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The parted Tabudai entered the dojo with a stern expression, dragging the two individuals along with him.

It was a building designed as a modern interpretation of the Mongolian traditional tent known as a ger (ᠭᠡᠷ), yet in reality, it was constructed from stone and metal like concrete and rebar.

Clank.

As it was a building built by Mongolia’s warriors for dojo use, it was impressively sturdy and equipped with high-quality soundproofing material to keep the inside noises from leaking out.

This also meant that there would be no problems even if these two were ‘educated.’

Once inside the dojo, Tabudai dropped the two onto the floor and firmly locked the door.

Then he roughly loosened his tie and began to undress.

He tossed his jacket far away, and unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time.

Zzzak-!

Zzzak-!

After removing his upper garment, Tabudai began to slap his chest with his palm as if attempting to pump it up. He gradually moved his muscles, channeling the energy flowing with the quick circulation of blood.

Twist.

Blood is the passageway and the flow.

As the blood circulated rapidly, the energy flowing through Tabudai’s body increased, and along with it, his already massive muscles bulged even more, as if he were pumping iron at the gym.

Moreover, it wasn’t just muscle mass that increased; there was even a sense of hot heat emanating from him.

On a winter’s day, you could probably see the rising heat around him.

Twist.

The muscles he formed were nearly inhuman.

Instead of resembling a person, Tabudai’s body appeared more like that of a wild beast, growing to the size of a giant, with bulging muscles reminiscent of a horse’s.

In fact, the muscles in his arms were as thick as a regular person’s waist, and the protruding veins were so pronounced it made one worry they might burst.

With his muscles inflated, Tabudai strode toward the two still lying on the floor.

As if to instill pressure on them.

Then he stood in front of them, scowling.

“Both of you, wake up.”

Though it sounded like a request, it was more of a threat delivered in Tabudai’s low voice. The two, unable to maintain their composure, twisted and turned their bodies to rise.

“Guh…”

The first to get up was the Japanese fighter.

He recovered faster than the Korean inspector, having taken a lighter hit.

However, the Korean inspector, who had received a much harsher blow, was still struggling on the ground, and Tabudai gazed at him with a dissatisfied look.

“Just what kind of warrior are you to be in this state…?”

Tabudai extended his hand like a pot lid and forcibly sat the Korean inspector down on the floor. Curious about his affiliation, he began to examine the items he carried, like his uniform and sword.

Yet no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see anything that seemed proper.

There were no patterns to indicate affiliation, nor anything to specify where he belonged.

The uniform appeared to have been tailored from some random place.

The sword wasn’t crafted by a master artisan but had come straight from a factory. It wasn’t even a custom order, just a standard product available on the market.

And it was from the low-end product line.

“Hah, what the.”

Factory-made isn’t bad, though.

In fact, the quality is often much better than mediocre handmade items.

Thanks to materials created by magical sciences or alchemy, even factory products can sometimes boast excellent quality, allowing warriors to acquire good quality items at a cheap price.

However, even if factory products are alright, that only applies to items at a certain price point; this low-end stuff doesn’t qualify.

A proper warrior wouldn’t carry around low-end products—mainly because such items are targeted at the average person rather than warriors.

Just being in contact with a weapon of higher quality could chip one’s teeth, and if impurities aren’t adequately filtered out, one can’t channel energy through it effectively. Even trying to infuse it with energy could lead to cracks or breakage.

While some warriors do carry low-end items to employ breaking techniques or powering up swords, they always carry a proper weapon as well…

Decent uniform.

Cheap weapon.

Low skill level.

And yet, they still go around looking for trouble.

A ronin.

Ronin.

A term for a drifting warrior.

It referred to warriors without a home, wandering aimlessly.

However, while it may sound nice as ronin, the reality is they were no different from wandering thugs.

During the Japanese imperial period, as Japan expanded into the continent, many fallen samurai roamed aiminglessly on the mainland. It was during this time that the samurai who ventured out and the homeless warriors began to merge and organize.

They gained a strict hierarchy and plumped their bodies, causing disruptions with various crimes and violent incidents.

They became notorious under the name ‘continent ronin (大陸浪人)’ and, though they were suppressed after the world war, the stigma around them lingered, embedding the term ‘ronin’ in people’s minds with a negative connotation.

