North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 14

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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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14. Alliance of Two Beasts

Deep within the North Sea, in the gorge of Polar Night.
A land where the sun never rises, not once in a year—a valley of death ruled by nothing but deepening shadow.
Caw! Caw!
Thousands of ravens circled above the gorge.
The stench of blood.
Dozens of corpses littered the ground.
An entire Mu Tribe settlement, annihilated.
Criminals cast out for breaking tribal law, wretches who had banded together with savage desperation to survive.
The bodies showed two kinds of death.
Half were torn to shreds across their entire frames. Not cut by blade—flesh hung in tatters as if raked by fingernails, sinew and muscle stripped away in ragged ribbons.
The rest were beyond recognition. Bones and flesh crushed as though pounded by some enormous hammer, ground flat against the frozen ice.
In the very center of that field of carnage.
Two shadows stood facing each other.
Kil-kil-kil.
The first shadow laughed.
Lean frame, pallid skin. Eyes that gleamed gold in the darkness.
He wore the black pelt of a wolf across his entire body.
The Polar Night Ghost Wolf. Second of the Three Masters of Cold Ice.
Guirang looked down at the corpse beneath his feet.
It had no neck. He had clawed it away himself.
“Dull. All of it.”
Guirang cracked his fingers. A series of dry pops echoed out.
His nails were abnormally long and sharp—harder than steel, living weapons.
“Forty-three total, then?”
“That’s right.”
“Less than half a Shichen for the lot of them.”
The shadow opposite him spoke.
A low, sonorous voice that set the gorge’s rocks trembling.
He was a massive man.
Not quite Balkar’s size, but built solid as a mountain, draped in tiger skin. A deep claw scar carved across his right cheek.
The Frozen Earth Ice Tiger. Third of the Three Masters of Cold Ice.
Binghu took a step forward.
Crack.
The ground beneath his foot froze white. Ice spiderwebbed outward, entombing the surrounding corpses in crystalline death.
Cold Earth Freezing.
Every inch of ground he touched turned to ice.
“So? That bear finally bought it, then?”
Guirang asked.
“Got taken down by a Mutu Warrior, they say. In half a Shichen, no more.”
“Half a Shichen?”
Guirang’s eyes narrowed to slits.
For the first time, genuine interest flickered across his face.
“Balkar went down in half a Shichen?”
“Ten cuts, they said. Collapsed on the tenth.”
…….
Guirang tilted his head, puzzled.
Balkar. First of the Three Masters of Cold Ice.
In terms of raw strength alone, there was no beast in the North Sea that could match him.
“Even tore through the Tielingjiao Leather?”
“Split it like paper, they say.”
Guirang gazed down at his own nails.
It would take him at least ten raking strokes to tear through Balkar’s hide with these claws. But a blade in a single strike?
“…Interesting.”
A smile crept across Guirang’s lips.
This time it wasn’t mockery. Genuine intrigue flickered across his face.
“Finally, a proper quarry has appeared.”
“Quarry?”
Binghu scoffed.
“You call someone who killed Balkar in half a Shichen a quarry?”
“Then what should we call him? Prey?”
“…A worthy opponent.”
Binghu clenched his fist.
Crack.
His knuckles popped. Each time he squeezed, the air around his hand froze solid, crystalline breath rising like white mist.
“Balkar was strong, but not clever.”
“Agreed.”
He probably didn’t even understand how powerful a Mutu Warrior could be before rushing in alone.”
“On that, too.”
Guirang chuckled.
“But Binghu.”
……
“How do you think you’d have fared?”
….
Binghu fell silent for a moment.
Lying wasn’t in his nature.
“Alone, I might have died… but I can’t imagine myself losing either. In a case like this—even odds?”
Guirang’s eyes widened.
It was the first time he’d ever heard the Frozen Earth Ice Tiger admit, even partially, to the possibility of his own defeat.
“What? Those words from your mouth?”
“Balkar died in half a Shichen. That means the power gap was overwhelming. But if we fought, it would take nearly a full day… which makes me wonder: is the Mutu Warrior of the North Sea really that strong?”
……
“It’s not that Balkar was weak. It’s that the Mutu Warrior is insanely powerful. But—”
Binghu bared his teeth.
Crash!
He drove his foot down, stamming it into the ground.
The entire ravine shook.
Ice erupted like an explosion, shattering the corpses scattered around them into fragments. Cracks spider-webbed across the stone walls, and icicles rained from the ceiling like shards of glass.
Ice Tiger Hegemony Strike—a blow that channeled the force of a tiger’s charge.
A single strike had transformed the ravine’s very shape.
“If the two of us come at him, the story changes.”
Guirang chuckled again.
In the same moment, his form wavered.
Whoosh.
His shadow fractured into three afterimages, then coalesced back into one.
Polar Night Phantom Technique—a movement art that dissolves into darkness itself.
“You’re right. Alone would be dangerous.”
Guirang materialized from the shadows, now standing directly behind Binghu.
“But if you hold him at the front and I strike from behind?”
Binghu answered without even turning.
“Even a Mutu Warrior would struggle to endure that.”
“Heheheh. Still nervous?”
“It’s not nerves.”
Binghu turned his head.
“It’s caution. I don’t want to end up like Balkar.”
“Oh, Binghu using the word caution? The world really has changed.”
“Shut up.”
“Heheheh. Fine, fine.”
The two monsters faced each other.
It wasn’t cooperation. It was calculation.
Use each other to bring down their common enemy, then deal with whoever remained.
“Let’s make one promise.”
Binghu spoke.
“What is it?”
“Until the Mutu Warrior falls, we don’t stab each other in the back.”
“…….”
Guirang tilted his head.
“You think I’m actually going to keep that promise?”
“If you don’t, you die.”
Binghu spoke coldly.
“If you stab me in the back while I’m fighting the Mutu Warrior, I’ll kill you first, then die myself.”
“…Keke.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I know. You don’t know how to joke.”
Guirang licked his fingernail.
“Fine. I’ll keep your back covered until the Mutu Warrior falls. After that, all bets are off.”
“I don’t care. Do whatever you want once he’s down.”
“Whoever brings down the Mutu Warrior first becomes the First of the North Sea.”
Binghu made his declaration.
“Good. Let’s go have some fun.”

