North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 79

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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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79. The Cold of the First Night

Late afternoon.
Ruddy sunlight poured down at a slant.
The party climbed onto the narrow road leading east again—the tail end of autumn, where brittle grass and fallen leaves scattered beneath their feet, a desolate path.
The warriors who had escorted Cheok Mu-yeong were slaughtered to the last in the Narrow Gorge, so now only strangers from the North stood beside the siblings.
Their immediate destination was Hwasan.
By the time they reached there, Cheok Mu-yeong meant to have pieced together everything about Aelak—what he knew, whether their father had been exposed, how skilled he was in martial arts. Every last detail.

Aelak led from the front.
His old leather coat caught the cool wind and fluttered before settling into stillness.
They followed behind him. Each time the horse shifted, the Bingcheolsae at his waist clanged and rang, keeping time with the sound of hoofbeats.
Five warriors from the North and two siblings from the Central Plains.
Seven shadows that should never have belonged together stretched long against the setting sun.
From the scabbard hanging at Cheok Mu-yeong’s waist, the Cheon Geom Mun insignia gleamed in the sunlight. As if in answer to an unspoken agreement, Aelak swept his hand across the Northern knot wound around the grip of his Mangokdo.
The sword of the righteous sect and the blade of the Northern desert.
Two weapons that carried within them the pride and origin of their bearers.
The noble bearing of the righteous and the wild spirit of the North.
An strange journey together, each refusing to acknowledge or understand the other.

‘They’re very strong people.’
Cheok Ha-rin studied those ahead of her with curious eyes.
The exotic armor and attire of the Northerners.
Garkan’s Bingcheolsae, Harku’s Ssang-ado, Taikan’s heavy bow, the poison bottles hanging from Arko’s waist, Serian’s neat grayish-blue robes, and Aelak’s leather coat besides.
Sights rarely seen in the Central Plains.
The chain weapon especially intrigued her.
She had never before encountered a master wielding such an unusual weapon.
‘Swinging it, wrapping it around—it’s superior as a ranged weapon, but how does one fight at close range? Do they wind the chain around their hand and strike?’
She burned to know what martial art it was.
Though she had lain bedridden for a long time, she was still a warrior’s daughter. She could not help but be curious about martial arts.
Yet she held her tongue and remained silent.
Her brother was on guard. It didn’t seem to be merely because they were Northerners—moreover, she could sense him trying to hide that very tension.
Something was not right.
She pressed her lips together.

“Shall we rest here?”
Garkan spotted a small clearing and spoke.
The sun had not yet set, but it was time to prepare the campsite.
Aelak stopped his horse. His agreement.
His subordinates dismounted at once and began preparing camp with practiced efficiency.
They gathered dry fallen leaves and started a fire.
With crackling sounds, warmth spread outward. Yet no one gathered around the fire. All of them lay down in the shade some distance away.
“Are they avoiding us?”
Cheok Ha-rin spoke as she warmed herself by the fire.
“That can’t be it. They’re hot—the fire, I mean. Even the weather is warm for Northerners now. Add a fire to that, and it’s unbearable.”
“Then this fire… you lit it for us?”
Serian nodded.
Just then, Garkan returned from his patrol and tossed his heavy Bingcheolsae onto the grass with a good-natured joke.
“This body of mine is too sluggish. I’d feel so refreshed knocking down a bear. One swing of this chain would do it in one blow.”
He made a motion of bringing the chain down through the air.
A faint smile crossed Cheok Ha-rin’s lips.
The first smile she had shown since the slaughter in the Narrow Gorge.
Garkan grinned and carried a bundle of dry wood over to the fire.
“You’re better when you smile. Rest easy and get some good sleep. Ease up. We may look like barbarians, but we don’t eat people.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t seem like it. You’ve been tensed up the whole way here.”
Garkan laughed.
At his words, Cheok Mu-yeong’s expression, which had remained stiff throughout, softened just slightly.
No one laughed aloud. Yet the awkwardness that had lingered among these strangers melted away as gently as warmth from the campfire.

Serian, meanwhile, kept her gaze fixed on Cheok Ha-rin.
A short distance from the flames.
The woman sat in cross-legged meditation, as if cultivating inner energy. But her senses traced the hollow between Cheok Ha-rin’s collar, following something else entirely.
A thin, cold aura seeping from the woman’s breast.
Cheok Ha-rin herself seemed utterly unaware of the energy stirring within her. Neither did Cheok Mu-yeong, it seemed.
Aelak had sensed it, she had sensed it, and just moments ago Garkan appeared to have sensed it too—an aura only northerners could detect.
‘A spiritual entity? Could it be the Seol-ryeon-gwa?’
But it was far too soon to press her for answers.

