North Sea Martial Arts Warrior - Chapter 83

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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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83. Eight Marks

Rain-soaked wood wouldn’t burn.
Aelak brought his blade down, and the timber split along the grain, exposing the dry heart within.

Whoosh!
A sudden downpour swept across them. The party made for an abandoned temple by the roadside.
Water dripped from the eaves, drumming against the earthen floor.
Moss bloomed verdant on the shoulders of a weathered stone Buddha. The musty scent of long-abandoned spaces unfurled in the damp air.
“We’d better get a fire going.”
Garkan set down the wet baggage.
“In rain like this? Where’s dry wood to be found? If it’s too wet, we’ll get nothing but smoke.”
Harku nudged a pile of logs with his foot. Water ran off them.
“Central Plains rain soaks right through to the bone.”
Garkan wrung out his wet robes, shaking his shoulders.
“The North Sea blizzards would be better. At least those dry out.”
“You complained just as much in the blizzard, brother. Hot or cold, you found something to grumble about.”
Harku shrugged.
“It’s your age, Garkan. The cold makes your old bones ache.”
“This brat. Only your tongue works.”
“You should’ve brought dry wood in the first place.”
“In this rain? Are you volunteering to fetch it?”
“Me?”
Cheok Ha-rin found herself drawn into their banter before she could think.
“If I went out, I’d come back looking like a drowned rat instead of bringing firewood.”
“Ha! Then you just tend the fire. That’s the most important job.”
“I’m good at keeping fires. I’ve been the one by the hearth since I was small. But once this dry wood runs out, you’ll have to fetch more, understand?”
Cheok Ha-rin laughed, making a show of laying down the law.
Eight people crowded into the narrow hall, shoulders touching, space tight. Yet in this moment, everyone forgot everything else and shared a quiet laugh.
Then Aelak stood a wet log upright and drew his blade in one fluid motion, striking down with all his might.
Crack!
The log split cleanly along the grain. Where the blade had passed, the cut was as straight and smooth as if sawn.
Aelak sheathed his sword and gestured toward the fire with his chin.
“Why waste a blade on that? You should do it.”
“If the clan leader handles it himself, we just end up with less work,” Harku said, quietly moving his hands closer to the warmth.
Harku edged his hands nearer to the flames.
Garkan broke the dry heartwood into smaller pieces and laid them on the kindling.
The fire caught, and smoke rose.
Acrid smoke traced low along the ceiling beams before escaping through cracks in the roof tiles.
“Using a sword to chop firewood? Usually people avoid splitting wood with their blades, worried the edge will dull.”
Cheok Ha-rin watched Aelak with surprise, her voice full of wonder.
“Dull? Ha! The clan leader’s blade doesn’t get damaged by this. Not a chance.”
Harku spoke with absolute conviction.
“Does the clan leader usually not draw his sword? I’ve never seen him fight before. This is the first time I’ve seen him use it like this, even for chopping wood.”
“The king of the Aelak Tribe can’t be bothered with amateurs. They’re not worth drawing steel for. He did it today because of the rain—and because he thought you might catch cold.”
Cheok Ha-rin traced her fingers along the severed edge.
“Brother, did you see? The cut is as straight as a ruler.”
She leaned toward Cheok Mu-young and spoke softly.
“…I saw.”
“Isn’t it extraordinary? One stroke of the blade, splitting the grain perfectly.”
……
Cheok Mu-young said nothing.
Part of him wanted to speak immediately, to tell her: ‘Ha-rin. Don’t praise a blade like that carelessly.’
Aelak’s sword bore the presence of the Greatest Sword Under Heaven—a quality that transcended mere skill or technique, something that defied explanation.
Cheok Mu-young felt despair wash over him after witnessing even that single display.
‘If he fought Father… I couldn’t promise victory. Jeol-hwi Il-geom feels uncertain for the first time in my life.’
Cheok Mu-young’s heart trembled faintly.
Beneath his damp clothes, a chill crept down his spine. He pressed his palms flat against his knees, holding the tremor inward so it wouldn’t show.
But why had Aelak split firewood with that blade, wielding such martial skill?
‘Was he showing off deliberately?’
Perhaps. A confidence that he had nothing to fear from displaying his power? Or was there some deeper meaning he simply couldn’t read?
‘That single stroke—the precision of the cut, the finality of its end. A grace you wouldn’t see even in a renowned sword family. I couldn’t unfold anything like it.’
Cheok Mu-young gauged Aelak’s technique for the first time. And that assessment became, in turn, a warning. A chill ran through him.

