“Son of a bitch.”
Kang Ryung, master of the Jadeskin Caravan, muttered to himself as he trudged along the forest path. In his head he saw Kang Chung of the Trade Guild—the partner who’d helped him cook this up.
Same hometown, easy mark. Promise to drive off the natives and there’s a gold vein? Kang Chung had swallowed it and stamped the Guild seal without blinking—then lost his nerve halfway through and tried to back out.
On top of that, he’d heard a Martial Alliance patrol was in the area and hatched a plan with the local branch head to arrest Kang Ryung. In the end, to buy time, Kang Ryung had been forced to kill Kang Chung in secret.
After that he’d dumped all his caravan staff, kept only the hired swords who knew nothing, and dragged them into these woods.
“Don’t fret,” said a low voice beside him. One of the swordsmen—face and build hid under a black rain-cloak and a stiff bamboo hat. “It was a mask we’d have shed once we achieved our aim anyway.”
Maybe the man had heard him mutter. Either way, Kang Ryung knew that face, knew what he was, knew his skill. He smoothed his expression and whispered back:
“But we lost the mine, didn’t we?”
“They say the river yielded flour gold, but that doesn’t promise any steady yield. And don’t forget—the ‘mine’ was only ever a pretext to drive out the natives.”
Kang Ryung wanted to curse. He’d left behind a caravan he’d built over three years and come into the mountains with thirty clueless hireblades—and the man talked like that? What actually slipped from his lips was painfully polite.
“…Let’s hope that cringing little savage told the truth.”
“I already checked his Shanzhong. To open a man’s chest point like that—he’s got real spirit. Fit to be offered up to the Grand Design. The Master will be pleased.”
“Ah. Of course.”
He answered vaguely. He was a nobody among nobodies; he didn’t even know what the “Grand Design” was. He only offered a moment of silence for the native boy the swordsman had dismantled with his hands.
Then he prayed the valley’s people would scare easy and back off—and that the swordsman’s purpose would be carried out clean. Only then could he start a new life under a new name and build a new caravan. It burned him to let go of a business that had shot up under shadowed backing.
He was mid-sigh when the hireblades halted.
“…Hey, boss? Somebody’s there.”
The one walking point glanced back with a lazy drawl. The contrast with Kang Ryung’s own caravan guards galled him again, but it couldn’t be helped. He pushed through the swordsmen and looked at the man blocking the trail.
Old travel clothes, the right shoulder heavily patched. The sword on his waist looked nothing special.
But standing in the center of the path, left hand resting on the scabbard, he had a presence that said: do not try me.
Kang Ryung felt a nameless unease and shouted. Five jang away—good distance.
“Hey there! I’m Kang Ryung of the Jadeskin Caravan! Who are you?”
The man—Jang Geon—lifted his head and looked up at the sky for a moment. It was clear; a few mountain birds flicked past. Kang Ryung scowled and called again.
“…Hey? Who are you?”
“Unfair or fraudulent contracts against natives are punished hard by the Trade Guild and the Martial Alliance. You don’t walk with just a fine. You might find yourself doing years in a Martial Alliance gaol.”
Kang Ryung opened and closed his mouth at the non sequitur. Who the hell was this, to block a road and run his mouth? Still, he could guess the outline from the words and let out a disbelieving laugh.
Then he said:
“…So the valley savages hired a Central Plains man. Vermin. Out of money, so you take savage coin? Or did their whores sweeten you up?”
Still gazing at the sky, Jang Geon answered in the same calm voice:
“If there’s a misunderstanding, you can clear it. If you think there’s a vein somewhere in the valley, you don’t have to drive them all out. Trade shares for rights and mine together. You won’t swallow the whole vein, but the take will be more than enough for one caravan.”
Kang Ryung’s smile twisted.
“What in the hell are you babbling about? Shares? Give a gold share to savages? I already paid five hundred silver for that land! The ones who need to get out are those idiot primitives! Why split my property with savages who don’t even know what gold is worth?”
Fury had been rising with nowhere to go since he ditched his caravan. He stepped forward like this was his vent and shouted:
“You know what happens if you and your savages don’t clear out now? We’ll kill every last primitive squatting in those shacks! Anyone who resists dies and we’ll drag off the women to sell! We’ll burn every trace that they ever existed!”
Jang Geon looked at him with cooled eyes. He’d meant to hear the Central Plains side as well, having heard only the tribe’s story—but judging by how this one talked, there wasn’t a bigger piece of shit. Kang Ryung didn’t notice even his own men shifting uncomfortably; he kept yelling.
“Oh, right. There were a lot of brats last time. Nothing better to do so they just keep popping them out—hear the dark market pays well for kids these days? Perfect! We’ll grab the little ones and sell—”
An arrow thunked into his chest dead center. The hireblades around him didn’t react; Jang Geon and the man in the black rain-cloak had felt it coming and chose not to stop it.
