North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 64

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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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64. The Hunter’s Scheme, Martial Arts Head-On

An ashen sky stretched overhead.
Six figures treaded through morning dew, following the winding road east of Heuk-ha Village. The path was overgrown wilderness, grass climbing to knee height.
Garkan pressed his palm briefly against the leather strap at his side, then withdrew it.
“The pain.”
“Duller than yesterday.”
“The herb took hold, then.”
“Yes. It did. I apologize for the trouble.”
“All right.”
Then Tykan spoke.
“I smell people, clan leader.”
“Where.”
“A mile inward. Sweat mixed in with it.”
“How many.”
“Over ten. Under fifteen.”
“Martial Arts Power.”
“At this distance… none. No resonance to catch.”
Tykan raised his hand, pointing into the grass.
Aelak’s gray eyes lowered to the grassland. The stalks were flattened. Three bodies’ worth of impressions.
“Prone positions. Ambush markings.”
“An ambush.”
“It is.”
Serian unwound the leather strap from Garkan’s side. The Fuku Tribe Herb clung there, dried to an earthy crust.
“It’s dried. The blocked Chi Channels are open now. But restrain your Martial Arts Power.”
“Thank you.”
Serian crushed fresh herb leaves and spread them inside the leather strap.
“Five days without exertion. Even if it’s tedious.”
“Understood. With my brothers and sister helping, nothing feels tedious.”
Serian pulled the knot around his ribs tight. Any movement would strain it.

“Interesting though.”
Tykan scanned beyond the bend again.
“They’ve hidden an ambush behind the rocks too. If that’s the case, all five positions converge on this single bend.”
Tykan had been tracking ambushes from unknown assailants all along.
They’d use Grappling Hooks, employ pulley-triggered rockslides too. He’d found traces of Poison Arrows. Interconnected traps were a given. And now, hidden ambush behind the rocks on top.
“Five positions. Meticulous work.”
Arko rubbed a crushed grass blade between his fingers. Yellow juice smeared onto the tip. He brought it to his nostrils.
“Common grass poison in the Central Plains. But the quantity… these fellows heading to war?”
“Poison Arrows.”
“Yes. One shot and—” He made a sharp sound.
Arko drew a finger across his throat.
Harku tapped the Ssang-a Do against his knuckles. His lips curled upward in what might have been a grin or mockery—murderous impulse or contempt, impossible to say.
“They lack confidence in Martial Arts Power, so they use their heads. Little worms… you think this will work? Don’t worry! I’ll break it for you.”
Tykan shook his head.
“These are Hunters. Weak in Martial Arts Power, but their tactics have order. Men who’ve hunted this way before.”
“This must have cost them plenty. Where’d they get the coin.”
“Someone paid them. They’re putting in effort proportional to what they received.”
“However they calculated the bounty on our heads, their math is wrong. They should’ve followed our arithmetic. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Tedious. Avoiding them might be simpler.”
Tykan spoke while glancing at Aelak.
“Destroy them.”
Aelak’s answer remained unchanged.
“…Very well.”
Tykan lowered his head.
When the clan leader decides, you charge into fire itself without question. Even if death waits at the end. Much less now, when it’s merely tedious.

Aelak’s hand pressed against Garkan’s shoulder.
Garkan was in the middle of winding the last strand of the Bing Chol-sae around his wrist. The chain looped once from his pinky to his thumb, bound tight. A precaution for whatever fighting might come.
Aelak wouldn’t allow even that.
Arko, Tykan, Harku—he trusted them completely. He himself wasn’t even thinking of touching the Buk Myeong-do.
Garkan lowered his head and unwound the Bing Chol-sae.

Six figures took their first steps into the gorge. The grass parted beneath their feet.
“Grappling Hooks.”
Before the word was even finished, steel hooks shot up, aiming for the legs of the group.
Harku drew the Ssang-a Do across his body, sheath and all.
An entire line of hooks fell like paper, dropping into the grass. Tykan wrapped two lines with arrows. Where they touched, the steel froze white.
“So that’s what they do with grappling hooks—nothing but this? Pathetic. Next!”
Harku laughed, a cruel edge to it.

Two massive boulders fell from the rocks on either side of the slope.
“Falling stone.”
“Up.”
Arko threw a Poison Dart upward.
Snap! Snap!
In an instant, the pulley axle where it made contact froze white. As the axle shattered, the boulders careened away from the slope.
“Even the North Sea dogs do this kind of thing. Break the axle, and all their work comes to nothing.”

Whee-crack! Whee-crack!
Twenty arrows shot out from both sides of the grass at once. Their targets: the chests of every member of the group. Not just one—all of them.
Greed overreaches.
Arrows cannot be ignored. Their fletching was black, their tips a vivid blue. Poison Arrows.
Harku launched his body. In that instant, the air density shifted within a radius of seven and a half paces. All twenty arrows were drawn into that radius. A spiral wrought by the Ssang-a Do.
The tips never came close to the group’s chests.
Harku’s eyes grew crueler still. A chill dripped from him, sharp and cold.
Crackle!
As the arrows fell, they burned the grass. The potent venom seared the field yellow.
“…they should have targeted just one of us. These fools are laughable. They still don’t know who we are. I was hoping for more, but they’re still small-time? Next.”

