North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 21

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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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21. Danhon Valley Entrance

“Whoever speaks the names of Karanina and Ailak shall have their tongue torn out and hung upon the ice wall.”

Mukara’s icy declaration froze the great hall of Bing Xin Hall.
Cold air pierced the lungs.
The distinctive chill of Bing Xin Hall burrowed deep into bone and marrow; with each breath, white mist rose from their lips.
From somewhere, the sound of dripping water fell in steady rhythm.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Among the assembled warriors, tension hung like a sheet of thin ice, and in her gaze demanding their oath lay the glint of madness.
“Swear it. That I alone, Mukara, am the master of the Ice Palace!”
Three hundred warriors dropped to their knees as one.
“We swear it!”
The roar filled Bing Xin Hall, yet Mukara caught the hollowness beneath it.
Their lips moved, but their eyes were dead.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered, “If Ailak the warrior returns…”
Mukara’s gaze pierced that spot like lightning.
“Who spoke?”
Silence fell. No one answered.
“You won’t answer? So be it.”
Mukara raised her hand.
“Execute them at once.”
The moment her command fell, the executioners’ blades flashed as though they had been waiting for nothing else.
“Aaaaah!”
A scream tore free, and blood spilled across the floor of Bing Xin Hall.
The stench of blood spread into the cold air.
The metallic reek struck their nostrils, and the dying groans rebounded from the high ceiling.
The warriors’ faces drained of color, yet none dared open their mouths.
“Are there others? Any who hope for Ailak’s return?”
Mukara swept her gaze across the crowd.
“There are none!”
“No one whatsoever!”
Outwardly, she maintained her ruthless composure, but inside, Mukara was screaming. Terror that power might slip through her fingers like sand twisted her veins.
Each time her racing heartbeat struck her ear, her Internal Force reversed its flow and constricted her chest. She swallowed the metallic taste pooling in her mouth and clenched her trembling hands beneath her sleeves.
“Are you well, my lady?”
Tarhan, her trusted aide, approached cautiously.
“I am fine.”
“Your complexion seems troubled.”
“Silence.”
Mukara’s voice cut like a blade. Tarhan bowed his head and withdrew.
“The warriors grow restless.”
“I know it.”
“Rumors spread that Ailak lives. We implemented the Blue Night Campaign—no one allowed within the halls—yet still they whisper that he survives, enduring this bitter cold on the open Snowy Plain with no shelter…”
“He is Ailak Tribe. Hah! Stubborn, thick-skinned beasts.”
“Should we continue the Blue Night Campaign?”
“Of course we continue it—what kind of question is that!”
Mukara’s voice rose shrilly.
The name Ailak had become to her a curse that negated existence itself. Each time that name was spoken, her throne seemed to tremble.
“I ask once more.”
Mukara addressed the crowd.
“Who is the master of this Ice Palace?”
“You are, Lady Mukara!”
This time, the roar carried true conviction.
Fear had forged loyalty.
Only then did Mukara’s lips curve upward. Yet beneath that smile, unease still coiled.

* * *

For days, hunger had swept through Seulli Village like a bitter wind.
Each gust made the frozen signboards creak on their hinges. Icicles hung from the eaves like blades, and the ground was a treacherous mix of snow and mud.
“Chieftain, there’s the smell of roasted meat from that house nearby. Couldn’t we take a quick look around?”
Harku’s eyes fixed on the dwelling across the way, his hand absently touching the hilt of his Twin Fang Blades as saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth.
His pupils gleamed with a feral hunger that turned his gaze grotesque.
“No.”
“But to starve like this—”
“I said no.”
In a breath, Ailak seized Harku by the collar and hoisted him into the air.
“Gah—!”
Harku’s body dangled above the ground.
“We are not thieves. We accept what is freely given, but we do not take what is refused.”
At the weight of Ailak’s voice, Harku gasped and went slack.
“Y-yes, I understand! Please, let me down!”
Ailak released him. Harku crumpled to the ground, coughing.
“Chieftain, but if we continue like this—”
Garkan ventured carefully.
“I know.”
“What will you do?”
“Wait.”
The villagers watched through their shuttered windows, holding their breath.
Fear still barred their doors. They prayed only that these strangers would leave.
“They’re terrified of us,” Taikan observed quietly.

“Of course they are. Warriors from the Northern Seas appearing in their village—whether it’s plague or not, we’re a threat in their eyes. To them we look like northern nomads, and those bastards raid down from the north every time the bitter cold strikes, taking whatever food they can carry.”
Arko cut in.
“And now there’s talk of plague on top of everything else.”
Harku laughed bitterly.
Beyond this place, the next settlement lay more than a hundred miles distant. When extreme cold and hunger combine, the body’s strength crumbles rapidly. One might think Internal Force could sustain them—but the bitter cold of the north nullifies even the mightiest Qi. Only thorough preparation offers survival.
They had to secure provisions here, somehow.
“If they will not give, we cannot take.”
Ailak spoke with finality.
“Then what? We can’t simply starve.”
“Wait. There is a way.”

