“This goblin’s gift of gab?”
“Bahahaha! Yes, gift of gab. Mr. Kim, you will now be toyed with by the goblin’s gift of gab!”
Seo Cheonseul said so, then retreated with dance-like motions. Standing on one foot, she swayed or spun in place.
A slow dance.
“But before that, we must clear these away!”
These must be the spoils we captured.
The corpses of Dueoksini laid out on the ground—once human.
Unwillingly turned into Dueoksini by the true Dueoksini endowed with abyssal power.
“They were originally humans, and you intend to take them?”
Seo Cheonseul’s goal was to capture Dueoksini, but that began with rounding up the escaped goblins.
These false Dueoksini of human origin need not be taken.
Nonetheless, Seo Cheonseul did not stop dancing and answered as if singing.
“Whether this way or that way, lives lost to goblins, are they not pitiable—”
The sequined embroidery on her jacket flashed.
“This way— that way— left and right— Geum-bang-im-ne—”
As if moved by her dance and song, the embroidery twisted into shapes of all manner of beasts, intertwining.
“E-hei— o-i-ri— tagged—”
A mournful dirge. A funeral song to comfort the dead.
“E-he-yeo-ra— e— ei-he-e— e— o-i— o- hea-ya—”
She produced from her bosom a gigantic mourning basket.
Impossible to fit in a jacket pocket, but questioning goblin antics would be pointless.
“E-he-e— e— hei-ri— no— ho— o— hea-ya.”
The dozens of corpses on the ground were sucked into the basket. Likely an artifact warping space like a rolling tote.
Crows watching from beyond the alley sighed regretfully as the bodies vanished.
But that regret swiftly turned to greed, directed at us.
“Those fellows have loaded themselves with mighty artifacts.”
“I have no idea what they’re saying.”
“If we surround them at once, can’t we bring them down?”
Whispers among the thugs known as crows intensified as they gathered.
We had to get out before we had to fight those crow-thugs.
Despite that, Seo Cheonseul’s slow dance continued for some time.
She made an “o-hea-ya—” sound, then asked me,
“My friend, Mr. Kim. Where are we headed?”
Still speaking as if singing, Seo Cheonseul.
I had no desire to direct a musical, so answered plainly,
“That way.”
Southwest direction.
Of course, in that direction lay a grimy wall, lurking crow-thugs, buildings, and beyond them a few small hills—but ‘that way’ lay Bongilcheon.
“I see— a straight line?”
“Yes, straight.”
“My friend, Mr. Kim. Stand here. This place is truly damp, dark, and foul. Where are we headed?”
“Bongilcheon.”
“O-hea— Bongilcheon— what a splendid name. Yes, my friend, Mr. Kim. What kind of place is Bongilcheon?”
Seo Cheonseul’s voice quickened.
The rhythm grew stronger, and I half-heard drums? No, the clang of gongs in the distance.
“It’s similar to here. Originally a remote neighborhood, but as Paju developed, outsiders flooded in.”
Though I spoke simply, even that plain tone became part of Seo Cheonseul’s song.
“I see— since Mr. Kims can’t carry homes, they built stone houses like mountains— casting shadows, creating dampness, and piling on the discomfort!”
“Exactly. It’s a similar neighborhood, if not quite as extreme. Plenty of entertainment districts and thugs.”
I answered, mindful of the crow-thugs eyeing us.
“A maze of roads to bewilder, plenty of winding alleys where one can easily get lost!”
“Yes.”
“E-su!”
Dum-dum-dum-dum— the drumbeat persisted.
Not a hallucination. The drums sounded for real.
“Then— that place must have dead-end alleys just like here!”
“Indeed.”
“My friend, Mr. Kim. Where exactly am I standing right now?”
“This is the Waste Alley of Gwangtandong.”
“No, no, no— this is precisely Bongilcheon!”
The drums and gongs ceased.
Even the presence of those crow-thugs surrounding us had vanished.
Seo Cheonseul stopped her song and dance and said,
“Mr. Kim, now that we’ve arrived, turn around.”
I obeyed and turned.
“E-he-e— o-hea— e-hea—”
While I turned, Seo Cheonseul uttered that strange vocalization again.
In front of me rose not Waste Alley but a grimy entertainment district.
“Bahahaha—”
We had arrived at the heart of Bongilcheon.
“The Bagua Plate spins wildly. As you said, it’s useless here.”
Seo Cheonseul sheathed the Bagua Plate and said,
“Very well. We’ll go as you direct. Where to next?”
“Since we’re in Bongilcheon, it’s best to ask the local lord.”
“Is there still a competent local lord left?”
“No, not that—”
Lord and landowner—this isn’t just a generational gap but an era gap?
“What I mean is, the person with the widest influence here—”
She might not understand that metaphor either. I might get a reply about a big-footed goblin.
“—I’ll meet the landlord of Bongilcheon. Just so you know, he’s human. If something goes wrong in Bongilcheon, he’s often the culprit. So it’s fastest to ask him first.”
“Ah, understood. Lead the way.”
We exited the dead-end alley and stepped onto Bongilcheon’s main street.
I glanced back—Waste Alley where we stood moments ago had vanished, replaced by a building wall.
“Master Geumgang. Seems perfect, but before we proceed, may I make a brief stop, as before?”
