North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 2

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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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2. Blood Oath

Ice Heart Hall.
A space where a thousand years of silence had descended.
Only the pale blue light emanating from the Night-Luminous Pearls embedded in the walls flowed through, as if comforting the spirit of the dead.
The central altar.
A woman lay within a transparent Ten-Thousand Year Ice Coffin.
The twelfth Palace Master of the Ice Palace, Karani.
Her silver hair rippled like waves, and her skin—white and smooth as snow—seemed on the verge of flushing with the color of blood at any moment.
Thirty years.
The mountains and rivers had changed three times over, yet her time had frozen in this place. The “girl” who had lived in Airak’s memory remained preserved exactly as she had been, unchanged.
Airak stood before the coffin.
Dozens of spear points trained on his back, yet his senses were fixed solely on the woman within the casket.
‘…….’
His expression had hardened as if he wore a mask of ice.
But beneath his sleeve, his concealed fist trembled.
So finely that his nails drew blood from his own skin.
Thirty years.
A face he had never forgotten once in all that long time.
In the bitter cold of the Extreme Yin Land, on nights when his bones froze, he conjured her face. It was the only reason he had not gone mad, the only thing that let him endure.
A hollow hope that someday he might see her again.
Yet this is how they were to meet.
He reached out his hand.
His fingers touched the cold lid of the coffin.
“No!”
Mukara’s scream tore through the silence.
“By the laws of the Ice Palace, no one may open the coffin before the final rites! Remove your hand at once!”
It was a hollow cry.
Airak’s hands tensed. Every muscle in his body drew taut as a drawn bowstring.
Crack-crack-crack.
The massive block of ice shrieked.
The sound of a centuries-old taboo breaking.
Without hesitation, Airak shoved the coffin lid open.
Bang!
The enormous sheet of ice crashed to the floor and shattered into fragments.
Shards flew in all directions, and the thunderous sound became a signal flare transforming the sacred funeral rite into a battlefield.
“Disrespect!”
“How dare you lay hands on the Palace Master’s person!”
“Strike down that madman! Skin him alive!”
Clang! Clang-clang!
The warriors of the Ice Palace drew their blades in unison.
Pale sword light flooded the Ice Heart Hall.
A dozen masters at the forefront surged toward Airak’s back, driven by blind Killing Intent to put down the outsider.
Airak did not turn around.
Whether blades came at his back or not, his gaze remained riveted to Karani.
The sword tips were just about to pierce Airak’s wolf fur.
Whoosh!
Not the sound of wind being cut. A savage, whip-like crack of metal savaging the air—a black serpent that came from nowhere, wrapping around the warriors’ blades and hurling them skyward.
“Huh?”
The warriors had no time to understand.
Steel locked against steel, sparks cascading.
Crash! Clang!
The celebrated blades of the Ice Palace bent like taffy or flew tumbling through the air.
But that was not the end. The dancing shadow of a sword—a thick Iron Chain, slim as a finger, writhed like a living thing, snagging at the warriors’ ankles.
“Aagh!”
“W-what is this…!”
Crash!
A dozen martial artists shot upward into the air. An irresistible force hurled them like dolls.
The chain wrapped around an ice pillar in the ceiling and whipped back, leaving the warriors dangling upside down, thrashing helplessly.
“Release us! What is this madness!”
A massive shadow fell across the struggling men.
Thud.
The floor of the Ice Heart Hall shuddered.
A giant draped in bear fur—a man of towering frame to rival Airak himself—walked in with an iron chain coiled around his wrist. With each step, the ice beneath his feet cracked and splintered.
Garkan.
The Northern Sea’s “Blizzard Claw.”
He let out a derisive snort and yanked the chain hard. The suspended men collided with one another, screaming.
“You should know your place.”
