After finishing a consultation with a wandering youth(?), Amon paid for the meal with his card.
On the way out, Sunwoo checked the price and then scolded Amon.
“You’re a priest, aren’t you? So why do you have so much money?”
The boy recalled the many priests and shamans who had deceived him and his sister.
Amon gave Sunwoo a gentle smile.
“Do I look like an ordinary priest to you?”
“Not really. Just making sure—it’s not dirty money, right?”
“What if I told you I own a few dungeons?”
“Thinking about how you fight with my sister… yeah, I’d believe it.”
Amon smiled.
Sunwoo returned the smile with a self-deprecating one of his own.
“Now that I think about it, this is ridiculous. I used to be in the Black Society.”
If anyone had dirty money, it was him.
Sunwoo tapped his lips in self-reproach.
Amon knew this was the boy’s way of reaching out, so he accepted it with a warm smile.
“Aren’t the Jews the wealthiest people in the world?”
“…That’s true.”
“I’m something similar to that.”
A faint chuckle.
Seemingly finding the joke amusing, Sunwoo let out a small laugh.
Thus, the relationship that had started as an ill-fated encounter slowly grew closer.
***
“So. How exactly do you plan to get me and my sister back into the Black Society?”
At Sunwoo’s question, Amon first checked the date.
Then, looking back at the priest, he asked, “How long does it take to deal with Hunt Legion?”
“Stopping the army takes a day, and cleaning up takes about a week.”
“Then I only need a day, right?”
“Yes. The cleanup is my job, along with the exorcist priests.”
Amon nodded and adjusted his schedule.
“Sunwoo, I’ll be busy for the next three days. Until then, I won’t be able to help you actively.”
“Even just helping is enough. Thanks.”
“That being said…”
“Hm?”
“Take me to the Black Society.”
“…What?”
Sunwoo was taken aback by Amon’s straightforward words.
Amon tilted his head at Sunwoo’s reaction.
“Why are you surprised? What did you think I was going to do?”
“I thought you’d help me earn enough merit to return.”
“Why would I do that? I can just recommend you.”
“You’re not even part of the Black Society.”
“Hmm~? Did I ever say I wasn’t?”
“You were part of the Black Society?!”
“Nope. Never was.”
Sunwoo’s face twisted in frustration, while Amon wore a faint smile.
He felt a little bad for Sunwoo, but the boy’s reactions were so clear that it was fun to tease him.
That was enough teasing.
Amon led Sunwoo toward the Black Society’s base.
***
The strange thing about the Black Society was that it didn’t have a fixed headquarters.
They revered the sword and had no standardized rules, so having a headquarters was meaningless.
Instead, they wandered across the country.
When the leader called, they would gather at a suitable training facility, and that place would serve as their base for the time being.
Because of this, the location Sunwoo led Amon to was far too humble to be considered a headquarters.
Still, it was technically a base, and elite swordsmen guarded its entrance.
“Halt. Identify yourselves.”
A wary voice came from beneath the deeply pressed black hat.
Amon and the squinty-eyed priest did their best to appear harmless and state their business.
However…
‘What do we even say???’
They had no solid reason to be here.
Since Amon had simply told him to lead the way, Sunwoo hadn’t prepared anything to say.
Feeling awkward, the two exchanged glances before looking at Amon.
Then, Amon and Sonia did something no one present could have anticipated.
Srrrng!
The two suddenly drew their swords from their waists.
Startled, the guards instinctively unsheathed their weapons, while Sunwoo panicked and tried to stop Amon.
“You lunatic! What are you, Yeonsan-gun?! Why the hell are you drawing your sword out of nowhere?!”
At Sunwoo’s outburst, Sonia tilted her head in confusion, but Amon burst into laughter at the mention of the name.
The laughter made both the flustered Sunwoo and the tense guards lower their guard slightly.
Then, Amon and Sonia flipped their swords into a reverse grip, showing the decorations on their hilts.
“I am Amon, first disciple of the 34th vice-leader of the Black Society.”
“Bl… Black… Ugh, I can’t speak Korean. Amon, you do it.”
Amon let out a strained smile and repeated himself.
“I am Amon, first disciple of the 34th vice-leader of the Black Society. And this is Sonia, first disciple of the same vice-leader.”
