Jjeojeojeong!
"Keugh!"
Cho Mudo's sword strikes drove Sa Myeong back, who was standing in an unstable posture.
Cho Mudo's sword, built up honestly from the very basics, had shown remarkable improvement of late.
Through Cheon Wuha's teachings and his spar with Jang Uibo, the once simple and straightforward swordplay of his began to carry traces of technique.
A sword founded upon solid basics, now laced with skill, could no longer be dismissed as belonging to some ordinary second-rate expert.
"You…! You damn dog feeding off a merchant guild!"
Staggering backward, limping as if he might collapse at any moment, Sa Myeong cursed as he swung his sword.
But a blade driven only by spiteful emotion could not withstand Cho Mudo's sword.
Kwaang!
Hwiriririk.
Puk.
With a short, explosive sound, Sa Myeong's sword went flying and embedded itself in the ground.
"…!"
"Now! Strike them down!"
"Waaaa!"
At Cho Mudo's shout, the Yongmyeong Merchant Guild's warriors, emboldened, charged forward with a roar.
In an instant, the momentum shifted, and Gwanghyeol Sword's face twisted horribly as he looked at Cheon Wuha.
"You… how can you move like that at your age…?"
"Surprised? Didn't you at least do some research before coming?"
Sseuk—
"If you came here chasing wealth without even that… then you're no different from petty thieves."
"You bastard…!"
When Wuha leveled his blade toward him in provocation, Gwanghyeol Sword leapt forward.
"Petty thief or not, you'll see for yourself!"
Papabat!
Leaping as though flying through the air, Gwanghyeol Sword closed in on Cheon Wuha.
His crimson blade, raised high overhead, flared for an instant with translucent sword energy.
Swaeak!
Kwaaang!
Cheon Wuha's sword and Gwanghyeol Sword's collided, a resounding crash echoing out.
The shockwave burst in all directions, but Wuha's sword, blocking his opponent's, did not budge an inch.
"Hmm…"
Cheon Wuha tilted his head, letting out a nasal sound as if weighing the strength behind his foe's sword.
The internal force flowing through the man's blade was not bad.
But that was all.
Unlike the youth named So-un, whom Wuha had crossed blades with before, this one's sword contained no principle of martial truth (muri, 武理) whatsoever.
"…Light."
"What—! How dare you say such a thing—!"
Jjeong!
Infuriated, Gwanghyeol Sword shoved Wuha's blade aside and unleashed a flurry of vicious strikes.
Heart, chest, throat, eyes—each blow targeted a vital point.
Every stroke of his sword screamed of his intent to kill, nothing else.
But…
Chwajwak! Chwaak!
Jjeojeong!
Wuha parried every slash without a tremor, his sword slipping in to pierce the man's openings with precision.
Even as his skin split and muscle tore, Gwanghyeol Sword pressed on relentlessly, defense forgotten.
Until now, his madness and killing aura had cowed most fighters, who could only defend desperately until they let through a fatal strike.
Yet the more Wuha received his frenzied attacks, the more indifferent his expression became.
'The sword is controlling him.'
A swordsman is one who wields the sword.
They learn the sword, master it, become one with it—and in the end, make the world itself their sword.
But this man was not such a one.
Here, the hand that held the sword was instead dominated by the sword.
"…Just trash."
"What did you say, you—!"
Jjeoeoong!
The moment Gwanghyeol Sword tried to spit out curses in rage, Wuha's blade smashed violently against his sword.
Thrown off, his balance faltering, the man tried to recover—only for Wuha's sword to split into four flashes of light that pierced both his shoulders and thighs.
Ppeobeobeok!
Chwaaaak!
"Guugh…!"
Blood gushed from his shoulders and legs, a groan of agony spilling from his lips.
Grinding his teeth, as though forcing his crumbling will back up, he screamed and tried to swing his sword again.
"Uwaaa…!"
Spat!
Chwaaaak!
Thud.
Unfazed, Wuha severed his opponent's right arm.
Gwanghyeol Sword stared down in disbelief at his arm, rolling across the blood-soaked ground.
But only for a moment.
…Flop.
Overcome by the blood loss and pain, he collapsed unconscious to the floor.
"T-this… impossible… Even Gwanghyeol Sword…"
On his knees, clutching his blade in despair, Heuk-ung muttered with a broken face.
When Wuha's cold eyes fell on him, Heuk-ung flinched, dropped his weapon, and threw himself face down.
"I-I surrender."
"Everyone, drop your weapons!"
As Heuk-ung yielded, Wuha raised his voice without hesitation.
"Those who surrender peacefully will be spared! But if you resist further, you will receive no mercy!"
Having subdued both the squad leaders and Gwanghyeol Sword, Wuha's shout broke the resistance.
One by one, the demonic sect's warriors dropped their weapons and surrendered.
Clang.
Thud.
"I—I yield."
They had only come seeking an easy plunder.
With no chance of victory, none of them were willing to throw away their lives. Leaderless, they abandoned the fight.
"Bind the captives!"
"Yes!"
The Yongmyeong warriors began tying up those who had surrendered.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Cho Mudo looked around.
"So then… the situation…"
"One got away."
Before Cho Mudo could finish assessing, Wuha spoke.
"He's probably gone to his comrades."
"Wh-what…! Forgive me. I delayed too long…"
"It's not your fault, Instructor."
Shaking his head, Wuha gazed into the distance.
"Letting one escape isn't so bad."
"Eh? Why would you…"
"A kind of warning."
"..."
"That Yongmyeong Merchant Guild is not to be trifled with."
"Ah…!"
Cho Mudo blinked, realizing. He hadn't thought of that.
