North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 39

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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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39. The First Threshold of the Central Plains

A flock of crows wheeled overhead.
Black wings carved through the air in slow circles, an omen if ever there was one.
When Airak stopped, his followers froze in place behind him.
Three corpses hung upside down from the branches of a great willow at the village entrance. They had no heads.
The stench of blood struck his nostrils.
It was different from the iron smell of the Northern Sea. Northern blood froze, carried no odor. This blood was warm, already beginning to rot—that much was certain.
“People from the Northern Sea,” Serian said quietly.

The corpses’ clothing was unmistakably northern—leather vests, belts decorated with animal bone. Flies swarmed at the severed necks, and dark clots of blood hung down like pendulums.
Airak’s gaze settled on the corpses’ chests.
Barbarian.
Three characters carved deep into the flesh with a blade. The strokes were crude—carved in fury, no question.
“Barbarian,” he murmured.
A fly landed on the carved word, then flew away. The corpses’ skin had dried to a brittle tan in the sun.
The Central Plains sun mummified flesh with brutal efficiency.
Garkan snorted.
“Who’s calling who what.”
“What did they do?” Serian asked.

“Hard to say.”
Taikan examined the bodies more closely.
“No calluses on their hands. Not warriors. Merchants or drifters, most likely.”
Blood had run down onto the earth, creating dark stains. Fresh blood lay over old bloodstains—they hadn’t been dead for days. A day or two at most.
“Should we cut them down, Airak?” Taikan asked.

“Leave them.”
Airak moved on.
“It’s not our concern.”
As they entered the village, all eyes turned toward them. Men clutching farming tools stared with open hostility, and women grabbed their children and vanished into houses. Whispers rippled through the air.
“Look. They’ve come again.”
“Savages. Don’t meet their eyes.”
“Shouldn’t we tell the magistrate’s office?”
A stone flew from an alley mouth.
Thud.
It struck Garkan’s shoulder.
“Savages!”
A child’s voice. A boy of five or six, eyes burning with hatred, bent to pick up another stone. His voice shook with venom.
“We should do to you what they did to them! Hang you up at the entrance!”
“The brat’s got a loud mouth.”
Harku bared his teeth in a grin.
A woman who appeared to be the boy’s mother rushed over and dragged him away. He thrashed and screamed.
“Let go! These bastards hurt my sister—!”
The woman clapped her hand over his mouth and hurried away, her head bowed, moving in quick shuffling steps.
“Brave little thing,” Harku muttered.
He clicked his tongue.
“Hold it,” Airak said.

“What would you do to a child.”

The tavern was easy enough to find.
Central Plains taverns were nothing like those of the Northern Sea. Red cloth hung from wooden pillars, large earthen jars sat before the entrance, and the smell of wine drifted out into the street.
As they stepped inside, the noise died down abruptly.
Four or five patrons turned to look at Airak’s group, then quickly averted their eyes. They shoved food into their mouths and rushed out. One man even dropped his chopsticks in his flight.
“Sit here,” Airak said.
Airak claimed a corner table.
Serian called to the proprietor.
“We’d like some food, please. There are six of us.”
The proprietor approached—a man in his fifties, wearing a grease-stained apron, though his gaze was sharp as a blade. Old scar-marks scored his forearms, telling the story of a younger man who’d once been a warrior.
He looked over Airak’s group, taking in their clothes, and shook his head.
“I don’t serve Barbarians.”
Serian’s eyes widened.
“We have money.”
“It’s not about money.”
The proprietor’s voice turned sharp and dismissive.
“A few days back, others like you came through. Down from the north. They got themselves drunk, assaulted one of our girls, and fled. You’re not part of that lot, are you?”
“We didn’t do anything like that.”
“And how am I supposed to believe that?”
His voice rose. Eyes around the tavern fixed on their table.
“I’ll pay double.”
Serian withdrew silver and placed it on the table.
The proprietor shook his head.
“Triple won’t change it. Leave.”
“Just give us the food.”
Serian stepped back.
“We won’t eat here. We can take it with us.”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
The proprietor’s voice hardened.
“Your kind destroyed one of our girls! She still can’t show her face outside!”
Harku stood abruptly, his hand reaching for the Twin Fang Blade’s hilt.
“You bastard—”
“Sit down.”
Airak’s voice cut through the tension, low and cold. Harku froze.
“Drawing steel over hunger makes you a beast.”
Airak rose from his seat.
“Let’s go.”
“Chief!”
Harku cried out, aggrieved.
“This is—”
“Enough.”
Airak spoke without turning back.
“This isn’t the Northern Sea.”

