North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 38

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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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38. The Barbarian’s Mark

Serian drew her blade.
Thirty torches wavered. In the darkness, hostility burned bright.
Her opponents were the Militia. None of them had trained in Martial Arts. Farmers. Rabble, their numbers their only strength.
The North Sea’s finest warrior could not be allowed to fall to such as these.
Serian turned back. Ailak, slumped against the rocks. His clothes soaked with sweat. His breathing shallow, as though he were holding it.
A man who had survived thirty years in the Extreme Darkness. A monster who had shattered the Okmon Gate alone. Such a man was now collapsing in the heat.
She had to protect him.
Why? Because this man was the North Sea’s greatest warrior? The husband of the Fuku Tribe’s finest?
Even Serian herself did not know. Was it the tribe’s covenant, or something else entirely?
Ailak’s eyes met hers. Gray irises. Cold, yet somehow lonely.
Her heart quickened.
Not now.
She cast the thought aside and raised her blade.
“I’ll handle this.”

“What’s this? Sending out a girl?”
The captain sneered. A sturdy-looking man with an axe slung over his shoulder stepped forward.
“You’ve got nerve for Barbarians. I’ll give you that.”
Serian walked slowly toward the Militia.
“One last warning.”
Her voice was cold.
“Leave. Now.”
“Ha! What’s a wild girl spouting off about?”
The captain raised his axe.
“You hear that? This Barbarian wench is giving us orders?”
Laughter erupted from those around him.
“Kill them! Kill the Barbarian dogs!”
The Militia surged forward with a roar.
Serian drew breath. Cold. Deep.
And she spoke.
“All who wrong the North Sea find only death.”
Her voice was soft but crystalline.
A few of those rushing forward faltered. That gaze. That cold gaze. It was not the eyes of a human.
Only the captain did not stop.
“What nonsense!”
The axe shrieked through the air.
It descended.

Serian moved.
The Silver Snow Step. A movement technique that glided like walking across a field of silver snow.
Wind billowed. No—not wind. Where Serian had passed, cold lingered in the air. The torches trembled.
The axe cut through empty space. But Serian was already gone.
The captain’s eyes widened.
“Where did—”
Beside him.
Steel flashed. The arc was invisible.
Crack.
The sound of bone severing. Brief. Dry. It shattered the silence.
The captain’s wrist fell away, still gripping the axe.
In that instant—just the span of a heartbeat before the scream—there was only silence.
“Aaaaaaahhhhh!”
The captain collapsed to his knees. Blood fountained from his wrist, turning crimson in the light of the torches.
Serian raised her blade. No blood clung to it. She had been too fast.
“Next time, your neck.”
A cold voice cut through the darkness.
The Militia froze. No one dared move.
The captain who had mocked her as a mere girl was now shrieking, blood pouring from his body. The sight said everything.
A torch fell, its flame catching on dry grass. Someone stamped at it, but their trembling hand only scattered embers.
Serian did not look back.
A single drop of blood fell slowly from her blade to the earth.

Serian surveyed the survivors.
She said nothing. Her gaze was enough.
Cold eyes. Utterly devoid of feeling. That was what terrified them most.
One man dropped his torch. His hands were shaking.
“M-monster!”
He bolted. It was the signal.
At a single man’s fall, the Militia shattered. Those who had snarled and threatened moments before now shoved past one another in their scramble to flee. Torches rolled across the ground, screams scattered into the dark.
“Run!”
“Get away from her!”
“Faster!”
Serian did not move. She simply watched.
There was no need to pursue. They were not warriors—only farmers.
The screams of the fleeing men faded into the distance, swallowed by darkness.
The captain lay on the ground, groaning, clutching at his severed wrist. Blood continued to flow.
Serian looked down at him.
“If you want to live, stop the bleeding. Otherwise you’ll bleed out.”
She turned and walked away.
“Save me… please…”
The captain’s sobs reached her ears—the cries of a man who had mocked her as a girl. She paid him no mind.

She returned to the camp.
Garkan sat with a hand pressed to his wound, his gaze sharp.
“Is it finished?”
“Yes. It’s done.”
“How many did you kill?”
“None. I only severed the captain’s wrist.”
“That’s enough. They’re farmers, after all.”
Garkan nodded.
“Well done. Pointless killing only makes things complicated.”
Harku rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“What happened? What was all that? I didn’t see anything.”
“You were asleep,” Serian answered.
She replied matter-of-factly.
“Aw, you should’ve woken me. I wanted a fight too.”
“If you joined in, everyone would be dead.”
“So what? What’s wrong with that?”
“We’re not murderers.”
Arko interjected with a cough.
“Harku really is… remarkable…”
“What is?”
“That you can snore and sleep soundly through all this chaos.”
“I need a lot of sleep. That’s just how I am.”
Garkan sighed.
“That’s because you’re a pig.”
“What’s wrong with being a pig? Pigs are sturdy.”
Taikan, his face ashen, asked quietly.
“They all fled?”
“Yes. Everyone ran.”
Taikan let out a breath of relief.
“Thank the heavens. We don’t have the strength for another fight.”
“Still, we should be careful. I heard there are bandits in this area.”
“Bandits?”
“I heard it in the village. There’s a bandit stronghold beyond the forest, they said.”
“If you come, I’ll kill you. That’s all there is to it.”
It was Ailak’s voice.
Everyone turned. Ailak sat leaning against a boulder, his eyes open.

