North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 35

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

35. The Warning from the North Sea

Three hundred spears came rushing forward.

Airak pushed off the ground and dropped low.
Darting beneath the spearheads, he seized the first shaft in his left hand and twisted. The spearman’s wrist snapped, and a scream tore from his throat. Airak pulled the broken body toward himself and used it as a shield.
At that moment, another spear came thrusting from behind.
The shaft drove deep into the back of the man Airak held.
“Ahhh!”
As the cry echoed, the spearmen flinched—and Airak didn’t miss the opening.
The Buk Myeong Sword swept horizontally across.
Neck. Neck. Neck.
Three men toppled, spraying blood, and the fountain that erupted painted crimson flowers across his eyes.
“Surround him!”
“Take his flank!”
Spearmen converged from all sides. Three hundred shafts moved as one will—the front rank thrust, the side rank blocked, the rear rank drove forward. Movements precise as a machine.
Spear points raked the air in an endless rain.
Airak stepped back, but a corpse caught beneath his heel. As he stumbled, a spear aimed for his ribs.
No time to dodge.
He thrust his left arm forward and coiled it around the shaft. The point grazed his forearm, drawing blood—but he didn’t let go. Instead, he wrenched with full force, and the spearman lost his footing, dragged helplessly forward.
The Buk Myeong Sword opened his throat.
Blood erupted. Warm. Splattered across Airak’s face.
He didn’t blink.
He kicked the falling body, and it sailed through the air, striking two other spearmen. While they stumbled, Airak drove deeper into their ranks.
Thrust. Withdraw. Cut.
With each motion, blood sprayed, screams erupted, and bodies piled higher.
A spearman attacked from behind. Airak twisted, slashing the shaft with his blade—the deflected spear flew sideways and struck the face of another soldier next to him.
“Ahhh!”
Confusion spread through their ranks.
Airak seized the gap and pushed forward.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
As bodies accumulated, the killing intent drained from the spearmen’s eyes—replaced by terror.
“A monster! A monster!”
“Fall back! Fall back!”
But they could not retreat. Their comrades pressed from behind, trampling over the fallen.
Blood pooled beneath Airak’s feet.
Slippery. Corpses tangled in his path. Red mire that sucked at his ankles.
He trampled through it all and advanced.
Fifty.
Half the Spear Formation had fallen.
He felt scraps of flesh peeling from his boot soles. Airak didn’t care. Each step was another death.
His breathing remained calm.
The survivors’ eyes overflowed with terror. Their spear hands trembled. It was useless. The thing before them was not human.

“Shield Formation!”
Ho Yeon-gak’s command rang out from atop the wall.
His face had gone deathly pale. Three hundred elite soldiers—shattered in less than half a watch.
“Commander, that’s not… that’s not a person.”
His adjutant spoke in a trembling voice.
“Silence!”
Ho Yeon-gak swept his hand across the air.
“Spear Formation, withdraw! Shield Formation, advance!”
The surviving spearmen fell back, and a massive shield wall—sheets of iron riveted together—filled the space they had vacated. Behind the shields, spear points jutted forth. A living wall of iron.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Footsteps shook the earth as the shield wall advanced.
Airak came to a halt.
A solid wall approaches. No gaps. A direct breakthrough seems impossible.
Airak’s breathing had grown ragged. Blood flowed from his arms, his ribs, his shoulders. More than fifteen small wounds crisscrossed his body. His Wolf Fur Cloak hung in tatters.
‘The frontal approach won’t work.’
His eyes swept the surroundings.
Among the fallen spearmen, he spotted abandoned spears scattered on the ground. Five or six of them.
Airak seized a spear and hurled it.
The shaft cut through the air and lodged in a shield-bearer’s shoulder.
“Ugh!”
The shield tilted. A gap opened.
Airak grabbed another spear and threw it. This time, he aimed for the legs—the exposed shins below the shield.
“Aagh!”
The shield-bearer collapsed.
Airak charged forward like lightning.
He drove through the shields. The space was cramped—so narrow that even the shields became obstacles, preventing the spearmen from swinging their weapons effectively.
The Buk Myeong Sword danced.
He slashed. He thrust.
Shield-bearers fell. Spearmen fell. Like a wolf released among sheep within the formation, he slaughtered without mercy.
“Scatter! Encircle him!”
The order rang out, but to scatter in such close quarters was to offer up one’s own throat.
Airak continued his massacre from the heart of the formation.
One shield-bearer abandoned his shield and drew a short dagger, lunging with desperation in his eyes. Airak twisted his blade coldly, sending the dagger flying, then drew his blade across the man’s throat—blood spurted forth.
Another came from behind with a thrust spear. He pivoted to evade, seized the shaft, and pulled—the spearman tumbled forward. Airak planted his foot on the man’s head and moved to the next opponent.
The formation shattered.
“Fall back! Retreat!”
At the command, the surviving shield-bearers scattered in all directions.

