North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 72

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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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72. Harkhu’s Flank

“Quick.”
Arko and Harkhu bolted across the courtyard.
Poisoned Darts and Dual Curved Blades flashed simultaneously.
The thirty men standing guard outside the inn counterattacked swiftly. Sunlight streamed across the blades in a thin line.
“Die!”
Screeeech!
A reckless assault!
Yet they did not meet the two men’s attack head-on. As if by covenant, they retreated in unison. In an instant, they scattered, then regrouped.
But the formation was different now. Seven men in one cluster, eight in another. Between them, empty space.
“What are they doing?”
Harkhu’s eyes narrowed.
“These bastards—huddling up like that for what? Hah! Is this some kind of Formation Law or something?”
“It does seem that way…”
Arko answered briefly from beside him.
‘A formation I’ve never seen before!’
‘No intention to block, no intention to strike either… yet there’s no opening. This won’t be easy.’
Arko and Harkhu exchanged a glance.
On the surface, they joked, but inwardly they could not. They saw at a glance that the Sword Formation these men were deploying was no ordinary thing.
They’d taken them for mere vagrants, but these bastards… what kind of fighters were they?

At the same moment, Serian grasped the inn door handle.
The handle turned slowly.
The door swung open easily. The stale air from inside the inn struck the sunlight of the courtyard. The smell drifting out was not grass.

Outside the inn.
The martial fighters split apart.
Two groups of seven men, two groups of eight. Four groups total. The sevens took charge of attack, the eights focused on defense.
Each group performed only one action. When they stabbed, all seven stabbed simultaneously. Yet each thrust came from a different angle, making it difficult to block.
As Harkhu swung the Dual Curved Blades, the seven attackers withdrew in unison. The eight defenders moved into that space.
The eight did not attack. They only blocked the Dual Curved Blades.
Defense specialists.
Clang! Tang-tang!
Finding his front blocked, Harkhu turned the Dual Curved Blades to the side. There, identically, eight men took position.
Same stance. Same force. Same motion.
Garkan muttered from behind.
“An unusual formation.”
“They’re abandoning ambition entirely. They could attack but don’t—only defend. Same with the attackers. They could defend but they retreat instead.”
Harkhu nodded.
“We don’t see this kind of Sword Formation in the North Sea. Have you ever witnessed it?”
“Never.”
Arko watched them intently.
Whoosh! Saaash!
The sound of blades sang out, and a chill raked down his spine.

The Seven Killers Crossing Sword Formation.
An evil sect’s Sword Formation. Seven men surround the enemy and thrust at one point simultaneously. If the enemy tries to block that location, the eight defenders move in. Two groups on left and right, sixteen men standing as a wall.
It is a formation where the attack cannot help but be blocked.
At the same time, the other two attack groups strike the empty spaces.
Fourteen swords moved at once.
The enemy’s blade loses its destination. The only option is swift defense, yet one blade must contend with fourteen hands.
It is a lethal Sword Formation.
These thirty men moved as one person.
When one stopped, the man beside him filled that gap. The moment that space was filled, the next man opened it again.

Aelak stood motionless, content to watch.
Garkan and Taikan made no move to intervene.
One chance. That was the rule.
Once those words were spoken, the fighters and their actions were already decided. A warrior was chosen, thrown forward into the contest—they had to see it through to the end on their own strength. To borrow the hand of someone resting was… a stain on the Aelak Tribe’s honor.
Garkan wound the Ice Iron Chain around his wrist, then unwound it.
Those two… their formation is no ordinary thing. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them, but they could easily sustain injury. Better to—
“Chieftain.”
Garkan looked toward Aelak.
“There are no substitutions.”
Aelak received the question.
“Understood.”
Garkan withdrew the Ice Iron Chain back beneath his wrist.
Taikan tilted his ear toward the interior of the inn.
The breathing he heard there, the rustling of cloth—his mind’s eye had already sketched the scene within.
“Two inside.”
Taikan spoke tersely.
“Two of them.”
Garkan acknowledged.
“One woman, one man. Their knees are buckling.”
“The drug has taken hold?”
“It appears to have.”
“And the elder sister?”
“I can’t hear her footsteps. The Fuku Tribe’s footwork technique is impressive indeed.”
“That’s enough.”
Aelak regarded the inn with a calm gaze.

