You can always gather new subordinates.
Traitors are useless.
Above all, gold doesn’t betray me.
So the choice was already made.
Hwang Geumman’s men looked badly let down to see him tuck the gold to his chest instead of valuing them.
After that, I kept tossing wealth toward his men, but Hwang Geumman, fast as a striking snake, snatched every last piece out of the air.
“I’d rather die than let a single coin go!”
He meant to say, You think I’ll let things go your way, but his true heart slipped out.
Hearing him, the men sagged.
He’d risk his life to guard gold instead of them.
Their desire to serve such a sect master evaporated.
So did any urge to stake their lives.
If anything, they wanted to follow me—the one trying to share out the wealth to them.
Clueless about his men, Hwang Geumman’s whole mind fixed on the treasure I was throwing.
“You filthy bastard! Take off that damned demon mask and talk like a man, face to face!”
“No. Did you ever lend an ear when people spoke to you?”
“They’re wretches who didn’t pay back what they owe! No reason to listen!”
“That’s because you saddled them with impossible interest.”
“The world is survival of the fittest. The one fooled is at fault!”
“Yeah? Then the one who handed me his vault is at fault too.”
“T-that was...”
I shrugged off my pack and took something out.
“What do you think this is?”
He knew instantly, viscerally—Loan Notes.
“You—it was you! The one who hit our branch offices!”
“Correct. What should I do with these Loan Notes?”
“G-give them here!”
To Hwang Geumman, a Loan Note wasn’t just paper.
It was future assets.
“What should I do with them?”
“S-surely you won’t burn them?”
“Of course not. I need them to return the money you wrung out of people. Burning them would be the last thing to do.”
“What?”
He gaped.
I casually tossed more treasure from the vault.
WHIP—
FWIP—
He snatched them again, fast as ever.
His eyes were bloodshot.
So red that if he cried, it would be blood tears.
“Hey. Let your men take a little. There’s plenty.”
“Silence! My men don’t want that.”
“Yeah? Well, I suppose there’s no need to throw any more.”
“What?”
He turned—and saw emptiness.
All those men. Not a single one remained.
“W-what?”
“What else? They were disappointed in you and left. All of them.”
“T-that’s absurd...”
He stood slack-jawed, then forced his face into something harder.
“Men can be gathered again any time.”
Then he glared at me.
“You should have made sure my subordinates didn’t scatter.”
“What?”
“Now if I attack you and some gold flies inside, there’ll be no one to steal my wealth. I can fight at ease.”
Unbelievable.
That was why he’d hesitated until now?
I lifted a handful of gold and let it jingle.
“Even if I do this?”
“Gold is gold, even shattered.”
FWIP—
Hwang Geumman lunged, murder in his eyes.
VRRRMMM—
Fists drenched in golden qi scythed at me.
KRA-KOOM—
CLINK-CLANG—
Porcelain shattered somewhere.
Hwang Geumman didn’t hear it.
He needed only gold, notes, and Loan Notes.
KRA-KRA-KOOM—
His rough strikes kept coming.
For a man who worshiped money, his realm was shockingly High-Form, Three Stars.
He looked like someone who couldn’t fight at all—yet he was quite a master.
But even strong arts are useless if they don’t land.
No matter how he attacked, he couldn’t touch me.
“Huff... huff!”
And because he’d spent himself hurling his body to protect the gold I tossed, his strength was already drained; he tired fast.
Tears of frustration welled.
Of all the luck, to run into a bastard like this Evil Breed.
His gaze snagged on the gold scattered everywhere.
Seeing his poor babies rolling across the floor made his heart ache.
Without thinking, he reached down to scoop one up—
WHOOOM—
A wind rose, and the coins on the floor slid all at once to a single point.
I looked up; behind my back, the gold stacked neatly in a pile.
“I said don’t touch what’s mine.”
“H-how is that yours, you son of—!”
He lost the last of his reason and charged.
CRACK—
My fist sank into his abdomen as he rushed in blind.
“Urk!”
THUD-THUD-THUD—
“Ghhk! Khhk! Khhk!”
He wheezed, struggling like he couldn’t draw breath.
Groaning with pain, he still came at me, dogged as ever.
“My money—give it back!”
“It’s not yours.”
“AAARGH! You bastard! It’s mine!”
VMMM— VMM—
His rage-blind fists whipped past my face again and again.
Impressive.
That fixation on guarding his wealth, even without yielding to pain.
This wasn’t a problem I’d solve by beating it out of him.
Most people flinch when it hurts; Hwang Geumman didn’t.
CRACK—
“Ghh!”
