North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 15

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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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15. The Tiger’s Attack

Morning sunlight spilled across the Snow Plain.
Snow that had fallen through the night blanketed the cave’s entrance in white, and the sunlight shattered across it, sparkling like silver dust.
Airak stepped out of the cave.
His threadbare wolf fur cloak fluttered in the morning breeze.
Four wolves followed silently behind him.
Harku stretched and bounced in place several times—movements so effortless it seemed impossible this was someone who’d just recovered from severe injuries, three broken ribs and ruptured organs.
“How do you feel?”
Taikan asked.
“Fine. Bit stiff when I breathe, but I can fight just fine.”
Harku tapped his side as he answered.
“Bones fused in two days. You’re a monster, kid.”
Arko snickered.
“That’s your medicinal herbs doing the work, older brother.”
“Spare the flattery. Next time you get hit, I’m not treating you.”
“I won’t get hit next time.”
“You said that last time.”
Garkan cut in.
“Both of you, don’t let your guard down. The enemy could come again.”
“I know, older brother. But honestly, I hope they do come. We’ve got a score to settle with Balkar.”
“You’ve got no patience.”
“Neither do you. I saw your eyes gleaming.”
“…Shut it.”
“All right, all right.”
Harku grinned.
The Airak Tribe’s healing prowess was forged by the Extreme Cold North’s bitter winters.
Bones mending in two days was beyond anything an ordinary human could fathom.
Airak walked toward the south.
No words were spoken. The group followed, and five sets of footprints marked the Snow Plain.
Suddenly, Harku stopped.
He flared his nostrils, scenting the air.
“Blood.”
Harku’s eyes narrowed.
His Scent Telepathy—a sense of smell dozens of times keener than a hound’s—caught the faintest particles drifting on the wind.
“Not fresh. There’s the iron scent of a blade mixed in, and killing intent. Two of them. Approaching fast from the north.”
“Are they strong?”
Garkan asked.
“Very. Extremely. On par with Balkar, maybe stronger. Both of them.”
Harku’s pupils trembled.
Not fear—exhilaration. The Mad Dog Instinct, awakened by the scent of blood, began to stir.
Garkan uncoiled his iron chain. Taikan drew his bow, and Arko pulled a poison bottle from his robe. The group’s atmosphere shifted—not tension, but Combat Readiness Stance. These were wolves who’d each survived thirty years.
“Chieftain.”
Taikan fixed his gaze on a distant ridge.
His Thousand-Li Eye—his pupils contracted, pulling the landscape from dozens of leagues away into clear focus.
“Two of them. Tiger fur, wolf fur.”
“Han, Bing, and Sam. The other two came with them.”
Garkan muttered low.
“Together? Perfect. Let’s end this all at once.”
Harku chuckled.
“Don’t rush in recklessly. Have you forgotten what Balkar did to you?”
“That’s why we need to exact our revenge.”
“Revenge is for the one who survives.”
“…I know.”
Harku pouted.
“But if those two are stronger than Balkar—what do we do then? If it were us, we wouldn’t even dream of facing both of them.”
“The Tribe Leader is here, isn’t he? He finished Balkar in half a beat. Even if two came, it wouldn’t matter.”
Harku nodded at Arko’s words.

“That’s right. Khe-khe!”
“But, Garkan.”
Harku looked toward Garkan.
“What do we do?”
“Guard the Tribe Leader’s back.”
“Just watch from the sidelines?”
“No. We stop anyone who tries to interfere.”
Garkan explained.
“There are two of them. One is hidden. The one in hiding will definitely aim for the rear.”
“Ah.”
Harku nodded.
“So how do we find the hidden one?”
“Taikan will find him.”
Arko turned his gaze to Taikan.
“Right?”
“Of course. No one hides from these eyes of mine.”
“Quite the confidence.”
“It’s fact.”
“Stop talking. Focus. The enemy is close.”
Garkan spoke in a low warning, and Harku clenched his fists. His knuckles cracked audibly.
Airak said nothing.
He simply narrowed his eyes and gazed silently beyond the Snow Mountain.

