The oak door shuddered again, wood grain screaming under the force of a heavy boot. Han Gwang ignored the noise. He stared at his trembling, pale hands. This body was a wreck. The muscles were thin from neglect, and the lungs felt coated in the greasy soot of a life spent in dissipation.
'Pathetic,' he thought, his lip curling in a sneer that didn't fit this boy's soft face. 'They traded a tiger for a cockroach. But even a cockroach can crawl into a throat and choke a man.'
He didn't have a functional dantian. It was like a cracked jar, incapable of holding the refined Ki he had spent forty years accumulating. But Han Gwang hadn't become the Murim's greatest fixer by relying on raw power alone. He knew the Shattered Path—a style built for the desperate, the dying, and the dirty.
He stood up, his knees popping like dry twigs. Across the room, a heavy iron poker sat by the cold fireplace. He limped toward it, his new heart hammering against his ribs.
CRACK.
The door's bolt snapped. The heavy oak swung inward, slamming against the wall. Three men stepped in. The leader was Ryun, a scarred thug in the service of the Golden Money Pavilion. He wore a high-collared silk vest, and at his hip hung a straight sword glowing with a faint, blue light—a low-grade spirit weapon.
"Look at you," Ryun spat, stepping over a pile of discarded robes. "The Young Master of the Black River is shivering in his nightshirt. Your father is dead, your brothers are in debt, and your sister... well, she's the only thing left in this house worth any silver."
"Leave," Han Gwang said. The voice was thin, but the cadence was wrong. It was too steady. Too cold.
Ryun blinked, then let out a guttural laugh. "Or what? You'll vomit on my boots? Your tab is five thousand gold taels, kid. We're taking the girl today."
'Five thousand gold,' Han Gwang calculated. 'A debt designed to bury a family.'
"I won't say it again," Han Gwang whispered. He gripped the iron poker. It was cold and heavy. Real.
"Kill the brat," Ryun commanded, waving a hand.
The two thugs behind Ryun lunged forward. They were third-rate warriors at best—clumsy, relying on bulk. The first one swung a heavy wooden club aimed at Han Gwang's temple.
Han Gwang didn't retreat. To a master of the Shattered Path, retreating was a luxury for the healthy. He stepped into the swing.
The club whistled past his ear. Han Gwang shoved the end of the iron poker into the man's open mouth with the speed of a striking viper. There was a sickening crunch of teeth. Without pausing, Han Gwang kicked the man's kneecap. The joint gave way, and the thug collapsed.
"What the—?" the second thug started, reaching for a dagger.
Han Gwang didn't give him the breath. He swung the poker in a low arc, catching the man across the shins, then brought the heavy iron tip down onto the crown of his skull. The thug dropped instantly.
Ryun's smirk vanished. His hand flew to the hilt of his blue-glowing sword. "You... you've been hiding your cultivation! You dog!"
"Cultivation?" Han Gwang wiped a spray of blood from his cheek. "No. This is just garbage cleaning."
Ryun drew the blade. The blue Ki hummed, a sharp contrast to the dim room. He lunged, the sword tracing a streak of azure light. It was a basic piercing strike, meant to end a fight in one heartbeat.
Han Gwang saw the trajectory before the blade even left the scabbard. He waited until the cold air of the Ki touched his skin.
He threw the iron poker.
Not at Ryun's chest, but at his feet. Ryun instinctively adjusted his stance to avoid the flying metal, his center of gravity shifting for a fraction of a second. In that window, Han Gwang dived forward, sliding across the dusty floor.
His hand clamped around Ryun's wrist.
With a sharp, practiced twist of leverage, Han Gwang forced the joint past its limit. The blue sword slipped from Ryun's nerveless fingers.
Han Gwang caught the hilt before it hit the ground.
The sword felt light. Divine. The blue Ki flickered, sensing an alien, darker presence. Han Gwang forced a tiny spark of his 'Dying Embers' Ki into the blade. The blue light turned a sickly, bruised purple.
"You mentioned my sister," Han Gwang said, standing over the sobbing leader.
"Wait! Wait! The Pavilion Lord... he'll kill you!" Ryun scrambled backward.
Han Gwang didn't respond with words. He stepped forward and drove the blue blade through Ryun's shoulder, pinning him to the floorboards.
"A 'Hero' sells opium," Han Gwang whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from Ryun's ear, "and an 'Unorthodox Lord' pays tribute to the Emperor. I've heard this story before. It always ends with blood."
Han Gwang gripped the hilt and finished the business. It wasn't a clean, righteous kill. It was an execution.
Han Gwang stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the fallen and the scent of copper. His new body was screaming in pain, his muscles seizing from the sudden exertion.
He looked at the blue sword, now stained crimson.
"The world hasn't changed," he muttered, his eyes reflecting the cold steel. "The 'Righteous' still steal, and the 'Unorthodox' still bully. They thought they killed the Shadow."
He turned toward the door, hearing the distant sound of more footsteps in the courtyard below.
"They only succeeded in letting it out of the box."