North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 76

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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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76. Heading North

The courtyard of the Abandoned House.
Three torches had been thrust into the ground at angles.
Soot ran down in black streaks across the earthen floor.
A man in a grey robe examined the cloth wound around his shoulder.
Where the Silver Needle had pierced him.
Blood seeped through to the other side of the binding.
‘Damn it.’
He tightened the knot with his hand, moving with care to avoid jostling the pain — each motion deliberate and slow.
Finally, he clenched the cloth’s end between his teeth to secure it.
His mouth twisted to one side as he pulled tight, and a low laugh spilled out — bitter, self-mocking.
The beautiful face of Cheok Ha-rin swam before his eyes.
He knew it well: move quickly now, and he could claim the fairest woman in all the land. Let this chance slip away, and he would never get another such opening with her.
The more that face occupied his mind, the more his shoulder’s pain receded to the background. In the place where blood had drained away, a rougher hunger churned upward.
As he thought of Cheok Ha-rin, a faceless shadow flickered at the edge of his thoughts.
‘Who the hell is he?’
The one who had sent Chilsal Mun warriors to seize Cheok Ha-rin.
He’d said it was to strike at Cheok Un-hui, the greatest swordsman under heaven. And true enough—Cheok Un-hui had few friends, given his strength; plenty of enemies would want him hurt. The pretext made sense. But—
‘Something feels off about this.’
Should he back away? Pretend he couldn’t win and use these men anyway to take Cheok Ha-rin?
‘That face… those soft features… ah!’
Originally he’d meant to withdraw. Pretty as a woman might be, he’d never staked his life on seizing one.
But warriors of this caliber? It was worth trying.
A horse tethered at the yard’s edge snorted and whinnied.
The sound rippled briefly through the silence of the ruined house.
He pulled the cloth binding back up over his shoulder. Blood stained his palm, but this time he didn’t wipe it away.
He might take another wound like this, but—it was for Cheok Ha-rin, for holding her in his arms. How could a man known as a color-lover ever back down?

A Doggae knelt before him.
Behind him, perhaps fifty blades held their breath in the darkness.
The hilts touched the earthen ground.
Not a single man so much as coughed.
Hwa Saek-rang-gun spoke to them.
“If you’ll be the blade in my hand… I’ll have you. That bastard Cheok Mu-young is still too young!”
Doggae, Salsu, and Geomsu bowed their heads in assent.
The shoulder of the foremost Doggae caught the torchlight for an instant. Old scars pocked his skin—the marks of a lifetime carved in blood and battle.
‘That woman… a shame to lose her. If we can have her… we must.’
His mouth twisted further to one side.
The fantasy of holding Cheok Ha-rin deepened. And at its end came a quiet laugh—mockery twined with intoxication.

Deep in the night, a figure stepped into the courtyard from the edge of the darkness.
His shadow entered before the torchlight could touch his body.
‘Again? What for?’
The one who had brought the Chilsal Mun warriors.
His face remained hidden. In one hand he held a scroll of some kind.
“Would it be so bad to know a name? Even this could be called fate, couldn’t it?”
He gave no answer. He simply set the scroll before Hwa Saek-rang-gun and vanished back into the darkness from which he’d come, leaving no footsteps behind.
Not a sound betrayed his passage.
Hwa Saek-rang-gun’s gaze lingered long on the space where the man had disappeared. But the darkness offered no answers.
‘Speaking would expose his identity, wouldn’t it? He’s careful not to get entangled in this business… Isn’t this like swallowing kindled powder, waiting for it to ignite?’
Hwa Saek-rang-gun picked up the scroll and untied its cord.
The paper was stiff beneath his fingertips. Fresh stock.
Inside lay a short message—brief enough that it needed no scroll at all, just a few words spoken aloud.
Cheok Ha-rin’s party had set out for Okmun Gwan.
Along the official road to Okmun Gwan, there was a certain place in the Narrow Gorge partway along the route.
Exact coordinates!
The next line contained detailed information about Cheok Ha-rin and Cheok Mu-young’s movements, the bodyguards’ positions, their current speed, and more.
There was another line after that.
Seven Doggae from the Chilsal Mun’s main force had established positions in the Narrow Gorge.
The martial artists here weren’t all of them. There were others tailing separately. They were determined to crush Cheok Mu-young thoroughly.
‘Wheesh! I don’t know what grudge Cheok Un-hui carries, but this is hatred carved into bone. As for me, I’ll just eat rice cakes and be content.’
The more he read the letter, the higher the corners of his mouth lifted.
Still, his injured shoulder throbbed intermittently. Yet this time, even that pain felt delicious. Everything was exhilarating.
He handed the scroll to the Doggae without asking a single question. The sender had already crystallized into a single face within him. The Doggae accepted it and read, then fell silent.
Hwa Saek-rang-gun shouted as he headed outside.
“We depart now.”
In an instant, the shadows resting all around stirred to their feet.
The clang of blades, the clash of steel—the clamorous sounds mixed with the dancing torchlight and sent shadows writhing through the darkness.
A few bats scattered over the Abandoned House’s wall.
Darkness poured out of the courtyard like wind.
One torch tilted and fell to the dirt. Someone’s foot stamped out the flame. The courtyard sank back into darkness.