* * *

Snow Mountain ridge.
Two shadows raced across the expanse.
Two beasts tearing through the blizzard, bounding across the mountain’s slope as though it were flat ground.
“Close. One of them is wounded. I catch a faint scent of blood.”
Geuk-ya Gwiran’s nostrils flared.
“The Mutu Warrior?”
“He’ll be fine. Balkar never even laid a hand on him.”
Dongto Bingho’s jaw tightened. He didn’t respond. This was no time for words.
“Bingho. Don’t forget the deal. We don’t strike at each other until the Mutu Warrior falls.”
“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll stab you in the back once the Mutu Warrior is dead.”
“Khe-khe. I’m looking forward to it.”
“There.”
Bingho shouted. Far ahead, five dots appeared on the Snow Plain.
“The one in the middle is the Mutu Warrior. The one wearing the wolf fur cloak.”
Gwiran pointed.
“Young-looking. I thought he vanished thirty years ago?”
“He’s of the Airak Tribe. You can’t judge their age by appearance. Strange folk, they are.”
Bingho bared his teeth in a grin.
The prey was within sight. The legendary Mutu Warrior. Crush him, and he would become the king of the North Sea.
“I go first.”
Bingho surged forward.
“What?”
“Airak is mine.”
Bang!
Bingho launched himself from the Snow Mountain. Like a massive tiger leaping toward its prey. The force of his passage carved deep footprints in the stone, baring bedrock where he had stood.
“Impatient fool….”
Gwiran clicked his tongue. But the corner of his mouth rose.
“Good. Die thrashing about up front.”
Gwiran’s form grew hazy.
The Geuk-ya Phantom Step. His silhouette flickered like a shadow, then vanished without a trace.
“I’ll strike from behind.”
A voice—whose owner unclear—resonated through the empty air.
Boom!
The earth shook. The tremor ran through the ground beneath their feet, and cracks spiderwebbed across the snow field.
“It’s coming. Fast. Faster than Balkar.”
Taikan spoke while drawing his bowstring. His eyes burned cold.
“Distance?”
“A hundred zhang. No—eighty. Closing in by the second.”
Garkan stepped forward, his massive frame blocking Airak from view.
“Chief. Let me take the first strike.”
“Move.”
……
“I said move.”
Garkan flinched.
Airak’s voice was low, but it carried weight that could not be refused.
“One of them has vanished. It’s disappeared from sight.”
Taikan reported.
“Find it.”
“Yes.”
Airak’s command was terse. It was enough.
Shring.
Airak drew his sword from his waist—a blade the color of rust-stained blood. The Wan-Gok Sword.
Garkan stepped back.
Thirty years ago and now, the law was the same: when the chief drew his blade, you yielded. Such was the discipline of the wolf pack.
Airak walked forward and stood alone in the center of the Snow Plain.
In the distance, a shadow bore down like a storm—a massive figure wrapped in tiger fur. Dongto Bingho.
“Roooooar!”
His roar shook the Snow Plain. The shockwave surged toward Airak.
Airak did not move. With his blade hanging low, only the wolf fur cloak fluttered in the wind.
Bingho closed the distance.
Fifty zhang, thirty zhang, ten zhang—a massive fist crashed down toward Airak’s head.
The Bingho Overlord Fist-Palm.
The same strike that had reshaped a gorge swept down upon Airak.
Airak raised his gaze. His gray eyes gleamed with cold fire.
‘Faster than Balkar.’
The blade moved.
‘But.’
A blue chill rose from his entire body. The North Sea Ice Divine Art. His sword transformed into transparent ice.
‘Just this.’
Clang!
The metallic crash echoed across the Snow Plain.
The shockwave spread outward, and snow erupted like a storm.
Bingho’s eyes widened.
‘He blocked it?’
This was a full-power strike—the kind that even Balkar could not meet head-on, could only evade. Yet this man had stopped it with nothing but a single blade.
“…You’re skilled.”
Bingho grinned, baring his teeth.
“Finally, a real opponent.”
Airak did not answer.
He twisted his blade, deflecting Bingho’s fist, and counterattacked with a sweeping cut.
Whoosh!
Bingho leaned back, evading the strike.
The blade tip grazed beneath his jaw, and a few hairs from the tiger fur scattered.
“Quick.”
Bingho stepped back and reset his stance.
“Just as the rumors said—the Mutu Warrior. Retired thirty years ago, or so they claimed. Or did you? Train new martial arts in the Extreme Cold North? Either way, you’re at least as good as the rumors, if not better.”
……
“A man of few words, I see.”
Airak raised his blade. He would answer with action instead of words.
“Fair enough. If that’s your reply.”
Bingho clenched his fists. White chill gathered in his hands.
“Blade over speech. I like that.”
“……”
“Then let’s continue.”

At the same moment.
Thirty paces behind Airak’s back.
A shadow rippled. Geuk-ya Gwiran emerged from the darkness, his fingernails glinting like steel—sharper than any blade. The Gwiran White Fang. Claws that could shred iron itself.
“I’ve got him.”
Gwiran reached for Airak’s nape.
A man who could kill through ambush—no matter how worthless his prey—would always choose the ambush. There was no need to waste strength on a direct confrontation. This was no different. While Bingho drew the enemy’s attention to the front, he would strike from behind.
For thirty years, he’d killed hundreds this way.
“Die, Mutu Warrior.”

In that instant.
Whoosh!
The whistle of air splitting reached his ears, and Gwiran twisted his body by instinct.
Thwack!
An arrow grazed his shoulder. Blood sprayed.
“……!”
Gwiran spun around.
Thirty paces away. A man with a drawn bow stood in view. Taikan. His eyes burned with cold light.
“Found you.”
Taikan nocked a second arrow.
“Your movement technique is fast. But my eyes are faster.”
“So you’re the one with the cursed dog-eyes—the Cheonriian or whatever.”
Gwiran’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s right.”
“Kekeke. Interesting.”
Gwiran licked the wound.
“An archer found me? That’s something.”
“Finding things is my trade.”
“Not bad. What’s your name?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“I want to know before you die.”
“That’s my line.”
Taikan let out a soft laugh.
“Is that so? Then find it yourself.”
Slip.
Gwiran’s form blurred and vanished.
Taikan drew the bowstring taut and closed his eyes. The Cheonriian doesn’t merely expand sight. It senses the flow of air itself, the faintest vibrations.
‘Left… no. Right. …there.’
He opened his eyes. The arrow flew.
Thwack!
“…Ugh!”
Gwiran materialized in midair. The arrow grazed his thigh as it passed—it didn’t embed, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that he, hidden as he was, had been shot.
“This bastard…!”
Gwiran gnashed his teeth.
“Hit twice. This is humiliation.”
“The third finds your head.”
Taikan aimed a third arrow.
“Dodge it or take it. Choose.”
“Kekeke. You’re the most entertaining one I’ve ever killed.”
“I’d say the same of you.”
Whoosh.
Gwiran’s form grew hazy and slipped from sight.

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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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