North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 44

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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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44. The Chieftain’s Answer

When the sun caught on the horizon, the headquarters of Haseo Hyunguk came into view.
A vast estate sprawled before them, its roofs lined with red tile. Banners fluttered above the high walls, and armed escort agents thronged the main gate.
Airak didn’t slow his stride.
Garkan, still carrying Arko, hurried after him and asked.
“Chieftain, do we go in directly?”
“We’re out of time.”
Arko’s face had taken on a sickly pallor. His breathing came rough and shallow, sweat beading cold on his forehead.
Half of the half-day deadline had already elapsed.
Taikan narrowed his eyes like a bird of prey, studying the headquarters.
“Ten at the gate, twelve along the walls, at least a hundred inside. One Master.”
“Where?”
“Moving in the main hall. He’ll come out soon.”
Harku chuckled, running his fingers along the Dual Curved Blades at his side.
“A hundred, you say. Today’s going to be fun.”
“Don’t kill them.”
Airak’s voice was clipped, final.
“They hold no grudge against us. No need to cripple them either.”
Harku made a disappointed sound but nodded his assent.
Serian pressed her palm to Arko’s forehead and spoke.
“His fever’s climbing. We have to hurry.”
Her voice remained steady, but concern flickered in her eyes. A woman raised as a queen—she fought to hide her emotions, yet her care for her companions would not be concealed.

Airak walked toward the main gate.
The gate guards drew their curved blades and moved to block the way.
“Halt! This is Haseo Hyunguk!”
“Bring out the antidote.”
Airak replied without breaking stride.
“What? You lunatic—!”
The guard swung his blade—a horizontal slash aimed at the neck.
A hand reached out. Fingers caught the blade precisely mid-stroke with a metallic ring. The guard’s eyes went wide.
The blade twisted in the grip.
The sword slipped from the man’s hand, its flat slapping against his shoulder as it fell.
“Argh!”
A cry of pain, and the guard crumpled. Not dead—only his shoulder opened, bleeding.
The remaining nine gate guards rushed him at once.
Garkan set Arko down with Serian and stepped forward.
“I’ll hold them.”
The Binchyeolswae tore through the air. The heavy chain undulated like a serpent, coiling around three men’s wrists. As Garkan pulled, the crack of breaking bone echoed out and blades clattered to the ground.
“Ahhhhh!”
The remaining six closed in on Garkan.
Blades flew from every direction, but the Binchyeolswae spun like a shield, deflecting them all.
The counterattack came swift.
The chain whipped out like a lash, sweeping the legs from three more men. As they fell, the Binchyeolswae came down again, leaving them unconscious where they lay.
Garkan spoke without even turning around.
“It’s finished.”
Loyalty radiated from every inch of his frame. He stood ready to face a hundred—a thousand—for his chieftain.
Arrows came down from the walls.
Taikan raised the Claw Bow. The motion of drawing the string was invisible. Arrows simply flew from where his hand had passed.
Whoosh… whoosh… whoosh…
Three shafts in rapid succession pierced through three archers’ hands atop the wall. Cries of agony. The guards released their bows and tumbled from the ramparts.
“Next.”
Taikan murmured expressionlessly. The predator’s gaze of a bird of prey swept across the remaining archers.
Not one of them dared raise a bow.
Their instincts screamed it: those eyes meant death.

