The Execution of Villains (2)
“Heaven has paradise; earth has Hangzhou and Suzhou.”
This old saying wasn’t just empty words.
Among them, Hangzhou’s nights were especially beautiful.
The lake was packed with boats adorned with lanterns of every color, as if someone had scattered jewels across the water. The bustling streets glittered like the Milky Way.
The taverns along the Qiantang River were particularly renowned, always crowded with patrons—except for one.
The Seoun Tavern, beloved by poets and drinkers alike, stood empty. Not a single guest remained.
“What did you just say?”
In the Seoun Tavern, now stormed by the Bloodstorm Executioners, only the owner and five servants trembled in fear.
“I—I swear! In the last three days—no, two years—I haven’t had a single guest under ten years old!”
Under Yeon Geum-hong’s murderous glare, the owner, Wang Soo-bong, slumped into a chair, barely avoiding the indignity of collapsing to the floor.
“If you’re lying to us, we won’t just kill you. We’ll exterminate your three generations—no, your entire lineage.”
Her voice carried not a threat, but a certainty.
“O-Of course!”
Wang Soo-bong’s confident reply made Geum-hong’s face darken. She had paid him to ensure their young martial senior would stay here—so where had he gone?
“Let’s search the area first,” Seo Seok-san suggested.
As Geum-hong turned to leave, Do Pyeong-su leaned down to Wang Soo-bong.
“If we don’t find our senior, you die. If we find him injured in any way, you die. If anyone harmed him, that person dies—and so do you.”
“W-What did I do wrong?! It’s not my fault if a guest doesn’t show up—”
“If something happened to our senior, someone has to take responsibility! And it’s not going to be me!”
Wang Soo-bong didn’t dare nod. A single motion might sever his head.
“Right. Of course it’s you.”
As the Bloodstorm Executioners left, Wang Soo-bong prayed to every god he knew that this unseen “senior” was unharmed.
For two full hours, the four scoured Hangzhou but found no trace of Geom Woo-bin.
“Let’s kill that tavern owner—!”
Geum-hong grabbed Do Pyeong-su’s arm.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
“What if we’re blaming the wrong person?”
“I’ve never blamed the wrong person!”
“What if our senior never went there at all?”
Seok-san’s eyes widened.
“You don’t mean—!”
Just in case, Do Pyeong-su and Jang Man-dok continued searching Hangzhou, while Geum-hong and Seok-san retraced the path to the White Forest Sect.
“Would he really have gone back there?”
Given Woo-bin’s condition, it seemed impossible.
He had been exhausted to the point of collapse, covered in wounds. Making it to Hangzhou’s tavern would’ve been hard enough—returning to the White Forest Sect was unthinkable.
“Don’t think of him as an ordinary child. He ran a thousand li in ten days and climbed Sword Peak Mountain. Nothing about him is ‘ordinary.’”
“True. The Master wouldn’t have taken just anyone as a disciple.”
Assuming Woo-bin had gone straight back to the White Forest Sect after descending the mountain, the two followed the trail.
The moon hid behind clouds, plunging the world into darkness—but at their level of skill, darkness was no obstacle.
The distance Woo-bin had covered in ten days, they crossed in one.
They had rescued Hwajeoksan, then spent two days returning to Hangzhou.
In those three days, the half-dead Woo-bin couldn’t have gone far.
If they didn’t find him by tonight or tomorrow morning, they’d have to admit Geum-hong’s guess was wrong.
Then—
A streak of blood caught Geum-hong’s eye.
On a narrow mountain path, barely used except by hunters and herb gatherers, fresh blood glistened red against green grass.
The two exchanged a glance and shot forward.
Soon, they spotted Woo-bin stumbling through the underbrush. When they landed in front of him, he yelped and fell backward.
Their eyes flickered with shock and pain.
Shock—because despite being drenched in blood, he was still moving.
Pain—because they knew why.
“You were supposed to go to the tavern in Hangzhou! Why are you here?!”
“What about Grandfather?! You two were supposed to rescue him from the White Forest Sect!”
Geum-hong sighed.
“We’ve already been there.”
“What?! Already?! It’s only been three days—no, four?”
Woo-bin had lost all sense of time.
“We saved the Master.”
A long exhale. Woo-bin’s body swayed, then collapsed.
“Thank goodness…”
With those words, he passed out.
“He held on through all that pain… We really have an incredible senior, don’t we?”
Before Hwajeoksan’s grave, Woo-bin’s face was still shadowed with grief.
“He’s finally at peace.”
What could an eight-year-old truly understand of death? Yet knowing the suffering Hwajeoksan had endured in life, the words felt right.
“I’m sorry.”
Hearing his whisper, Geum-hong hesitated, her hand hovering over his shoulder.
“If I’d been faster… If I’d been stronger… I could’ve saved him.”
His sorrow was laced with guilt. Geum-hong wanted to say, “It’s not your fault,” but the words stuck in her throat.
She had never comforted anyone before.
So she waited, letting him grieve alone.
Half an hour later, the storm in Woo-bin’s eyes cleared. The five gathered on a wide, flat rock.
“Wait—I’m your senior? Not just a fellow disciple?”
Seok-san nodded.
“Yes. You were the Master’s first formal disciple. We were only accepted right before his passing. That makes you our eldest.”
“But I’m only eight! I only know one internal technique the Master taught me—”
Do Pyeong-su cut in, blunt as ever.
“Nothing else matters! The Master’s first disciple is our senior! That’s final!”
Woo-bin sighed—a sound too weary for a child.
“The Master said I might get older juniors…”
“What?! He said that?!”
