North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 63

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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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63. Finding a Needle by a River

The window of the inn’s guest room.
Darkness thinned at the eastern edge. No light came.
Aelak stood by the window, looking out. His grey eyes lingered on the village entrance. On the bed, Garkan shifted restlessly, pressing his hand against his ribs.
Serian had come early that morning to tend to him.
Garkan tried to rise from the bed.
Then Serian placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Rest a bit longer. It will take time for the medicinal herbs to dry.”
“It’s fine. The Bing Chel-sae is down to one strand, so I can lift it easily.”
“Being able to lift it and fighting without strain are different things.”
“…Serian, this much is nothing for my people…”
“You talk too much.”
A faint smile flickered across Serian’s lips and faded.
Then the door opened and Taikan stepped in, his bow slung across his shoulder.
“They’ve arrived. The grassland at the village entrance.”
“How many?”
“About a dozen, maybe a couple more.”
Arko entered behind Taikan.
“I’ve oiled the Dok-bi well. It will cut very cleanly.”
Serian quietly continued tending only to Garkan.
“The herbs have dried completely. You can move now, but… don’t fight today.”
“Right. Rest today.”
Aelak straightened from the window.
His grey eyes, which had been watching the village entrance, shifted toward Garkan, then moved to Taikan and Arko.
“The fight today is just among you. Don’t wake the villagers. End it in the grassland at the entrance.”
“Yes. If it’s in the grassland, the villagers shouldn’t wake.”
Harku entered with two Ssang-a-dos strapped at his sides.
“Ten men, or twelve? Either way, since they’ve come for a dawn greeting, we should welcome them with a laugh. Come on, let’s go.”
Harku bounced with excitement.
“Don’t make a commotion. The village is sleeping.”
“Yes, Chief. Whether with words or blades, I’ll air it all out in the grassland.”
Harku grinned.

The grassland at the village entrance.
A black river trickled through the darkness, thin and cold.
Twelve men stood in the grey grassland before dawn broke. Eight had set out, but a few more had joined along the way.
Leather armor, gok-dos and spears. The man who had fled yesterday stood among them.
The ice needle driven into his shoulder had been pulled out, but one arm hung limp—he couldn’t use it.
He pointed at the group with his good hand.
The leader of the gang turned at the sight of it, his gaze shifting to the group.
A thin smile curved across his lips.
He rose from the grass and stepped forward. Dry words fell from his mouth.
“North Sea wolves. So you’re all here.”
He placed his hand on the hilt of his gok-do.
“Be careful! They’re the ones who put five men down in a heartbeat. We have numbers, but if we meet them head-on, we don’t stand a chance. But five hundred gold taels isn’t chump change, is it? Eyes on the prize, and do your best. The final count comes after they’re all dead.”
Eleven men in the gang rose to their feet.
Their weapons were already drawn.

Taikan’s cold eyes turned toward the leader.
A sharp, brief murmur fell from his lips like wind.
“Shen Tene Kar. Yurga.”
(Your flesh is cold. Return to the earth.)
As if those words were a signal, Harku burst suddenly into the fray.
“Huh? What the—!”
The leader flinched back in surprise.
They’d planned an ambush. They knew head-to-head combat held no advantage. But then… hadn’t they themselves been ambushed?
“Move, or die.”
“You mad bastards. I was here first, and you came to me. So who exactly should move?”
In that instant, a Gok-do flashed through empty air.
The ten men attacked in unison. Only the fugitive took a step back. Fear had claimed him.
The leader’s Gok-do fell from above to below. Before the blade could kiss the grass, a black shadow tore free from beside the leader’s ribs.
A Dok-bi shrieked as flesh yielded, then slipped clear.
The blade traced a diagonal arc past the leader’s neck—and that was all. Before his Gok-do even touched ground, his head rolled through the grass.
“Hehehehe!”
A savage laugh clung to the darkness above.
The night grew thinner still.
Ten weapons rushed forward like scattered light.
Harku dove into their midst without hesitation. A pair of Ssang-a-dos traced short arcs in the gloom. In a heartbeat, two men crumpled.
Taikan too abandoned his bow, drawing two daggers instead, and drove them into the throats of the nearest two. The blades slipped in cleanly, then out. Both men fell to their knees.
These foes weren’t worth arrows.
Arko slipped between two men using a curved footwork pattern. Two Dok-bis spun in his hands, their grips reversed in an instant.
Black oil bloomed briefly in the darkness.
One blade carved across a man’s flank; the other bit the flesh beside another’s neck. Both stumbled a few more paces before sinking into the grass.
Their mouths swelled black almost at once.
Harku’s Ssang-a-dos pierced through two men’s shoulders and thighs.
Yesterday’s fugitive fled across the grassland. Eastward. Limping as he went.
Harku raised his Ssang-a-dos to pursue, but Taikan blocked his path.
“Let him go.”
“…What?”
Harku lowered his weapons, confused but obedient.
The fugitive—that limping shadow—vanished east beyond the grassland. Behind him lay eleven corpses scattered across the sod.
The darkness thinned further. Dawn was breaking.

