North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 49

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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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49. Traces of Massacre

Two days later.
The company riding south came to a halt.
In the distance, smoke rose into the air. Black smoke.
“A village,” Taikan said.

Airak nodded.
“Let’s go.”

As they drew closer, the smell grew stronger.
Burning. And blood.
Serian covered her nose.
“This smell…”
Airak didn’t answer. He knew already.
The smell of death.
He’d caught it many times in the North Sea—that reek left behind after battle, after massacre.
He spurred his horse forward.

The village entrance.
The company dismounted.
Houses were burning. Black smoke climbed toward the sky. Flames consumed the roofs; the sound of beams collapsing echoed through the air. Somewhere, what sounded like screams cut the silence—but it was only the mind playing tricks. There were no living left. And worse than that—far worse—there was something else.
Bodies.
Bodies lay stacked at the village entrance.
Old men, women, children. No distinction made. They lay rigid in the positions they’d fallen, fleeing. A child stretched out a hand in death. Beside it, a woman who must have been the mother lay toppled in the same direction.
Serian choked back a cry.
The child’s fingertips lay frozen, just barely not touching the hem of the mother’s skirt. That single knuckle’s distance was the cruelest thing of all.
Wind stirred the child’s hair—a movement almost alive.
A low sound escaped Serian’s throat.
“Ah…”
She pressed her hand to her mouth. Her legs trembled.
Arko turned his head away. Even he, who worked with poisons, could barely endure the sight.
Garkan clenched his teeth.
“This is…”
Harku approached the bodies. He knelt and examined the wounds.
“Not sword cuts.”
He traced a wound with his finger.
“Spear wounds. Driven down from horseback. The depth is uniform. They were stabbed while riding—thrust as they passed.”
He stood.
“Cavalry work. Trained ones at that. They killed without stopping, moving straight through.”
Taikan surveyed the area beyond the village. Hoof prints marked the ground in all directions.
“More than a thousand horses. They came from the north.”
He reported to Airak.
“Judging by the spacing of the tracks, they were moving at full gallop. A raid like this—the villagers wouldn’t have had time to flee.”
Airak examined the wounds on the bodies himself.
Spear wounds.
Deep. Precise. Aimed at vital points. Meant to finish in one stroke. And more than anything—
“The blood’s dry but not frozen,” Airak murmured.

“Less than two days old. It happened while we were hiding in the Rocky Terrain.”
He straightened.
“It’s Majeon.”
Garkan asked, “Are you certain?”

“Certain. A thousand cavalry. Riding south from the north. And this cruelty.”
Airak surveyed the village.
“Those wild dogs are raiding villages in the Central Plains.”
Serian’s voice trembled with fury.
“These people have done nothing wrong. Why… why would they do such a thing?”
“To Majeon, guilt means nothing.”
Airak answered.
“They plunder what they can plunder. They kill what they can kill. Sometimes they kill for sport. That’s what a wild dog is. It’s their nature. If you hate it, the only answer is to kill the dogs themselves.”
Harku nodded.
“Even at the far reaches of the North Sea, those bastards had a fearsome reputation. There were even rumors they used human flesh as rations.”
Serian’s face went pale.
“Creatures like that…”
“They’re hunting us.”
Airak said.
“And this village suffered because of us.”
Serian lifted her head.
“What do you mean?”
“Majeon was looking for us. They came here and asked about our tracks. Whether they found what they were seeking or not, the result is the same.”
Airak stared down at the bodies.
“Massacre. That’s Majeon’s method. They spread terror.”

At the center of the village.
A flag had been planted by the well.
Serian spotted it first.
“There…”
She moved closer.
She recoiled at the sight of the flag.
“This can’t be…”
Her hand trembled.
“That’s the Airak Clan emblem.”
Airak approached.
He examined the flag.
A black cloth with a white emblem—an eagle with wings spread wide. The symbol of the Airak Clan.
He touched the fabric. It was new cloth. Made recently.
Garkan clenched his teeth.
“This is our emblem. Why is it here?”
“A false accusation.”
Airak answered curtly.
“Majeon is trying to pin the blame on us.”
He ripped the flag from the ground.
“They’re making it look as if we massacred this village. It’s simple, but it’s effective.”
In Airak’s grip, the flag’s fabric crumpled.
The tips of his fingers turned white. Veins stood out on the back of his hand, then subsided.
He threw the cloth to the ground.
The fabric didn’t blow away in the wind. It was already soaked with blood, heavy and dark.
Garkan’s voice burned with rage.
“Cowards. If I’d known they’d pull something like this, I wouldn’t have let them off yesterday.”
“Regret won’t help now.”
Airak stared down at the flag.
“Majeon planned this from the start. Hunting us was never their only goal.”
Taikan asked.
“Then what is?”
“To make all of the Central Plains our enemy.”
Airak threw the flag to the ground again.
“A savage from the North Sea massacred a village in the Central Plains. What happens when that rumor spreads?”
Garkan’s face hardened.
“Every person in the Central Plains will hunt us down.”
“Exactly. Majeon pursues us while at the same time driving the people of the Central Plains to kill us. Two birds with one stone.”
Harku whistled low.
“Impressive. These dogs are cunning for raiders.”
“It’s not cunning. It’s cowardice.”
Airak said.
“Killing the weak and framing others for it—that’s not cleverness. It’s cowardice.”
Serian spoke up.
“What do we do? If we leave it like this, we’ll—”
“There’s no choice. We don’t have time to explain.”
Airak gazed toward the edge of the village.
“First, we need to find whoever killed Karani.”
Then—a sound of hoofbeats echoed in the distance.
Taikan turned his head.
“Twenty mounted riders approaching.”
“Majeon?”
“No.”
Taikan narrowed his eyes.
“The flag is different. Not black.”
Soon a cavalry unit crested the horizon.
A crimson flag, with characters emblazoned across it.
The Murim League.
“It’s the Murim League.”
Garkan muttered.
The cavalry approached the village—twenty mounted warriors, all bearing swords. They wore no armor, but their movements betrayed rigorous training.
The one at the head halted at the village entrance.
They saw the burning houses. They saw the heaps of corpses. And above all, they saw six figures standing in the center of the village.
Men from the North Sea.
Clothes stained with blood.
Bodies strewn at their feet.
The Patrol Captain’s face hardened.
“Found them…”
He drew his sword.
“North Sea barbarians!”
The entire cavalry unit drew their blades.
“Seize the massacrers!”

