North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 45

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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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45. Distorted Rumors

The administrative office of Ha Seo Pyo Guk.
Gwak Sam set down his brush. Before the ink could dry, he folded the letter and tied it to the leg of a carrier pigeon.
He sent it flying out the window.
Three birds—one to the Murim League, one to the Gamryeong Steel Cavalry, and one to the prefectural office of a neighboring county.
Gwak Sam’s hands trembled. It was not anger alone that shook them.
‘The lord… lost in five exchanges.’
It was almost impossible to believe. Mak Yi Seong, master of the Iron Thirty-Six Methods… one of the finest martial artists in the northwestern Central Plains… defeated by a Northern Sea barbarian whose name he’d never even heard. And in mere five exchanges, at that.
Gwak Sam clenched his teeth.
‘I cannot let those beasts live.’
The letter he had written contained falsehoods.
Six Northern Sea barbarians had slaughtered a village and attacked the Pyo Guk, grievously wounding the lord. He had even added the exaggeration that Mak Yi Seong might forfeit his life.
Mak Yi Seong had been wounded, but his life was not in danger. In truth, the barbarian had spared him.
But Gwak Sam did not write that.
‘The barbarian showed mercy and barely saved his life? How could such shame ever be made known?’
Gwak Sam’s eyes reddened with blood.
Mak Yi Seong. His benefactor. Twenty years ago, he had taken in an orphan from the streets, on the verge of starvation, and raised him as his own. He was no different from a father.
Such a lord had knelt before a barbarian.
‘I will kill them. Every last one of those Northern Sea dogs.’
The carrier pigeon vanished into a speck beyond the window.
Gwak Sam did not know what kind of upheaval the letter he had sent would cause.
Three empty ink dishes sat on Gwak Sam’s desk—evidence that his hand had not stopped moving while writing three letters.
He pressed the back of his hand against his eyes.
His eyes were wet. Whether they were tears of rage or tears of shame, even he could not say.

At the same moment, at Murim League Headquarters.
An urgent dispatch arrived at the patrol captain’s office.
“Ha Seo Pyo Guk has been attacked!”
The captain who received the letter narrowed his eyes.
“Six Northern Sea barbarians… and the lord, Mak Yi Seong, is gravely wounded?”
“Yes. They massacred merchants and slaughtered civilians as well.”
The captain’s face hardened.
“Mak Yi Seong of Ha Seo Pyo Guk—isn’t he counted among the finest martial artists of the northwest? How could such a man fall to six barbarians?”
“It only means they are that vicious, sir.”
The captain set the letter down on the table.
“Issue an alert. Any Northern Sea barbarians spotted are to be reported immediately.”
“Understood.”
The messenger ran out.
The captain gazed out the window and muttered to himself.
“Northern Sea barbarians, stepping foot in the Central Plains. The vermin that should have been exterminated have walked in of their own accord.”

Four days later.
Irok and his party were moving south.
The moment they left the mountain path and set foot on the main road, the number of people increased noticeably.
Merchant caravans, groups of travelers, nobles in palanquins—all of them gave way, clearing the road ahead of Irok’s group.
Cold gazes. Fearful stares.
Garkan let out a snort.
“Even in the Northern Sea, it wasn’t quite like this.”
“This isn’t our land.”
Irok replied curtly.
Serian supported Arko as she asked, “Arko, are you all right?”
“Yes. The poison has fully cleared from my body. Please don’t worry.”
Though color had not yet returned to Arko’s face, his stride was steady.
Harku sniffed at the air.

“The smell of rice. There must be a tavern ahead.”
“Are you saying you’re hungry?”
“We’ve been eating nothing but dried meat for four days. I’m craving something hot and hearty.”
Irok looked ahead.
A small tavern came into view. It was shabby, but smoke rising from it showed it was open for business.
“We’re going in. Let’s eat and move on.”