Seeing the markings on the hilts, the guards accepted their identities.
Those swords were hwan-do, given to Amon and Sonia when they graduated from their swordsmanship training.
Not a Chinese jian, not a Japanese katana, but a Joseon hwan-do.
There was only one reason their master had given them these.
“‘Hwan-do! Please, let it be a hwan-do!'”
Amon’s unwavering Korean soul had insisted on it.
Their master was a wandering swordsman who had mastered techniques from China, Japan, and Joseon.
In Japan, he was a samurai.
In Joseon, a member of the Black Society.
In China, a rogue swordsman.
‘It’s funny how someone like that settled down in that alley just because of a condom accident…’
Regardless, the swordsmanship Amon had learned under him was still useful today.
And the markings on their hilts proved they were his direct disciples.
‘Of course, Master isn’t some legendary figure among swordsmen or anything.’
Still, the title of a retired vice-leader’s disciple was enough for the guards to lower their guard.
With their identities confirmed, the swordsmen sheathed their weapons back into their pitch-black uniforms.
“What business do you have here?”
Since Sonia wasn’t fluent in Korean, Amon answered smoothly.
“We seek to tour the base and meet with the leader.”
The guard’s head trembled slightly, as if he hadn’t expected such refined Korean from Amon’s clearly non-Korean face.
Beside him, his fellow guard quietly pressed his temple and deactivated his translation implant.
Amon smiled again at the consistent reaction of Koreans.
Soon, Amon’s group followed the black-clad warriors into the building.
***
“This is disappointing…”
Sonia muttered in English, sounding let down.
It was understandable.
The place they were walking through was a modern building.
More specifically, a closed-down baseball stadium.
Amon had to agree with her disappointment.
‘There’s no Joseon aesthetic here.’
He had been hoping to see warriors striding across a courtyard in flowing hanbok and black hats.
That distinct historical drama aesthetic was missing.
Instead, seeing a bunch of people in hanbok and black hats crowding a baseball stadium was giving him cognitive dissonance.
Before long, Amon’s group arrived at the VIP seating area where the leader was.
The guards who had guided them silently blended back into the crowd.
Watching them disappear, Sonia whispered, “All the Black Society members look the same.”
“That’s the point.”
Though they were technically an unofficial military force, that didn’t mean they could openly commit murder.
Since their job involved killing, it was natural that they accumulated many grudges.
Their uniform of black hats and hanbok was designed for this reason.
Of course, the dark clothing also helped them blend into the night and hide bloodstains, but the real purpose was different.
If an investigation ever took place, it would be impossible to identify individuals.
This made the Black Society’s operations much easier.
“By erasing individuality, they distribute responsibility.”
It was one of their strategies.
However, not everyone was bound by this strategy.
Most of the people with peculiar swords were either leaders or vice leaders.
And, of course, the leader Amon met was no exception.
***
“The disciples of that man… How fascinating.”
A man with a large scar on his chin greeted them with his face uncovered, having tossed aside his black hat without care.
For an assassin to reveal his face was a sign of trust in itself.
Amon and Sonia exchanged glances, recalling their master’s past once more, and let out small chuckles.
“Why are you laughing?”
“We were just reminded once again of how incredible our master is.”
“…Your Korean is quite fluent. Did your master teach you?”
The reaction was slightly different from the ones Amon had received about his Korean on the way here.
Amon decided to play along with the leader’s assumption.
“My master did not teach me. But I admired the sword and taught myself.”
“That man must have lived a successful life. So, have you inherited his sword?”
Amon nodded.
“Not the sword itself, but his will.”
Of course, he had not inherited all of his master’s sword techniques.
In the first place, Amon had never adhered to a specific school of swordsmanship.
Instead, he had pieced together techniques from various styles, creating his own patchwork.
However, his master’s combat style bore a strong resemblance to his own.
Learning whatever was necessary, analyzing opponents, and targeting their weaknesses—
It was the way of a wandering swordsman who had mastered numerous techniques.
Now, it was Amon’s way.
He had not inherited the sword, but he was proud to have inherited the spirit.
The leader, understanding his meaning, showed keen interest.
“Then, show me your sword.”
Saying so, the leader glanced past Amon’s shoulder.
