CH 12
As Jang Yi-seo scratched the back of his head in bewilderment, the rowdy thugs crowding around quickly parted to either side. With the deputy leader defeated, it was now the leader’s turn.
“That cocky brat. Not bad,” said a middle-aged man with a black beard. Yong-tae had arrived, accompanied by Mao—the red-haired troublemaker, a reckless and brainless thug.
“So it’s you, Jang Yi-su,” Mao said, his eyes widening and lips curling into a smirk. Jang Yi-seo smiled back.
“A pleasure to see you again, Seventh Prince.”
And so, the two faced each other.
Mao and Jang Yi-seo.
Their formal meeting finally began, charged with tension.
“I was too distracted that day to greet you properly. How have you been?”
“How have I been?” Mao let out a hollow laugh. If there was one thing to expect from someone as arrogant as him, it was this. But now, an even bolder fool had appeared. How dare he attack him and then ask after his health?
“You’re a real comedian, aren’t you?”
“I get that a lot. But did you really gather all these people just to welcome me? You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” Jang Yi-seo replied casually, glancing around. Mao, leaning his elbow on the shorter Yong-tae’s shoulder, retorted:
“A proper welcome needs a crowd.”
“Ah, is that so?”
This insolent brat. Mao’s eyes narrowed at Jang Yi-seo’s cheeky tone. But bravado meant nothing—everyone thought themselves invincible until they were beaten bloody.
“So you want to be my right-hand man?” Mao asked, puffing his chest out and crossing his arms.
“Yes. My ambitions are grand, but I’m just a lowborn nobody. I thought I’d seize this chance to climb up.”
“Climb where?”
Jang Yi-seo pointed upward with his index finger. Mao stared at the sky, feigning seriousness.
“You’re aiming... for the heavens?”
He doesn’t get it. Jang Yi-seo scratched his forehead and clarified:
“I mean I’ll stand by your side, Seventh Prince, and rise to greatness.”
Finally understanding, Mao burst into laughter.
“What? Pfft! You idiot! What can you achieve beside someone who’s abandoned family and the world? Greatness?”
He’s self-aware, I’ll give him that. True enough—the rope was already frayed, worn to threads.
But.
“Who needs to cling to a rope? I’ll grab the broken strands and climb with my own feet. All the way to the top.”
Jang Yi-seo pointed upward again. This time, Mao’s pupils dilated, his gaze darting. His chest tightened faintly.
What’s with this guy? Why’s he so damn confident...?
Suppressing his unease, Mao barked:
“Anyone can spout nonsense! A seventh-rank nobody like you—how long will you keep this up?!”
As Mao shouted, Yong-tae snapped his eyes open and barked at the thugs:
“You heard him! Take him down!”
Swish! Swords drawn, the gang closed in.
Jang Yi-seo scoffed and stepped back. Crushing them would be as easy as scattering sand.
But fighting street trash in public, even if justified, wasn’t a spy’s way.
Softly, he asked:
“Didn’t you say a welcome party needs a crowd?”
“What?”
As Mao frowned—
Whoosh.
The bamboo forest rustled violently, as if struck by a gale.
“What’s happening?”
Mao tensed first. Yong-tae and the Black Dragon Faction blinked in confusion.
Then, from the bushes—
A crowd emerged. Men in black robes and masks, their shoulders marked with two characters:
防 (Defense). 諜 (Spy).
“G-g-ghosts! The Anti-Spy Unit...!”
The specters of justice, the living hammer of power—the Anti-Spy Unit had arrived.
And not just grunts.
“Is this the Seventh Prince’s palace? Cheap to maintain, I see. Heh.”
A middle-aged man with shoulder-length curls and a tiger-like aura, a golden saber at his waist—Gyeom Sa-ik, Director of the Anti-Spy Unit, had come personally.
“Director Gyeom Sa-ik greets the Seventh Prince.”
“We pay respects to the Seventh Prince!”
Thud! The unit knelt as one. The Director?! Yong-tae’s soul nearly fled his body. Mao’s lips went dry, his chest prickling.
Gyeom Sa-ik—the man who’d once taught his sister Sahaeryeong, a figure who met directly with the sect leader. And here he was, kneeling before a disgraced prince.
“Why is the Anti-Spy Unit here...?”
“Once family, always family. Even a runaway needs a home, no? Heh.”
So this bastard’s from the Anti-Spy Unit...?!
We’re dead.
Yong-tae paled. The Unit was infamous—able to arrest even high officials with a shred of evidence, their loyalty unshakable. And the Director’s presence meant this was no petty threat.
His hands turned icy, his mind blank.
Jang Yi-seo’s cold voice cut through:
“Still here? Your superiors are talking. Learn some respect.”
“Ghk!”
Yong-tae gulped, signaling his men. They scrambled from the forest like rats.
“Hey! Where are you going?!”
Mao’s shouts fell on deaf ears. Betrayal and emptiness hollowed his eyes.
This was reality.
A lonely delinquent, left with nothing but the title “Seventh Prince.” At the slightest pressure, everyone fled—leaving him utterly, bitterly alone.