Airak’s hand moved to the Beongmyeongdo.
Twenty against six.
If they were Orthodox Faction warriors, they’d have skill. But for Airak, they’d be easier than twisting a child’s wrist. Even his subordinates alone would suffice. And yet.
“Wait.”
Airak lowered his hand.
“We don’t fight.”
Garkan asked in alarm.
“Why not? They’re trying to kill us!”
“They’re mistaken.”
Airak looked toward the Patrol Captain.
“The massacre was committed by Majeon. Not us.”
“You think they’ll believe that?”
“They won’t. But they deserve a chance to hear the truth.”
Airak withdrew his hand from the Beongmyeongdo.
“Let’s try words first.”
The Patrol Captain came forward—a man in his mid-forties with sharp, piercing eyes. He bore the look of someone with the skill to command such a unit.
“Don’t move! Drop your weapons!”
Airak stepped ahead.
“It’s a misunderstanding. We didn’t do this.”
“Silence! The evidence lies right here! How dare you make excuses while standing beside corpses!”
The Patrol Captain pointed toward the village center.
“A flag planted there! With the North Sea barbarian emblem!”
Airak replied.
“That’s a false accusation. Those men called Majeon planted it there.”
“Majeon? What’s that?”
“A raider band from the North Sea. Over a thousand mounted warriors, and they’ve been hunting us. They attacked this village.”
The Patrol Captain scoffed.
“A thousand riders? If that many entered the Central Plains, we’d have heard about it long ago! Stop lying!”
He pointed his blade forward.
“This is your final warning. Drop your weapons. Resist, and you die.”
Airak stood motionless.
Words wouldn’t work, it seemed.
He surveyed the surroundings.
Twenty mounted riders encircled the village. They hadn’t dismounted. They were clearly well-versed in Cavalry Combat. He couldn’t judge their swordsmanship without seeing it, but their movements were disciplined. Stronger than ordinary martial artists. At least first-rate or better.
Harku whispered beside him.
“Should we just cut them all down?”
“We can’t.”
Airak replied.
“They’re from the Orthodox Faction. If we kill them, all of the Central Plains becomes our enemy.”
“Aren’t they our enemy already?”
“It’s different. Kill them, and we become true massacrers.”
Harku clicked his tongue.
“Then what do we do?”
Airak pondered for a moment.
They could flee. But then the massacre accusation would be sealed.
They could fight. But then they’d turn the Orthodox Faction into enemies.
Only one choice remained.
“We go with them.”
Garkan looked startled. “What?”
“What did you say?”
“We surrender. Let them drag us to the Murim League.”
“Are you insane? They might execute us once we’re there!”
“I was going to the Murim League anyway.”
Airak turned his gaze to the Patrol Captain.
“To find who killed Karani, I need intelligence from the Murim League. Whether I walk there myself or get dragged there, the result is the same.”
Serian asked, her face anxious.
“But what if they try to kill us?”
“Then we fight.”
Airak drew the Beongmyeongdo and laid it on the ground.
“For now, we go with them.”

The party set down their weapons.
The patrol approached and bound them. Coarse rope tightened around their wrists.
The Patrol Captain stepped before Airak.
“To commit massacre on Central Plains soil. You will face judgment at the Murim League.”
Airak did not answer.
The patrol mounted the party on horses.
Southward.
Toward where the Murim League headquarters lay.
Bound as he was, Harku laughed. “Hah, this is interesting. A North Sea Warrior being dragged away as a prisoner.”
Garkan sighed.
“This is no time for jokes.”
“Why not? We’re going to the Murim League anyway. Why complain when they’re giving us a ride instead of making us walk?”
Serian turned to look back.
The burning village receded into the distance. The corpses grew smaller.
“Those people…”
Airak spoke.
“Remember this. It was Majeon’s doing.”
Serian nodded.
Tears welled in her eyes but she did not let them fall. She clenched her jaw. The debt was Majeon’s to pay. Someday she would settle it.
The party was pulled southward by the patrol.
Rope bit into the skin of Serian’s wrists.
It hurt more than that small hand, stiff in the posture of death.
Taikan read the fire in her gaze once and turned away. Instead of taking the reins, Harku twisted his bound wrist slightly.
The rope knot loosened almost imperceptibly.
Garkan saw it and nodded faintly.
The Murim League—the heart of the Orthodox Faction, the heart of their enemies. And perhaps… the place where traces of who killed Karani remained.
They would find out. They had to.

And I will kill him without fail.

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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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