Longevity - Chapter 18

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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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Chapter 18: The Five Divine Weapons
Baturuu stepped into the firelight.
From a distance, only the black object slung across his shoulder was visible, but as he drew closer, his raised arm—holding the staff high so its end wouldn’t touch the ground—and his buoyant stride caught the eye first.
His step was so light it seemed impossible that this was a man who hadn’t released the reins for four days straight.
What he carried was a black staff barely a span in length, without ornament or pattern, its thickness nearly double that of an ordinary staff.
From a distance it looked no different from a length of iron drawn out into a rod. Baturuu planted his feet before the fire and grounded the staff on the earth.

“What do you make of it?”

Jangsan rose and examined the staff from top to bottom. Baturuu waited, eyes gleaming. Black, long, thick. Nothing more than that was apparent.

“I cannot say what manner of thing it is.”
“That’s only natural you wouldn’t recognize it.”

Baturuu laughed heartily.

“This is no ordinary staff. It’s the Divine Staff.”
“The Divine Staff?”
“Dark on the surface, but when you channel Spirit Energy through it, its color transforms. Watch closely.”

Baturuu gripped the staff and drew a deep breath. Beneath his palm, the black iron began to flush red.
As Spirit Energy coursed through it, the darkness receded and a crimson line raced toward the staff’s end. In the span of a single exhalation, the black staff bloomed into a vivid scarlet clear to its tip.
Jangsan’s eyes widened. Seeing that expression, Baturuu grew even more animated.

“Let me show you once more. This time, don’t miss it.”

He withdrew his Spirit Energy, returning the staff to black, then twisted his waist and swung it in a wide arc.
A dark circle pushed back the firelight, and when the staff’s end struck the earth, the soil gouged inward. As Baturuu drove his Spirit Energy in again, a crimson radiance raced from the grip to the staff’s end.
The fully reddened staff wheeled above the flames. Where firelight and scarlet brilliance overlapped, Jangsan narrowed his eyes against the glare.

“Well? Magnificent, isn’t it? Imposing?”
“Yes. Magnificent and imposing indeed.”

This time there was no hesitation in his answer. Whatever its origin, this was no ordinary object.

“My master told me that for now I can only manifest this crimson light, but as my training deepens, I’ll be able to bring forth azure and violet as well.”

From the western darkness, Ijungyong, Jinipchu, and Jeonjingung emerged. Baturuu raised a hand to them.

“Wait a moment. I haven’t shown you everything yet.”

He laid the staff horizontally and gestured to Jangsan.

“Go on, feel its weight.”
“I don’t think I can lift it.”
“How did you know?”

Jangsan pointed to the earth beneath the staff.

“When you set it down, it sank half a span deep into the soil. It couldn’t have done that if it were light.”

Baturuu smiled with satisfaction.

“Then guess its weight.”
“Three hundred and sixty catties.”

Jinipchu answered first.
Baturuu’s face hardened.

“Jinipchu. If you don’t speak, will you suffocate to death?”
“You’re taking far too long, aren’t you?”

Jinipchu laughed, but one hand remained pressed against the bandage across his chest.
Jangsan couldn’t believe the weight of three hundred sixty pounds. When Baturuu lifted one end and slid a stone beneath it, Jangsan wedged his hand into the gap that appeared.
He pulled with his right arm. Nothing. He used both hands, and his injured left shoulder screamed in protest.
He widened his stance, lowered his hips, and threw his weight backward. His palms slipped, heat flooded his face, but the staff didn’t budge an inch.

“That’s enough. Your left arm’s wounded—don’t strain it further.”

Baturuu pulled Jangsan’s hands away.

“It’s far heavier than its size would suggest.”
“That’s because it’s a Divine Staff. Perfectly suited to me. No one else could even lift it.”
“A Divine Staff? That’s a Demon Staff—what a demon used to wield.”

Jinipchu interjected, still chewing a blade of grass.
Baturuu spun around sharply.

“Why do you always have to be so damned unpleasant about everything?”
“It was inscribed on the base stone. The Bincheol Staff is forged from Nine-Heaven Spirit Iron, and it belonged to Wonhong, a monkey demon. A staff wielded by a demon is a Demon Staff—what else would you call it?”

Baturuu opened his mouth, then closed it. When no rebuttal came to mind, he merely exhaled through his nose—harsh and audible.

“You’re jealous. That’s all this is. But jealousy won’t help you. You couldn’t lift it anyway.”
“I’m not a monkey, and I have no interest in staffs.”

Jinipchu’s jab sailed past Baturuu’s understanding entirely.
He spotted a cauldron left by the fire, embraced his staff, and walked toward it. The moment he lifted the pot, he began scooping up the remaining rice porridge.
Jinipchu tossed a weapon at Jangsan—a long sword with a slightly warped scabbard.

“Take it.”

Jangsan hurried to raise both hands to catch it. It was a saber, not a straight blade.

“Third brother, I don’t know how to use a saber.”
“Then learn. It’s called the Hanwol Sword—made by a Western smith. The edge is thin as a cicada wing, they say, and terribly fast.”

Jangsan’s grip tightened involuntarily around the sheath. It wasn’t as heavy as the Bincheol Staff, but holding a famed weapon felt heavy in a different way—one that pressed on the mind. His hands had only ever grown accustomed to the Crossbow.
Baturuu spoke up, still cradling his cauldron.

“Youngest, don’t use a weapon made by a woman.”

Jinipchu glared at Baturuu.

“Who said the Western smith was a woman?”
“Isn’t ‘lady’ a woman?”
“The smithy is from the Spring and Autumn period. ‘Lady’ is that master’s name, and it says the Hanwol Sword was her life’s work—crafted with the greatest care.”
“Nonsense. How could a lady be a man?”
“This is why I keep telling you to learn how to read.”

