Chronicles of the Martial God’s Return - Chapter 148

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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—That concludes my report.
The Shadows.
The Shadows that followed Juk Mu-sung in secret were beings scarcely known even within Muwhangseong itself. Since each of them wielded martial power comparable to that of the family heads of the Sa Do Seven Clans, it was precisely why no one dared raise a hand against Juk Mu-sung.
Juk Mu-sung, seated on the terrace, sipped his tea and nodded slowly.
“I already knew as much.”
Not everything Jeom So-i reported could be taken as gospel truth. So when he’d first heard all these accounts, he’d cross-referenced them with the intelligence his Shadows had brought back, and found them identical—there was no need to entertain any doubts.
‘The fool.’
Juk Mu-sung clicked his tongue and shook his head.
He’d known the man was hotheaded, but he’d never dreamed he would resort to taking hostages from the common folk of Ak-yang. Wasn’t it only a matter of capturing Kwon Mu-jin?
Utterly witless.
—Furthermore, Ma Dok-jin and all his subordinates have been slain.
“Ugh…”
For an instant, Juk Mu-sung choked on air.
This was something even Jeom So-i didn’t know.
He’d only said that someone had driven them away; he’d never mentioned that those murderers themselves were dead.
“Tch.”
He exhaled sharply through his teeth.
Coming all the way to Ak-yang had become meaningless.
He cursed himself for not pressing harder, for not hastening the pace—but what use was regret when the man was already a corpse?
“Then what of the bodies?”
—They’ve vanished without a trace.
“Without a trace?”
This was intelligence obtained by going the extra mile for precision. If it came from the lips of the Shadows themselves—and not from ordinary informants—then they truly couldn’t find the bodies.
Had they sunk into the earth? Or shot into the sky?
Perhaps those who’d stopped them had burned their corpses.
Either way, it was troubling.
Juk Mu-sung, his brow furrowed, murmured to himself.
“Who was the opponent? Kwon Mu-jin alone couldn’t have managed this. And I heard even Yuk Gyeom-sa was there…”
—There’s an estate located roughly one double-hour’s distance west of Ak-yang. It appears those living there are responsible for this deed.
“An estate?”
—It’s called the Honam Danga.
A newly risen Martial World family?
Juk Mu-sung’s expression grew even more incredulous as he swallowed hard. So Ma Dok-jin and Yuk Gyeom-sa had fallen to nothing more than a faction that had barely emerged?
Where in the Martial World could such humiliation exist?
—The name is already spreading throughout Ak-yang.
Rumors, as always, spread like wind.
For now it would remain confined to this place, known only to its people—but soon it would sweep across the entire Central Plains, and the name Honam Danga would echo throughout all the Middle Kingdom.
Particularly, it would hand strength to those Orthodox Faction dogs.
The Heterodox Sect and Orthodox Faction were at war. If word spread that a descendant of the Ma Clan had been defeated in such a manner, they would never recover face.
“There’s no helping it, then.”
Juk Mu-sung drained the last of his tea in one gulp and rose from his seat. Let the rumors spread if they would—it mattered not. Or rather, he would make it so they didn’t matter.
He would fabricate a story: that Muwhangseong itself had already struck down Ma Dok-jin and Yuk Gyeom-sa, erasing them so completely that not even a trace remained!
He would create such a rumor.
Juk Mu-sung smiled and moved forward.
Now then…
“To where?”
Should he go?