Kang Ryung, mid-rant, stared at the shaft trembling in his sternum like he couldn’t believe it. He pawed at it for a long time without daring to grip it, then slowly turned.
“...B-black… sir. P-please… spare me…! P-please! Do… something…”
The cloaked swordsman tipped his chin and looked at him. Under the bamboo brim, Kang Ryung saw violet-black eyes. And a cold smile.
“What do you expect me to do?”
“D-divine art! Use your divine art—!”
The swordsman looked down at Kang Ryung as the strength ran out of him and he sank to his knees.
“On the likes of you?”
Kang Ryung stared up wide-eyed in disbelief—and toppled. He twitched a little, then sagged.
The hireblades looked from the dead man to Jang Geon ahead of them, all wearing the same baffled faces—when the tribe’s warriors appeared behind Jang. Faces streaked in bright paints, they glared at the hireblades with hard eyes.
The swordsmen had no easy words, spooked by the way the warriors slid out of the trees like shadows.
Jang Geon, meanwhile, had only to glance at the fletching to know the arrow in the merchant’s chest was Sad Wolf’s. The talk of selling children had set her off. At the same time he understood the turn this made.
Going by what the tribe told him, that merchant had started this mess. And the way he’d come up with a troop of swordsmen, he might really have meant to make good on the threats he’d just shouted. You could guess as much from the hireblades’ startled looks.
But from the way the dying man begged the cloaked swordsman, there was something here beyond the surface.
As if to answer that thought, the man in the black rain-cloak snapped:
“Get your heads straight! Your employer just died to a savage’s arrow—are you going to let that pass?”
Instead of snapping to attention, the hireblades erupted like a cork popping, babbling among themselves.
“Wh-what the fuck. He stepped up and got himself killed—what are we supposed to do?”
“Goddamn it! We were still owed pay!”
“What is this? Shouldn’t we run? Boss is dead—why fight these people?”
The swordsman shook his head at their rabble and raised his voice again.
“Idiots. Forget what your employer told you? Keep up this path and there’s a native village—and it’s full of gold! They’ve only a dozen warriors, the rest are old and weak!”
“Gold? Full of gold? Right, he said there was a mine.”
“Y-yeah… I think he said that… but that’s not our problem, is it?”
The black-clad man cut in louder:
“And those savages just killed a Central Plains man! How dare they! Wild hill-folk! What did our employer do wrong? At worst, he ran his mouth! And they shot him! As expected—uneducated savages! As Central Plains men, will you let this go? Don’t we owe justice to a countryman cut down without cause?”
“…Yeah! They killed a Central Plains man by ambush! Savage bastards!”
“…Our employer—what was his name—Kang Ryung! We’ll avenge Kang Ryung!”
Jang Geon’s brow knit. They were getting whipped up too easily. Unless they were truly bottomed-out blade-scum, it was strange to be led by the nose like this. The tribe’s warriors, who’d come out hard-faced to intimidate them, were glancing at each other now, thrown by the mood.
Then a sharp, alien tang touched Jang Geon’s nose. He cut his breath at once and raised inner energy. Whatever was trying to soak into his body through the lungs was forced back out by the push of qi.
He blew the taint out with a controlled breath—hff—and stared at the man in the black rain-cloak without breathing. Something faint and hazy was still leaking from beneath that cloak. Feeling Jang Geon’s cold gaze, the man met his eyes and bared his teeth.
“Revenge! Kill them! Sweep out the savages!”
“Kill them! Sweep them! Kill and take the gold!”
The hireblades were howling now. The warriors behind Jang Geon couldn’t catch every word, but they knew curses and threats when they heard them; their faces twisted.
Jang shouted back at them:
“Hold your breath! He’s drugging you—”
Too late. Faces warped, the warriors sank slowly, hands closing on weapons. Yellow eyes flashed like beasts’ as they fixed on the screaming swordsmen.
Even Red Wind and Sad Wolf were baring their teeth, growling, gone from themselves. The Central Plains voices swelled; the warriors were a heartbeat from drawing. The man in black watched Jang Geon and smiled like: what will you do?
Not good. If they clashed here, the tribe couldn’t use the forest to blunt the first cut—and the traps they’d laid these last days would be wasted. Whoever won, they’d lose; and if by chance the warriors lost, it would be obvious what the frenzied hireblades would do to the tribe.
The swordsmen were all but holding a rally now, hands on hilts, barking like dogs as they dragged steel. The warriors behind Jang Geon were the same.
Jang Geon’s eyes went deep. Poison in the air or not, he pulled a great breath into his lungs—and roared:
“Shut— up—!”
It was like ten thunderbolts struck at once. A vast crash and tremor rolled the forest, the valley, the whole mountain range.
Startled birds exploded from the trees and turned the clear sky ragged. The swordsmen who’d been yelling and the warriors who’d been snarling sank where they stood or stared at Jang Geon, stunned.
The man in the black cloak was on his feet by shaking alone, hat blown back, and he stared at Jang Geon like he couldn’t believe it.
“Lion’s… Roar!”