The clearing of the outer grounds fell to Arko and Harkhu.
Arko fitted two Poisoned Crossbow Bolts neatly between his fingers. Harkhu drew the Dual Curved Blades, one in each hand.
The two men pressed into the courtyard with matching strides.
Whish!
Harkhu charged the first group of seven.
Just as expected, the moment his blades sang toward seven, eight men stepped in to block.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Harkhu’s Dual Curved Blades were stopped cold.
Arko’s Poisoned Crossbow Bolts found nothing. As the seven retreated and eight pressed forward, Arko was forced to dart backward.
Both men’s attacks had missed.
“What?”
Harkhu let out a breath of frustration.
“It can be blocked?”
For the first time, Harkhu’s lips tightened into a hard line.
The Mad Fang Dual Blades—Harkhu’s signature art. Among the Aelak Tribe, only Harkhu had mastered it.
It flowed through four stages of supreme technique: Fang-Shattering Dual Strike, Raging Blood Double Rotation, and culminating in the Glacial Scale Fang Blade.
‘What are these men?’
Surprise, exhilaration, and hunger for battle flickered through him in quick succession.

Inside the inn, in that same moment.
The man in the gray robe—Hwasaek Rangjun—rose from his chair.
Hsst.
A sound so faint it barely reached the ear—yet to Hwasaek Rangjun, whose ear for escape and evasion was second to none, it came through crystal clear.
His gaze, which had been fixed on Cheok Ha-rin, now turned toward the door. And there, slipping into the room, was another beautiful woman.
Silver hair, blue-gray eyes, pale skin.
His mouth split wide open in a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
“Such beauties in a mountain hovel like this? Today’s my lucky day. Why is fortune smiling so? I’ll have them both. Both! Hehehehe!”
He turned his gaze between Cheok Ha-rin and Serian in turn.
Fantasy blossomed in his mind. The image of the two women, one on each side, writhing beneath him—pleasure, ecstasy, their sweet cries of abandon.
His fingers, still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, trembled briefly.
Without meaning to, his front foot stepped forward, then retreated. He shook. Not with fear, but with the trembling of delight.
“Who… who are you?”
He asked.
Serian did not answer.
Only her pale gray eyes followed the movement of his fingertips.
Then he swept his hand through empty air. Simultaneously, a handful of powder rose from his palm. He knew one thing well: a woman like this had to be subdued before she could be reasoned with.
The cloudy powder drifted up like mist beneath the ceiling beams.
A cloying scent filled the air.
It smelled like flowers, yet it was not flowers.
Sleeping Drug. A different method than dissolving it in tea. Direct dispersal. The preferred method of Hwasaek Rangjun himself.
The air inside the inn grew heavy.
The light from the lantern hanging beneath the beam scattered dully, trapped within the haze.
But Serian had known beforehand.
The Fuku Tribe trained in such techniques—learned to resist Sleeping Drugs and the like. Knowledge passed down from grandmother to grandmother.
Swish-swish-swish-swish!
As her footwork unfolded, her robes fluttered. The wind born from her movement drove the powder away from her body by a full arm’s length.
Her feet barely touched the floorboards as she glided inward.
Not a single strand of hair bore the powder’s trace.
Ice Mist Step.
The footwork her grandmother had taught her. Compacting the powder like ice, then pushing it away…
In one motion, Serian circled behind Hwasaek Rangjun. She struck without hesitation. There was no need to grant such a man any reprieve.
At that moment, his closest attendant—his first subordinate—stepped into her path. His sword had already been drawn, the blade shimmering with technique.
Screech!
The sword light flashed razor-sharp.
Serian reversed her grip on Silver Snow and switched it back in an instant. Her footwork shifted. The Ice Mist Step transformed, becoming an art beyond measure.
The Central Plains warriors witnessed movements they had never seen before.
Advancing as if to retreat, retreating as if to advance, then slipping sideways… neither snake nor spider, just unpredictable motion beyond comprehension.
In that instant, the blade came from the side and drew across his throat.
“Gah!”
With a short gasp, the subordinate’s head fell onto the chair.
From the moment Serian moved to the moment his head fell, less time passed than a single breath required.
The head rolled once on the chair, then struck the edge of the table before falling to the floorboards.
Hwasaek Rangjun stepped back.
The corners of his mouth no longer rose. The fantasy unraveled in an instant, and deep shadows emerged in his eyes.
“…Northern Martial Arts.”
For the first time, genuine gravity appeared on his face.
“Could it be… Aelak?”
He had been moving on rumors that a warrior from the North Sea—the legendary Aelak—traveled with a strikingly beautiful woman. The whispers said she was the most beautiful woman in all the North Sea.
How could it be that a barbarian like that held such a woman? A woman of her caliber should be held in the arms of a refined Central Plains man, gentle and warm.
He had no doubt he could crush any of those northern barbarians.
Was this her? The woman said to travel with Aelak?
The garb of northern barbarians—leather robes, leather shoes, and that glacial scent impossible to find on a Central Plains woman’s skin.
Yes. This was her. The woman.
He drew his sword in haste.