Affiliated warriors.

Standing on the boundary between legality and illegality.

Not pros like mercenaries, but idlers taking gigs as they like to get by.

You never know what they’re capable of if provoked.

…

…

…

In reality, they often acted out the negative images folks had of them.

Since they had no affiliation, they didn’t have any significant backgrounds or connections.

Having honed their skills through endless fighting, they had some capability in combat, but those skills were suited for dealing with weaker foes, making them inadequate against strong, skilled opponents.

They may have learned some martial arts, but compared to other warriors, their skills were lacking, making it hard to rise to prominence…and they didn’t want to become mercenaries because those guys died like flies…but they also didn’t want to live a mundane life.

Thus many ronin neglected their training compared to regular warriors.

They’d join gangs, living day by day, or try to charm some naive soul into taking them under their wing for their retirement, putting their efforts into talking rather than practicing their martial arts, sometimes even streaming online to entertain.

And the Korean inspector now caught by Tabudai seemed like one such drifter.

A sluggard more interested in the treatment of warriors than honing his skills.

Tabudai poked the sluggard in the chest with a finger, infusing energy into him.

To calm the turbulent insides.

“Guh cough!”

As Tabudai’s finger sank into the chest, the Korean inspector coughed painfully in quick succession. With each cough, the tremors in his body gradually settled down, and soon the quaking completely subsided.

Once the man could stabilize himself, Tabudai locked eyes with him and asked.

“What are you up to?”

An unintelligible question.

Naturally, the man couldn’t properly respond as he blinked, bewildered.

However, his face, filled with confusion, hardened at Tabudai’s next words.

“What in the world are you up to, causing this mess in Chungju?”

“Wh-what do you mean, sir…?”

Tabudai, with an expressionless face, looked at the man.

“Since I’m in a position where I hear about all sorts of incidents and accidents…oh, this is quite something.”

He clenched and opened his fist.

As if his fist were itching to strike.

“This year, especially of late…these incidents have increased massively.”

“…”

“Moreover, isn’t it just a coincidence? Most of the time, these incidents involve a fight between Korean warriors and Japanese warriors. Moreover, if you look closely, one side typically provokes the other.”

“…”

“And here’s something even stranger: while the Japanese who provoke come from various places, the Koreans are always from clans like yours. Those of you, just like the affiliated warriors….”

“…”

“How perplexing. After uprooting all forms of violent organizations, it’s incredibly strange that wandering warriors like you are popping up in Korea, which has its eyes peeled to prevent violence. This isn’t China, where triads run rampant, or Japan, with its yakuza… I’m genuinely curious where you wandering types emerged from.”

“…”

“Even more curious is that they all act in the same manner. Think that’s not strange?”

“…”

“No matter how much friction exists between Korea and Japan, it’s quite unnatural…”

Tabudai paused there, looking intently at the inspector.

As if urging him to spill the beans while the conversation was still civil.

Yet even under Tabudai’s pressure, the wandering warrior firmly shut his mouth.

Moreover, his earlier cowardice completely vanished, subtly brimming with a peculiar pride.

Tabudai gazed at the Korean inspector in disbelief, slowly raising his fist.

He needed to know what was happening in Chungju, even if he had to resort to force.

Gradually, his pot lid-like hand approached the wandering warrior’s blood vessel…

Beep—!

Beeep—!

Just before Tabudai’s finger made contact with the blood, a sound echoed throughout the dojo.

It was a loud sound akin to a mix of a whistle and an alarm.

Beeep—!

“Doorbell…? At this hour?”

Tabudai frowned at the intercom echoing through the dojo.

‘Could it be the police from earlier…?’

Thinking it might be the police who had come to investigate, he slowly opened the door.

Clank.

The door creaked open, revealing a single figure standing there.

He wasn’t in a uniform, and he looked far too thin to be a detective.

His hair, looking like it hadn’t been washed in ages, clumped together, and his worn-out clothes reeked. The shadows under his eyes were deep and dark, almost reminiscent of a skull’s eye sockets.

He had a body cam strapped to his chest, with a notepad and pen in one hand.

With a sinister grin, the man said,

“Hello there! I’ve come to conduct an interview.”

 

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