***

Jang Sam-tae, having made swift progress through Honam, rode without rest until he’d already reached the vicinity of Sichuan. Considering the time since departure, his speed was extraordinary.
Did he appear weary?
Not in the slightest.
The reason was simple: the funds Dan Woo-hyun had given them were substantial, and thanks to this, he’d hired carriages and drivers, allowing him to travel in comfort throughout the day.
The one who was exhausted to death was the driver.
Certainly, every time they stopped at a larger town, they had to change carriages—and drivers—but this meant they could maintain such remarkable speed nonetheless.
And yet now.
The moment they entered Sichuan, the carriage broke down, leaving both of them no choice but to proceed on foot.
In the mountains.
Yes, in the mountains.
Just before parting with the coachman, he’d assured them that if they simply followed the directions he’d given, they’d surely come upon a large village—yet all they found, mile after mile, was mountain and water, stone and forest.
How had it come to this?
Jang Sam-tae ground his teeth in frustration.
“The bastard fooled us!”
“It’s your fault! How hard have you been driving those men?”
Ma Jang-gang regarded Jang Sam-tae with an expression of disbelief.
In the manor, it was Jang Sam-tae who shouldered the lion’s share of work—there was no one ignorant of this fact, and everyone knew the estate itself wouldn’t function without him.
And so he lived a life little better than slavery.
Yet as if seized by some fever, he’d begun to drive the coachmen mercilessly—pushing them forward for three days without proper sleep, and when they had to camp for the night with no village in sight, he’d even made them hunt for food.
What coachman could endure such treatment?
“If you ask me, that coachman broke the wheel on purpose. You understand? Because of you!”
“That’s nonsense, sir.”
“Nonsense? A perfectly good wheel doesn’t just break! Besides, what were you doing right before it shattered?”
“Eating, sir.”
Jang Sam-tae answered without a trace of concern.
He could recall nothing but having eaten.
“You were a man who hadn’t slept properly from standing watch, and you were hungry—so I gave you only a handful of the meat he’d hunted?”
“Because the portion was small… besides, I paid him fairly, sir.”
“You didn’t even pay him half!”
Ma Jang-gang seized his throbbing head and exhaled deeply.
If he himself were treated worse than a slave while trying to earn a living, he too would choose to break a wheel and part ways. And considering the man had smiled cheerfully despite not even receiving half his wages, it had to be deliberate.
The coachman had sabotaged the wheel and intentionally sent them down a bad route.
“Ah, what miserable fortune. How did I end up escorting such a man….”
“If you want, just go back, I told you? I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Why is it impossible? If we simply return to where we came from instead of the manor, surely our lord wouldn’t chase us down and break our jaws?”
“That… well, no, but….”
Ma Jang-gang ran his hand along his jaw with a sickly pallor to his face.
He’d only heard the stories, yet his jaw already felt crushed. A chill ran down his spine; even the thought of it seemed hazardous to his health.
But Jang Sam-tae, entirely unconcerned with Ma Jang-gang’s worries, waved his hand dismissively.
“You know our lord’s nature well enough, don’t you? He wouldn’t chase us even if we just left. He hates bother so much… he’d be satisfied as long as he doesn’t see our faces next time.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It’s not my problem, after all.”
Jang Sam-tae chuckled with carefree amusement.
It felt like he was mocking someone. The irritation boiling up inside Ma Jang-gang made him clench his fists, yet he couldn’t bring himself to strike—only to grit his teeth instead.
Throughout their journey, whenever he felt the urge to pummel Jang Sam-tae, the man had simply fled. Ma Jang-gang took some pride in his Lightweight Technique, but against Jang Sam-tae’s speed, he was utterly helpless.
He couldn’t even catch him—how could he hope to strike him?
So it ended in frustration and mounting resentment.
“If you’re not going to run away, let’s stop being angry at each other and get along. What good does it do to grit your teeth like this? It only sours the mood.”
“It’s all your fault, you bastard!”
Watching Ma Jang-gang shout, Jang Sam-tae shrugged his shoulders. He genuinely seemed not to understand what he’d done wrong.
“Why curse like that, sir? It bothers the person listening!”
“Nothing works because of you! I don’t know why I was given this task. Truly!”
“Isn’t it better than being tasked to you, sir?”
Ma Jang-gang clenched his fists and trembled with rage.
The moment bloodlust flickered in his eyes, Jang Sam-tae had already leaped backward—the movement so swift that Ma Jang-gang didn’t even see it happen. To him, it felt absolutely maddening.
“Care to try? I may look this way, but I received direct training from our lord!”
“Shut your mouth!”
Ma Jang-gang pressed hard at his furrowed brow.
Talking to this man only made him angrier.
And that anger itself was infuriating—enough to drive him mad.
‘I’ll catch him. One way or another.’
With that silent vow, Ma Jang-gang resolved that starting today, he would devote himself to training his Lightweight Technique.
Did Jang Sam-tae sense this thought?
Or did it show in his expression?
Jang Sam-tae too made a quiet resolution: starting today, he would apply himself more earnestly to his Martial Arts training.

At that moment.
Juk Mu-sung stood before the manor gate.
He cared nothing for who his opponent was, what martial arts they wielded, whether they belonged to the Orthodox Faction or the Heterodox Sect, or if they were Demonic Cult members.
Juk Mu-sung was one of the Five Emperors.
Known as the Flame Emperor.
Counted among the absolute masters of this Central Plains—fewer than five existed in all the realm. Since he had resolved to utterly crush someone, the opponent’s identity, martial arts, or faction affiliation were irrelevant considerations.
He stood before the great doors, lost in thought.
Should he smash through and enter? Or perhaps open the doors with leisure and walk in slowly, revealing his presence by degrees?
Since he intended to leave no survivors, it seemed that one approach or the other ought not matter—and yet, for him, the choice held peculiar weight.
After deliberating long, Juk Mu-sung decided.
He would smash through the doors boldly and enter.
The moment he finished his thought and began to raise his hand—
The door creaked open with a screech.
He started, eyes widening in surprise. He’d sensed no presence whatsoever, yet there stood a small child, peeking her head through the widening gap.
The little girl was grinning brightly.
“Oh! We really do have a guest! Wow… I had no idea at all!”
“Uh… yes?”
“Hehe, Father says you should come in. Don’t do anything strange out here.”
Juk Mu-sung’s expression darkened.
He knew of Juk Mu-sung’s arrival and yet sent a mere child to greet him? It was absurd—he could only smile bitterly at it. He considered killing the child first, but then thought better and nodded instead.
If he was to kill, he would do so with full authority.
That was the way of a true martial master, after all.
“Very well. Show me the way.”
“Yes! Just follow me, please!”
Dan So-mi threw open the doors wide and ushered Juk Mu-sung inside. The child showed not the slightest trace of fear—a truly peculiar girl, he thought.
The moment he stepped across the threshold, the manor’s landscape opened before his eyes.
‘This isn’t merely a family compound…’
That was his first thought.
From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a sprawling estate with a grand manor upon it. He had seen towering pavilions and soaring halls countless times before.
But viewed from within, the manor was staggering enough to make his eyes widen. Beyond the sheer landscape, every building scattered across the grounds bore the unmistakable touch of a master craftsman’s hand.
What in heaven’s name was this estate?
Juk Mu-sung suddenly found himself curious about the master of this manor.
“Father is over there! Since it’s grown-up talk, I’ll step away!”
“Yes… of course.”
Dan So-mi waved and scurried off.
There was something scattered and heedless about the child.
Juk Mu-sung watched the girl disappear, then slowly turned his head toward the direction she had indicated.
Three figures appeared in his view.
They sat quietly in a great pavilion, a wine bottle resting between them as they played at baduk—utterly unmindful even as the master of Demonic Emperor Castle himself had arrived.
The slight was enough to offend. Juk Mu-sung drew forth his martial power, and in an instant his aura flooded the surroundings, his strength laid bare.
Click!
The moment a baduk stone touched the board—
“…!”
Juk Mu-sung realized that everything had stopped flowing.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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