223.
〈A Plot in Liaodong — The Night of the Defeated〉
It was an old tavern in Liaoyang.
The windows had been sealed with patched leather, and a single oil lamp swayed faintly.
Night rain was falling.
The rain carried with it the smells of a foreign city—and of blood.
Three men sat inside the room.
Yi Tak, a remnant of the former Pingzhang Zhengshi of the Zhengdong Branch Secretariat.
Yerek, chieftain of the Black Water Jurchens, a man known as a shadow among assassins.
And Bayanbuga, deputy to Gi Cheol.
Yi Tak tapped the table with his finger.
The dry sound echoed through the room.
His face was long and gaunt, his gaze sunk cold and deep.
"Two attempts," he said.
"Both failed."
Yerek let out a low chuckle.
"It wasn't assassination. It was one-sided slaughter."
Bayanbuga ground his teeth.
"He stopped dozens of ours—alone. That is beyond the realm of men."
He clenched his cup.
"He's a beast."
"If he's a beast, then he can be hunted."
Bayanbuga slammed the cup down.
"We weren't hunters. We were prey."
He shoved the cup aside.
"Her Majesty has ordered us not to involve ourselves further.
The Great Khan's gaze has turned this way.
Informants in Dadu are already moving."
Yi Tak raised his head.
"Her will is clear. Leave no direct traces.
That does not mean she forbids his death."
Yerek snorted.
"It's the same thing."
"It isn't."
Yi Tak's eyes flashed.
"Move troops and traces remain.
But shadows leave none."
He slowly drew a small scroll from his pouch.
A red seal was pressed into it.
"Men from the south, called Spirit Guards.
They use neither conventional methods nor orthodox techniques.
Only results remain."
Yerek sneered.
"And you trust such things?"
"There is no need to trust them."
Yi Tak's voice was calm.
"They sell results. We pay the price.
Neither side leaves a name behind."
Bayanbuga folded his arms.
"And the cost?"
"Of course it's steep. But it isn't my silver."
Yi Tak smiled.
"Fifty catties of silver.
And if they bring Park Seong-jin's head, several times that—
from the Empress herself."
Silence fell.
Yerek let out a low laugh.
"A head. I'd like to take that head myself."
Yi Tak leaned forward.
"That comes later. For now, we choose what is certain.
We've learned that force won't work."
His voice dropped.
"His swordsmanship has crossed beyond human limits.
So now—we use poison."
Bayanbuga frowned.
"Poison. Things grow dirty."
"Poison is the oldest weapon there is."
Calling it filthy, he answered by calling it a weapon, and Yi Tak continued.
"He lives alone now. Eats alone. Drinks alone.
No one inside the city can hand him food."
Yerek raised an eyebrow.
"Poisoning his food has already been tried."
Yi Tak chuckled softly.
"Crude attempts.
This time, we mix it into the air he breathes."
Bayanbuga stood abruptly.
"Air? Is that even possible?"
The corner of Yi Tak's mouth curled upward.
"It is.
One powder master. One southern apothecary.
Mix poison into incense.
Burn his breath with sweetness."
Yerek nodded slowly.
"So instead of burning the house, you burn the lungs."
"Exactly.
The moment he draws breath inside it, it's over."
Bayanbuga drained his cup.
"This is the third attempt. This time, we finish it."
Yi Tak rose and extinguished the lamp.
The room fell into complete darkness.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
The night air of Liaodong lay heavy and sunken.
Between the sounds of rain, something like the cry of metal slipped through—
a metallic omen, foretelling the next night of blood.