* * *

Midday the next day.
Half a day had passed since parting from Cheok Mu-young’s group.
The noonday sun slanted across the eastern road leading toward Hwashan.
Beside the road, dry grass leaves trembled in the wind.
Dust trailed long behind the horses’ hooves as Garkan raised his hand and wiped his brow. Sweat poured down in sheets.
Yet he had not removed his leather coat. He seemed to relish the sweat flowing across his entire body, and whenever the wind gusted, he opened his mouth wide to welcome it.
The rough hair of the leather rippled across his shoulders.
He laughed with that weight settled on his back.
Suddenly, five horses halted as one.
“This…”
Arko’s nose moved first.
“It’s the smell of blood.”
Arko immediately dismounted and stepped into the grass.
Three corpses scattered about.
Cheok family bodyguards.
Men who should have been walking the Okmun Gwan road lay dead in an unfamiliar place.
One had been struck across the back before he could even draw his sword. One had his chest raked open, and one had his throat cut cleanly.
Dark bloodstains lay congealed on the grass. A few flies circled the corpses, and insects had already begun to swarm.
Arko knelt on one knee in the grass, pressed his palm to the earth, and parted the grass blades to look.
Harku sat on his horse and gently pressed his palm against the cloth binding his ribs. Yesterday’s wound throbbed again.
Garkan glanced at the corpses from atop his horse.
The sword remained in its sheath. As if he’d never even considered drawing it—his eyes stared wide and blank.
“He didn’t even draw it. Why would these men, who should have gone to Okmun Gwan, be lying here?”
Serian dismounted and examined the bodies.
She traced the path of the blade marks, studying them. The cutting was coarse and merciless, each stroke without hesitation, each blow aimed purely at death.
Not the martial art of the Jeongpa.
“It happened yesterday.”
“I saw it the same way.”
Arko added his confirmation.
“These blade marks—I saw them at the inn yesterday.”
Everyone fell silent and stared at Serian.
“Hwa Saek-rang-gun’s Sword Path. What’s strange is that he used a blade instead of a sword.”
Her pale blue-grey eyes swept across the bodies with sharp precision.
Serian bent low and traced her fingers along the cut wounds. The trail ended beyond the grass, continuing into the dirt.
Drag marks scarred the ground.
He’d fled from the Okmun Gwan direction and been caught here. Which meant Cheok Mu-young’s group had been ambushed.
Garkan ground his teeth, staring at the corpses.
“That bastard Hwa Saek-rang-gun—can a man truly lose himself to a woman that completely? She was hit by the Silver Needle and couldn’t even grip a blade. But if she’s fallen into those claws again, then that woman…”
He fell silent.
His hand found the end of the Bingcheolswae. His calloused fingers lingered briefly on the chain rings.
The woman who’d nearly been violated after being caught in those claws yesterday—and now she’d been caught again. This time, he feared no fortune would save her.
Aelak dismounted and stood beside the corpse.
His gaze shifted from east to north.
The path forked in two directions. East led to Hwashan—where he might ease Karani’s anguish. North wound back toward Okmun Gwan, the place where the cruel blade of the Sapa had marked its passage.
He studied the corpse’s face again.
A bodyguard separated from the main force, dying in a place he should never have been—that was no small matter. It was a catastrophic sign.
If he were from the North Sea, he would not have turned a blind eye to such a Sapa blade and walked his own way. That is not how a warrior acts.
Yes. This much was certain. To turn east while watching helplessly as she faced violation—that is not the act of a warrior.
Serian stepped beside him and spoke low.
“That woman… she’ll die. If they violate her. She’s weak.”
Her pale gray eyes remained fixed on the corpse.
Aelak did not answer.
Beyond his shoulder, the northern ridge sprawled. A dirt path curved narrowly along the mountainside and disappeared.
The second reason Aelak could not ignore—this weighed heavier still.
The chill that had emanated from Cheok Ha-rin’s body.
A mark that might have been Karani’s trace, now scattering from the hands of the wrong man.
The smell of blood lingered in the grass.
Aelak ran his fingers over the faint scar on the back of his hand—where Karani’s touch had lain, her softness.
“We turn north.”
Short. Weighty.
Changing course toward Okmun Gwan—
Snap!
Garkan refastened the Bingcheolswae around his wrist. Harku tightened the cloth at his ribs. Arko and Taikan wheeled their horses’ heads in unison.
The pursuit line bent northward.
The shadow of the party stretched north now, not east.

* * *

At that same moment, Hwa Saek-rang-gun’s party, having departed from the northern bank, was heading toward an ambush point in a narrow gorge along the road to Okmun Gwan.
Seven Doggae of the Chilsal Mun had already taken their positions within that gorge.

Late afternoon.
The sun tilted westward, casting long shadows into the depths of the gorge. Dry earth crumbled from the crevices in the cliff face above.
Cheok Mu-young and Cheok Ha-rin reached the entrance of the gorge with their party.
Three bodyguards led the way.
Their hands did not leave the sword hilts. Even seated on horseback, their postures had gone rigid. Whether they sensed danger by instinct.
Cheok Ha-rin glanced back once from her saddle.
A sharp, damp wind seeped from within the gorge. Powder of unknown origin was strewn throughout, yet the party noticed nothing.
“A perfect place for an ambush,” Cheok Mu-young observed, scanning their surroundings.
On both cliff faces, rocky shadows yawned wide enough to conceal a man.
Most telling—not a single bird sang.
Cheok Ha-rin gently parted her robe at the shoulder from her saddle. The gorge wind swept past her skirts.
“We’ll scout ahead first and—Ugh!”
The bodyguard speaking suddenly seized his throat and cried out.
A moment of rigidity, then silence.
“Ambush!”
Cheok Mu-young’s hand flew to his sword hilt.
Cheok Ha-rin’s shoulders locked rigid as well. But her keen eyes swept the surroundings.

Hooves tore at the dirt path.
The horses’ hearts seemed on the verge of bursting as they pushed to their absolute limits—breathing no easier than the men who rode them.
Yet the gorge still lay more than one watch away.

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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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