Outside the inn.
Seven men struck at a single point in unison, then scattered at once.
In the brief moment the formation shifted.
‘Now we defend?’
Just as Harkhu swung his Dual Curved Blades to pursue, a single blade emerged from the formation with subtle precision, carving through the space between them.
Thud!
The blade pierced Harkhu’s ribs.
“Tch!”
Harkhu immediately swung his Dual Curved Blades to knock the sword away, but it left a short, deep wound. A dull sound came from his ribs.
The sensation of something grazing bone.
The blade withdrew instantly, abandoning any hesitation or the temptation to strike twice more.
Blood flowed thickly from where the blade had withdrawn.
A metallic scent bloomed across his skin.
Harkhu did not look at the wound. What he saw was not his ribs but the face of the one who had driven the blade home—the smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Harkhu brought one of his Dual Curved Blades up against his ribs.
“Kik-kik-kik!”
His usual chuckle began to emerge.
But what escaped his lips was not laughter—it was the grinding of teeth.
“…Ah, this damn hurts.”
His voice wavered slightly at the end.
The Dual Curved Blades in his grip suddenly felt heavier.
Harkhu could count on one hand the times in his life he’d felt his Dual Curved Blades weigh so much. Today would be one of them. Against creatures like these.
He tried to lift the corner of his mouth again, but it wouldn’t rise.
Arko spun two Poisoned Crossbow Bolts simultaneously, scattering black oil between the seven warriors.
The Sword Formation fell back, evading the oil.
The oil dropped onto the earth untouched. Not a single person was marked.
Arko moved toward Harkhu and spoke.
“This is a Sword Formation. Tricky business. If Taikan were here, he’d have caught the shift. But when it comes to thinking his way through things, he’s useless.”
Harkhu answered.
“The clan leader said it himself. Smash anything that blocks us! So we smash it!”
Blood trickled from his side.
Harkhu raised his Dual Curved Blades again. His mouth split into a thin, vicious grin.

Inside the inn.
Cheok Ha-rin and Cheok Mu-yeong dropped to their knees simultaneously on their chairs.
The Sleeping Drug they’d already ingested was unbearable enough—and now the powder scattered through the air was being sucked into their lungs.
The drug’s effects spread at once.
Still, Cheok Ha-rin activated the Snow Lotus Technique and pushed the Sleeping Drug back. She would likely keep pushing it back. It would just take time.
Cheok Mu-yeong, on the other hand, was at his limit.
His mind hazed as his body swayed.
‘No. Not now.’
Cheok Mu-yeong bit his lip hard.
This man was the one called the Lustful Rakshasa. He couldn’t resist women—though he called himself Hwasaek Rangjun, everyone knew him as the Lustful Rakshasa.
He was famous throughout Gangbuk as a lecherous fiend.
“Ha-rin.”
Cheok Mu-yeong turned to his sister.
“Are you… all right?”
“I’m fine. And you, brother?”
“I…”
Cheok Mu-yeong bit his own tongue, drawing pain. He tasted blood, sharp and heavy. He was grasping at agony, trying to anchor his mind to it.
“I’m sorry.”
The moment Cheok Mu-yeong finished speaking, his head drooped. Extreme pain could not overcome the Sleeping Drug. He collapsed before his sister could.
His Internal Martial Power was insufficient to resist the Sleeping Drug of the Lustful Rakshasa, Gangbuk’s greatest lecher.
Cheok Ha-rin reached her hand toward her brother. But it wouldn’t reach.
“Brother…”
The desperate strain to keep consciousness flowed only through her throat.
Serian’s gray-blue eyes turned toward Cheok Ha-rin.
Cheok Ha-rin looked at her.
“Please. Help us.”
It was a thin, fragile voice.
Serian’s hand gripped the hilt of Silver Snow tightly.
Gray-blue eyes lingered once on Cheok Ha-rin’s face.
It was not a child’s face. But it was not an adult’s face either.
Something like a brief resolve formed within Serian.
‘That man’s target is this woman.’
The air inside the inn grew heavy with the scent of powder.
Hwasaek Rangjun met Serian’s gray-blue eyes with a serious expression.
“You… who are you? Tell me your name.”
Serian did not answer.
Only her gray-blue eyes followed the path of his blade.
“Don’t want to speak? This brother will treat you well. You northern folk reek terribly, you know. Want to smell the fragrance of your elder brother instead?”
“……”
“Besides, I’ve already filled this place with Sleeping Drug. It’s only a matter of time before you collapse too. Lower your guard. Why resist? I’m just asking for a little love.”
Serian’s fingers clenched the hilt of Silver Snow even tighter.

Arko came to stand beside Harkhu.
A thin line of blood ran down from Harkhu’s side.
“Where do you think it’ll come from next? I really can’t guess.”
“How should I know? I’ve never seen this Sword Formation before.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Didn’t you say it yourself just now? The moment you think about blocking, you’re already defeated. Break through. Shatter it!”
“Shatter it… Yes. Heh-heh!”
Harkhu laughed. His lips didn’t curl up the way they usually did. Still, they rose slightly before falling back into place.
Neither of them could predict where the Sword Formation would strike next. And yet…

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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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