Standing Guard as a Bodyguard (2)
"Security's pretty tight."
After applying for bodyguard duty, we arrived at the Zheng estate—and its defenses rivaled those of an armory.
Servants patrolled the grounds with whistles hanging from their necks and spears in hand.
"With security like this, they must be paying well for bodyguards."
"…Looks that way."
The senior escort assigned with me, a man named Jwa Gunpyeong, nodded calmly.
I'd only spent a short time around him, but while he was strikingly handsome, he was painfully quiet.
Not cold—just… heavy. Solid.
Honestly, this was the most exhausting type of person to share guard duty with. The kind who barely spoke. I was already worried.
I'd originally tried to come with Sama Yul, but he'd refused, saying he was bored of bodyguard work.
Damn it. As if I wasn't bored working for a living.
"Anyone there?"
Before long, the estate's steward—a middle-aged man—came out to greet us. We presented our escort agency tokens, received an explanation of the situation, and discussed shift arrangements.
"So we stand guard during the day today, then tomorrow night next time? Rotate like that?"
"That's correct."
"Understood. And… would it be possible for the Zheng estate to provide lodging? Traveling back and forth is a bit inconvenient."
It wasn't an impossible commute, but after finishing a security shift, going all the way home would be exhausting. Thankfully, the steward agreed to let us stay in the servants' quarters.
"Now then… there's something else," I said. "We'd like a clear understanding of the potential threat."
This was the most important part of the contract.
All I'd heard was that the second son of the Absolute Blade Sect's leader was stalking someone—but I didn't know what kind of man he was or how skilled.
The steward immediately frowned, irritation creeping into his tone.
"That wretched brat has caused us endless trouble. You've probably heard the rumors already, so I won't repeat them. But I can at least show you what he looks like."
He pulled out a portrait from his robe.
The man in the painting was… not just handsome.
He was absurdly handsome.
Jwa Gunpyeong beside me was good-looking too, in a refined, actor-like way. But this guy? He looked like some idol straight off a stage performance.
'Sharp features… the kind that makes older sisters lose their minds.'
The moment I saw the portrait, I felt an irrational surge of hostility.
"This guy's dangerously good-looking."
"Dangerous? I'd like to punch him in the solar plexus," the steward muttered bitterly.
He clicked his tongue.
"You've no idea what I went through cleaning up that mess. That lunatic caused such an incident—it nearly tore everything apart."
"I can imagine."
"Imagine? The master was so furious he ordered every single security guard replaced immediately! Now tell me, how am I supposed to replace an entire guard force overnight? We didn't even have substitutes!"
"You're absolutely right."
When owners make emotional decisions, it's always the subordinates who suffer.
"I finally managed to calm the master down and patch things up. And just when I thought it was settled, I hear that idiot is roaming around this area again. How can my heart not burn with anxiety?"
"That must be frustrating."
"Fortunately, Baekun Escort Agency sent help. Otherwise—ugh! My insides are on fire."
The steward vented at length. I nodded along dutifully.
"Yes, I understand. Terrible fellow. Truly terrible."
After listening for quite some time, I finally asked the question that had been weighing on me.
"Just how skilled is he in martial arts?"
I pointed to the portrait.
The steward's expression instantly turned serious. Even Jwa Gunpyeong, who had been silently observing like this was someone else's business, straightened subtly.
I'd hoped my senior would answer, but he remained mute. Some kind of vow of silence, perhaps?
"If he's considered a master," I continued carefully, "it may be difficult for us to handle him. We are escort warriors—not dedicated martial artists."
In the martial world, those called "masters" were practically superhuman.
Monsters who had stepped halfway beyond human limits.
A single one of them could handle dozens of ordinary escorts like us.
Killing machines on an entirely different level.
So I chose honesty.
It wasn't good business practice to sound weak in front of a client—but the impossible remained impossible.
Among the countless martial artists in the world, only a handful were truly called masters.
By common standards, once someone could freely project their internal energy outward, they earned that title.
When one could project internal qi externally, one could wield things like sword energy—geomgi—a blade of pure force. Reaching that level required years of brutal training.
Training so harsh that even national-level athletes would run screaming from it.
With my mere two years of internal cultivation, sword energy was laughably out of reach. Even ten years of cultivation would only begin to approach it.
The steward answered cautiously.
"I'm no expert in martial arts, but… I don't believe he's at that level. He has no martial title, for one. And your job is simply to stand guard."
"So our duty is strictly perimeter security?"
"Correct. If you blow your whistle, the masters we've invited into the inner courtyard will respond. There's no need to stall him—just blow the whistle and retreat immediately. One of the renowned Ten Great Masters of Hubei, Beon Cheonbaek, is among them. He'll handle matters."
I'd never heard of that title, so perhaps he wasn't as famous as claimed—but I nodded anyway. Maybe I was simply uninformed.