The gate swung open.
A roar erupted as fifty-some couriers poured out. At their head stood a powerfully built man.
Mid-fifties, barrel-chested with forearms thick enough to earn the epithet “Iron Arm,” a massive frame that matched the name. The Heavy Blade in his hand caught the sunlight and gleamed.
Mak Iseong, Lord of Haseo Hyunguk, the Iron Arm.
Mak Iseong approached with his eyes fixed on Airak.
“The man who crippled thirty of my couriers….”
Thud. Thud.
His footfalls were heavy, and the ground trembled with each step.
“I’ll face you myself.”
Airak stopped.
“Hand over the antidote. Then there need be no more bloodshed.”
Mak Iseong let out a scoff.
“A savage threatening me?”
He settled the Heavy Blade across his shoulder, smirking.
“Ridiculous. Do you think such threats carry weight in the Martial World of the Central Plains?”
“It’s no threat.”
Airak drew the Bekmyeong Blade.
A soft rasp—
The black light of steel left its sheath, drinking in the surrounding radiance. The blade sang low, a hunger for blood that filled the air with its keen.
Mak Iseong’s eyes twitched. The killing intent emanating from that blade was no ordinary thing.
Yet he did not retreat.
“Good. Come then!”
Iron Arm Thirty-Six Blade Technique, first form.
The Heavy Blade carved the sky, descending with the force of a crumbling mountain. The massive weapon cleaved the wind, driving down toward Airak’s skull.
Clang—!
The Bekmyeong Blade met it, receiving the Heavy Blade’s weight. The crash of metal rang out across the courtyard.
Mak Iseong’s eyes widened.
He had received it—that light blade had stopped his Heavy Blade, and without yielding an inch.
“What—!”
He pressed down with brute strength, driving Inner Power through the Heavy Blade to crush his opponent.
Airak did not move. He simply twisted his wrist ever so slightly.
The Heavy Blade slid aside, opening a gap.
The Bekmyeong Blade rose at an angle, striking for the chest.
Mak Iseong hastily turned the Heavy Blade to block. Clang—! Metal clashed again.
Two clashes.
Mak Iseong retreated, unleashing a barrage of cuts. The flowing combinations of the Thirty-Six Blade Technique cascaded down.
Heavy. Each move was heavy as a mountain.
Yet to Airak’s eye, they seemed slow.
The Bekmyeong Blade danced, parrying, deflecting, flicking strikes away.
Three clashes.
Four clashes.
Five clashes.
Mak Iseong’s breathing grew ragged. His Inner Power was draining fast. Airak, meanwhile, had not so much as lost his breath.
It had to end.
Mak Iseong raised the Heavy Blade high. The greatest strike of the Iron Arm Thirty-Six Blade Technique.
But the Bekmyeong Blade moved first.
Black light flashed, cutting across the Heavy Blade’s spine.
Clang—!
The Heavy Blade split cleanly in two. The severed fragments tumbled through the air before embedding themselves in the earth.
Mak Iseong staggered back in shock, but the Bekmyeong Blade was already at his throat.
“So it ends.”
He gritted his teeth.
Five clashes. In just five exchanges, his blade had shattered and steel now kissed his neck.
“I have never faced such a blade.”
His voice trembled with awe and dread.
A pale mist rose from the broken edge of the Heavy Blade.
The frost-touched mark left by the Bekmyeong Blade’s cold.
Ice crystals clung to the back of Mak Iseong’s hand. He did not brush them away. He hadn’t the composure to.
Airak spoke.
“An antidote.”
Mak Iseong hesitated briefly, then drew a small celadon bottle from his robes.
“…Take it.”
Airak accepted it and turned to leave.
The Bekmyeong Blade slid into its sheath with a low murmur—the regret of a blade denied blood.
Mak Iseong called out.
“Wait.”
Airak did not stop.
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
His footsteps halted. He did not turn around.
“If you hadn’t attacked first, I would never have drawn my blade.”
……
“There’s no reason to kill a man against whom I hold no grudge.”
Mak Iseong’s mouth fell open.
He had heard them called savages. Beasts from the Northern wastes, the barbarians of the Northern seas.
But this…this was not the speech of a savage.
Airak resumed walking and spoke.
“I would ask you something.”
“…What is it?”
“Who from the Central Plains went north recently? A month ago, perhaps.”
Mak Iseong shook his head.
“I don’t know. To be honest…we hear much news, but knowing such a thing is impossible. Unless only one or two people were involved. A month back? More than three hundred likely moved about.”
Airak turned back.
“Then you’re useless to me.”
Mak Iseong cried out urgently.
“Wait! I do know one thing.”
His footsteps stopped.
“There is a place called the Murim League.”
Mak Iseong pushed himself up on one knee, continuing as he rose.
“It is the heart of the Martial World in the Central Plains. All information—whether from Orthodox Sects or Heterodox Sects—flows to that place. Who went where, when they went, when they returned…you’ll find answers there. Your blade is no ordinary weapon, which is why I tell you this. Shed no more blood needlessly. Find your way to the Murim League.”
“Where is it?”
“Ten days south. Then five more days south from Taiyuanfu.”
Mak Iseong drew a long breath.
“The Murim League denies no one, not even barbarians. It stands open to all.”
He paused a moment, then added.
“Of course, I cannot say whether you’ll be treated as a savage or as a guest. But I tell you this because I am certain your blade is not responsible…someone from the Northern Region has been slaughtering innocents. We mistook you for them.”
Airak said nothing and departed.

