Chronicles of the Martial God’s Return - Chapter 22

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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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One might suppose that sturdy bandits could never be bested by a single woman.
But what if that woman had earned a name for herself in the Murim, and held a position of authority within the Murim Alliance?
What if she belonged to the Namgung Clan, one of the Eight Great Clans?
Then even hardened bandits in their prime would have no chance of victory.
Whoosh—!
“Argh!”
A multitude of bandits fell in an instant.
The woman cleaned the blood from her sword with a flick of her wrist.
“You were fortunate. Without me, you’d have been in serious trouble.”
……
Dan Woo-hyeon said nothing.
Had he been so captivated by her exceptional beauty that he’d lost his senses?
Certainly, her beauty was striking enough that it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it rare.
Yet Dan Woo-hyeon, who had seen countless women throughout his life without ever once stirring his heart, could not have been moved by a first meeting. That much was certain.
Then what was the reason?
Dan Woo-hyeon, who had been studying her sword for a moment, murmured softly.
“A fine Sword Technique.”
“I hear that often.”
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
She had confidence in her Sword Technique. Moreover, she carried considerable pride in the name of the Namgung Clan. When someone praised her Great Clan’s technique, her mood naturally improved.
In that moment, a rustling sound suddenly pulled her attention back. Turning to look, she saw Dan Woo-hyeon rummaging through the belongings of the fallen bandits.
“What are you…… doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I could.”
“I’m collecting money.”
‘So why?!’
She barely suppressed the question that had surged to the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want to show anger toward someone who had demonstrated such refined taste in praising a Great Clan’s technique.
But wasn’t his behavior extraordinarily strange?
“This money was surely stolen from someone else.”
“Indeed.”
“So I’m simply taking what I found.”
What nonsense was this—and found, no less? This was outright theft, wasn’t it?
The woman felt a dull throb in her head as she pressed her fingertips to her brow. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d saved the wrong person.
“Regardless of what they are, I don’t think it’s right to rob bandits of their money.”
Dan Woo-hyeon said nothing, withdrawing a single Silver Coin from a bandit’s pockets. He tossed it lightly toward the woman, and it traced an arc through the air before landing softly in her palm.
“What is this?”
“Compensation for your trouble.”
‘Is this man serious?’
The woman had been raised without wanting for anything. The great Namgung Clan was called a pillar of the Eight Great Clans; she had never lacked for necessities.
So receiving a single Silver Coin like this stirred something acrid within her.
As the saying went, the bear performed the tricks while the man pocketed the money.
That was precisely what this felt like.
“Give me more.”
“That’s all there was.”
He was an excellent liar.
Just moments ago, she’d seen him collecting a considerable amount of silver—easily dozens of coins, not one or two. Yet Dan Woo-hyeon made no move to produce any of it.
The woman returned the coin with a hollow laugh.
“You don’t need it? Satisfied with your belly full, I see.”
“I’ve never known hunger.”
“Is that why your sword carries such arrogance?”
“I beg your pardon?”
The woman’s brow furrowed deeply as she glared at Dan Woo-hyeon.
That instant.
A violent gust swept across the ground. So fierce was the whirlwind that she squeezed her eyes shut against it.
After a brief moment, the wind subsided, and she slowly opened her eyes.
“Where—he’s gone?”
He had vanished.
The man who should have stood before her vanished.
The impossibility of it all compelled her to pinch her own cheek. Pain bloomed beneath her fingertips—so this was no dream, no illusion—and yet it felt as dreamlike as anything she’d ever known.
The woman stilled her racing heart.
She turned in circles, scanning the surroundings again and again, but found no trace of Dan Woo-hyeon’s presence. It was as if a ghost had bewitched her.
“What… what on earth just happened…….”
She muttered the words in a bewildered voice.