This was exactly what Jang Yi-seo wanted to demonstrate. He aimed to prove that the relationships he’d built were so insignificant they could collapse under even minor external pressure.
"Hmm, so this is why you informed me of your inauguration date. I found it strange for someone who normally stays silent to act so out of character. But to suppress your master’s energy from day one? Impressive."
Gyeom Sa-ik, who had risen from his seat, sidled closer and murmured into Jang Yi-seo’s ear.
At least his perception was sharp.
Jang Yi-seo replied with frosty detachment, his tone devoid of warmth.
"If you’re done spectating, leave."
Though he’d initiated this confrontation, he refused to be treated as entertainment.
"I was about to anyway."
Gyeom Sa-ik nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and departed like drifting smoke, tossing back a final remark:
"Come crawling back if you break. I’ll keep your seat warm."
When Jang Yi-seo glanced behind him, the counterintelligence team had already melted back into the forest along their original path.
Swish—
The once-bustling Chilso Palace regained its tranquility as if a storm had passed.
Now, only the two of them remained.
"You… what’s your game?" Mao demanded.
"Did I not say? I intend to firmly guide the Seventh Prince."
Jang Yi-seo raised his index finger toward the sky.
"Guide where?! What’s with this bullshit about dragging me somewhere?!"
Mao’s teeth sank into his lower lip.
Jang Yi-seo responded with a radiant smile and earnest words:
"Little Sect Leader."
Thud, thud.
"I’ll make you one."
Little Sect Leader.
The Demonic Sect’s junior master—future ruler destined to command the martial world.
Even someone as obtuse as Mao understood the title’s gravity. His heart hammered as if Mount Tai itself pressed on his shoulders, making the situation incomprehensible.
Making him the Little Sect Leader?
"You… serious?" Mao twirled a finger near his temple—the universal sign for madness.
"Absolutely not." Truth mattered. The real madness lay with the Dark Edge, not himself.
"Then—you an assassin from my family? Here to push me into a early grave?"
"No."
"What then? A spy?"
Technically accurate. When Jang Yi-seo remained silent, Mao shook his head with a scornful laugh.
"Just a blabbering fool! Make me Little Sect Leader? A nobody 7th-grade Ghost Squad captain like you? Hah! How? With what power?"
"Through… effort. It’ll be difficult, but manageable."
"Hey, bastard! Explain properly—step by step!"
"Interested now?"
"No! I’m asking because you’re a fucking joke!"
"First, we’ll fix your relationships. As today proved, the Seventh Prince’s social ties are disastrous—sect relations, family bonds, all—"
Jang Yi-seo’s critique halted as whoosh! A gale erupted. Mao lunged tiger-like, fist crackling with rage and inner energy.
"Shut your mouth!"
Jang Yi-seo didn’t blink. Crackle! Lightning Technique energy enveloped his body as he casually raised a palm to block the strike.
Boom! The shockwave ravaged the bamboo grove behind them.
Yet Jang Yi-seo stood unwavering, eyeing the stunned Mao before continuing:
"Your martial skills are crude. Your demeanor’s pathetic. Everything about you is a wreck."
"You—!"
As Mao tensed to attack again, Jang Yi-seo seized the trapped fist, twisted it effortlessly, and shoved.
"Ghk!"
Though the push seemed gentle, Mao’s ears rang as his senses reeled. He staggered back six steps before crashing against the gate, barely staying upright.
"What… was that?"
An alien sensation—one Mao’s current skill couldn’t comprehend. This was the Wudang School’s essence: overcoming strength through pliancy.
Jang Yi-seo regarded Mao’s dazed expression solemnly:
"Now you see how worthless your current power is. I’ll remake you. Make you acknowledged. But first, learn basic human conduct—"
"Raaagh!"
Mao’s sudden roar interrupted as he charged like a lightning bolt.
Again? Fool.
As Jang Yi-seo gathered energy to counter— whoosh! Mao blew past him into the bamboo forest.
Jang Yi-seo stared at the empty space, muttering:
"The brat ignores his elder mid-lecture…"
He’d hoped sincerity might reach Mao.
"Well, it’s day one. Tolerable."
Jang Yi-seo chuckled, examining his tingling palm. Without the Lightning Technique, that strike might’ve been dangerous.
Behind him, the bamboo grove lay strewn with leaves—testament to Mao’s raw, untrained power.
"They say his dantian’s the Demonic Sect’s strongest."
Frankly, wasting such talent was baffling. While the Sect Leader might disregard a bastard son, wasn’t Mao still family?
"I’ll learn more when we meet."
Regardless, Mao’s potential exceeded imagination. With proper training, he could rise endlessly—perhaps even become an unrivaled master.
Assuming, of course, he accepted guidance from Jang Yi-seo—Dark Edge’s top agent and foremost genius in every field except dantian cultivation.
"For today… let’s address those who fled without loyalty. The Black Dragon Faction, was it?"
Jang Yi-seo turned toward the bamboo forest.
Crash! Behind him, the gate lay in ruins, its Taiji symbol barely visible amid the wreckage.
#Assistant Jang Yi-seo (3)