“Where to?”
“A bit east of here is a large cement factory. I’d like to buy some cement there.”
“Cement?”
“Yes. After seeing Master Geumgang’s talents, I should show some human handiwork as entertainment.”
Just as Gwangtanmyeon became Gwangtandong in reality, Bongilcheonli remains Bongilcheon-dong.
After the great collapse twenty years ago, a “monster-hunting economy” formed a gold-rush.
Bongilcheon’s position on Paju’s outskirts made it attractive to powerless outsiders.
Conversely, powered fixers also found it a convenient spot for relative safety and rest.
“These fixers can earn millions overnight.”
Since they risk their lives for that money, they’d be thrifty—yet they preferred to squander a night’s fortune in a night.
“So that’s why so many Mr. Kims gather here?”
Eccentric fixers seeking rest, gullible outsiders here to fleece them, and heterospecies slipping in to avoid the foreign affairs office.
Languages of various nations—and even extraterrestrial tongues—are occasionally mentioned.
“Exactly. Hence this chaos.”
Bongilcheon, overwhelmed by the influx of people and money, grew monstrously.
Small hills and Gongneung Stream.
An entertainment district encircling Paju’s Samneung—once a world heritage site—and a ramshackle slum, unlicensed street stalls, and illicit businesses.
Bongilcheon lacks an organization like the “Geumchon Market Merchants’ Guild” of formidable powered and former fixers (considering Tudor belongs to that guild, you can imagine its power).
With so many ordinary folks, criminal groups harass them.
“That’s the Bongilcheon-pa gang.”
“Such Mr. Kims always exist, no matter the era.”
“Indeed.”
“Are they dangerous Mr. Kims?”
“Hmm—”
Not really.
Bongilcheon-pa are more vicious than Samduhoe but not enough to trouble Master Geumgang.
Originally, Bongilcheon-pa provided tutorial quests in this relatively safe “low-level area.”
“But since Samduhoe splintered and fought, Bongilcheon-pa likely grew too.”
“Well, it’s nothing. We have the mighty Master Geumgang, after all.”
“You said you’d show us a trick, Mr. Kim?”
“That’s coming soon. Right over there.”
Grrr— dudadudadada—
Our rolling tote followed behind. Shrunk small, it scurried busily.
‘Ending this with Bongilcheon-pa would be ideal.’
If Bongilcheon-pa, who colluded with the Dueoksini via a cultist, serve as the final boss, it’s the easiest development.
Otherwise, we head to a truly mind-boggling location.
“Hmm— like a small castle in size.”
Seo Cheonseul remarked at the large building in the city center.
“King Castle Club. A club run by Bongilcheon-pa.”
“So, Mr. Kim, what do we do? It seems the Mr. Kims are bustling inside.”
It was daytime now.
Not business hours, so inside were not customers but Bongilcheon-pa thugs. Numbering—88 perhaps?
“Shall we beat up innocent Mr. Kims?”
“No. Even if they’re not tied to the Dueoksini, it’s hard to call them innocent.”
Bongilcheon-pa are punks by Paju standards.
Still, they’re a criminal organization: drug and human trafficking, even contract killing.
Extortion, threats, and violence are mere trifles for them.
“Ah, so we can beat them without worry?”
“Not that either.”
“Not that?”
Seo Cheonseul’s face soured. She seemed to think, “What on earth is Mr. Kim saying?”
“No need to beat them. Rolling tote, fetch the cement.”
Grrr—rrr—
Endless cement sacks poured out.
I’d bought the entire factory warehouse’s stock.
I wove magic into that immense pile of cement.
“What on earth is this! Who! Who did this!”
Yeom Geumja, the most powerful figure in Bongilcheon and head of the Bongilcheon-pa, screamed as he stepped from his black sedan.
King Castle Club—his splendid giant club, his cash cow—had transformed into a massive gray rock mountain.
Yeom Geumja approached in shock. The building hadn’t turned to stone; something solid and gray—this was?
“C-cement?”
He realized they’d encased his club in cement.
“And of all days, today of all days?”
By chance, Yeom Geumja had summoned most of his underlings to the club today.
They were buried alive in one swoop.
“Ugh—”
Unable to accept this, he staggered.
His fur coat nearly dragged him down as his attendants barely propped him up. Yeom Geumja mumbled in shock,
“W-who are you? Who did this? Why do this to a building not even six months old? What did I ever do wrong?”
“I’m curious too. May I ask if you’ve done anything wrong recently?”
“Who’s there!?”
Yeom Geumja’s attendants shouted toward the voice. There stood two masked men.
“Bahahaha— I quite like this.”
The tall man wearing a half-mask laughed loudly.
The sequins on his jacket writhed with an otherworldly glow.
Yeom Geumja sensed at once they were A-rank powered or heterospecies, swore under his breath, and said,
“Wrongdoing? You did all this just to ask that?”
“Yes. But don’t be too upset. If it’s not a major problem, we’ll restore everything to normal.”
That casual remark enraged him further.
Yeom Geumja glared at Kim Sinhwa. A mistake. His focus faltered, scattering unevenly.
‘Four eyes?’
From the four holes in the mask, a dreadful yellow light pulsed.
Yeom Geumja regretted locking eyes with the monstrous figure and trembled.