The moment Irok opened the tavern door, every eye inside snapped toward them.
About fifteen patrons. Most were martial artists with swords at their hips—bodyguards on escort duty or wandering swordsmen, it seemed.
Irok found an empty table and sat. His companions followed.
The tavern owner approached. A portly middle-aged man with wariness brimming in his eyes.
“What… can I get for you?”
“Rice. Six bowls. And broth.”
…….
The owner hesitated.
Irok placed a silver coin on the table. Ten taels—five times what the meal would cost.
The owner’s eyes lingered on the silver, then fell away.
“…Of course. Right away.”
The owner disappeared into the back.
Serian glanced around the room and spotted a piece of paper pinned to the wall.
“What is that?”
A wanted poster.
‘Barbarian gang from the Northern Sea. Murdered merchants. Slaughtered common folk. Dead or alive. Bounty: five hundred gold taels.’
Serian’s face went rigid.
“We’ve… become murderers.”
Garkan glanced at the poster and let out a short laugh.
“Five hundred taels? It was ten thousand back in the Northern Sea. Quite the markdown.”
Harku snickered.
“We’re being treated like cheap goods. That stings.”
Taikan spoke in a low voice, warning them.
“The martial artists in the tavern are moving.”
Irok answered without shifting his gaze.
“I know.”
The martial artists began sliding from their seats, repositioning themselves.
The air in the tavern transformed. Even the sound of a spoon against a bowl became cautious. The owner retreated a step toward the kitchen. The sound of something boiling in the back grew unusually loud.
Irok looked down at his rice bowl.
Those sitting alone began pairing off, then grouping in threes—moving into a large formation that encircled Irok’s party.
An open siege.
Serian whispered, her voice tight with tension.
“Are we going to fight?”
“Not yet.”
Irok answered calmly.
The owner returned with the meal. His hands trembled. The bowls rattled as he set them on the table.
“H-here you are.”
“Thank you.”
Irok picked up a spoon and began to eat.
Garkan’s eyes widened, but without a word, he followed suit. So did Harku. So did Taikan.
Only Serian did not pick up her spoon.
“But… but those people over there….”
“Your rice is getting cold.”
Irok’s voice was serene. As if there were no one else in the room.
Serian reluctantly picked up her spoon.
By the time they finished their meal, the encirclement was complete. Fifteen martial artists surrounded Irok’s party on all sides.
Irok raised his final spoonful to his mouth.
He set down his bowl.
“That was good.”
He stood.
One of the martial artists blocked his path. He hadn’t drawn his sword, but his hand rested on the hilt.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out.”
“You think a five-hundred-tael bounty will just walk out of here?”
Another martial artist beside him snickered.
“For a barbarian, he sure eats well. Guess Central Plains food suits his palate?”
Laughter burst out. A few others joined in.
Garkan’s eyes turned cold.
“Shall I cut out his tongue?”
“Leave it.”
Irok turned his gaze upon the martial artist.
Gray eyes pierced through him. Wordless. Emotionless.
Color drained from the man’s face.
“W-what…?”
Irok stepped closer.
The martial artist instinctively retreated. His hand found his sword hilt, but he did not draw.
“Touch me and you die.”
Just those words.
The air froze.

Silence descended.
No one moved. Fifteen martial artists encircled six, yet it was the fifteen who felt overwhelmed.
Irok’s presence.
That same presence once called Undefeated Under Heaven in the Northern Sea now pressed down upon the tavern.
One of the martial artists tried to draw his blade. The moment his hand touched the hilt, Irok’s gaze snapped toward him.
His hand froze.
The fingers gripping the hilt turned rigid. Gray eyes—within them yawned an abyss of death.
‘That’s… not the eye of a human being.’
The martial artist released his grip without thinking.
The rest did the same. No one could draw. They were pinned by sheer presence.
Garkan let out a low chuckle.
“If you want to trade your lives for five hundred taels, I won’t stop you.”
Harku’s eyes gleamed as he caressed the hilt of his Twin Fang Blades. “I’d like to see blood. Who’ll draw first?”
The martial artists’ faces turned ashen.
Irok walked toward the door.
His companions followed. Serian supported Arko, while Garkan watched their rear.
The martial artists parted. They retreated of their own accord.
They departed without a drop of blood spilled.
The tavern door opened.