“Axe Warriors!”
Ho Yeon-gak gripped the railing, his knuckles white.
“Stop him!”
Massive men wielding battle axes poured from the city gate. Fifty of them. Their eyes blazed with bloodlust. Not fear—madness. Gold-fever madness.
“Ten thousand silver coins!”
“Cut off that bastard’s head and you’ll be rich!”
“Kill him!”
Battle axes rained down from overhead.
Airak twisted sideways as the axe buried itself deep in the ground, unyielding. In that same instant, he extended his foot and swept the Axe Warrior’s knee.
The crack of bone breaking.
“Ahhhhh!”
He leaped off the falling Axe Warrior’s back. Mid-air, he spun and severed three throats in succession, landed in a roll to evade another axe, rose, and cut down another man.
“You bastard!”
Two Axe Warriors came at him simultaneously from both sides.
He deflected the left axe with his blade and leaned toward the right. The axe grazed his shoulder, blood spraying, but he didn’t stop. Still leaning, he spun and raked both men’s bellies.
“Gack….”
Entrails spilled onto the ground.
An Axe Warrior came at him from behind.
He sensed it coming, but there was no time to evade. He twisted his body, but the axe blade tore across his back.
“Kk…!”
The cloak split open. Blood streamed down.
The wound was deep. Flesh split wide, exposing bone. It burned. No—it froze. The agony of torn flesh rocketed up his spine, searing into his brain. The world flashed white.
Yet the distance had closed.
The Buk Myeong Sword drove backward.
It pierced the Axe Warrior’s belly and the blade tip erupted from his back.
“Keh…ack….”
The Axe Warrior fell.
Airak staggered.
Blood from the wound on his back ran down his waist. His legs felt hollow, his knees threatening to buckle.
‘Not yet.’
He clenched his teeth.
The city gate was visible. Fifty paces. He had to reach it before it closed.

“Close the gate!”
Ho Yeon-gak let out a desperate cry.
The massive iron gate groaned and began to move, soldiers throwing themselves against it with all their strength.
Airak surged forward.
Three Axe Warriors blocked his path.
Airak did not slow.
He burst straight through, slipping past the first warrior’s swing—the battle axe carved the air above him as he drove low, opening the man’s throat.
The second warrior’s axe came down; Airak flicked it aside with his blade. Pain shot through his wrist. The wound had weakened him, drained his strength. But he did not waste the opening—his sword found the warrior’s chest.
The third came at him from behind.
Airak dropped low and slashed at the man’s legs. The Axe Warrior shrieked and fell; Airak planted his heel on the warrior’s head and launched himself upward.

He reached the gate.
His palm met the iron.
Cold. The gate’s frigid bite seeped through his skin. But Airak’s hand was colder still. Frost bloomed from his flesh.
The iron crystallized and cracked.
He clenched his fist, channeled his Internal Energy, and drove it down against the gate.
Bang!
A hole tore through the iron.
Again. Again. Again.
His knuckles split. Skin peeled from the back of his hand and blood streamed down, but he did not stop.
The gate shattered.
Shards flew in all directions; three soldiers trying to secure it were struck and thrown down. Screams erupted.
Airak stepped through.

