Namgoong the Sword Ghost - Chapter 32

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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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Episode 32. The Sword Ghost Descends Upon the Lower Five
Yang Gwangpil, the gatekeeper of Dojeon-ru, yawned widely as he gazed out at the night streets of Simyang.
“Ugh! Isn’t there anything fun around here?”
Yesterday there’d been quite the chase—some deadbeat fleeing without paying his bar tab, pursued by a courtesan.
Thanks to that, his shift hadn’t been boring, but tonight the area was quiet and empty.
“Heh, once I get paid this month, I should go visit Weol Hyang.”
Yang Gwangpil was muttering away with a foolish grin when—
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A young man walked up to the entrance of Dojeon-ru.
He wore a blue martial robe, a sword at his hip, his hair tousled and wild.
“Kids shouldn’t come here. This is a gambling house.”
“Yeah? Well, I found it just fine.”
“What? You little brat—where did you learn such disrespect, speaking casually to an elder?”
“Cheep-cheep.”
“Huh?”
“Like you said—cheep-cheep.”
Yang Gwangpil caught the crooked smile on the boy’s face and realized he’d been mocked.
“You little wretch, do you want to die? How dare you mock the Solitary-Armed Sword Demon!”
“My, my. The Haowen foot soldier’s alias is quite grand. And you’re not even one-armed, are you?”
“Now see here—! What—?”
As Yang Gwangpil moved toward the boy, an uncanny feeling washed over him.
From the boy’s mouth, just now—
“Haowen? Who… who are you…!”
“People follow in the shadow of their names.”
“Agh!”
Whoosh!
The boy’s form vanished in an instant, and Yang Gwangpil felt a sharp burst of pain in his right shoulder.
Crack!
“Arrrgh!”
“Since you came asking for help, you shouldn’t see blood. Instead…”
Ho Yeon, having shattered Yang Gwangpil’s shoulder with a bare-handed sword strike, kicked him sprawling.
Crash!
Yang Gwangpil’s body smashed through the doors of Dojeon-ru and crashed into the middle of the gambling hall, sprawled out like a character.
Yang Gwangpil, who’d wanted something interesting to happen, had become the interesting event himself.
“Who is this bastard!”
“An attack!”
“A kid?”
At the commotion, the security swordsmen of Dojeon-ru came pouring out, while the patrons dove under tables thinking the authorities were making a raid.
“This is a gambling house, right?”
Ho Yeon drew his blade and hung the Yuae Sword across his shoulder, facing the dozen or so swordsmen.
“Let’s wager a game. Loser becomes the winner’s pawn.”
“Cut him down!”
“Get him!”
“Die!”
Boom-boom-boom!
The swordsmen rushed at Ho Yeon all at once, but he merely nodded calmly.
“I won’t kill you. Merciful, aren’t I?”
Swish!
Ho Yeon dodged a blade that flew at him in a diagonal arc and lifted his leg.
He stood like a crane, serene and solitary in the middle of a still lake.
This stance was the foundational form of Hakjeong Gak, one of the rare footwork techniques of the Namgung Clan—Jeongsu Yeoggyeong, Still Water Like a Mirror.
Whoosh!
Ho Yeon’s kick, transitioning from stillness to motion, was as graceful as a crane unfurling its wings.
Hagyik Gaejeon.
Bang! Crash-boom!
“Ugh!”
Yet the result was anything but graceful.
The swordsman who took the kick to his chest smashed through three or four tables and went tumbling more than ten feet away.
“You bastard!”
“Don’t say bastard. It bothers the bastard listening.”
Ho Yeon’s leg rose again, his toes sharpening like the beak of a crane before he began pecking viciously at his new opponent.
Peck-peck-peck-peck!
Hakhoe Jikja.
Crack!
“Khwaaack!”
The warrior’s blade shattered in half, and he collapsed vomiting up what he’d eaten three years ago, struck square in the solar plexus.
“Ugh, filthy bastard.”
Thud!
Ho Yeon furrowed his brow and kicked the retching warrior aside like a whip.
The man went flying like a cannonball, crashing down upon two more warriors charging behind him.
“Ugh—argh!”
“Damn it—!”
Crash-boom-bang!
The three tangled bodies tumbled across the gambling den floor and smashed neatly into the wall.
At this point, fear bloomed across the warriors’ faces.
“A—a master!”
“This crazy bird bastard!”
“An adept of Gakbeop!”
As Ho Yeon slowly lowered his leg, a gaunt man with sharp features stepped forward, spear in hand.
“Everyone stand back.”
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The warriors cheered as the man strode forward, twirling his spear.
“Master Wi! Show us what you can do!”
“Hwanyeong Sinchang—Wi Igyeom!”
“Hehehehe! So the little brat learned a trick or two—but now it’s over! Master Wi possesses a high-class ronin rank, and he’s a first-rate master!”