Pain that would have knocked others out, and still he clawed to his feet.
My eyes went to the vault.
Most of what lay in there wasn’t earned by any clean means.
First, tie him up, return every coin to the victims, then reconsider.
CRACK—
“Khk!”
THUMP—
I shook my head over Hwang Geumman, foaming at the mouth and out cold.
A few days later.
Hwang Geumman came to.
SPRING—
The moment he woke, he sprang up and looked around.
Thank heaven—it was his room.
Was it a dream?
He exhaled in relief and rose slowly.
Then he glanced toward the vault.
His hands and feet began to tremble.
“I-it... wasn’t a dream?”
The vault was empty.
THUD—
He collapsed where he stood.
He stared blankly at the empty vault.
Then he shook his head hard, forced himself up, and climbed inside.
They’d cleaned it out and even tidied up.
Not a speck of dust.
TRICKLE—
Tears fell.
How hard had he worked to gather all that?
A spring dream indeed.
What had he been struggling for?
CREEEAK—
While he sat dazed, the door opened.
I stood there in the demon mask.
“Y-you!”
“Clear-headed now?”
He asked, eyes veined red:
“W-where did all my wealth go?”
“I handed it out to the people who shed blood tears because of you. Ah! Don’t worry. I gave it out in your name.”
“What?”
“I told them you’d realized you’d lived wrong and were returning it in a spirit of repentance. They were all grateful to you.”
“They were grateful... to me? People?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t lie. No one in my life has ever thanked me.”
“It’s true. If you don’t believe me, go outside. There are people in every direction waiting to thank you when they see you.”
Something was off.
For a man who obsessed over wealth to respond like that.
I meant it to needle him; I hadn’t expected this.
“They really... thanked me?”
What was that?
I hurried after him as he strode out, ignoring me.
If someone thanked him and he lashed out screaming to give back “his” money, I needed to stop it.
The first person we met outside spotted Hwang Geumman and bowed.
“Great Sir! Thank you! Thanks to you, laughter has returned to my home. If you mean to become a new man, I’ll help with all I have. Call on me anytime.”
Others came up and bowed as well.
“Great Sir! Our thanks!”
Hwang Geumman’s dazed face brightened, bit by bit.
Listening to their greetings, he looked truly happy.
“You all right?”
“D-did you hear? They called me Great Sir! And they said thank you! Thank you!”
“So what?”
“No—you don’t get it! They called me Great Sir! Great Sir! That’s what I’ve longed all my life to hear! And thank you—do you see it? Do you see the sincerity in their faces?”
“Of course it’s sincere.”
“Hahaha!”
Thrilled, Hwang Geumman moved to a place with more people.
Then even more gathered to thank him.
“Hahaha! Hey now! It’s nothing worth fussing over!”
“No, no! It was all my fault. I’m sorry I made things hard!”
“Oh, come on! You shouldn’t have!”
He answered each person, and received their small gifts with delight.
I watched, a little dumbfounded—and then I smirked.
The change was so dramatic it took a second to adjust, but apparently the life Hwang Geumman truly wanted was this.
He’d wanted to live like this; somewhere in the past, something had gone wrong.
He found happiness without money, and I simply watched in silence.
After soaking in everyone’s thanks, Hwang Geumman went home and stood before the empty vault.
“Why? Seeing it again, do you regret it?”
“No. To my eyes that vault looks fuller than it ever has.”
“What?”
“I was poor from the time I was small.”
Makes sense. People who cling to money like this usually were.
“There was a man I respected then. Thanks to him our house could eat. People called him Great Sir and praised him always. So did I. He lived with people’s gratitude. So I thought the same—I’d grow up and be a Great Sir like that.”
“And then?”
“To be like him, I worked like a demon and saved money. I helped those in need. Want to know the joke?”
“What is it?”
“No one ever said thank you. I didn’t even hope to be called Great Sir. I knew my station was low. But the ones I helped didn’t show gratitude; they felt insulted instead. They took it as a humiliation—help from someone beneath them.”
“I see.”
“One day my mother fell gravely ill. I ran to fetch a physician—the very physician I’d helped in his hard times, so of course I thought he would help. He said he was done for the day and told me to come back tomorrow. With someone dying...”
He sighed.
“My mother died that day. And I swore. I would never help anyone again. With money, no one could look down on me—so I clung to money all the more.”
He looked at me.
“But... even as I earned more and the vault filled, that strange emptiness never left. I lived thinking it was because I didn’t have enough money. So I chased it harder. But... today I learned why I was empty. It’s what I longed for. A day like today.”
“Was this the life you dreamed of?”

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