Murim Troubleshooter Dan Mujin

Chapter 31: Recyclable

There’s a saying, “Smile hides a dagger.”

A chilling blade concealed behind a kindly face.

I pointed at the village chief who had crept toward us, and shrieked, “Aaaaah!”

That bastard’s trying to kill us all.

“……?”

Cheonsugong made a face that said, “What nonsense is that?”

In contrast, the village chief’s face turned grim as he moved swiftly.

“Die!”

With a loud ‘Pung!’, sharp objects poured out like a sudden shower.

Steel needles laced with killing intent drew red trajectories across my entire field of vision.

Tatatatatang-!

Sparks flew dozens of times in the air. Cheonsugong’s blade intercepted every single needle like lightning.

His swordplay was like a flash of lightning. The blade split the air dozens of times in an instant, glinting with sword flux.

“Wow, total expert.”

I couldn’t help but exclaim at the breathtaking swordplay.

Despite being a eunuch, that guy’s swordsmanship had reached an artistic level.

What on earth was his real identity? Could he be from the Eastern Depot like the ones you sometimes see in martial arts novels?

“Guess I should be more careful from now on.”

That thought crossed my mind as I watched Cheonsugong easily deflect the following dagger strike.

I had admittedly gotten a bit complacent, relying on the princess’s protection.

“……Isn’t not messing around an option?”

Ilhong muttered blankly as he watched the fight unfold.

“That’s not easy.”

I, Dan Wonjun, had grown up fighting punks who mocked me for being an orphan since I was a kid.

I learned early on that shrinking from scorn and ridicule only invited more torment, so I’d chosen the path of domination.

Ah, of course, I could restrain myself to some degree in front of paying clients.

“Number Six, Number Seven! Quickly… back him up!”

A voice from a middle-aged assassin, clearly struggling.

Two more assassins, disguised as residents of Baekyangchon, jumped in, brandishing hidden weapons and daggers.

Chachachang-!

Steel clashed wildly, sparks flying as blades locked and clattered.

As the three assassins charged at once, Cheonsugong’s body suddenly soared upward. He stepped on the shoulder of an assassin called Number Six and spun once in midair.

Shwik-!

Meanwhile, a couple of arcs of blue sword qi slashed across. With fine red lines blooming, the assassins’ earlobes and a few fingers flew off.

But not even a groan came out. The assassins, eyes bloodshot, immediately launched another strike.

Red trails tangled and twisted madly in the air. It was hard to even track their movements with the naked eye—they were all high-level experts.

Despite the three-on-one situation, Cheonsugong was holding his own, not giving an inch.

“Captain, should we back him up too?”

“Don’t. We’ll just end up collateral.”

When whales fight, shrimp get crushed.

A person needs to know their place if they want to live long.

Yet, ironically, this place seemed to be teeming with mayflies who only looked forward and charged in.

“Damn it, what the hell happened?”

“I heard they were assassins from the Assassin Guild. Said we’d get a hefty payout, so I came…”

“That damned brat ruined everything!”

“Damn, if I knew it’d be like this, I wouldn’t have left the mountain keep.”

The other residents.

More precisely, the fake residents of Baekyangchon, rushing in with bloodied blades and clubs.

They reeked of foul stench—not a chemical smell, but the unique stench of those who lived with ‘malice’ and had piled up ‘killing karma’.

The kind of smell the Heaven-Violating Yin Fiend would have, someone who brutally killed men and women for fun.

“……Seems like there wasn’t a single real villager to begin with.”

“Yeah.”

I’d somewhat suspected it ever since I felt that strange unease at the entrance.

It looked like they’d scraped together bandits, highwaymen, and murderers from nearby areas to disguise as villagers.

Still, should I consider it fortunate that not all of them were assassins?

“I wonder what happened to the real residents of Baekyangchon.”

“They’re probably all dead… killed by those bastards.”

Inside me, the Heaven-Slaying Star whispered unsettlingly.

Damn this Murim. I never did feel any attachment to this place.

Human lives are worth less than ants here.

“Shit, after all this suffering, I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

“They said we’d get a gold ingot if this job succeeded.”

“Splitting it among fewer people doesn’t sound too bad……”

Wherever you go, you’ll find people living on the edge of life.

Seems the thought of a big score had overridden their fear. Their eyes gleamed with greed.

Though their martial aura felt no stronger than Third Rate Martial Artists, if this many of them jumped into a fight already hanging in balance, who knew what might happen?

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you? Can’t wait to hear another of your lovely screams.”

A killer in the lead grinned slyly, pointing a bloodstained dagger my way.