His eyes met Sunwoo’s, the man who had been expelled in the past.
A sinister smile spread across the leader’s face.
“If you do, I will allow that friend of yours to return.”
“Did I ever bring that up?”
“When you stay in a place like this, you start to see through things. Besides, your face is too honest. You should wear a black hat at least.”
“I don’t think so, but since we’re on the subject, it might not be a bad idea to wear one while I’m in Joseon.”
“So? Are you going to do it or not?”
Amon’s lips curled into a smile.
“I like how fast you get to the point.”
“People like us communicate through swords, don’t we?”
“Hmm. I can’t quite agree with that. I prefer communication through words.”
The leader tilted his head.
“…And yet, the spirits clinging to you are this thick?”
“If you fight demons often enough, it just happens. I only resort to violence when necessary.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I am a lover of peace, after all.”
Behind them, the squinting priest barely suppressed the words rising to his throat.
The leader rose from his seat and picked up his beloved sword.
Amon turned to him and asked, “What are the rules?”
“No implant equipment, no magic, no other tools. Only enhancements that boost physical abilities are allowed. As for weapons, bring only swords.”
The purpose was to evaluate the sword alone.
“Even divine power?”
“Hmm. You’re always an interesting one. Yes, you may not use divine power as a form of magic either.”
“How many swords am I allowed to bring?”
“As many as you like.”
At the leader’s response, Amon’s smile widened once more.
***
Amon and the leader each donned their equipment and stepped into the training arena.
The leader, who arrived first, wore a simple martial outfit that did not even flutter as he walked.
At his waist hung a single hwandao.
He stood in the arena, waiting for Amon to arrive.
Soon, Amon appeared, his borrowed martial outfit billowing around him as he stepped onto the field.
The contrast between them was striking—
The leader embodied extreme minimalism, while Amon seemed excessive by comparison.
Pulling his straw hat low over his face, Amon set the mood.
Click! Click!
“Oh my, oh my! Amon, you look so handsome like this! What do we do? Don’t you think so, Father?”
From the spectator stands, Sonia’s camera shutter clicked nonstop.
Meanwhile, the priest’s face twisted in visible dismay at his daughter’s antics.
Before the duel began, a battle of nerves ensued between the two fighters.
“To think you’d be so concerned with appearances against me… You must be looking down on me quite a bit.”
“What a coincidence. I was just feeling disappointed that you didn’t bring a backup sword.”
Of course, despite their words, both knew they had come prepared with their very best.
The moment the duel started, Amon dashed forward first.
As always, he kicked off the air three times in rapid succession, gaining explosive momentum as he closed the distance.
In his view, the leader had yet to draw his sword.
At a distance of about 15 meters—
The leader finally began unsheathing his blade.
At 10 meters—
The sword had been drawn halfway from its sheath.
At 5 meters—
The leader muttered under his breath.
“(A deeply rooted tree…)”
And then—
Clang!
The leader’s motionless sword precisely shattered Amon’s weapon.
Amon, rather than being flustered, curiously observed the fragments of his broken sword spinning through the air.
The leader’s sharp gaze, however, had already shifted to Amon’s other hand.
Though his right sword was broken, his left hand remained armed.
As Amon swung his remaining sword upward in a diagonal slash—
The leader countered, timing his strike perfectly.
“! (Silently overcoming the wind!)”
His blade cut through the air itself, breaking Amon’s second sword just as effortlessly.
The gathered swordsmen were convinced of the leader’s victory.
At that moment, Amon murmured in response.
“Behold.”
“!?”
Clang!
A new sword had appeared in Amon’s hand.
The billowing folds of his robe had concealed it from view.
From the moment his right sword had broken, he had hidden another blade in its place.
The leader smirked, eyes alight with battle fervor.
Then, suddenly—
Thud!
With a sound no human leg should be capable of producing, Amon’s straw sandal struck the leader’s sword, sending him flying backward.
Recovering with a quick roll, the leader looked up—
And froze.
“For my mother is with me, so your arrows shall strike true, like an eagle hunting its prey.”
Amon now held three swords in each hand—where he had hidden them, no one could tell.
“!?”
The leader, just like Yodo before him, was caught off guard.
And what followed was even more shocking.
Boom!
With an explosive sound, the swords shot forward like arrows.