CH 16
“It’s dangerous! The Butcher’s Chamber is an assassin group even recognized by the Heavenly Demon Hall. Considering the executives, let alone their leaders, the Sa brothers…”
“That’s why you need to rest properly. Until I wrap everything up.”
Chwi Hong-ran’s face twisted with worry. Jang I-seo merely smiled in response and turned his head away.
The crescent moon illuminating the night sky was truly beautiful.
But did those bastards realize?
The ones to be cut down weren’t the moon—it was the fools trying to catch them.
It’s been a while since I visited the Heavenly Demon Hall. I should stop by soon.
It was a night ripe with contemplation.
— Three days later.
It was an ordinary day with a soft spring breeze.
Children scampered across the rainbow-like arched bridge over the lake, while elders cast fishing lines to pass the time.
Another tranquil afternoon in Wolha Village.
Yong-tae and Maegi of the Black Dragon Faction leaned against the railing, gnawing on chicken skewers.
“Nothing beats chicken skewers after a meal, right?”
“Exactly. This place’s chef is top-notch. Told you it’s worth protecting instead of squeezing money out of them.”
“Not like we take cash from other places either.”
“Kid, that’s called mutual aid.”
“Yes, you’re right, boss.”
The two chuckled.
Outsiders might see thugs, but they weren’t truly thugs at heart.
Just then, Maegi’s expression stiffened as he whispered,
“Boss… something real strange just popped into my sight.”
“What? There’s nothing by the lake. Just fish.”
“Not ahead—to the side.”
Yong-tae, who’d been scanning the path ahead, turned his head. At the far end of the bridge, an unfamiliar group approached.
Their appearances varied wildly, but the hulking man at the center stood out with a topknot resembling a Yuan dynasty general’s, leaving only a tail at his crown. The rest looked equally rough.
“They’re from another village… Should we gather the others?”
“No, wait.”
Yong-tae pressed Maegi’s shoulder—still fixated ahead—and tilted his head to study the group. Slowly, his pupils dilated.
“Th…those people!”
“You know them?”
“Of course.” Yong-tae’s lips trembled. “Contact Jang I-seo. Now.”
“Huh? That boss hasn’t been around for days…”
“If he’s still in Wolha Village… it’s too late to hide.”
“What?!”
As Maegi gaped, Yong-tae whipped his head around. The group brushed past them—and in that moment, Maegi saw it too.
Despite their mismatched appearances, they shared one trait:
Two characters carved into their hands and necks.
屠 (Slaughter). 殺 (Kill).
“The… Butcher’s Chamber…”
The Demonic Cult’s most notorious assassins had arrived in Wolha Village.
*
Three years earlier.
The day Mao was promoted to Seventh Prince and entered Chilso Palace.
The happiest day of his life.
‘Hey! Brother Yi-sin said you can all live with me now! Hah! Didn’t I tell you to trust me?’
He’d been overjoyed to escape the Ma family’s abuse, elated that Ma Yi-sin—who’d never acknowledged him—allowed his servant friends to join him.
‘R-really?’
‘Is it true?’
‘Yes! Just trust me and live easy from now on!’
‘Mao…’
They’d hugged, laughed, and celebrated through tears.
But good fortune rarely lasts for the wretched.
The very next day—
‘Ch…Cheol-young! Jang-deuk!’
—came the day he’d rather forget.
His friends had wept gratitude. He’d teased them, swallowing bitter laughter.
Yet—
Why?
‘AAAAAAAAH—!’
He’d screamed, clutching their mangled corpses.
The nightmare didn’t end there.
‘Letting them go? After what they did? WHY?!’
Outside Ho-ryong Hall, two men strolled out unharmed—greeted by bowing executives.
Sa Do-cheol: golden teeth, scar slashing his left cheek. Sa Ho-jeong: tall, hair tied high. The Sa brothers of the Butcher’s Chamber.
Declared innocent.
One reason:
‘Brother…?’
A man in a distant carriage received their salute.
The Bloodless Duke, Ma Yi-sin.
The mastermind.
‘As family head, I’ve failed. The elders insist internal matters stay internal… Still, informing you, Seventh Prince, is my final duty. Farewell.’
The Ho-ryong Hall master’s words faded. Ma Yi-sin’s indifferent stare burned into Mao’s mind—a look that said:
‘What changes if you know?’
In that moment, Mao shattered.