Aelak lay sprawled in the shadows, gazing up at the night sky.
Silence… and more silence.
He had kept his mouth shut from the moment they began camping until now.
He glanced at Cheok Ha-rin now and then, but his gaze quickly slipped back into the deep darkness.
Then Harku tossed out a casual remark.
“How old do you think our chieftain is?”
“The chieftain? Well… somewhere between twenty and twenty-five?”
Cheok Ha-rin spoke while looking at Aelak.
“Ha-ha! I knew you’d say that. Our chieftain is actually over fifty.”
“What!”
Cheok Ha-rin gasped in surprise, covering her mouth with her hand.
At the mention of fifty, Cheok Mu-yeong lifted his head and stared at Aelak.
Aelak was, to anyone’s eyes, a fresh-faced youth.
Garkan looked the oldest, Arko seemed to have some age to him—but the chieftain, supposedly the most senior among them, appeared the youngest of all.
‘Has he cultivated some age-retention technique?’
Or perhaps he had taken some magical elixir that prevented aging.
“I can’t believe you’re over fifty.”
“We’re all quite old. That’s why we speak plainly—you understand, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Cheok Ha-rin stared at Aelak with wide eyes, as if under a spell.
No matter how many times she studied him, he appeared to be a young swordmaster in his early twenties. The fact that the man before her had passed fifty seemed utterly impossible.
An expert master hidden in a young man’s face.
The man who had saved her twice among her fallen escorts, who had dragged her back from the brink of death with overwhelming strength.
Some strange emotion—whether awe or curiosity, she couldn’t tell—shook her heart powerfully.
‘In the Central Plains… there’s no one like him. So strong, knowing only how to destroy.’
Without realizing it, Cheok Ha-rin had leaned her body forward across the campfire.

The night deepened.
The flames that had crackled so steadily began to dwindle.
‘Something’s strange. It’s cold.’
Cheok Ha-rin sat near the warm fire. Her inner energy was brimming, so she shouldn’t feel the cold. Yet a chill ran through her nonetheless.
That aura drifted from the direction where Aelak lay.
One cheek burned with the heat of the campfire while the other felt pleasantly cool. As the two temperatures crossed, her senses came alive with unusual sensitivity.
She unconsciously opened her collar.
The moment she laid a hand to her chest, that familiar yet strange coldness brushed her fingertips—the cold aura of the Seol-ryeon-gwa, the spiritual remedy that had healed her affliction.
Cold energy rising from her heart.
Since being cured of the Han-seo-ji-byeong, a cool aura had been seeping from her heart. When touched, her skin felt cold.
But tonight was different. It was as if the energy dwelling in her heart was responding to something external, whispering to it in secret.
She was caught in that strange sensation, and her hand remained pressed to her breast for a long time.

Garkan moved to sit beside Cheok Mu-yeong and offered him a worn cup.
It held warm barley tea, not spirits.
“What brings you to the Okmun Gwan?”
Cheok Mu-yeong, hesitant for a moment, gave a brief reply.
“…Official business. I ask for your understanding.”
Garkan pressed no further. He simply stirred the dying embers with a branch and added casually:
“We passed through the Okmun Gwan not long ago, and we didn’t go through gently—tore through the place, actually. I wondered if that had anything to do with it.”
Cheok Mu-yeong answered by draining his cup.
Right. That incident. He needed to know who was behind it, why they did it, and what purpose drove them to breach Okmun Gwan in such a manner.
But he already knew most of it.
He could guess that their aim was vengeance. So… he had to learn what happened in the North Sea. The very thing his father had said he didn’t need to know.
Garkan drained his own cup as well.
He asked nothing more. Not to press someone on what they wished to keep silent—that was the most delicate consideration a rough northern warrior could offer.

Past midnight, the party began, one by one, to retire to bed.
Garkan’s booming snores tore through the night air.
Yet Cheok Ha-rin could not find sleep. Unaware of herself, from deep within her chest a thin thread of cold energy was unwinding like yarn, slowly spooling outward.
The moment she became conscious of the chill and turned her attention to it, she felt it more vividly.
The cool aura seeping through her garment drifted past the dying embers and, slowly and tenderly, flowed toward where Aelak lay.
‘What is this? My heart won’t stop racing.’
Cheok Ha-rin pressed her trembling heart down with both hands.

Serian never took her eyes from Cheok Ha-rin.
She sensed clearly what was happening to the girl.
‘The Seol-ryeon-gwa. Bing Gong’s treasure from the North Sea. This is… what the Queen of Bing Gong prepared for the warrior of the North Sea. She’s walked right into the trap.’
The Fuku Tribe possessed an inner energy technique called the Moyeong Eunsa Gyeol.
They scattered formless energy like yarn across the air.
A sort of net.
This sensitive web registered through touch how the opponent’s airway expanded and contracted with each breath.
With the Moyeong Eunsa Gyeol deployed, one could measure the length of a breath or the depth of inner energy with precision. Especially excelling at detecting singular auras like Aelak’s.
If the other party cooperated, one could uncover everything down to the roots.
The reason Fuku women learned the Moyeong Eunsa Gyeol was to nurture their husband’s energy.
Karani understood Aelak’s Binggong better than anyone.
She grasped at a glance the nature, shifts, and depth of the cold aura he emanated.
How could Aelak’s Binggong be elevated further?
Karani began to alter the yin essence within the Seol-ryeon-gwa. Through her energy, through her inner power, through her breath.
The energy dwelling in the Seol-ryeon-gwa was Karani’s energy.
Her pale gray eyes followed silently as the cold aura blossoming from Cheok Ha-rin’s breast reached out toward Aelak through the darkness.
Without question, it was the presence of Karani.
The trace of a dead woman awakened within the unknowing young woman’s heart, and through the darkness, she was being drawn into her beloved’s embrace.
Serian gazed long at Aelak’s leather coat beyond the fading embers, as he lay without the slightest movement.
Aelak was not asleep. He was awake.
One as sensitive as he could not have missed Karani’s presence.
Without knowing it, Cheok Ha-rin was identifying Karani’s enemy for him—whoever had given her the Seol-ryeon-gwa.
‘Sigh…’
Serian let escape a soft breath, barely audible.

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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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