Judging from the way he talked, he must have accumulated countless evil deeds in his life.

“Ilhong, smashing in the heads of those kinds of trash counts as a righteous deed, right?”

“……Probably?”

“What do you mean ‘probably’? Of course it is.”

That’s what my heart was shouting.

A righteous deed among righteous deeds.

Beasts in human skin—quietly become part of this body’s internal energy.

“Sungseongilli... Cheonjicheyeongye...”

As I activated the Starfall Heart Cultivation Method, the pure anti-demonic internal energy surged through all my meridians.

It reacted to the enemy’s killing intent, blooming over my skin in a red haze—only to scatter at once with a shriek.

I opened my eyes wide, unleashing a white gleam.

Chachachang!

Behind me, four masters collided steel and killing intent, surging with intense qi.

And in front—more than a dozen Third Rate Martial Artists charged forward, baring their yellowed teeth in grins.

Masters should fight masters. The weak should fight the weak. That’s how it looks best.

Therefore—

“Second League kicks off, bastards.”

Taaah-!

I kicked off the ground and shot forward.

“You’re running to your death, brat!”

It was always like this.

Everyone who faced me judged only by appearance and let down their guard.

Did they forget the Murim adage—Beware the child and the old?

Tatak!

By now, I could channel internal energy quite naturally. I unleashed Whirlwind Steps right in front of the guy’s nose, vanishing my body from sight.

His broadsword slashed through empty air with a loud whoosh.

He’d clearly aimed at me, but feeling no resistance, he widened his eyes in shock.

By then, I was already behind him. I drove in a full-strength punch imbued with the subtlety of the Hundred-Knot Divine Fist.

Puh-ok!

“Urgh!”

A sound of shattering spine. The guy crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, instantly neutralized.

And the one behind him, frozen in panic—I spun like a windmill and drove a kick powered by core strength into his temple.

Pak-!

A dull rupture, and his face caved in. Blood and teeth scattered as he was flung far away.

“Shit!”

Next up—a hulking guy, two steps away, staring in shock.

I closed the gap in an instant and drove a heavy palm strike into his broad abdomen.

“Blaaargh!”

He vomited out everything he ate for lunch and rolled on the ground with dust flying.

A three-strike combo, executed like flowing water, like a gust of wind.

The Hundred-Knot Divine Fist, customized to his liking by Hwang Geolgae, had evolved into a comprehensive human-killing art that combined fists, kicks, fingers, and palm strikes nonstop.

“Dammit, that bastard’s a master too…!”

“Crap!”

While they were caught off guard, I took down three of them, causing a huge stir among the killers.

They actually called me a master. Guess getting beaten to death by Hwang Geolgae during training paid off.

I couldn’t help but puff up a bit.

“Don’t be scared, dammit! He’s just a brat!”

“Yeah! If we all rush him, what can he do?!”

Heard that one in many back alleys before.

And from earlier, a strange tingling sensation had started building in my dantian.

No doubt I’d accumulated righteous karma from taking out those three pieces of trash. Wonder how much internal energy that would net me.

Looking forward to the next qi circulation.

“Get him!”

“Uwoooo!”

Enemies rushed all at once, swinging blades and clubs.

All that force, just to kill one kid.

“Trash of the Central Plains! I’ll recycle every one of you into my internal energy...!”

I shouted back with a thunderous roar and charged in.

“What kind of bullshit is that?!”

“You’re dead!”

Dozens of red trajectories blurred my vision. Long, sharp weapons sliced through the air from every direction.

Clubs and blades rushed right up to my face. I tried mimicking Cheonsugong’s footwork from earlier.

Gathering internal energy, I kicked the ground—‘Tak!’—and shot upward. Below, weapons clashed and tangled, having lost their target.

“Ugh, you idiots!”

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Coordinated formation strikes weren’t something that this bunch of strays could pull off easily.

I used the opening in their tangled movements to shatter shoulders and skulls from midair.

Pupupuk-!

My heel, charged with internal energy, smashed down on a shoulder. I twisted my body to add momentum and struck a temple with a Spinning Ring Kick.

And for the one below who reached up to grab me—I drove a dropkick right into him, bodyweight and all.

Something cracked in his chest as he coughed violently and slammed back into the ground.

Using the recoil, I twisted midair and escaped their encirclement with a spin.

A bizarre, explosive movement wrung from every fiber of my body. All thanks to the hellish beatings I took while dodging Hwang Geolgae’s punches.

“That rat bastard…!”

As I landed and slipped right through their grip, curses erupted among the enemies.

“Well done! That’s our Boss Mujin!”

On the other hand, Ilhong burst into praise after I took down four or five in a flash.