Serian was supporting Arko, whose face had grown even more pallid.
“Quickly.”
Serian spoke with urgency, yet her voice remained steady—that composure that shone through even in crisis.
Airak handed over the celadon bottle.
“Give it to him.”
Serian pried open Arko’s mouth and poured the medicine down his throat.
Arko coughed violently but swallowed.
After a moment, his breathing grew even and steady. The sickly yellowish cast began to fade from his face.
“The poison…it seems to be stopping.”
He managed a weak smile.
“Thank you, Chieftain.”
Airak nodded.
Garkan approached.
“Where do we go now?”
“The Murim League.”
Airak gazed toward the south.
“If we find who went north a month ago, we find our answer.”
Taikan spoke up.
“He said it was ten days’ journey. Can Arko move?”
Arko answered.
“One day of rest, and I can travel.”
Harku chuckled softly.
“The Murim League, huh? That does sound interesting. They say Central Plains martial artists swarm there?”
“We’re not going there to kill.”
Airak spoke tersely.
“What we’re looking for is information. Not a fight.”
Harku’s lips twisted, but he offered no objection.
Serian spoke as she steadied Arko.
“We need to find somewhere to rest nearby. Moving through the night will be too hard on Arko.”
Her voice was firm. This wasn’t a suggestion—it was a statement of necessity. True to her nature as the finest warrior of the Northern Region, she made her position clear.
Airak nodded.
“We’ll rest one night in the nearby mountains. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”
The group began to move.
They left Haseo Hyunguk behind and turned onto a mountain path. The setting sun stained their backs crimson.
Garkan hoisted Arko onto his back again as he spoke.
“Chieftain.”
“What is it.”
“That lord… he doesn’t seem like a bad man.”

“He was only trying to protect his own people. We’re no different from him.”

“Is that why you let him live?”
Airak took a long moment before answering.
“I don’t know.”
Garkan nodded and asked nothing further.
As they climbed the mountain path, Serian drew up beside Airak.
“Hey.”
“What.”
“Thank you… for earlier.”
Airak glanced sideways at her.
“For what.”
“For fighting for Arko. For going into enemy territory to find the antidote.”
Airak turned his gaze away.
“A subordinate who dies is reduced fighting strength. Nothing more.”
Serian smiled faintly.
“I knew you’d say that.”

“But I know what kind of man you are, Chieftain. That’s not it at all.”

Serian looked ahead at Garkan and Arko as she spoke.
“Someday you’ll find the courage to be honest with yourself.”
Airak’s pace slowed slightly, then resumed its rhythm.
The sun sank beyond the mountains.
Darkness fell upon the mountain path. Six shadows walked through it.
Arko, cradled on Garkan’s back, breathed steadily. Harku had begun to whistle with his Dual Curved Blades slung across his shoulder, then fell silent.
Taikan drew his bowstring once and released it. Serian matched her stride to Airak’s, half a step behind.
Southward. Toward the Murim League. In search of traces of the one who had killed Karani.
The wolves’ journey continued.

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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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