North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 36

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

36. A Warm Hell

The light burned his eyes.
Beyond Okmukmun Gate, the world had transformed. Sunlight lanced through the sky. Unlike the pale, murky haze of the Northern Sea, here there was too much light—far too much. He couldn’t open his eyes fully. Only when he shaded his brow with his hand did his vision clear.
Green.
A color that didn’t exist in the Northern Sea.
Grass covered the earth. Trees bore leaves. Everything was alive. In the Northern Sea, there had been only white, black, and gray—snow and ice and stone, the sum total of all existence.
Birds sang. Insects chirred.
The Northern Sea was a land of silence, nothing but wind and the crunch of footfalls on snow. Here, the noise was suffocating.
The scent of soil struck his nostrils. Grass. Decay.
The Northern Sea had been odorless. When everything was frozen, there was no smell—not even the possibility of rot.
Airak stopped walking.
It was beautiful. But he understood: this warmth would kill him.

“Is this the Central Plains?”
Harku wandered about, plucked grass, and chewed it.
“Can you eat this?”
Garkan struck his hand, forcing him to spit it out.
“Spit it out, fool.”
“Why? It was soft.”
“It could be poisonous. Don’t put anything in your mouth just because we’re not in the Northern Sea anymore.”
Harku rinsed his mouth and grumbled.
“I’m hungry.”
“Bear it.”
Taikan wiped sweat from his brow. His hand trembled. Each breath felt like his lungs were scorching. The air was heavy and viscous—the opposite of the Northern Sea’s sharp, crystalline cold.
“When I breathe, it feels like I’m suffocating.”
“Me too.”
Arko’s skin flushed crimson, as if burned by scalding water. Not an itch but a searing heat.
He whimpered and dropped to his knees.
“I can’t walk anymore.”
“Hold on, Arko.”
Garkan reached to support him, but stumbled himself.
The wounds he’d sustained in the battle at Okmukmun Gate throbbed in the warmth. They were festering.
“What’s all this about heat? I feel fine.”
Harku spoke with a healthy glow on his face.
“You’re a pig.”
Garkan glared at him.
“Sometimes stupidity is a blessing.”
Taikan laughed bitterly.
Garkan’s gaze shifted to Airak.
The chief was still walking, but his pace had slowed—imperceptibly so, a shift only Garkan’s trained eyes could detect.

Serian noticed it.
“Airak, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t.
The wounds from the Okmukmun Gate battle. The cost of wielding the Ice Soul Technique. And now this heat. Three layers of torment were devouring his body.
Warmth was poison to him. A body frozen for thirty years couldn’t thaw without death. The Northern Sea Ice Essence Divine Art, cultivated in the Extreme Yin Realm, was melting away under the oppressive heat.
Sweat began to fall.
For a man of the Northern Sea, sweat was a death knell. The cold essence within his body was draining away. His heart raced. His breathing quickened. The vital energy in him surged chaotically.
He was no longer human. He was a thing made of ice. The world of men no longer fit him. It was the price of thirty years in the Extreme Yin Realm. Those decades had carved him out of the human realm entirely.
The world shimmered and wavered like heat-haze. His vision blurred as if he’d fallen into fever.
But his expression didn’t change.
Never show weakness to an enemy. It was the instinct of the Airak Tribe warrior. Thirty years ago, and now.