That concluded the briefing.
I glanced at my senior, Jwa Gunpyeong, hoping for confirmation.
He simply gave a short nod.
That probably meant it was acceptable.
"Then we'll proceed with the contract."
I reviewed the agreement and signed without delay. The terms were 100 mun for six daytime hours, 150 mun for six nighttime hours—not bad at all.
After marking my signature, I turned my head.
Jwa Gunpyeong hadn't even begun reading the contract.
"Senior, is there a problem? You should at least review the terms—"
"…No need. You can sign appropriately on my behalf."
"?"
What do you mean, no need?
He folded his arms in a clear "I will not discuss this further" posture. There was no way I could press a senior like that, so I signed on his behalf.
Thus, I gained the rare experience of signing someone else's contract for them.
After a firm handshake with the steward, we moved on to inspect the area we would be guarding.
While waiting for a servant to guide us through the perimeter, we sipped the tea that had been brought out.
Jwa Gunpyeong spoke quietly.
"…Take a close look at the estate while we inspect it."
"Huh? What do you mean all of a sudden?"
"This job. It's more important than you think."
That sounded ominous.
I came here for part-time guard duty—what was supposed to be important about this?
"Is there something more going on?"
"In truth, it was Head Escort Kang's instruction. We're to assess whether this client is one we can secure."
"Ah!"
So that was it.
Now I understood why Baekun Escort Agency had accepted Zheng estate's request so readily.
Protecting Zheng's merchant caravans and guarding this sprawling estate—large enough to rival a university campus—would require a significant number of martial personnel. Dozens at the very least.
But for a merchant family to manage that many fighters internally would be difficult. That was why they had outsourced security to the Absolute Blade Sect all this time.
And now that very contractor had caused a scandal.
Naturally, Zheng estate would want a second plan.
Even if they hadn't terminated the contract outright, they would surely be eager to prepare alternatives and gradually shift away.
And if Baekun Escort Agency appeared at just the right moment?
"So that's why you're here, Senior."
"Mm. I was told to take a look."
In simple terms, Jwa Gunpyeong was here to calculate a bid.
From Baekun Escort Agency's perspective—how profitable would this estate's security contract be? Was it worth taking on? That sort of thing.
If we tried to muscle into protecting Zheng's merchant caravans as well, the Absolute Blade Sect—whose livelihood depended on that work—would likely fight to the death. But as for the main estate's security, given their recent scandal, they had little ground to object if we stepped in.
In fact, judging by the current arrangement, it seemed they had already withdrawn from guarding the estate itself.
Now I understood why Sama Yul had declined to come. He'd avoided it because the politics would be messy.
What kind of senior was that? Honestly.
"This is bigger than I expected."
"It is."
From my perspective, I just wanted my wages. But it felt a bit awkward—like showing up for a simple part-time gig only to discover it was part of headquarters' grand strategic expansion plan.
After finishing his tea, Jwa Gunpyeong spoke again.
"The greatest risk is Baek Seungil."
"Baek Seungil… you mean the second son who caused the incident?"
"Yes. I've heard his name before. He has no martial title, but he's no ordinary fighter. They say he was permitted to use his sect's name at the age of fifteen."
That was information I needed to pay attention to.
In the martial world, being allowed to publicly represent one's sect was no small matter. It meant one's master had formally acknowledged their ability.
You know those scenes in martial arts stories where someone declares, "I am so-and-so of the X Sect—who are you?"
That wasn't casual name-dropping. It was a declaration: I've been deemed worthy to represent my sect. Are you confident enough to face me?
When disciples first entered a sect, they weren't allowed to roam freely if their skills were insufficient. If a disciple went out and got beaten repeatedly, it would disgrace the sect.
Rumors like, "The disciples of such-and-such sect are always getting thrashed—must be poor teaching," could ruin a reputation overnight.
So unqualified disciples were often barred from leaving the sect grounds—or at the very least forbidden from invoking the sect's name.
If someone unqualified ran around using their sect's name and got caught?
They'd be hunted down and charged with the infamous crime of "betraying master and ancestors." Tendons severed, dantian shattered—reduced to a cripple.
Only after years of grueling training and meeting strict internal standards would a disciple be granted permission to represent the sect.
Usually, that took five to six years of training. In prominent sects, it could take closer to ten.
And because it was tied to the sect's honor, such permission was not granted lightly.
To have received that recognition at fifteen?
Baek Seungil was no ordinary man.
"Then that factor needs to be included in the calculation," I said.
"Indeed. Ideally, we won't cross paths."
I hesitated, then asked carefully,
"If you were to fight Baek Seungil, Senior… how do you think it would go?"
Jwa Gunpyeong considered for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
"There are no absolutes in the martial world… but it would be difficult."
…Perhaps I should start practicing blowing that whistle as quickly as possible.