’s natural signals.
He trudged along, glancing around at his surroundings.
He was looking for an inn to enter, but other things caught his eye too.
Things he had either never noticed during his days as a 3rd-rate vagabond who had come here to earn a living by the sword—or things he had turned away from, even if he did know.
The stalls at the street market, even the shop signs, were all worn out to a nearly excessive degree.
And the passersby all walked with strangely stiff and shrinking postures.
Even accounting for the sword at his hip, their fear seemed too great.
Heavy levies. Thugs swinging their weight around, assaulting anyone for no clear reason.
The very image of crude Black Path lowlifes.
‘On top of that, they’re said to offer people as sacrifices to the Heaven Piercing Cult…’
Even though Seo Yeonwoo himself had lived his whole life as part of the Black Path, the ways of the Black Sand Gang still filled him with contempt.
He recalled the words of his master, who had taught him the sword, saying that those of the Black Path, liberated from fossilized forms, seek strength by any means; but for that reason, they must sometimes be even more strict about not crossing the line of basic humanity than the so-called orthodox faction.
Though he was a swordsman who had reached the pinnacle of the world’s martial arts, his master suffered a lifetime from deviation and madness.
His advice had been what allowed Seo Yeonwoo to keep a standard for living both as a martial artist and as a human being, back when revenge had blurred all lines for him.
Even the ability to barely endure a growing weight of resentment, snowballing with every confrontation against Heaven Piercing Cult, was due to his master’s teachings.
Finishing his brief recollection, Seo Yeonwoo pushed open the door to an inn.
The inn’s interior was shabby. Dust had accumulated in many spots, suggesting poor maintenance.
Yet there was something uncannily familiar about it. He wondered if he’d visited once in the past.
“Welcome, hm?”
A haggard-looking middle-aged man welcomed Seo Yeonwoo.
“Food. I don’t care what kind, just bring out whatever’s fastest.”
Without any preamble, Seo Yeonwoo addressed the man, who kept his head bowed low, and placed his order.
‘His eyes are dull and his shoulders are slumped—his heart must be heavy with worries.’
“Alright, would plain noodle soup be okay?”
Seo Yeonwoo, half out of habit, took stock of the man and gave a short nod.
At last, the man met Seo Yeonwoo’s eyes.
For a moment, a faint shock flickered through his cloudy gaze.
“… I’ll bring it out quickly.”
Yet the ripple died quickly, and the man turned as if nothing happened and headed for the kitchen.
A short while after ordering, the middle-aged man brought a bowl of noodles and a bottle of spirits.
Seo Yeonwoo, who had been waiting while lightly tapping the pommel of his sword, caught something odd in the man’s eyes.
‘Does he have something to say to me?’
Now that he thought of it—the man’s face and the inn, they were oddly familiar.
“Are you, by any chance, the vagabond surnamed Seo? The one who worked with my good-for-nothing son after being hired by the Black Sand Gang? I recall you once had a meal here.”
The middle-aged man asked bluntly, and Seo Yeonwoo watched the owner’s expression closely before answering.
“And your son’s name, may I ask?”
A tacit admission of his identity. The owner answered in a trembling voice.
“… Zhang Si-hyuk.”
Zhang Si-hyuk. Hearing the name, Seo Yeonwoo dredged up that memory from long ago.
Wasn’t he that wastrel, fixated on martial arts, hooked by the public notices that the Black Sand Gang was hiring vagabonds?
With his easygoing nature, Seo Yeonwoo had talked quite a bit with him, but the memories were already too faint.
Seo Yeonwoo took a bite of the noodles the man brought, then tapped the table lightly as he spoke.
“It would be best if you sat down, first.”
As the father of someone who was once a colleague, he deserved at least that much respect.
Seo Yeonwoo didn’t avoid the trembling gaze of the middle-aged man as he offered him a drink.
As the two were sharing drinks—
BANG—!
A tremendous noise rang out as the inn’s door burst open.
Standing in the doorway, rough and menacing, was a bald man.
In this area, there was little doubt as to what sort would behave like this.
“Black Sand Gang.”
Seo Yeonwoo muttered in a low voice, a faint killing intent in his words.
Whether he heard Seo Yeonwoo’s voice or not, the bald man waved the white paper in his hand.