Shouldn’t have brought them. Trash like me… Who was I to protect anyone? Useless.
Self-loathing. Despair.
From that day, Mao abandoned everything—became a brute.
Hate me. I’ll hate you back. Then no one hurts when others die.
“Ha…”
Mao opened his eyes to a familiar, oppressive sight: a faded yellow dragon etched on cracked ceiling beams.
Chilso Palace.
It had already been three days since Ma Jingoo's visit. Mao rose from his bed, scratching his disheveled hair, and stepped through the shattered doorway to scan both ends of the corridor.
As expected.
The same deathly quiet persisted today – not even an ant stirred.
"Just as I thought."
Mao snorted knowingly and shuffled down the hallway. He plopped down cross-legged at the wooden floor's edge.
Creeeak.
When he threw open the paper doors, sunlight flooded in to reveal an emerald bamboo forest where the main gate should have been. Only a shadowy woodland path remained where the entrance had vanished.
No trace of Jang Iseo lingered anywhere.
All that bluster about rivalry and sect leadership had been empty posturing. In the end, fear of the Butcher's Room had driven him far away.
"Right-hand man? Didn't expect anything from him anyway!"
...Or had he?
"Impossible! Hah!"
Mao barked a hollow laugh before resuming his indifferent mask. He glared ahead and muttered,
"Of course he ran. Must've been pissing himself inside. Good riddance – hope he keeps running till he's out of the continent."
Hmph. He straightened his posture with an audible exhale.
Swish-swish.
Bamboo leaves trembled moments before his ears twitched.
They'd arrived.
The unnerving rustle of foliage. The coppery tang of blood carried on the breeze.
Them.
Thud. Thud.
Figures materialized from the shaded bamboo path – the Demonic Sect's most notorious killers.
"The Butcher's Room..."
Leading them stood someone Mao recognized: an executive who'd greeted the Sa brothers after their release from Horyong Hall three years prior.
"Greetings, Seventh Prince."
The towering assassin wore his hair in a tight braid, icy eyes undaunted by Mao's presence.
"We bear a message from the Butcher's Room."
Sixth-ranked operative.
The Braided Butcher, Makgwi.
Meanwhile in Wolha Village...
Terrified villagers clustered beneath a walkway, trembling like autumn leaves.
"Waaah!"
"Shh, Hyei. Mommy's here."
A mother crushed her three-year-old daughter to her chest as neighbors pressed against the railings, their faces bloodless with terror.
"Check there."
"Nothing. Think the rat's already fled?"
Butcher's Room assassins prowled openly with drawn blades, violating every principle of covert operation. These brutes preferred midday brutality over subtlety.
"Someone here must know something."
They herded villagers like livestock into a pen, steel glinting in sunlight. Fear spread faster than plague as people prayed for quick interrogation.
An assassin unfurled a portrait. "Look sharp! Seen this face? Speak now and we'll be gentle." His dagger suddenly pierced a bystander's hand. "The longer you wait..."
"AAAAGH!"
As screams erupted, the killer yanked his blade free. "I enjoy the noise actually. Especially children's wails and women's sobs." His tongue flicked across bloodied steel. "Makes my blood sing."
Hyei's mother squeezed her child tighter, eyes screwed shut. Complaints meant nothing in Cheonsan's Demon Holy Land – weakness itself was criminal here.
"Silent treatment?" An assassin shouldered through the crowd. "Let's play then."
His comrades snorted and split up to search.
"Found a little mouse!"
The intruder crouched before the three-year-old, licking his gore-streaked dagger. Mother and daughter's tear-filled eyes met over the blade's edge.
Someone... Please...
Their silent plea hung frozen in terror-thick air.
Shhk.
A hand covered the child's eyes while another disarmed the assassin – then buried the dagger in his throat.
"...Eh?"
The mother muffled her own scream, trembling as she turned toward...
An old man pressing a finger to smiling lips.
No – Jang Iseo in elderly disguise.
Splash!
He dumped the corpse over the railing and strode forward, posture shedding its feigned frailty. After three days' absence, he'd returned.
"Idiot killed him?" Distant assassins wheeled toward the commotion. "Boss said scare, not slaughter!"
Their eyes narrowed at the lone figure retreating across the plaza.
"Who's that old-"
Recognition struck as they noticed the lake's newest floater wore their faction's colors.
"Fuck! GET HIM!"
#The Right-Hand Man: Commencement (3)