* * *

From the darkness, a colossal shadow surged into the square.
A Snow Plain Wolf, eight feet long from head to tail, its jaws gaping wide as it lunged at Ailak. Hot breath steamed between teeth sharp as frost-laden blades.
The stench of rotting flesh flooded his nostrils.
The beast’s fur reeked of musk, and the thunder of its paws shook the ground.
“Chieftain!”
His men reached for their weapons.
“Stand back. I have this.”
Ailak did not draw the Surah Manguok Sword. Instead, he channeled the Muto Surah Technique, throwing himself into the trajectory of the wolf’s assault.
The beast’s claws raked empty air. But Ailak was already gone—only an afterimage remained for the wolf to claw through.
The wolf twisted and struck again.
Ailak slipped sideways with the grace of flowing water.
“Incredible—!”
Harku gasped in admiration.
The wolf’s roar split the night.
Its cry of rage shook the square itself.
Ailak plunged into the maelstrom of the beast’s fury.
Wind sang.
Heat radiating from the wolf’s body and the raw, violent rasp of its breathing battered against his ears.
Crack.
When Ailak seized the wolf’s neck and twisted, the snap of breaking bone reverberated through the earth itself. The beast never even cried out—it was over in a single, terrible instant.
The warm scent of blood cut through the frigid air.
Blood dripped from Ailak’s pale hand, dark and deliberate. The crimson pooled across the snow, blooming like a flower.
“That… that was…”
Harku could not finish.
“Bare-handed. A Snow Plain Wolf.”
Garkan murmured.
“He twisted its neck to break it.”
Taikan spoke low.
“He is truly the leader.”
Arko nodded in agreement.
Ailak split the wolf’s chest with his short blade. Steam rose from the raw meat as he tore it free and hurled it to his men.
“Ha! The meat looks fine.”
Arko caught the dripping flesh, speaking as blood fell from his hands.
“You must eat it while it’s hot. Once the warmth fades, the meat toughens. The stench sets in.”
Taikan agreed.
The warriors chewing and swallowing chunks of raw meat were grotesque, yet they possessed an untouchable dignity.
Blood ran down their jaws. The acrid taste of beast filled their mouths.
None of them cared.
This was life in the Northern Seas.
The villagers watching through the window bars trembled—not from fear, but from an ancient, primal awe in the presence of overwhelming strength.
These men could have looted the homes. Such an act would have been natural—the law of the Northern Seas itself, where the strong took from the weak. But they did not. Instead, they hunted beasts to fill their bellies.
That choice carved a small fracture in the villagers’ hearts.
An old woman, wavering for some time, finally opened her door with care. Her wrinkled hands shook. She cast a hard, dirt-caked piece of bread toward Ailak.
No words were spoken, yet it was a silent pact—an acknowledgment of who truly ruled the Northern Seas.
The hardened bread landed with a dull thud upon the snow.
“Should we take it?”
“We should. It’s goodwill.”
“That old woman. She has courage.”
Taikan murmured.
“She must have been terrified.”
Harku said.
“She was. Yet she moved. Ha! When one person moves, ten will follow.”
Arko replied.
“True. One person is enough. Everything begins with one.”
Garkan nodded.
Garkan set the chunks of dripping meat and the flayed skin at the entrance to the village square. The fresh-killed Snow Plain Wolf still radiated heat, its steam rising white against the snow.
Moments later, doors that had been tightly shut began to open one by one, each with hesitation.
The villagers, who had only peered from behind their window bars, came forward with bundles. They set down hard bread and precious dried meat beside the wolf meat, then withdrew in silence.
“A barter exchange,” Arko murmured, watching the scene unfold. “Not bad at all.”

This was more than a simple trade. It was a silent recognition—they had washed away the slander of the Plague Demon Stigma that someone had spread, and accepted Ailak’s company as their own northern kin.
In the moment fear transformed into reverence, Ailak and his men took their first true step as the legitimate masters of the Northern Seas.
Garkan picked up the bread the old woman had thrown and bit off a chunk.
The texture against his fingertips was rough and hardened, yet it held a faint warmth, as though it had just come from the oven.
Ailak’s eyes turned toward the valley beyond the village, where darkness lay thick and deep.
“Leader, is that the place?”
Garkan asked in a heavy voice, and Ailak gave a curt nod.
“It is.”
“Danhon Valley… a Forbidden Realm. None who enter ever return alive. I understand your wish to slip in unseen, but why choose this route?”
Taikan spoke, his gaze fixed on the gorge with cold intensity.
Harku exhaled roughly beside him, his laugh sharp and brittle.
“I’ve heard the tale. A hundred years back, three elders of the Ice Palace went down there and came out mad?”
“Mad?”
Arko’s eyes flashed like a serpent’s as he pressed the question. Harku’s voice dropped lower.
“They gouged out their own eyes with their own hands.”
“What did they see that would drive them to such horror…”
“No one knows. No survivor has ever spoken.”
“I know.”
Ailak spoke with finality, cutting off the exchange. All eyes fixed on him. This gorge was the death passage that lay between them and the Central Plains—the place where the Northern Seas’ bitter cold swirled with the fiercest intensity.
Ailak’s next words came without a moment’s hesitation.
“We go.”
At the valley’s mouth, a sinister wind swept up and lashed the companions’ clothes with savage fury.
Cold that seeped into the marrow came with it, mixed in the howling gusts—a faint, unidentifiable cry. From the earth itself, a pale mist rose like something alive and breathing, and within it, grotesque shapes seemed to writhe and twist.
The reek of rotting wood and moss struck at their nostrils—the stench of death, of life putrefying.
“But why here, of all places? There are plenty of other routes.”
As Harku grumbled, Ailak tightened his grip on the hilt of the Manguok Sword.
“I need something.”
“What is it?”
“You don’t need to know. Only those willing to follow me come.”
“You always have to speak that way, don’t you? We’d follow you into hell itself, and you know it.”
Harku shrugged and touched the Twin Fang Blades at his side.
Taikan wordlessly checked the Horn Bow and stepped forward, while Arko too offered a grim smile as he verified the Hidden Weapons beneath his sleeves.
As Garkan finally gripped the Iron Chain, Ailak at last set his first foot into the mist of Danhon Valley.
“Let’s go.”
The path toward the Forbidden Realm now exhaled the reek of danger and death, its mouth gaping wide to swallow them whole.

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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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