Garkan’s gaze swept across Mukara—unmistakably contemptuous.
“If I fought your Palace Master, it wouldn’t last a second. And yet you mongrels dare—? Do you think you have two lives to spare?”
His roar crashed against their eardrums like thunder.
“Be grateful. If he’d laid hands on you himself, you’d be bloody ice shards by now.”
Mukara’s eyes widened.
Garkan—the legendary Garkan—addressing this youth as “Palace Master” and deferring to him with genuine awe.
‘Palace Master? The Airak Tribe truly exists? The Northern Sea warrior—was it real? Could it be…?’
Mukara’s gaze fixed on Airak’s back.
The silhouette of the man in the worn wolf fur suddenly loomed as vast as a mountain.
The legend had been real.
Airak shut out the chaos behind him.
His world held only the woman before him.
On the surface, peaceful. Like a princess sleeping in the forest.
But Airak’s senses did not deceive him.
The metallic reek of blood mingled with the frigid air. And a burial shroud drawn up to the neck with visible strain—forced, so desperately forced.
She was hiding something with all her might.
Airak’s hand seized Karani’s collar. His fingers went white with pressure.
“No…”
Mukara gasped, but it was too late.
Rip.
The silk tore. And beneath the white cloth, hell was laid bare.
……
Airak’s breath stopped. His heart plummeted.
It had been a deception.
The peace of her face was a lie for the living.
Beneath the shroud, her body was unmarred by nothing.
A long gash running from collarbone to abdomen—so deep the bone showed where flesh had parted. A stab wound through the ribs that had ruptured her organs. Gashes across her thighs and arms bore the terrible marks of attacks met with no defense.
Her pale skin was engulfed in red and black scars, as if she were little more than a tattered rag.
‘Ah…’
The whites of Airak’s eyes flooded with red.
How much had she suffered.
In this freezing place, alone, receiving blade after blade—how terrified she must have been.
Dying in agony, who had she called for? Did she curse me for not coming, or did she long for me?
His fingers trembled as they traced the deepest wound.
A mortal slash across the diagonal from shoulder to chest.
Sharp.
The sensation beneath his fingertips felt wrong.
It was not cold.
A corpse in the Ice Palace should have been frozen, yet the wound site was charred black. The surrounding flesh had been reduced to ash. Even after thirty days, the heat remained, undiminished.
‘Fire Qi.’
Not the martial arts of the Northern Sea. The Ice Palace may command ice, but they do not wield fire. This is the scar of a collision—Inner Force infused with the most potent Yang Qi.
Airak’s eyes narrowed.
The edge of the wound.
Smooth as a mirror. Not crushed by saw or axe. A clean cut no crude Northern Sea blade could replicate. A slice as swift as the wind and as sharp as light—the Swift Blade.
A speed that took her life before the flesh could feel itself being torn.
‘The Central Plains.’
Certainty crystallized. Suspicion became certainty, and certainty became Killing Intent.
The murderer was not hiding within the Ice Palace.
Whether an inner traitor opened the door or not, the blades were wielded by those from the Central Plains. They came from that warm, fertile land, and they trampled the flower of this barren earth.
Not just one.
He traced the other wounds.
Each blade had left its own trajectory. Different depths. Different oscillations of Inner Force.
‘Seven… no, eight.’
At least eight masters.
In a sealed chamber with no way out, eight blades had carved into her body.
They did not lower their swords until her final breath.
Crunch.
From Airak’s mouth came the sound of a beast grinding bone.
The temperature in the Ice Heart Hall plummeted.
From beneath Airak’s feet, white frost spread outward. The ice on the floor shrieked and fractured beneath him.
He lowered his upper body slowly.
He pressed his forehead against Karani’s cold forehead.
The temperature of death transferred through his skin.
So cold.
Far too cold.
Thirty years ago, her forehead had been warm.
On a night when the blizzard raged. She had leaned against him and whispered.
‘It’s strange. You’re so cold, yet when I’m beside you, I feel warm.’