Shwish! Clack-clack! Crack-crack-crack!
Tykan fired arrows at the ground, revealing a hidden trap. A massive pit opened to view, its mouth agape.
“A pit. They use these for catching bears. These bastards think we’re thickheaded.”
“The ropes.”
Harku spun the Ssang-a Do. Five ropes beside the pit were severed at once. The trap became harmless in an instant.
“Should’ve cut the ropes from the start, sir. What’s the point of revealing the pit?”
“Don’t let the taste of blood intoxicate you. You’ve been giddy ever since we killed Majeon. Your killing intent thickens. That’s how men get drunk on blood.”
“Heh heh! We’ve held back long enough.”
“We didn’t come here to kill people.”
“No, sir. We came to kill people. Seven or eight of them, whoever. They’re not going to hand over their necks willingly… so we’ll kill whatever comes at us. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? Heh heh! Let’s taste a little blood. If we’re killing them anyway.”
“Harku!”
“My apologies. For talking back.”
Harku bowed his head. But there was no apology in his expression.

From behind the rocks on both sides of the path, short blades, throwing stars, and chains flew out all at once.
“Left and right. Firing.”
Tykan nocked three arrows into the Gak-ak Gung. He fired precisely over the rocks to either side.
Brief screams echoed from two positions.
Harku threw a Poison Dart to intercept the throwing stars’ trajectory.
In that moment, Tykan’s gaze fixed on a shadow in the rocks at the far end of the path.
A Fuse. A burning wick… trailing toward a heap of gunpowder.
“Fuse.”
“That much—!”
Arko threw a Poison Dart, severing the Fuse.
The spark fell away from the wick.
The flame flickered as if to burn the grass, then died.
“These bastards—they’re hunters, aren’t they? What kind of hunter sets traps so carelessly that we can see right through them?”
Harku spoke with a sneer.
Hunters, yes. It was only their quarry that happened to be absurdly strong.

From behind the rocks on both sides of the bend, seventeen hunters revealed themselves. They carried leather armor, short blades, crossbows, and bundles that looked like poison darts.
Their weaknesses were glaring. If the fight began like this, death was all that awaited—yet they didn’t know it. They carried only a flicker of fear.
The hunters’ shoulders stiffened.
One of them cried out.
“They’re not human. Grappling Hooks, pulleys, arrows, traps, fuses—all of it! They destroyed everything as if they already knew.”
“They’re like beasts… shouldn’t we turn back? I think we should. Something feels wrong, unsettling.”
“No amount of money matters if you’re dead! Let’s go!”
“Fall back!”
The rout began.
Garkan looked at Aelak’s face.
Aelak watched the fleeing hunters with detached indifference, as though observing a fire across a river.
Garkan read his thoughts and flicked a finger.
In that instant, three of their companions advanced head-on.
In a blur, Harku’s Ssang-a Do spun through, severing four throats in its arc. Arko’s Poison Darts flew with vicious precision.
Within a dozen exchanges of their assault, eight lay sprawled across the grass.
Those who had started to flee were unable to shake off their pursuers. When they revealed themselves, they had already stepped within striking range without knowing it.
The remaining three fled with the strength of the desperate.
Tykan raised his Gak-ak Gung.
“Don’t shoot.”
Garkan spoke softly.
“…Understood.”
Tykan lowered his bow at once.
Kill some, let some live and send them back. It was the finest method to maximize terror in the enemy’s mind. The image of their foes, heard through the mouths of survivors, would be all the more horrifying.
The three fugitives vanished beyond the grassland.

Eight corpses lay in the grass.
From one of them, arrows that had been lodged in a quiver scattered across the grass in disarray.
Tykan gathered the arrows and placed them back in the quiver.
“The arrows are useful. The poison is sufficiently applied. For displaying cruelty, there’s no finer weapon. All have been recovered.”
“Good.”
Aelak surveyed the surroundings.
The vast, boundless Central Plains… wandering like drifters, casting about in all directions, calling forth death like a pack of wild dogs.
That was what they had become.
Drifting this way, they might search all their lives without grasping even a thread of their enemy’s garment.
His brow deepened with a frown.
Serian surveyed the bodies and spoke.
“Hunters learn from failure. They’ll have understood now that direct combat with their Martial Arts Power isn’t the wisest path.”
“…….”
“This time it was poison and traps. What will they try next?”
It was no casual remark. It was counsel not to lower one’s vigilance.
“Whoever placed the bounty on us continues to send people. And with each passing day, they will grow more refined. Soon we’ll face true masters.”
Aelak’s gaze shifted toward the village ahead beyond the grassland. In the direction the fugitives had vanished… when would he finally meet his true enemy?
“Let’s move.”
“Yes.”
All six of them pulled at their reins.