The warriors roared to break the opponent’s spirit, but Ho Yeon merely smiled faintly.
“After the Poison-Venom Sword Demon, Hwanyeong Sinchang? So this really is the Tiger’s Pool.”
“Boy, apologize while you still can. My spear knows no restraint.”
Wi Igyeom curled his upper lip and spoke threateningly through his teeth, whereupon Ho Yeon shrugged and replied.
“I know restraint well enough to warn you—if you coat it with killing intent, you won’t be able to hold chopsticks.”
“…Bullshit! Hyup!”
Tap!
Wi Igyeom charged forward, spinning his spear in circles.
The red silk cord tied to the spearhead undulated, dazzling the eye.
“Hah!”
Crack!
As Wi Igyeom thrust the spear downward, he twisted the hand gripping the shaft—infusing it with Jeonsaryeok.
Slip!
Ho Yeon stepped into Gambo and slipped the strike with the fluidity of flowing water, and Wi Igyeom’s eyes gleamed.
‘Got you!’
The reason Wi Igyeom had become a master of the spear was an inborn gift: wrists stronger and more flexible than any other’s.
Crunch!
Wi Igyeom forced his wrist into an unnatural twist, and the spearhead bent like a serpent’s head, pursuing Ho Yeon.
Whoosh!
Simultaneously, Wi Igyeom channeled Heuksalgong, and dark black killing energy sheathed the spearhead.
‘Die! Cheolseon Chuihon!’
Crash-boom-bang!
A vortex wrought of steel—forged through countless missions and countless lives severed—shot forth, aimed at Ho Yeon’s heart.
“I told you.”
Thump.
At that sharp, incisive killing intent, Ho Yeon smiled with delight and caught the sword-wind of the Yuae Sword.
“Don’t coat it with killing intent.”
Whoosh-crack!
Ho Yeon drew the Yuae Sword, and at the same moment, blue spear-palace energy erupted outward.
The Yuae Sword, sheathed in blue sword-energy, swept upward from below, cutting through the entire width of the spear’s momentum.
Cheon Go Unhang.
Ting!
True to its name—the heavens rise and the clouds disperse—Cheon Go Unhang’s single strike swept away the Iron-Spiral Pursuing Soul as lightly as one might shoo a fly.
“Wh—?”
“You should’ve let go of the spear.”
Wi Igyeom gripped the spear shaft with crushing force, but it was a blunder.
Because his arm was wrenched upward along the spear in a “V” shape, leaving his entire body riddled with openings.
“You reap what you sow.”
Scrape!
“Cause and effect.”
Scrape!
“Untie the knot you tied.”
Crack!
And so Ho Yeon severed both of Wi Igyeom’s wrists as easily as butchering meat on a block, then kicked his face.
Crash-bang!
…….
…….
…….
The gambling den fell deathly silent at the sight of Wi Igyeom sprawled in agony, bleeding profusely.
“Tsk. Finally drew blood. All right, I’ll oil the blade.”
Sheathe. Click.
The boy sheathed his sword, but not a soul dared to move.
Then.
“P-please, stop!”
“Hmm?”
A stocky middle-aged man with a scraggly beard cried out in a trembling voice.
“Are you of the Namgung Clan, sir?”
“I am Ho Yeon of the Namgung. Where’s our patriarch?”
“The patriarch……?”
“Ah, there he is.”
Ho Yeon’s gaze shifted to the young man trembling behind the middle-aged man, his hand shaking.
“U-u-u……!”
Young Gil, clutching the Cheonroe Sword, could not believe his eyes.
The boy before him was the sheltered young master of the Namgung Clan—considered the easiest prey among all the merchants’ sons of the golden realm.
The same man who sipped expensive wine by the word and scattered silver coins among the courtesans…….
‘No, no—he’s a demon! I’ve made a terrible mistake……!’
Clack-clack-clack-clack!
When Young Gil met the boy’s indifferent eyes, which held a faint blue gleam, he gritted his teeth in terror.
“You know what that is, don’t you? Where’d you get it?”
“U-u-u…….”
“The Cheonroe Sword is a treasure of my house. I will take this as a declaration of war against the Namgung Clan.”
“Ugh-erk!”
“W-what did you say?”
“The Namgung Clan? They’re among the Ten Houses!”
“I-I didn’t know! I was just hired!”
At Ho Yeon’s declaration, the people in the gambling den paled with shock.
Though the Namgung Clan was not what it once was, their name still carried considerable weight.
“First, I will kill everyone in this gambling den except for one dog they’re keeping.”
“U-u…….”
“Then I’ll deploy the Cheol Geom Dae to root out any faction connected with you down to the last root.”
Thud, thud, thud.