The squabble between them mattered less to Jangsan than the weight in his hands. He extended the Hanwol Sword back toward Jinipchu.

“I truly don’t need this. Please use it yourself.”
“I’ve already chosen mine.”

Jinipchu tapped his belt. At the center of a charcoal-black sash studded with small rings, a crimson bird perched with neck outstretched and tail raised—worked in metal or lacquer.
When he grasped the bird-shaped hilt and drew, a red blade unfurled from the belt. It was no ordinary sword. It curved and flexed like scarlet silk, spilling down below Jinipchu’s palm with a liquid grace.
Baturuu didn’t miss the moment.

“What kind of limp bird-sword is that? Looks too soft to cut anything or pierce anything at all.”

Jinipchu didn’t answer. He kept one hand pressed to his chest while brushing off his other wrist with a light flick. The slack blade sprang taut. He tapped the flat of the sword with his fingertip.
Ping.
A clear metallic ring echoed through the mountain. Jinipchu didn’t twist his waist broadly—only tilted the sword tip obliquely downward.
The bluestone that Baturuu had wedged beneath the Bincheol Staff split cleanly in two without so much as a sound. The cut face was straight and smooth.
When Jinipchu released his strength, the blade bent gently again. He slid the crimson sword into the belt-like scabbard, then stopped short, as if his chest had tightened, holding his breath for a moment.

“It’s the Juhyeon Sword. Soft in its ordinary state, but it hardens when you channel Spirit Energy through it.”
“Then why are you grimacing?”

When Baturuu asked, Jinipchu broke into a laugh.

“It’s not the sword that’s making my chest ache—it’s you, brother.”

Baturuu picked up the cauldron again with a skeptical look. Ijungyong studied Jinipchu for a moment, then turned to Jangsan with a question.

“How is our master?”
“He had a little gruel and is resting in the cart now.”

Ijungyong let out a short sigh and settled by the fire. Beside his knee lay an unadorned long sword.

“Did you choose a sword as well, brother?”
“Yes. The Sunggyun Sword.”

Ijungyong drew the blade a finger’s width from its scabbard. The exposed edge caught the firelight and gleamed clearly.

“It was written that this was the last sword Guyaja ever made. Unadorned on the outside, but a fine blade. A sword like this sits well in my hand.”

He slid it back without further praise, his expression saying that what mattered was whether it suited the hand, not what words could claim.
Jangsan looked at Jinipchu’s waist again.

“What manner of sword is the Juhyeon?”
“The blade was forged from the earth-fire gold of the South, and the scabbard from the pure ice-iron of the North Sea. It holds both cold and hot essence within it, allowing one to shift between hardness and softness.”

Jinipchu tapped the crimson phoenix-shaped hilt lightly.

“There was also a note saying it once served as Emperor Shi’s ceremonial blade. He made it short-draw after finding himself in difficulty once, unable to unsheathe a long sword in time.”
“It suits you well, brother.”

At Jangsan’s words, Jinipchu raised an eyebrow.

“In what way?”
“That you keep it hidden at your side like a belt until the moment you need it.”
“The youngest brother sees people clearly.”

Jinipchu laughed—a restrained laugh, careful not to strain the wound on his chest.
Across the campfire, before Jeonjingung lay a round bronze disc the size of a plate.
At first glance it resembled a compass for measuring direction, but along its edges, blades of varying size and width were interlocked in layers.
As Jangsan drew near, Jeonjingung lifted the disc to show him.

“Twenty-eight smaller blades are arranged to match the Twenty-Eight Constellations. They can be joined or scattered, though I haven’t yet found how to separate them.”

She pressed one of the small blades at the edge. It shifted slightly, then clicked back into place.

“Forcing it seems likely to damage the mechanism.”
“So I thought I’d study the structure first.”

Jeonjingung rested the disc on her lap and examined the interlocked seams once more. It was not a weapon one could simply draw and use at once.
Jangsan gazed down at the Hanwol Sword. The four of them had each taken a weapon that fit hand and temperament—yet the sword that remained in his own hands still felt strange.

“Are there many weapons like this left in the tomb?”
“Over a thousand pieces, but only these five were worth noting.”

Jinipchu gestured toward the Hanwol Sword with a tilt of his chin.

“Our master didn’t ask me to choose a weapon for you. I simply brought these because it seemed wasteful to leave them behind. If the Hanwol doesn’t suit your hand, you can learn another.”

Jangsan loosened his shoulders at those words. There was no need to claim the Hanwol as his weapon this very moment.

“The tomb’s owner must have had quite an affection for weapons,” Ijungyong observed.

Ijungyong fed another log into the fire.

“In life, he was said to have plundered other tombs to gather supplies. These pieces likely came from his acquisitions back then.”
“So the grave of a man who opened others’ tombs has now been opened himself.”
“Indeed.”

Jinipchu let out a brief laugh.
Jangsan set the Hanwol Sword down by the fire pit and ventured into the forest. The dry kindling beside the campfire had nearly run out. He selected only light branches with his right hand, careful not to strain his left arm. He gathered them quietly.
From behind, Jinipchu called to Ijungyong, then gestured for Jeonjingung to follow. The three slipped into the forest after Jangsan.
Unlike their earlier inspection of the weapons, no one spoke first this time.
Baturuu remained by the fire with the cooking pot. When he moved to follow, Jinipchu blocked him with a gesture; Baturuu merely craned his neck to peer after them.
As Jangsan laid down the branches, the smile faded from Jinipchu’s face. He lowered his voice, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Our master’s condition isn’t good. I found two fruits inside the coffin—they might help, though I can’t be certain…….”

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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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