The two beasts began moving south.
Binghu led the way. Wherever he walked, ice formed beneath his feet.
Guirang followed behind him. His shadow writhed constantly in the darkness, concealing its true form.
The North Sea’s two mightiest predators.
United, they would have nothing to fear in all the world.
The only problem was that they didn’t trust each other.
The crows abandoned in the gorge descended once more.
The sound of them tearing at corpses echoed through the darkness.

* * *

East of the North Sea, snow-covered steppes.
Beneath a towering mountain of snow, hundreds of white tents clustered together.
Fukru Tribe Village.
Among the North Sea’s oldest bloodlines alongside the Airak Tribe, and their traditional allies.
In the village center, the chieftain’s great tent.
A silver-haired young woman knelt before the elders.
Serian.
The Fukru Tribe’s greatest beauty of this generation.
With skin as white as snow and eyes like precious stones gleaming pale blue-gray, she was not unworthy of the title “Flower of the North Sea.”
“The Ice Palace Master has passed. And the Mutu Warrior, who vanished thirty years ago, has appeared.”
The tent stirred with murmurs.
The elders exchanged glances and whispered among themselves.
An old woman approached, leaning on a staff.
Kun, Serian’s grandmother and the tribe’s great shamaness.

“Serian. You need not do this….”
“I am this generation’s greatest beauty among the Fukru Tribe. You chose me as Binghua yourself, Grandmother.”
“That is our tradition….”
“And I am upholding that tradition.”
Serian raised her head.
Her gaze was resolute, without hesitation.
Her silver hair scattered in the wind that slipped through the tent flap.
“The greatest beauty of the Fukru Tribe becomes the Mutu Warrior’s companion. It is my duty to fulfill it.”
“But the Mutu Warrior already had a beloved.”
“She is dead. The Ice Palace Master, Karani.”
“…….”
“His side has always been empty. I will fill it.”
“Did you know Karani?”
“Only by reputation.”
Serian answered matter-of-factly.
“The beauty of Silver Snow. The most beautiful woman in the North Sea, or so I’ve heard.”
“Can you take her place?”
“I’m not trying to replace her.”
Serian’s eyes blazed with light.
“I will carve out a new place for myself. Beside hers.”
……
“If Karani were still alive, I would never have stepped forward like this.”
“I know.”
The old woman exhaled a deep sigh.
“The Mutu Warrior loved only one woman for thirty years. Even after her death.”
“I know.”
“Thirty years, Serian. Thirty years without once looking at another woman.”
“That’s precisely why I’m curious.”
Serian spoke with quiet calm.
“What manner of man could do such a thing.”
“Do you truly believe you could turn such a man’s heart?”
“I don’t know. But I intend to try.”
“Why?”
Serian fell silent for a moment.
“When I was small, my grandmother told me a story. About a man who froze his heart for love and waited alone for thirty years.”
……
“From that moment, I wondered—could such a person truly exist? Now I mean to find out.”
Serian rose from her seat.
At her hip hung the short blade Silver Snow.
It was no mere ornament. She too bore the scars of rigorous training as a warrior of the Fukru Tribe.
“Serian.”
The old woman took her hand again.
“The Mutu Warrior moves now in the grip of vengeance. Nothing but blood will fill his eyes.”
“I understand.”
“And yet you would go?”
“Yes.”
Serian nodded.
“When the bloodshed ends, I will be there.”
The old woman placed her hand upon Serian’s forehead.
“Go then. May the blessing of our ancestors walk with you. May the path you have chosen not be one of thorns.”
Serian stepped out of the tent.
Whiiiii—!
A blizzard rushed to meet her.
She did not draw her collar tight. The Fukru Tribe were children of the North Sea, born to endure the cold.
Facing west, she walked forward without once looking back.
The wheel of fate had begun to turn.
Toward Airak, all the bonds and blood-debts of the North Sea were converging in a single place.
From the south, two beasts came rushing.
The tiger that froze the earth, and the wolf that dissolved into shadow.
Monsters each called the strongest in the North Sea.
They had joined their strength together.
Even the Mutu Warrior, who had slain Balkar in half a Shichen, could not face them both without hesitation.
From the east came a beauty with silver hair.
Chasing fate, seeking the hero of legend.
And at the center of it all stood Airak.
Unaware of any of it, he pressed onward toward the Central Plains, driven only by his thirst for vengeance.
The stillness before the storm.
Yet behind that calm lay an even greater, more destructive wave awaiting its moment.
The fate of the North Sea trembled.
A wind of blood was about to rise.

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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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