Then her breath had touched his cheek. The warmth of the living. The sound of a beating heart.
Now there was nothing.
No breath, no heartbeat, no eyes smiling as they looked at him.
Airak’s fingers caressed her cheek.
Skin hardened like ice.
‘…Too late.’
No voice came. For thirty years he had never shed them, and now tears gathered at his eyes.
A memory from long ago flashed through him.
That night, thirty years past, when the blizzard fell.
She had been weeping. Before her destined fate to become Palace Master of the Ice Palace, she had taken Airak’s hand and asked.
‘You’ll wait for me, won’t you?’
‘…….’
‘Until I finish all that I must do. You’ll stay alive until then, won’t you?’

Then she had been warm. When he held her, he could hear her heartbeat.
How he ached for that warmth.
Airak closed his eyes.
A world of two was created. All sound, all killing intent, all of Mukara’s gaze—erased.
Only the dead lover, himself, and the Blood Oath remained.
He opened his mouth.
The tongue of the Airak Tribe. The language of wolves.
“Targa, Karani.”
(I swear, Karani.)
His low voice rang like an incantation. A vow staked on his soul.
“Ortera, kansa vella.”
(Do not cross the river. Wait for me.)
From his eyes, something hot flowed down and wetted Karani’s cheek. Tears, yes—but they burned like lava.
“Senin ören… yubera.”
(Those who killed you… I will send to you soon.)
What lay in his voice was not sorrow.
It was hatred fierce enough to freeze all the world. A hatred so cold that it froze even the hearer’s heart.
“Birge asira. Birge quisan.”
(Cross together. Rest together.)
Airak raised his head.
Carefully, he closed Karani’s eyes.
He drew the torn edges of her garment together, concealing the terrible wounds. So she would be cold no longer.
His touch was infinitely tender, yet his eyes had already ceased to be human.
All feeling erased, now only instinct pursuing its single goal—the hunger of a wolf.
He looked at Mukara.
No—he stared past Mukara into empty space.
“Forgive me, but… what is your relationship to the previous Palace Master?”
Mukara asked, her voice trembling.
Crushed beneath the overwhelming presence, she found herself slipping into formal speech without knowing why.
She sensed it in her bones: she was standing before a vast calamity.
Airak did not answer. He felt no obligation to.
Instead, Garkan rattled his iron chains and sneered.
“Deputy Palace Master. Or is it Palace Master now? It’s none of your concern.”
“Yet if you involve yourselves in the Ice Palace’s affairs, surely we have the right to—”
“Right?”
Airak opened his mouth.
The air in the Ice Heart Hall froze solid. Each breath threatened to split the lungs—the cold was that absolute.
“The Palace Master is dead and you don’t hunt her murderer, yet you speak of rights?”
Mukara’s words caught in her throat.
The sting of a direct blow. Shame flooded her face as though her innermost weakness had been laid bare.
Airak turned away as though the matter no longer concerned him.
Step. Step.
With each footfall, the Ice Palace warriors parted. Not one among them had the courage to block his path. Behind him remained only the chill of his passing.
Garkan followed and asked, “Chieftain, where do we go?”
Airak’s steps halted. Before him loomed the great doors of the Ice Heart Hall.
His gaze did not turn north, but swept instead toward the distant south—far, far away beyond the storm of snow.
Wind rushed through the open cracks of the Ice Palace.
It was the Bitter North Wind as always, blowing from north to south. The same wind that had not changed in ten thousand years.
But in that moment.
A savage Killing Intent erupted from Airak’s body, shaking the very air.
Wheeeee…!
The snow began to reverse its fall.
A massive vortex formed, and for the first time, the winds of the Northern Sea howled toward the south.
Like a pack of wolves setting out on the hunt.
Even the wind obeyed his intent, turning from its ancient course.
“The Central Plains.”
The word that left Airak’s lips was a declaration of war.
Now the wolves descended from the mountain.
The sheep would not have time to pray.

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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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