The murderers charged again, faces twisted with rage.

‘Perfect.’

I silently picked up a long club someone had dropped.

Just the right grip, weight, and length.

I swung it the way Cheonsugong had earlier, deflecting hidden weapons.

Tatatatadak-!

Sounds of steel clashing with wood. I blocked and deflected wave after wave of incoming strikes while stepping back.

Enemies lunged in from every direction, intent on killing me. The danger made my body move instinctively—just like when I’d secretly learned martial arts from escort warriors.

Tadak! Seogak!

But I’d only seen that once. There were limits. Sometimes blades slipped through and grazed my flesh.

Still, offering flesh to break bone—that’s my specialty.

When they left an opening after swinging their swords, I’d slip in and smash their face.

Pak!

The Heaven-Slaying Star’s brute strength, my internal energy-infused strike—it shattered the face of someone who’d been stabbing others without remorse.

Tadak! Puh-ok!

A dull rupture. This time, both sides’ clubs landed squarely on each other’s heads.

But I had a ridiculously durable skull, trained through monstrous endurance and nuclear Flick Strikes, so only their side broke.

“Y-you rock-headed bastard... gurgle.”

The guy fainted in disbelief at my durability. Not that he was wrong—it just rubbed me the wrong way.

“Boss’s head is tough like stone! That’s seriously awesome!”

And from behind, Ilhong continued providing his vocal buff.

Tadak! Tadatadak!

Blocking, deflecting, wrapping and flicking away attacks—and occasionally smashing in the skull of a reckless fool who dared charge in.

My club whirled wildly in every direction, like it was possessed.

The paths of the enemies’ attacks, dyed red, looked almost like a premonition.

And with a bit of Cheonsugong’s secret techniques I’d stolen over the shoulder, I was now able to cut through enemy lines with just this club.

“Shit! Even all together, we can’t stop him!”

“Who the hell said rush him at once?!”

“Don’t tell me that brat’s reached First Rate Martial Artist level…?”

The killers flinched, eyes darting around in panic.

I’d stolen a master’s martial arts and used it to scare off the weaklings.

To be honest, if there had been an actual master among them, they’d have immediately noticed my club swings were anything but refined.

“...Damn it, this is a total disaster.”

Their morale was clearly crumbling.

They hesitated, eyeing each other, and some started inching away.

That sign snapped me back to full alertness.

“You bastards—where do you think you’re going?!”

My precious bundle of internal energy wasn’t about to sprout legs and run off.

I immediately used Whirlwind Steps to charge into the middle of the enemy ranks.

Weapons shot out at me from all directions in response to my bold assault.

I decided to take the hits worth taking and in exchange, claim their skulls.

Bababak-!

Sound of skulls cracking one after another. And in response, a righteous energy tickled my dantian.

“One scoop of internal energy, added!”

They were scumbags who’d massacred villagers just for a handful of silver.

Every time I bashed in a skull, something inside me accumulated. No wonder the righteous heroes of legend ground people down like medicine.

“Shit! D-don’t come any closer, bastard!”

Killers shrieked in panic at the bloodthirsty way I swung my club, refusing to let even one escape.

“No thanks!”

Dodging or grazing past swinging blades, I took them out one by one with certainty.

Red trajectories slashed wildly. Screams pierced the air as enemies were knocked flying.

That’s how the gang of killers was driven to the brink of annihilation—by one little brat.

Then I heard Ilhong’s voice trembling in fear from behind me.

“...B-Boss.”

Glancing back, I saw a middle-aged man standing there, soaked in blood.

A blade hovered at Ilhong’s pale neck.

This was exactly why I’d beaten everyone down on my way through.

But since I’d held back to avoid killing, one of them must’ve recovered late.

“D-drop the club!”

At his demand, I let the bloodstained club fall with a thud.

I’d already beaten most of them. And I was a fistsman anyway—no point clinging to it.

“You bastard, you sure acted tough... move a muscle and I’ll slit this brat’s throat.”

He pressed the blade to Ilhong’s neck, drawing a thin red line as he threatened.

Some of the few survivors of my clubbing started laughing like they’d finally turned the tables.

“I’ll make you beg for death... urgh!”

But then—a sword tip burst straight through the center of the hostage-taker’s face.

Thud.

The guy collapsed with a bubbling death rattle, blood gurgling in his throat.

“……”

In the stunned silence, a middle-aged man calmly retrieved his bloodied sword and wiped it clean.

“Hmph, good job. At least you’re qualified to be a wanderer.”

Cheonsugong, who had silently taken down three assassins, looked at us with a satisfied grin.