The enemy still had comrades.
If they didn't learn what had happened here, they would surely attack again.
'But… why is the young guild master so accustomed to this kind of situation?'
Was it simply genius?
Or had he learned far more than others?
'No… It feels like more than that…'
His eyes drifted to the captives.
Hamstrings cut by the sword, unable to resist.
One man whose entire right arm had been severed for persisting.
Could such ruthless decisiveness be explained merely as talent?
"Instructor Cho, Instructor Cho?"
"Ah—yes?"
"What are you thinking about so hard?"
"Ah… nothing. What did you say?"
Snapping out of his thoughts, Cho Mudo asked back, and Wuha answered curtly, gesturing to the squad leaders on the ground.
"Separate those captains and lock them away. Until they open their mouths, don't give them even a drop of water."
"…What?"
"Why are you surprised? Were you planning to fetch them a drink just because they're thirsty, after they came to plunder us like thieves?"
"..."
"Give water only to the ones who talk. And if their stories don't match, then…"
"..."
"Well, we'll think about that when the time comes."
Step, step.
As if making sure the prisoners heard as well, Wuha finished speaking and strolled off calmly.
Watching his back, Cho Mudo let a faint smile spread.
'…Maybe it's just his personality?'
Or maybe trying to understand Cheon Wuha was itself a mistake.
From the very beginning, nothing about him had ever fit within Cho Mudo's sense of common logic.
'Better not to think about it.'
Resolving so, Cho Mudo turned to help the warriors move the captives.
Drip. Drip.
"Gugh… How could this happen…!"
In the dark forest.
Blood poured from the tendons cut in his wrists, wounds he could not even staunch.
Garpyeong panted harshly.
By misfortune or luck, while the others had their hamstrings severed, his wrist tendons had been cut.
Even if he recovered, he might never hold a sword again.
But because his legs remained intact, he managed to escape capture.
'To think I'd suffer this in the Yongmyeong Guild without the Nangwi Sword here…!'
Was the information wrong?
No—it was a miscalculation.
They had believed the Yongmyeong Guild's young master could be subdued by Gwanghyeol Sword.
But his martial ability had far surpassed their expectations.
'Why hasn't someone like that been known in the world?'
Garpyeong was a man who lived by instinct and desire.
By trusting his instincts—when to fight, when to flee—he had survived this long.
And now those instincts screamed that he must never oppose that young guild master.
'Report… I must report first.'
With his condition, he could not survive alone.
All he could do was run, carrying this news, legs pounding through the dark forest.
Hearing of the attack on the guild's main compound, Cheon Myeonghak hurried back from the branch office before dawn.
Fortunately, aside from the shattered front gate, there was no damage, and only two warriors had shallow sword wounds.
After summoning a physician to confirm their condition, he called Cheon Wuha to his office.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
"…If you ask one more time, that'll make it the tenth."
With a wry smile, Wuha nodded.
"Not even muscle soreness. Perfectly fine."
"Haah… Good, good. That's a relief."
"..."
"…Still, just in case, perhaps the physician should—"
"I've been examined three times already. Any more and he'll start inventing injuries."
"…Ahem."
Myeonghak coughed awkwardly at Wuha's blunt retort.
Then, smiling softly in a way Wuha had never seen from him before, he spoke.
"Wuha."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"…What?"
"..."
"Ah… why say that? I'm the young master, after all."
"I don't mean thank you for protecting the guild."
Myeonghak shook his head gently, eyes filled with tenderness.
"I mean thank you for being unharmed."
"..."
"When I heard the guild was under attack, until I arrived here… do you know how much I prayed that you were safe?"
Wuha fell silent for a moment, at a loss for words.
At last, he smiled faintly.
"Don't worry."
"..."
"If I were weak enough to fall to the likes of them, I'd have to return that title of 'genius' out of shame."
"Haha, you're right. I was worrying needlessly."
At Wuha's jest, Myeonghak laughed heartily.
But soon, his gaze on the boy carried warmth and trust.
"Still, from now on, even for the guild's sake, try to avoid danger where you can. There's always that one-in-a-million chance."
"Yes, I will."
"Good. In that case, I'll stop nagging. But there is something I want to ask you."
"Me?"
"Yes. I've held back from involving you in guild affairs, not wanting to burden you… But after this, I realize perhaps the one I should share most with… is you."
Seeing Wuha's curious look, Myeonghak's face grew serious.
"What do you think will happen next?"
He had always avoided speaking of the guild's larger matters to Wuha.
But now he asked first.
Startled, Wuha raised his brows.
After a moment's pause, he answered.
"Sahheukdan (Snake-Black Group)."
"..."
"That's who attacked us."
Except for the unconscious Gwanghyeol Sword, the rest, eager to live, spilled everything.
The Sahheukdan were originally bandits near the outskirts of Xi'an.
They grew to a force of about a hundred after recruiting Gwanghyeol Sword, a freelance killer.
Most were little more than street thugs, but their leader, Iron Defeat (Cheolpae), the Giant-Hero Blade, was said to be a formidable master.
"In my view… the chance they'll give up on Yongmyeong after this is low."
"Why do you think so?"
"Because they're demonic sect."
"..."
"I've heard that demonic sects stop at nothing for profit. I doubt they'll accept these losses without gaining anything."
"Mm…"
Myeonghak's face darkened at Wuha's convincing words.
He had hoped it would end quietly.
But as a merchant seasoned by storms, he knew the greedy nature of such rogues all too well.
"Then… what should we do from here?"
Wuha closed his eyes briefly, thinking.
Then he opened them slowly and spoke.
read more on brightnovels.com