Serian approached him.
“Clan leader.”
“You fought well.”
Three words.
From Ailak, they were the highest praise.
Serian’s lips curved upward—barely visible.
“Of course.”
She spoke it curtly. But the hand gripping her sword trembled, minutely.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Ailak closed his eyes.
Garkan interjected.
“You fought well. True family, that’s what you are.”
Serian turned her head. She looked at Ailak.
“I’m the wife of a North Sea warrior, after all.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. But it was already too late.
“Of course I should at least be able to do this much.”
The air shifted.
Ailak’s eyes grew cold.
“Wife.”
His voice was low.
Serian’s breath caught.
“My wife is Karani alone.”
Her heart seemed to freeze over.
“That place will remain empty forever. For Karani.”
Silence descended.
Serian lowered her head, hiding her expression.
“…I understand.”
Her voice was small.
“It was just a joke.”
It was no joke. They both knew it.
Garkan cleared his throat, breaking the suffocating silence.
The campfire crackled softly, a branch snapping as sparks scattered.
A strand of Serian’s silver hair fell against her cheek.
She did not brush it away.
Ailak stared only at the hilt of the North Ming Blade. Only the temperature of his gaze was honest.
“I mean, well…”
“Enough.”
Ailak closed his eyes.
“Rest. We move tomorrow.”
That was the end of it.

The night deepened.
Extinguished torches lay scattered, darkness claiming the space. The sound of insects drifted from a distance. An owl’s cry came from somewhere—a sound he’d never heard in the North Sea.
Arko had barely fallen asleep. Garkan’s eyes were closed. Taikan lay sprawled in exhaustion. Harku had begun to snore again.
Only Serian remained awake.
She watched Ailak.
He leaned against the boulder with his eyes closed—whether asleep or awake, she could not tell.
Gray eyes. A cold gaze. Yet sometimes, very rarely, a loneliness showed through.
A man who survived thirty years in the Extreme Darkness. A man who did not break even after losing everything. A man who came all the way to the Central Plains seeking the enemy who killed Karani. And a fool who still looks only at the dead Karani.
I’m the fool.
Serian turned her head away.
She had always known. Known from the beginning. That there was only one place in Ailak’s heart, and Karani already occupied it.
And yet.
And yet she could not help it.
In the North Sea, Serian grew up hearing legends of Ailak.
The only warrior to survive the Extreme Darkness. A monster who felled demons with a single blade. When the man everyone thought dead returned after thirty years, Serian saw him for the first time.
Their eyes met. In that moment, her heart raced.
He was no legend. He stood before her. He was alive.
Strong. Striking. And terribly alone.
That was when it began. Not because of the tribe’s promise. It was genuine. She had come to see Ailak as her man. But he never looked back at her. Perhaps he never would.
Knowing this, she followed him. Knowing this, she stayed by his side. Knowing this…
Serian closed her eyes.
The nights in the North Sea were cold. But this night was colder still.

Dawn broke.
Warmth began to seep back into the world. Ailak rose. The others opened their eyes.
“Move out.”
A terse command.
The group began gathering their things.
Serian moved as she always did. As though last night had never happened. Her face betrayed nothing.
Garkan came to stand beside her.
“About last night…”
“It’s fine, Garkan.”
Serian smiled. Evenly.
“I already knew.”
“Still…”
“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Garkan closed his mouth. He didn’t know what to say.
“Let’s go.”
Ailak took the lead.
The group fell in behind him.

The village drew closer.
The village where the Militia had been camped last night. Smoke rose in the distance.
“There’s a lot of smoke.”
Taikan remarked.
“Morning cooking?”
Harku asked.
“Not at that volume.”
Garkan’s voice had lowered.
“I smell something burning.”
Serian’s nostrils flared as she caught the scent.
“And blood.”
As they approached the village, the smell grew stronger. Burning. Blood.
Serian’s eyes narrowed.
They reached the village entrance. And naturally, their steps ceased. The sight before them stopped them cold.
Bodies hung from the trees. Upside down… headless.
Not one. Five.
Blood had pooled on the ground. Dark crimson stains. Still wet, not yet dry.
“This is…”
Garkan murmured.
Taikan examined the corpses.
“They’re the ones who fled last night. The Militia.”
“Unlucky bastards.”
Garkan clicked his tongue. It seemed they’d run into bandits after fleeing from Serian.
Ailak inspected the bodies. Blade wounds. Cut by a sword. Not a blade—a saber.
“Bandits.”
Low-voiced.
Serian stepped up beside him.
“The village has been attacked too, it seems.”
She gestured toward the smoking village.
“Understood.”
Ailak turned.
“Let’s go.”
“What about the villagers?”
“Not our concern.”
A cold reply.
“But—”
“It’s not our fight.”
Serian fell silent.
Ailak walked forward with heavy steps, past the village, onward.
Smoke rose behind his back.
Smoke from the burning village. The stench of blood carried on the wind.
The wolves of the North Sea do not stop.
Serian glanced back once. A crow descended beyond the blackened, burning rooftops. She clenched her teeth and walked forward.

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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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