***

Honam, Cheonja Mountain.
Though Cheonja Mountain was not counted among the Five Sacred Peaks of Joongyeon, it was a beauty that could rival them without shame.
With its treacherous slopes and breathtaking vistas spread throughout, even the herb gatherers who spent their lives ascending those lofty ridges were moved to speechless wonder.
Yet it bore one fatal curse: no one who ventured deep into it ever returned alive.
Thus Cheonja Mountain earned the name Mountain of Death.
Even the villagers who dwelt nearby ventured only to the threshold, never daring to penetrate its depths.
“A curious little settlement.”
The man who had entered the village was Dan Woo-hyeon.
It was smaller than he’d expected. There couldn’t have been more than two hundred people, and while buildings dotted the landscape, they seemed to serve no purpose beyond dwelling—no market, no temple, no craft hall to speak of.
One corner held a modest inn, and beyond it stretched a row of giru establishments.
The fact that even a small village like this housed such places was remarkable enough.
As he strolled through slowly, taking in the sights, a wind from the giru district brushed against his nose. The heavy scent of cosmetics struck him forcefully.
Dan Woo-hyeon’s expression darkened.
He had never cared for such smells.
He turned his gaze eastward. Beyond the inn, the giru came into view, and through the windows he could see courtesans sitting on display.
‘Their eyes are dead,’ he thought.
Which was to say their spirits were hollow.
The fates of courtesans were much the same everywhere, perhaps, but these women seemed to have surrendered their very souls to an unnatural degree.
And he understood why.
Dan Woo-hyeon walked slowly toward the inn. The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt eyes upon him from all corners. Whether they watched out of wariness toward a stranger or mere curiosity, he could not say.
But Dan Woo-hyeon paid them no mind.
Once he’d settled leisurely into a seat, Jeomsoi came hurrying over.
“Hehe, welcome, honored guest! Is this your first time in our village?”
“It is.”
“Such a remote place that travelers rarely find us, so taking guests is quite rare indeed. Heheheh, but what may I bring you to eat?”
Jeomsoi’s manner was remarkably warm and familiar.
There was little to choose from. He wasn’t particularly hungry, having come merely to quiet a light hunger.
Dan Woo-hyeon opened his mouth with an indifferent gaze.
“One bowl of thin noodles.”
“Hehe, understood. I’ll bring it right away.”
Jeomsoi withdrew with a hearty laugh.
Dan Woo-hyeon leaned back in his chair and glanced sidelong at the room.
The inn held what appeared to be villagers.
They sat awkwardly, eating their food with hunched shoulders, yet they did not forget to steal glances at Dan Woo-hyeon. Their behavior struck him as deeply suspicious.
Dan Woo-hyeon finished the noodles and rose from his seat.
He saw no reason to linger in this inn any longer.
“Hehe, safe travels, honored guest!”
He heard Jeomsoi’s farewell behind him as he turned toward the door. Some distance beyond the inn, he spat.
The spittle was dark crimson.
A color as if poison or medicine had been mixed within it.
Jeomsoi—or someone else—had clearly tampered with his food.
Yet for all their scheming, he sensed neither followers trailing him nor watchful eyes upon him.
Perhaps they already knew that such a small amount couldn’t prevent him from escaping the village.
Dan Woo-hyeon gave a soft laugh and continued walking, passing through residential quarters, etching each sight into memory.
Occasionally he glimpsed the worried faces of elderly women.
There were a few children visible, though not many. By contrast, robust men were quite plentiful.
Women, however, were extraordinarily sparse—few enough to count as he passed. Most were either aged or seemed somehow diminished. Those who appeared relatively young were typically ugly-faced, or limped noticeably on one limb or another.
The streets were also strewn with figures lying about like withered corpses. It was impossible to tell if they were dead or alive.
A stench emanated from their bodies that was truly revolting. Whether from years of unwashed skin or from untreated wounds crawling with decay, a vile odor carried on the breeze.
Dan Woo-hyeon’s next destination was the giru district.

Of course, he had no desire to embrace a woman or drink.
The moment he stepped into the giru, a man came into view—hunched and awkward, as if concealing something in his clothes.
He was walking quickly toward somewhere, and Dan Woo-hyeon’s gaze followed him with perfect naturalness.
Then, all at once, he shouted at the man standing guard before the giru.
“You bastards, die!”
“Y-you son of a—!”
The man swung his blade savagely, trying to kill the one who guarded the giru.
But the gatekeeper slipped the blade by the thickness of paper and drove a rough fist toward him, striking him hard.
Thump-thump—!
“Have you gone mad, begging for death like this?”
“Kill him! Yes, kill him! You ravaged our village, took every wife and daughter, and now the giru—gack!”
The man’s body flew into the air under the force of the blow. The gatekeeper’s fist was that strong.
Soon after, burly figures emerged from inside, and the man began to be beaten without mounting so much as a single defense.
“H-honey!”
A woman’s voice rang out from above the giru. Her tearful gaze fixed on the man being struck.
Then, without warning, an arm reached from behind, seized the woman by the hair, and dragged her inside.
It was a sight that could hardly be called ordinary.
Those watching turned their heads away. Not a single person stepped forward to save the man. It seemed they had grown so accustomed to such things that they no longer had the courage to resist.
This village was indeed strange.
It could not be called an ordinary town.
While parakhho ruffians raised hell everywhere, they did not normally act with such bold confidence, unconcerned about consequences.
Dan Woo-hyeon sighed.

“Th-that entire village belongs to the Heukdohoe.”

Bang Chu-gok’s voice echoed in his mind.
At first, he’d thought it was merely a jest or an attempt to deceive him.
But now that he was here, it was true. The village really did seem to be under Heukdohoe’s control.
In the brief moment that thought crossed his mind, his course of action was already decided.
Dan Woo-hyeon kicked at a stone lying on the ground.
A light flick of his foot sent it shattering into fragments that scattered and flew in all directions. No one noticed, and none realized something was flying toward them.
Crack-crack-crack-thud—!
“Ahhhhh!”
“Gack!”
Screams rang out.
They burst from the mouths of the parakhho who had been pounding on the man.
Those struck collapsed where they stood and began to retch. Blood and food mingled together, soaking the ground beneath them.
“W-what’s happening?”
“Who is it!”
Shocked, they cried out. Other parakhho, seeing their comrades fall so suddenly, began to emerge one by one.
Within moments, the area was filled—one could say pitch-black—with countless parakhho.
“Is it you?”
Curses and threats flew from every direction.
But Dan Woo-hyeon offered no reply, merely looked them over and muttered softly.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
But his voice did not go unheard.
The internal energy woven through his words struck their ears like a whip, and throughout the crowd, hands clapped over ears as agonized cries erupted.
“I’ll have you leave an arm and a leg each.”
The chilling words made the wind itself howl.

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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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