Sunlight struck his face first. Dust danced in the rays. Beyond that shimmer, the glint of metal appeared.
Horsemen lined the road.
Fifty mounted riders.
Armored cavalry surrounded the tavern, waiting. Spears and blades caught the sunlight, flashing.
The one at the fore dismounted.
A man in his mid-forties, a long scar cutting across his face beneath his eyes. A long spear lay across his back, but his hand rested on the sword at his waist.
“Northern Sea barbarian.”
His voice low and heavy.
“I have come to avenge my sworn brother Mak Yi Seong.”
Leader of the Gamryeong Steel Cavalry. Gwak Seong, the Crimson Spear.
Garkan muttered softly.
“They’ve cast their net to trap a wolf.”
Harku’s eyes blazed as he stroked his Twin Fang Blades.
“At last, a proper opponent.”
Taikan lowered his bow from his back and gripped it in hand.
Arko stepped behind Serian.
Irok’s hand slowly rose to the hilt of his Northern Ming Sword.
“Avenge.”
Gray eyes fixed upon Gwak Seong.
“Mak Yi Seong is not dead. What vengeance is there?”
Gwak Seong’s eyes narrowed.

“The Governor has been gravely wounded. He fell in Five Exchanges. That humiliation… must be washed away in barbarian blood.”
The cavalry tightened their encirclement.
Fifty mounted soldiers formed a perfect circle around Irok’s party. Spear points leveled inward in unison.
There was no way out.
Serian spoke, her voice tight with tension.
“Do we fight?”
Irok did not answer.
Gwak Seong raised his hand.
“Surrender now, and we’ll spare your lives. You’ll be taken to the Murim League Headquarters for trial.”
“Trial?”
The corners of Irok’s mouth lifted faintly.
“Trial for barbarians. Is that the measure of justice in the Central Plains?”
Gwak Seong’s face hardened.
“You mock us.”
“I speak only truth.”
Garkan interjected quietly.
“Chieftain. Their formation is solid. Disciplined cavalry, by the look of them.”
“I know.”
Harku clicked his tongue.
“Not as good as the Northern Sea’s black cavalry… but there are many of them. This will be troublesome.”
Taikan assessed the situation coldly.
“Ten archers positioned to the rear, blocking the escape route. We must deal with them first.”
Arko drew a small pouch from inside his robe.
“Should we use Poison Smoke? It would throw the horses into chaos.”
Irok shook his head.
“The poison hasn’t fully cleared your system yet. You stay with Serian at the rear.”
“But—”
“That’s an order.”
Arko bit his lip and withdrew.
Serian drew a short sword from her robe and gripped it. Her hands trembled, but her eyes were steady.
“I can fight.”
“I know.”
Irok gazed ahead.
Silence.
The wind stirred.
Dust rose and brushed against the soldiers’ armor.
Gwak Seong drew his sword.
“There is nothing more to discuss.”
Sunlight flashed along the blade.
“Gamryeong Steel Cavalry! Form ranks!”
Fifty mounted soldiers moved as one.
The encirclement tightened. Their spear points descended toward Irok’s party in perfect synchrony.
An iron net closing on six wolves.
Irok drew the Northern Ming Sword.
Black light swallowed the sun.
“Come.”
Garkan’s Ice Steel Chain sang as it unfurled. Harku’s Twin Fang Blades slid a finger’s breadth from their sheaths, then withdrew. Taikan slowly drew the Angle Evil Bow from his back. Arko’s hand found the poison needle pouch at his side once more. Serian’s palm settled on the hilt of Silver Snow.
Six breaths aligned into a single heartbeat.

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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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