As Ho Yeon approached with his ominous words, Ma Mujeon, the branch chief of the Haowen in Simyang, trembled and cried out, his brows quivering like charcoal.
“G-great hero! I apologize! My foolish son merely lost his way to greed and committed this error!”
“An error? That can be made. Then pay the price.”
“P-please, grant me one chance! If only you would forgive us with your generous magnanimity……!”
“Forgiveness? That I can give. But you must pay the price.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Confused by words that sounded repetitive yet held different meanings, Ma Mujeon’s eyes widened in question.
Then Ho Yeon smiled faintly and spoke.
“I’m rather curious by nature, you see.”
“Curious…… sir?”
“If you can’t answer my questions, I’m afraid my mood will turn quite foul.”
“……Ask whatever you wish.”
Ma Mujeon swallowed hard, waiting for the questions.
At his obedient demeanor, Ho Yeon nodded slightly and asked.
“Do you have information on the Goedong Jidan?”
* * *
‘Please, sir. Let your anger pass.’
―…….
‘I’ve said I was wrong, haven’t I?’
―…….
‘There’s no treasure quite like you, sir.’
―…….
‘Tsk.’
As the Cheonroe Sword kept its lips firmly sealed even at such flattery, Ho Yeon clicked his tongue and scratched his cheek.
Sanggwan Hae, regarding him with disbelief, pressed further.
“Is that… truly the case?”
“Yes.”
“Well, to have secured support from the Haowen… however did you manage it?”
Sanggwan Hae marveled aloud, gripping his aching head from the lingering hangover.
The Haowen was the sect that had suffered the greatest losses three hundred years ago during the time of the Geomgwi Hyeolsa.
One could fairly say they’d nearly faced complete annihilation; without the Haowen, they surely could never have recovered.
For the Haowen was an assembly of those in despised professions—pickpockets, con artists, fortune-tellers, courtesans, gamblers, stable hands, fishermen, and the like.
As long as such folk existed, the sect would never disappear, like a cockroach that could not be exterminated.
“After the Geomgwi Hyeolsa, the Haowen adopted the stance of Jeongsa Jigan and wouldn’t sell information to just anyone, would they?”
“They owed me a considerable debt.”
“A debt?”
“Extraordinary! You’re remarkable, brother!”
Sanggwan Hae blinked his eyes rapidly, while Moyong Yul laughed brightly and clapped his hands.
But Dang Segi could not laugh.
‘Ah, I’ve been had.’
He had been watching everything that occurred at the Uiri-ru.
The fact that the Young Master of the Sacheon Dang Clan had fallen asleep drunk was absurd on its face.
‘Where did the trap begin? Could he have anticipated this situation from the moment he drew the Cheonroe Sword at the Geomun Pavilion?’
Dang Segi stared at Ho Yeon with a rigid expression.
Over the past six days, frequenting the Giru and Juru, scattering money everywhere—it had all been to make contact with the Haowen.
‘No one suspected a thing. Everyone saw him as nothing but a thoughtless young master indulging in wine, women, and gambling.’
Even he, who had been watching from the sidelines, had believed as much.
Would the Haowen have been any different?
They had underestimated Namgung Ho Yeon and ended up committing the blunder of stealing the Cheonroe Sword.
It was clear they now had a firm hold on his weakness.
“Groups 1, 2, and 3 all have information networks. The proof is that they fled Simyang within a single day of the Baekga Geomhoe beginning.”
At Ho Yeon’s words, Sanggwan Hae nodded in agreement.
“That would certainly be so. The eldest, second, and third sons all have the Eight Pillars of Yaoningpalshu as their maternal relatives.”
“Ah…….”
At Sanggwan Hae’s remark, Moyong Yul lowered his head, his lips moving silently.
‘It’s because of me…….’
He was a bastard without maternal relatives.
His starting point differed from his brothers from the beginning.
Which is why Brother Ho Yeon paid a price to the Haowen…….
Thump-thump.
As complex thoughts swirled through Moyong Yul’s mind,
Ho Yeon, running his hand roughly through the boy’s hair as if petting a young temple cat, spoke.
“Which is precisely why we hold the advantage.”
“Pardon?”
When Moyong Yul looked up at him with bewildered eyes, Ho Yeon cleared his throat and continued.
“If children have been abducted, they’d be in the Slums. Would the Baekdo sects know the Slums well?”
“They wouldn’t… would they?”
“Generally, Baekdo sects are fat and comfortable folk, so their information is always late. The Heukdo, by contrast, live where life and death hang on the smallest detail, so they scrutinize even the most trivial incidents with care.”
Ho Yeon turned his head toward the door and spoke.
“Is that not so? Ma, branch director.”
Click.
At Ho Yeon’s words, the sliding door opened, and a stout, middle-aged man with an awkward smile entered.
“Ha, yes indeed.”

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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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