Serian, too, was powerless against the temperature. But she had keen survival instincts. She studied her surroundings—the shadow of a rock, the shade beneath trees, a small stream.
“Let’s head that way. There’s water.”
“Good thinking.”
Garkan nodded.
They reached the stream. He led the group into the shadow of a boulder and soaked cloth in the water, pressing it to Arko’s forehead.
“Thank you.”
Arko exhaled in relief.
“That’s better.”
“We should move at night. Rest during the day.”
Serian made the suggestion.
Garkan nodded in agreement.
“Night Travel, then. Sensible.”
“We did the same in the Northern Sea when storms came. Hide when it’s dangerous, move when it’s safe.”
“This is why Huku Tribe women are the best.”
Serian dipped her hand into the stream.
It wasn’t cold. The water from the Northern Sea would freeze your bones the moment you touched it—your fingertips would go numb, as if they might snap clean off.
“This water is… warm.”
“What?”
Taikan’s eyes widened.
“The water’s warm?”
“Yes. Not like the Northern Sea at all.”
Taikan plunged his hand into the stream.
“…It really is.”
“Tepid, even.”
Harku dipped his hand in as well.
“We could bathe in this.”
“You’re thinking about that now?”
Garkan sighed.
Airak leaned his back against the rock and closed his eyes. Beads of sweat clung to his brow—a sight unseen in thirty years.
Garkan spoke softly, almost to himself.
“The clan leader… sweating.”
“What are you saying?”
Harku asked.
“The leader’s sweating. First time I’ve ever seen it.”
“So what does it matter?”
“Fool. The leader trained in the Extreme Yin Realm for thirty years. He shouldn’t sweat at all.”
Taikan spoke in a low voice.
“This heat… is taking a toll on him.”
Silence fell.
Worry spread across their faces.

As the sun set, the heat eased slightly.
“Get up.”
Airak rose first. Sweat trickled down across his wound and soaked in, but his expression never wavered.
“Serian.”
“Yes.”
“Gather intelligence. Find us food.”
“Understood.”
Serian stood to leave. Garkan moved to follow, but Airak stopped him.
“Let her go alone. A woman draws less attention.”
“But—”
“Serian knows how to survive.”
Garkan fell silent.
“Be careful.”
“Yes.”
Serian vanished into the darkness.

The tavern stood at the edge of a small village.
Serian sat in a corner table, dressed in worn clothes. She’d left her Northern Sea garments back at the camp. She couldn’t afford to stand out.
Martial artists crowded the tavern.
The noise of drinking and chatter was loud—nothing like the quiet nights of the Northern Sea.
“Tensions between the Righteous and Evil Sects are rising again, I hear.”
A martial artist at the next table spoke up.
“Is another Righteous-Evil Great War breaking out?”
“Hard to say. Both sides took heavy losses in the war ten years ago, so they won’t move easily.”
“Still, something feels wrong about the atmosphere lately. There’s word of movement from the Sichuan Tang Clan.”
“The Evil Sects are the same. There’s a rumor that the Demonic Sect has produced a Divine Martial Artist.”
Serian’s ears pricked up.
The Righteous-Evil Great War. A war between the Righteous and Evil Sects. It meant the martial world of the Central Plains tearing itself in two.
A proclamation was posted on the tavern wall.
A proclamation.
Serian’s eyes narrowed. She could read the characters. She’d learned the Central Plains language back in the tribe. The memory returned to her—harsh scolding, characters beaten into her as a child.
Airak knew this about her, which was why he’d sent her. Besides, the Airak Tribe looked distinctive and drew attention at a glance. That too had played a part in sending her alone.

『Murim Alliance Proclamation
Disputes among Righteous Sect schools are forbidden from being resolved by force without Murim Alliance mediation.
Violators shall be designated as Public Enemies.
By order of the Murim Alliance Leader.』

The Murim Alliance.
Serian’s eyes changed.
“The Heaven Sword Sect belongs to the Murim Alliance too, doesn’t it?”
One of the martial artists emptied his cup and spoke.
“Of course. Cheok Unhwi, the greatest swordsman under heaven, is an Elder of the Murim Alliance. They say he’s the strongest bladesman in the entire organization.”
“I’ve heard his swordsmanship is truly supernatural.”
“Not just supernatural—they say he’s never lost a single battle.”
“There’s even a rumor he’s the strongest sect leader the Heaven Sword Sect has ever had.”
Serian’s hands trembled.
‘Cheok Unhwi. The Central Plains’ mightiest swordsman? Could that man understand what kind of blade cut down Kara?’
She clenched her fists.
Her nails dug into her palm, drawing blood. Warmth trickled down her hand.
She steadied her breathing. She had to endure this. She couldn’t let her rage show here.
She bought food and left. Mandu. Fried rice. Soup.
Things she couldn’t have imagined in the Northern Sea. Cooked food. Warm food.