At the well near the village entrance, a woman stood. In an instant, the bucket slipped from her hands and tumbled into the darkness below.
“Butchers of men!”
From within the village, two children scurried between the legs of adults, fleeing.
Someone shouted from an alley deeper inside.
“Northern barbarians!”
“Shut the doors!”
“Gather the children!”
Footsteps scattered into the depths of the alleys.
The party advanced into the village.
The shadow beneath each eave grew darker still.

Dried herb bundles hanging beneath the inn’s eaves swayed in the wind.
Aelak studied the bundles for a moment. His fingers brushed briefly against the scar on his left chest, then fell away.
Clack, clack!
Hoofbeats echoed down the village path.
The reason for coming here… a small martial household situated at the village’s edge.
Three men stood before the main gate, swords in hand.
The man in the center, with a white beard trailing to his chest, was the house master.
The party approached the gate.
They placed their hands on their sword hilts in unison. But they did not draw.
“A month ago, someone departed for the North Sea. Do you know of this?”
“I don’t. We don’t control the roads here.”
The house master spoke.
“Is that all? Nothing else to say?”
“We concern ourselves only with our swordwork. We know nothing of worldly affairs, and hear nothing of them either.”
“Truly you don’t know?”
“You’re being disrespectful.”
Aelak passed the men and swept his gaze across the household courtyard beyond the gate.
A single white cloth hanging from a washing line fluttered in the breeze.
The fabric rippled gently.
Just as he’d thought. A small martial household like this could never know such secrets. Asking anyway, despite knowing this, served one purpose—to ensure the rumor spread throughout the Central Plains.
Yes. The rumor that barbarians from the North Sea were searching for someone who’d gone there would soon ripple outward in all directions.
“…I understand.”
……
“Let’s go.”
Aelak turned without hesitation, showing his back.
The five companions likewise turned from the house master in unison. As if his sword meant nothing.
The house master’s hand, resting on his sword hilt, did not twitch. Instead, it remained frozen. A warrior recognizes a warrior… Aelak was a monster.

Song House.
The residence of the Song clan. But in Ha-rang Village, this signboard also denoted a martial school.
Before the main gate of a small sect. Seven men bore swords.
The sect leader stood in the center. He had learned of the barbarians from the North Sea approaching.
“Do you know of one who went to the North Sea?”
A blunt, directionless question. But it was sufficient. The rumor of who Aelak’s party sought had already spread.
“How dare you northern savages threaten our school!”
“Yes or no?”
“Draw your blades!”
In an instant, seven swords were drawn simultaneously, as if by agreement.
Ssang-a Do likewise left its sheath.
“Our clan leader has commanded: ‘Let those who stand aside live, and cut down only those who stand in our way.’ Now, are you standing in our way?”
“Hsss!”
Seven blades rushed toward Harku.
Harku’s form flashed. He leaped from his horse and advanced in a straight line.
Clang, clang, clang! Chink! Chiming!
With a single stroke, all seven sword hilts snapped. Seven men collapsed to their knees in succession. All seven lay sprawled on the grass before the gate.
“Clan leader.”
Harku looked toward Aelak.
“Move on.”
“Yes.”
The party did not enter the gate. They pressed onward to the next bend in the road.

Beneath the inn’s eaves.
An old man trembled as he spoke to their departing figures.
“So the North Sea barbarians came looking for Bing Gong-ju’s murderer… Let those who stand aside live, and cut down those who resist… You mustn’t resist. If you do, the Murim League masters will have to intervene.”
“To the point where the Murim League must step in?”
“They’ll have to… Did you see those barbarians? Even one of their subordinates killed…”
Rumors are born from people. And this rumor was being born right now.
The party departed the village. Dry earth crumbled faintly beneath their feet.

The party made camp beneath a birch-covered ridge.
The campfire ate slowly through the dry branches. Crisp leaves curled at the flame’s edge, crackling softly.
Garkan pressed a fresh poultice of herbs against his ribs and cinched a leather strap around it.
“It’s all applied.”
“Thank you.”
The three subordinates lay apart from one another—each positioned to both watch and support the others. A formation of mutual vigilance.
“Get some rest. Just close your eyes. We won’t have a proper sleep tonight.”
“Yes, clan leader.”
“You hear it?”
“Yes. I hear it.”
“Is that… incense?”
“It is. The scent of a Heterodox Sect drifts on the wind. Tonight’s ambush will deviate from their usual patterns.”
“This time we don’t lead with the blade. Which means…”
……
No one spoke.
Any assault they brought would be manageable. No matter how vicious their attack, it could not match the northern cold. The howling gales that sweep from the far north often annihilate entire families.
Compared to that, an attack from these few was…
“The distance?”
“Within a li or so.”
“The numbers?”
“Three scouts ahead. A larger force behind them.”
“Then all of you rest. When the scouts draw near, wake. For now, we sleep.”
Within the campfire, a dry branch snapped sharply. Somewhere in the darkness beyond, the flute song of someone presumed to be a Heterodox Sect member drifted through the night.

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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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