The plains awakened.
The three who’d dealt with the ambushers didn’t return to the village. Instead they settled in a ring on the outskirts, beyond the entrance, weapons laid separate on the grass beside them.
Shortly after, Aelak’s party arrived.
“Garkan, sit. For men like us, grass serves better than any chair.”
Serian settled on one side and spread a handful of herbs across the grass.
Harku bit into a piece of hard bread. None of his usual chuckles now. This was a meal taken after killing, as dawn crept across the land.
“The bread tastes saltier in the morning.”
“I’ve never heard that stale bread grows saltier.”
“My mouth’s gone cold, that’s why. These fools aren’t worth fighting, and yet killing them leaves a bitter taste in my mouth anyway.”
Harku grumbled on.
Taikan lowered his bow onto the grass.
Arko planted one Dok-bi at an angle in the sod. The scent of poison clung to the grass-tips, then dispersed—that acrid oil-smell with it.
Garkan withdrew his hand from his side.
The wound was worse than expected. He had killed nearly four hundred men with his bare hands alone. As if he’d collided with a charging horse four hundred times over.
That battering had shattered his Meridian Points.
And another matter: the Central Plains heat was draining their strength at an alarming rate.
Taikan, Arko, Harku—all of them grew exhausted after a fight, and it was all because of this heat. The Central Plains natives called it bracing weather, but for them it was suffocating, sweat pouring down their skin.
This heat had worsened the injury.
Serian chose a single herb leaf and brought it close to Garkan’s wound.
“This is the last one I have. We’ll need to gather more before we leave Heuk-ha Village.”
“You trouble yourselves for nothing.”
The morning sun touched the edge of the grassland. Its light fell across the surface of the black river.

Aelak opened his mouth.
“If they block us, we break through. If they rush, we crush them. That is us—yet it seems we cannot end this simply by destroying. Taikan.”
“Yes. You’re right. Our way won’t end it. Without knowing who sends them, there’s no end in sight. From now on, we must cut at the root.”
Taikan replied.
Harku, chewing his hard bread, chimed in.
“You could’ve just said it plainly. Who put up five hundred silver taels as the bounty? Why did they? Instead of crushing the ones who come, we crush the one who ordered them. That’s what you’re saying.”
“I know. But…”
Aelak’s brow creased.
Taikan was right. But… finding the root and cutting it would take far too long. And there was Karani’s avenger still to find.
His gaze shifted toward Serian.
“I wish we could buy a name.”
Serian’s fingers stilled above the herbs. She opened her mouth slowly.
“The Qingyue Bang. Those five men we killed at the start—they carried the Qingyue Bang’s insignia. It’s a small Bang-pa there in the Gansu Border Region, where they buy and sell names and traces of people. It’s not a major organization, but… if there’s anywhere in the borderlands to obtain a name, it would be that place.”
“Where?”
“One li outside Heuk-ha Village. Southeast along the river. Not far.”
“We go.”
Aelak answered.
“Ha! For Serian to know even such things… you know, the Hu Tu Tribe really does live a tiresome life.”
“Harku!”
“It’s a joke. A joke. You don’t even understand jokes.”
Harku cast a glance at Taikan.
The group took up their weapons again.

One li outside Heuk-ha Village.
A grassland rolled gently along the river’s edge. A small shop stood on the bank, its roof low and its door unmarked. Only the Blue Moon Flag at the eaves fluttered in the wind.
The Qingyue Bang—where names were bought and sold.
The group stopped before the shop.
Serian spoke in the Central Plains tongue from the doorway.
“We’ve come to buy a name.”
A dry voice answered from within.
“Please, come in.”

