An Ode to Maehwa | kth

Chapter 48: The Black Lotus

The two have found out that the rest of the assassins had the same tattoo in the exact same place.

Black Lotus.

There sure was a meaning behind it, but the two hadn't a clue.

"Hyung, do you know where you get the underground information?" Jungkook prompted.

Taehyung paused for a moment. Gasping, he mumbled, "You aren't thinking...."

"Yes, I am," the younger grinned mischievously.

"No, it's dangerous!"

"We knew it was dangerous the moment we took on this case, hyung. If we have a chance, then we need to try."

Taehyung looked into the determined eyes of Jungkook. When did this younger brother, who he felt responsible for, grow so much?

"Fine, but I'll go."

Jungkook laughed. "You're so bad at acting! You'd get caught the moment you enter their territory, hyung," he leaned in front, as he continued exuding confidence in his tone. "Leave it up to me. I don't go sneak around the city for nothing."

Every peaceful-looking place had a corner where the evil breathed; the den on iniquity.

Where people unhappy about people's happiness lived, where people rejoicing over other's misery existed, where people were ready to gnaw at every bloody felony whenever they had a chance to.

A black robed man, his face covered with a black bamboo hat entered a noisy tavern. The place was cramped and grimy, old-looking alcohol bottles lining up on shelves that looked like it might collapse any second, hardly cleaned barrels as tables and rusty stools casually thrown around the room, one corner filled with men who were releasing nasty laughters over indecent stories. The place was eerily dark, with only a few lamps as the source of light, but in such places this was the amount of light needed, when everyone lived in the dark, away from the light, hiding their identity.

The black robed man walked straight to the counter, sitting on one of the tired stools with a thud. The bartender, who looked thirty or sixty, uncertain due to fats carried by his exploding huge belly to his face, making his cheeks bloated stretching out wrinkles if he had any on his greasy face, approached him showing yellow teeth.

"What can I get for ya?"

"The strongest alcohol you have here!" the man ordered.

The bartender nodded, and served him a translucent drink. The man gulped in at once, and slammed the glass on the counter.

"Having a bad day, ey?" the bartender chuckled, filling it in again.

"Bad day? Hmph," the man huffed. "I had a great day, look!" He suggested, slamming out a bundle of golden coins. Even in the dark, it was easy to see how the bartender's eyes widened hungrily at the wealth he was just witnessing. He filled the glass to the brim.

"Young master is rich," he coaxed. "Now, what made you so angry? Talk to this lowly one and you might feel better."

"I bet for a living. Gambling is how I earn all this money, and I won today too," he mumbled, taking a sip from the brimmed glass.

"There was this newbie who challenged me so I played with him. And obviously I'd win," he snorted. "But this guy accused me of cheating!"

The bartender shook his head in disapproval, tutting exaggeratedly.

"What's wrong with cheating anyway?" The bartender encouraged him.

"Exactly. It's a fucking skill he hasn't got," the man chortled. "But oh, how I'd kill him for using that filthy mouth against me!" He grunted, his hands trembling on the glass from anger.

"Killing? Young master?" The bartender asked, not in a chiding tone but rather in an amused tone.

"He hurt my pride! I'd kill him with no regrets but I don't want to dirty my hands," he yelled, downing another glass of strong intoxicant.

The bartender sniffed. It wasn't a rare occasion to find people enraged over petty things this place around. Some people just murder over a simple brushing of their shoulders, and it's not a surprise. What's important is, whether or not they have a price to pay for their wish. And that was how he made money in his tavern. Mere alcohol and snacks didn't feed his exceeding stomach, but instead it was information he provided.

"Young master, if you will, I can give you a kind advice," he prompted, an octave lower than before.

"What?"

"So, you see, you can make your wish come true."

The man leaned in, clearly interested in the proposal. "How?"

The bartender took his time to say, giving a non-subtle glance at the bundle of coins in front of him, "Every information comes with a price, young master."

Getting the hint, the man nodded. "Continue."

The bartender gave a dark smile. "So, you see, there are groups of people who'd like to help others. Like they do chores for your behalf."

"Like a handyman."

"Certainly," the bartender nodded. Then he took out three cards from the inner pocket of his worned vest. "These are the cards that can lead you to them."

He spread three cards in front of him; cards as small as a business card. From the dim light of the lamp, the man could make out that one was a tint blue, with a carrier drawn on it, another was crimson with an eye drawn on it, the last one in green with a rectangle drawn on it.

"Any of them?" the man asked, shifting his curtained gaze to the bartender.

"Yes, they are of the cheapest prices, but they do a decent job."

The bartender heard the man mumble, "Decent, huh," under his breath, and understood he was hesitant. He needed a little more push for the man to pay the price.

"By the way, I hope I'm not being rude but...you seem to have an accent?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah I tried to fix it but I'm from the North...I guess I'm still sounding like one."

"Oh, no, no, you are doing a great job! It's just that I have special ears," the bartender cheered. Hushing his tone lower, he said, "I have a special card that does jobs only for the Northern people."

He leaned in lower, and the man gulped, sensing the seriousness. "It's costly, but you can count on them. They'd never slip their mouth. I can only take out the card if you're willing to pay."

The man nodded, sinking his bamboo hut deeper. The bartender once again reached for his inner pocket, and took out a black card with a white flower drawn on it. He placed it on the counter, and whispered the name;

"The Black Lotus."