Back at the camp, Serian made her report.
“There’s an organization in the Central Plains martial world called the ‘Murim Alliance.’ It’s a union of Righteous Sect schools.”
Airak listened.
“The Heaven Sword Sect is part of it, and Cheok Unhwi is an Elder of the Murim Alliance. They say he’s the strongest swordsman in the organization…”
“The Murim Alliance.”
Airak muttered coolly.
“If we strike at a sect school, does that organization move against us?”
“Yes. Disputes among Righteous Sect schools are forbidden from being resolved by force without Murim Alliance mediation…”
“I am not part of the Righteous Sects.”
Airak spoke coldly.
“I’m a barbarian from the Northern Sea. Their rules have nothing to do with me.”
A brief silence.
“Good intelligence.”
His eyes gleamed with cold light.
“Now I know how many enemies there are.”
Serian nodded quietly.
“If the Murim Alliance moves… can we really stand against them?”
“Don’t worry.”
Airak answered.
“If it comes to it, I’ll kill them all.”
Garkan muttered beside him.
“These Central Plains people, they certainly do complicate things.”
“Where there are many rules, there are many gaps to exploit.”
Taikan added.
“Still, we need to be careful.”
Serian said.
“The Central Plains are vast, and there are many martial artists. Turning them all into enemies would be suicide. Think carefully about this…”
“What does it matter, then.”
Harku snorted.
“The tribe leader is stronger anyway.”
“That may be true, but…”
“Don’t worry, Serian.”
Garkan patted Serian’s shoulder.
“We have the tribe leader.”

Serian distributed the food she’d brought from the roadside inn.
Harku ate voraciously.
“This is delicious! What is it?”
“Mandu, they call it.”
“Mandu? Never heard of it.”
“Meat wrapped in dough and steamed, apparently.”
“Clever, those Central Plains folk.”
Arko ate cautiously. So did Garkan. So did Taikan.
Only Airak didn’t reach for the chopsticks.
“Won’t you eat, sir?”
“…eat.”
Serian urged him, but Airak shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
The truth was different. Heat gnawed at his body, and he sensed that eating would only make it worse. Not the raw flesh of the Northern Sea, but cooked food. Warm food. His body wasn’t ready to accept such things.
But he didn’t want to trouble his subordinates with his concerns.
“Eat first. We have to walk through the night.”

A few hours later.
As deep night settled in, moans filled the camp.
Harku clutched his belly and writhed.
“Ugh… what is this…”
“Harku?”
Garkan tried to rise, then grabbed his own stomach.
“Something’s wrong with me too…”
Arko rushed into the brush. Sounds of retching followed.
Taikan’s face had gone pale, sweat streaming down. His body shook uncontrollably.
“Are they all… suffering from food poisoning?”
Serian’s alarm grew.
“Was the food spoiled…”
“No.”
Airak spoke quietly.
“It wasn’t spoiled.”
“Then why…”
“The bodies of Northern Sea people cannot adapt to Central Plains food.”
None of them could rise.
Only Serian was managing reasonably well, having eaten only half before leaving the rest.
“What should we do…”
“Let them rest. Until morning.”
Airak got to his feet. He too was unsteady.
Serian noticed. Airak was suffering as well—from the heat, from his wounds—but his expression remained unchanged.
“You should rest too, sir…”
“I’m fine.”
Airak leaned his back against a stone.
He didn’t close his eyes. Someone had to keep watch. With all his men down, that burden fell to him.
Moans echoed through the night.
Cold moonlight poured down—the same moon as in the Northern Sea. Yet here, even that light felt warm.
The climate, the food, the air itself.
Everything in the Central Plains was rejecting the wolves of the Northern Sea.

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