Inside the shop.
Beyond a narrow corridor lay a back room. A single small table. Behind it sat a man of middle years.
Gray robe, black hat. His face was nothing but gray contours, yet his eyes gleamed cold.
His finger touched lightly a single bead on a small abacus atop the table. The sound of it striking the next bead was brief and sharp.
His gaze paused for a moment on Aelak’s cold eyes, then released.
His lips curved slightly upward.
“Guests from the North Sea, I see. The very figures from a portrait worth five hundred gold taels. What will you purchase?”
Desire, contempt, and thin laughter layered themselves into his voice in turn.
Serian stepped forward to the table.
She drew a small leather pouch from her robes and set it on the table.
Metal chimed softly from within.
When she loosened the cord, Saddle Ears emerged. Against a black ground lay a single thread of red. Twenty-three severed ears once hung from the fierce lord’s saddle across the wasteland… the metal clasp that held them.
This is a threat.
Beside it, Serian placed a purse of silver coins.
This is a carrot.
She opened her mouth.
“Two months ago, people went to the North Sea. Who they were. What they did there. I wish to buy that information.”
The man’s finger froze above the metal clasp.
His fingertip brushed the edge of the red thread, then jerked away as if burned.
The gray contours of his face hardened for the first time. The thin smile that had played at his lips vanished.
He opened his mouth slowly.
“This insignia… it comes from the saddle of Mazhen’s main camp. Those who destroyed Mazhen’s three thousand… people like us in such petty Bang-pa cannot presume to serve.”
He folded his fingers and lowered them to the table.
A refusal.
His gaze shifted to Aelak. Meeting those gray eyes—a predator’s eyes, ice-cold and piercing.
Fear seeped into the man’s voice.
“And… the name you wish to purchase… it is not something people like us can know.”
The man did not so much as touch the purse of silver coins.
He reads the gift of death perfectly. He knows that one misspoken word in this moment could cost him his life.
He spoke again.
“Two months ago, someone went to the North Sea… Two months ago, Bing Gong-ju passed away… and you all began moving south… I don’t know what transpired, but if the matter is of that magnitude, no shop in the borderlands would have word of it. How could the Qingyue Bang’s net ever catch such prey?”
His finger pushed one bead of the abacus aside.
“What you seek is like finding a needle by a river.”
The man slid the purse of silver gently back across the table toward Serian with one hand.
“I will not take the silver. The name you have brought is too great.”
Serian took the purse back. But she left the metal clasp where it lay.
“This—pass it along as a message. To those who wish to kill us. So they know who they face. Even if five hundred gold taels is no trifle.”
Serian turned away.
When the group had taken two steps toward the shop door, the man spoke. His voice deepened.
“Allow me one more word.”
The group stopped.
Aelak turned his shoulder slightly.
“This is the price our Qingyue Bang’s rookies paid for their mistake. Once you leave this place… once you enter the Central Plains… the territory changes.”
He paused for breath, then spoke again.
“We are content to catch small fish. But when we cast nets in the Central Plains… we catch whales. From now on, the game will be different.”
His fingers stilled above the abacus. There was no smile at the corners of his mouth, no hunger, no contempt—only the chill of his breath.

The group left the shop.
Harku bit into dry bread again. He made no jokes.
The entrance to Heuk-ha Village appeared as a single dot at the edge of the grassland.
Aelak stopped before the entrance. His gaze turned toward the eastern plains.
“Sounds like someone in the Central Plains is watching us.”
“You heard right. That’s what he meant. And really… we must have raised quite a commotion. If we made such a commotion and it’s quiet now, something’s wrong.”
Serian spoke quietly.
“But we need to find a lead… how do we find it? We can’t tear apart the entire Central Plains.”
Garkan spoke.
“We destroy things until a lead appears.”
“Ha! Well said! Yes! Chief. Let’s destroy our way forward.”
Harku laughed, slapping the Ssang-a-do at his side.
“The hands that weave the net, the hands that gather it—they’re all flesh in the end. Cut them and they bleed.”
“Anyway, it’s sweltering out here.”
Arko spoke, fluttering his collar.

The group entered a quiet path. Beneath the glaring sun, the grass lay pressed down even further.

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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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