“This is a wanted poster with the face of a vagabond who insulted this gang and ran away. The name is Seo Yeonwoo. All others have been captured and beaten except for him, who escaped alone. If you see him, report to the gang at once.”
There was no need to warn that failure to do so would be treated as collusion; it went without saying. That was the usual attitude of the Black Sand Gang.
Finishing his words, the bald man swept his fierce gaze through the room.
Soon, he made eye contact with Seo Yeonwoo, who stared directly at him.
“……”
As the bald man was about to open his mouth, glaring as if to kill Seo Yeonwoo, the middle-aged man blocked his way.
“My boy Si-hyuk… he’s gone, too, hasn’t he?”
Behind him, Seo Yeonwoo, having stood up, nodded slowly.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”
His tone was heavy—but what filled Seo Yeonwoo’s voice was not despair, but sharp murderous intent.
“However.”
Seo Yeonwoo stepped forward, gently pushing the owner aside.
“I will make sure to avenge your son.”
He drew his sword.
If only it could give even a little comfort.
So saying, Seo Yeonwoo approached the bald man at a deliberate pace.
His presence, even to the owner who knew nothing of martial arts, was on a different level from the Black Sand Gang’s 3rd-rate thugs.
It was the aura of a swordsman tempered countless times on battlefields between life and death.
Seo Yeonwoo was approaching.
‘Huh.’
The bald man’s first reaction was derision.
No wonder.
The guy looked utterly shabby and far too young and fresh-faced. Barely of age, if that.
Who was this guy to speak of vengeance? It was laughable.
It was harder not to underestimate him.
But as Seo Yeonwoo got closer—
‘What’s with that murderous look in that brat’s eyes?’
The bald man couldn’t help but change his mind.
The murderous glint in his eyes, and the intense presence he radiated, were no joke.
Come to think of it, he was being chased by a pursuit party that included a gang officer.
A soon-to-be corpse, or so he thought.
No matter how skilled a 3rd-rate vagabond, he couldn’t possibly shake off the gang’s pursuit.
But the guy survived. And there were even rumors that he wiped out the trackers who had been after him.
Headquarters wanted it kept quiet, but the fact that they put up wanted posters with his face meant the rumors were likely true.
Someone who might even have defeated a gang officer. The bald man now realized he had walked into the tiger’s den.
‘Damn, this is a nightmare… All I had to do was put up posters, but just my luck…’
As if mocking his internal screams, Seo Yeonwoo opened his mouth.
“As for that wanted poster.”
His light tone, so at odds with the pressure he exuded, only heightened the bald man’s fear.
Seo Yeonwoo pointed at the poster with his finger.
In a flash, his hand shot out and snatched the paper away—a speed so fast the bald man couldn’t even react.
“Don’t you think I look bad in this? This isn’t really it, is it?”
Seo Yeonwoo taunted. His flippant attitude was an act, meant to break the other’s will.
His hand with the sword naturally aimed it at the bald man.
The bald man’s eyes rolled in confusion, unable to process how he’d ended up cornered like this.
Seo Yeonwoo smiled gently, pressing the blade close to the other’s neck.
Normally, someone like this would not be taken down so easily, but Seo Yeonwoo’s overwhelming aura had caught him off guard.
“Uh, well, that is… I-I only did as I was told, S-sir! The portrait was handed down from above, I just…!”
With a blade at his neck, the bald man panicked and began babbling.
But now was not the time to relax. In Seo Yeonwoo’s experience, types like this would just crawl back up if not subdued several times over.
THWACK—
He struck the man’s cheek with the flat of his blade. The man’s neck snapped aside, his body reeling.
“You just did as you were told by those above?”
Seo Yeonwoo nodded.
“Y-yes, the leader…”
“Only answer what I ask.”
“A-all right. I’ll answer anything, just please move the sword…”
Receiving the answer, Seo Yeonwoo spoke again.
“Then, I’ll deliver my message to the leader personally.”
As he finished his words—
Both the bald man and the middle-aged Zhang Il’s eyes widened in shock.
“You mean, when you say you’ll avenge Si-hyuk, you intend to take on the Black Sand Gang yourself?”
Zhang Il asked Seo Yeonwoo in a trembling voice.
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