Outside the tavern, afternoon sunlight poured down relentlessly. The air was hot, humid, clinging to skin with an uncomfortable slickness. Airak squinted up at the sky.
Those who came down from the north.
Who were they that the proprietor spoke of? Majeon? Or others? Someone arrived before us.
“Chief.”
Taikan approached.
“The stream outside the village looks like a good place to camp.”
“Lead the way.”
The stream was lined with willows, their drooping branches providing shade. Water murmured softly over stone—a sound impossible in the Northern Sea, where the waters lay frozen year-round.
Arko dipped his hand into the current and grimaced.
“It’s tepid. Not cold like the Northern Sea water.”
“Still drinkable, though.”
Garkan bent and drew water to his lips.
“The taste is wrong. Like soil.”
“Stop complaining.”
Harku let out a short laugh.
“As long as it doesn’t kill you.”
“We’ll adapt.”
Taikan said quietly,
“We’re in the Central Plains now.”
Serian rolled up her sleeves and waded into the stream.
“There are fish here.”
As her hand moved, a silver-scaled fish leaped into the air. An Ice Needle pierced through it cleanly. Her movements were swift and precise. She caught three in quick succession.
“Well done.”
Garkan murmured his approval.
“Should I catch more?”
Serian’s bright smile flickered with something else—for just a moment, Karani’s face seemed to shadow it.
Water droplets traced down Serian’s forearms, silver beads catching the last light on silver skin. Airak tried not to look. The effort betrayed him.
As the sun descended, fish sizzled over the fire, oil crackling in the flames. Despite the savory aroma, everyone’s face twisted the moment they took a bite.
“It tastes off.”
Harku grumbled.
“The fish from the Northern Sea are far better.”
“It tastes like mud.”
Arko shook his head as well.
“The water here in the Central Plains is too warm. If it were cold like the Northern Sea, the flesh would be firm.”
Serian lifted her shoulders with a shrug.
“Still better than starving.”
Garkan forced the fish down his throat.
“In the Northern Sea, you cut off a guest’s head if you let them go hungry.”
“This isn’t the Northern Sea.”
Airak repeated the same words.
“Adapt to it.”
Night deepened around them.
The fire crackled, pushing back the dark. Serian examined the wound on Airak’s back—one he’d taken in the battle at Okmuun Gate. The flesh was healing, though red marks still lingered across the scarred skin.
“It’s almost completely mended.”
“Airak heal quickly.”
“You shouldn’t overexert yourself regardless.”
Serian applied the salve as she spoke. Airak said nothing. Each time her fingers found his skin, his shoulders tensed imperceptibly.
“Chief.”
Taikan emerged from the darkness.
“I have the scout’s report.”
“Speak.”
“The Village Guard is watching us. About ten men positioned toward the village perimeter. They’ll keep their torches burning all night.”
“Will they attack?”
Garkan asked.
“I don’t think so. Their eyes were afraid. They’re watching, but they have no intention of coming closer.”
Taikan shook his head.
“Both afraid of us, and afraid that other Barbarians might come because of our presence here.”
“Then we can leave them be.”
“There’s one more thing.”
Taikan’s voice dropped lower.
“I found hoofprints around our camp.”
Airak’s eyes narrowed.
“From the Guard?”
“No. The Guard has no horses—only a few donkeys.”
Taikan continued.
“The prints were fresh and clear. From the weight, the horse was armored. The rider was a Warrior.”
“Which direction?”
“Circled the camp in a wide loop, as if observing. Then headed south and vanished.”
Silence fell, and the snap and crackle of the fire grew sharp in the stillness. Sparks shot upward, scattering into the darkness.
“Majeon?”
Garkan asked.
“Majeon cavalry don’t use armored horses.”
Taikan shook his head.
“They favor light cavalry mounts for raiding—armor is too heavy and slow.”
“Then who?”
Harku interjected.
“A Warrior from the Central Plains.”
Taikan’s tone was certain.
“Someone is watching us. Not the Village Guard. A mounted man, a Warrior.”
“How long have they been following us?”
Serian asked.
“Unknown. But….”
Taikan brought his horse to a halt.
“Only?”
“The hoofprints are too clear. They’re not trying to hide. It means they don’t care if we know we’re being watched.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
Harku snorted.
“Is it a provocation?”
Serian asked.
“Hard to say.”
Airak lifted his gaze.
A sallow moon hung in the sky. Its light differed from the moons of the Northern Sea. The Northern Sea’s moon was pale blue and cold. This one was warm and murky.
“Someone knows our route.”
Airak spoke quietly.
“How?”
Serian asked.
“Those who survived Okmuun Gate might have passed word. Or they’ve been tracking us from the start.”
“From the start, that would mean….”
Serian’s face hardened.
“From the Northern Sea?”
Airak didn’t answer. He only gazed northward into the darkness.
“What will you do tomorrow?”
Garkan asked.
“We take the Gwan Road.”
Airak replied.
“Won’t you avoid it by taking back paths?”
“Hiding is what a hunter wants.”
Airak rose to his feet.
“Show yourself, and the hunter shows himself too.”
“You mean to make yourself bait?”
Serian’s eyes widened.
“Bait.”
Airak let out a short laugh.
“You could call it that.”
He stroked the grip of the North Dark Blade. The blade sang low—a sound that hungered for blood.
“I don’t like them skulking in the shadows, clawing at nothing.”
Airak murmured.
“Show yourself. Then I’ll kill you for it.”
The chorus of crickets broke off for a moment, then resumed.
Airak understood the reason for that brief silence. Someone, somewhere, had held their breath. He did not close his eyes. His fingers continued their light caress of the North Dark Blade’s grip.
Deep night had fallen.
Sallow moonlight shattered across the surface of the stream. Airak kept vigil through the night without sleep, his gaze turned toward the northern sky.
Somewhere in that land, the one who had killed Karani waited.
He didn’t yet know what blade that killer wielded. But he would find it. He would find them all.
The hunt had begun.

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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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