“Six months ago. That you were older but… ‘unenlightened in the ways of the world.’”
“‘Unenlightened’? We know right from—”
Seok-san elbowed Pyeong-su.
“—We know grudges, not gratitude.”
“Well, who besides the Master ever showed us kindness?”
Geum-hong stepped in.
“Did the Master leave any other instructions?”
“He said I should guide you all to avoid accumulating more evil karma. But I don’t really understand what that means. Do you?”
“Hohoho!”
Geum-hong’s laughter burst out at being called “noona” (big sister), but she quickly schooled her expression.
“We don’t go looking for trouble unless someone provokes us, so don’t worry, Senior. And from now on, call us ‘martial siblings,’ not ‘noona’ or ‘ajusshi.’”
“But I’m so young… You all look forty or forty-five, and noona looks twenty-four…”
“Hohoho! Ahem! Age isn’t important. The Master set the hierarchy, so we’ll follow—”
Her words cut off as Woo-bin’s stomach growled loudly.
“Senior, you’re hungry.”
Before she finished speaking, the three men vanished into the forest. In less than half an hour, they returned with game—Pyeong-su with a boar, Seok-san with a deer, and Man-dok with…
“A TIGER?!” Geum-hong shrieked.
Man-dok narrowed his eyes.
“He says, ‘What’s wrong with a tiger?’” Pyeong-su translated.
Man-dok rarely spoke, but Pyeong-su could read his micro-expressions perfectly.
“Tiger meat is for medicine! Carnivores taste terrible!”
“He says, ‘I think it’s tasty.’”
“Don’t generalize your weird palate.”
“Since it’s already here, let’s cook it well. Tiger meat can be delicious,” Woo-bin interjected.
Man-dok’s lips twitched—the closest he got to a smile.
A nearby stream made cleaning the game easy. As they roasted the meat, Woo-bin asked:
“What will we do now? We can’t just be hunters forever.”
Seok-san grinned.
“Making money isn’t hard.”
“How?”
“Find a wealthy place, glare once, and money appears.”
“That’s… just robbery!”
“They offer it. We never ask.”
“It’s still taking what isn’t ours.”
“If you dislike that, we could raid bandit hideouts. Less glamorous, but—”
Woo-bin shook his head.
“The Master told us not to accumulate evil karma. We need to live properly. Martial Sibling Seo, what’s your greatest skill?”
Seok-san answered without hesitation.
“Killing people. Before an apple hits the ground, I could slaughter thirty men.”
Pyeong-su scoffed.
“Hah! Only thirty? I could kill fifty! What? Man-dok says a hundred? Then I’ll do two hundred!”
Geum-hong joined in.
“With enough targets, I could manage three hundred.”
By the time the numbers reached two thousand, Woo-bin interrupted.
“We can’t make a living by killing! Have you forgotten the Master’s final wish? No more evil deeds!”
“We’re good at killing, not living by it,” Seok-san clarified.
“Then what’s your second-greatest skill?”
The answer came just as fast.
“Brewing liquor. We’re the only ones who could make drinks worthy of the Master. He especially loved my Pungryuju.”
Pyeong-su exploded.
“Bullshit! The Master adored my Hwagokju!”
“Delusional. He drank my Yeogeumju all night and passed out at dawn—remember?”
Man-dok punched a boulder into rubble to voice his opinion.
“Ah! I know what we should do!”
All eyes turned to Woo-bin.
“Let’s open a brewery!”
Blank stares.
“What?” Geum-hong asked.
“We’ll make liquor and sell it!”
“You… want us to brew for commoners?”
“Don’t you like making alcohol?”
“Of course! But that was for the Master! Selling our craft to just anyone feels… wrong.”
“We’d be making people happy, right?”
“Huh?”
“If we can bring joy and earn money, isn’t that perfect?”
By the campfire, Woo-bin slept soundly. The four sat circled on the rock, struggling to process the idea.
Finally, Pyeong-su broke the silence.
“Should we just return to the Master’s estate?”
“And then what?”
“We’d… figure it out.”
“We spent all our money searching for the Master. The estate’s been neglected. How would we support our senior there?”
Geum-hong’s logic silenced him.
“Besides, it’s dangerous,” Seok-san added. “Our enemies in the martial world aren’t few. If something happened to the senior…”
His gaze lingered on Woo-bin.
“We’d have to protect him thoroughly. How could we face the Master in the afterlife otherwise?”
“Protection isn’t enough. We must teach him to defend himself,” Geum-hong said.
Three nods followed.
Hwajeoksan—and by extension, the Bloodstorm Executioners—had countless enemies.
What was trivial to them could be deadly to Woo-bin.
“An eight-year-old senior to four near-nineties. Tch!”
Three glares pinned Pyeong-su.
“You have a problem with that?”
“Not a problem. Just stating facts.”
“Never forget how the Master took us in. Without him, we’d have been crow food before turning ten. He fed us, sheltered us, taught us martial arts—everything we are, we owe to him. If his final wish is to serve a child, we’ll do it gladly. Carrying firewood into flames? We’d jump in without hesitation. This is nothing.”
Seok-san chuckled.
“Heh. And he’s clever and handsome. With proper training, he could become the greatest romantic hero in the martial world—”
“Man-dok asks, ‘Are you trying to turn him into a playboy?’”
“A real man must understand wine and romance. Women will flock to him naturally.”
Geum-hong rolled her eyes.
“Better to make him the world’s strongest. That’ll neutralize the karma we’ve accumulated.”
Seok-san’s gaze settled on Woo-bin.
“So… the world’s strongest romantic hero it is. Our eldest senior.”