The fortress inside was silent.
Only the distant footfalls of fleeing soldiers echoed through the courtyard.
“…….”
Ho Yeon-gak descended the stairs.
He held a blade—heat shimmering along its length. A sword wreathed in flame. The Flame Sword.
“I acknowledge it.”
Ho Yeon-gak’s voice was low.
“Your strength.”
“Step aside.”
Airak answered flatly.
“Unless you wish to die.”
Ho Yeon-gak laughed softly.
“Look at yourself. Drenched in blood, stumbling. Drop the pretense.”
“It is no pretense.”
“There is a bounty on your head. A substantial one.”
Ho Yeon-gak raised his sword.
“And I need gold. Your death would make me wealthy beyond measure.”
“So you mean to throw your life away.”
“You are the one who will fall.”
Ho Yeon-gak charged.
He was fast—far faster than expected. Against an unwounded opponent, this would have been simple. But Airak was not whole.
Decades of refinement on the battlefield had honed Ho Yeon-gak’s swordwork. The Flame Sword descended in a diagonal slash.
Airak met it with the Buk Myeong Sword.
Clang!
Steel struck steel. Sparks burst from the contact; flame and frost collided, sending steam spiraling upward.
The force pressed him back.
Airak’s eyes narrowed. Blood seeping down his spine was siphoning away his strength.
Ho Yeon-gak smiled.
“Many wounds.”
He struck again, a rapid succession of blows.
Three. Four. Five.
Airak retreated, parrying each strike. His foot slipped on something wet—blood.
The sixth blade grazed his left arm; crimson sprayed.
“A North Sea Martial Warrior?”
Ho Yeon-gak’s laugh was contemptuous.
“Not much of one.”
Airak lifted his head. His eyes had changed.
“I’ve seen enough.”
“What?”
Ho Yeon-gak’s blade thrust forward.
Airak sidestepped half a pace. The sword grazed his ribs and blood spilled, but the distance between them closed.
Exchange Wound for Kill. He traded injury for life.
The Buk Myeong Sword flashed.
The blade drew across Ho Yeon-gak’s throat.
“Hrk… ack…”
Ho Yeon-gak’s hands flew to his neck. Blood streamed between his fingers.
“How… how could you…”
“Your left guard is slow.”
Airak looked down at him.
“I knew it from the first exchange.”
“Then why…”
“I was simply confirming it.”
Thud.
Ho Yeon-gak collapsed.

“The commander is dead!”
“Run!”
Soldiers scattered in all directions. Some threw down their weapons and fled. Others leapt from the ramparts. Still others dropped to their knees, begging for their lives.
Airak did not pursue them.
He climbed atop the city wall.
The Buk Myeong Sword hung heavy in his grip, blood dripping from its blade.
Corpses lay strewn across the frozen ground—more than two hundred. Blood had stained the snow and turned to crimson ice.
The survivors trembled as they looked up at him.
“Spread word.”
Airak spoke.
“The North Sea Martial Warriors march toward the Central Plains. Any who stand against us will die.”
His eyes burned with terrible clarity.
The surviving soldiers bowed their heads. None dared meet his gaze.

They crossed the Okman Gate.
The snow had vanished. The ice had melted. Green grass blanketed the earth.
“Clan Chief!”
Garkan came rushing over.
“Are you all right?”
“As you can see.”
Airak swayed.
“Clan Chief!”
Serian ran to him and steadied his arm.
“These wounds… there are so many…”
“I’m fine.”
Airak moved forward.
A warm wind swept across them—the first warmth he had felt in thirty years. The scent of grass, not blood. It was strange.
“So this is the Central Plains.”
Garkan murmured.
“It’s warm.”
Serian said.
“No snow. So much grass…”
Harku looked about in wonder.
Airak did not answer.
He gazed only southward. Somewhere in that land lay the one who had killed Karani.
“It is warm.”
Airak spoke softly.
The Buk Myeong Sword sang low—a cry for blood. Vengeance was only beginning.
A single blade of grass brushed against Airak’s foot. It was soft. A sensation utterly foreign.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————