“Brother, where are you going?”
As the fire came alive, Mu-young rose from his seat.
“Just need to look around outside. You stay here.”
“But it’s raining. What’s there to see?”
“That attack during the day keeps nagging at me. Better to be careful than careless. I’ll be back soon.”
“Let me come with you. I’m restless too.”
“You sit by the fire. I won’t be long.”
Cheok Mu-young left his sister behind and stood.
The moment he crossed the threshold, wind-driven rain lashed at his robes.

Behind the Abandoned Temple, beneath the eaves in a dry corner, his footsteps stopped.
Rainwater traced the collapsed wall and carved black runnels into the earth below.
Beside the half-cooled heap of ash lay a flattened bed of straw. Nearby, several footprints remained, not yet washed clean by the downpour.
Cheok Mu-young held the back of his hand against the ash.
The warmth had faded, and the compressed straw covered a space wider than a single person lying down.
He crouched and traced each footprint slowly with his eyes.
“Not just one or two then. Someone rested here and departed.”
His murmur was swallowed by the rain.
Water seeped into the ash mound, turning the cold remains into dark mud.
Who was this new enemy? Invisible, yet undeniably close—pressed against his very shadow, watching his every movement.
The corpses of escort warriors that Aelak’s group claimed to have seen en route to the Spiritual Mountain.
They didn’t exist. Before the ambush in the Narrow Gorge, no rogue martial artists had defected. Which meant those bodies were fabricated.
Orchestrated to bring Aelak’s party and his own together.
Cheok Mu-young was deeply troubled by the identity of this unknown figure. Yet for now it remained beyond his reach—and despite searching carefully, he’d discovered traces all the same.
He said nothing to anyone, holding his sharpened vigilance close, and turned his gaze inward toward the main hall.

Serian examined Aelak’s wet Leather Coat. Out of habit.
The leather had swollen, and the seam at the left shoulder had split open.
She drew out thick thread and began stitching the seam.
Each time the firelight touched the needle’s point, it fractured into fine splinters.
“That’s… a different stitching style. Is it the Fuku Tribe method?”
Cheok Ha-rin watched her handiwork and asked.
“Yes.”
“The way you catch the seam, how you move your hand—it’s different from Central Plains work. You’re mending it now?”
“Just closing it for now. Wet leather warps again as it dries.”
“When do you repair it properly?”
“After the rain stops. Deep restoration then.”
“Could you show me how you repair it later?”
“Then.”
“Where did you learn all this? Your hands are so practiced.”
Serian drew the needle through and pulled the thick thread taut.
“I’ve held a needle since childhood. Clothing is mended by human hands.”
The stitching was quite different from Central Plains work, yet intricate nonetheless. The needle holes were sparse but held with remarkable strength.
“Your hands are so skillful. Watching you somehow puts my mind at ease.”
“Thank you.”
Serian answered briefly, her fingers never pausing. Like someone deliberately keeping her mind from a familiar place.
“Can I… say this? Your hands, Chief. I’ve never seen hands like yours, yet they don’t feel strange at all. Even when you gripped my wrist in the stream days ago—they were cold, but I wasn’t afraid. Isn’t that odd?”
“You shouldn’t grow accustomed to them.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just speaking to myself.”
Serian finished closing the seam and withdrew her hands. She knew who had made the leather garment, but she would not say it aloud.
In the firelight, her eyes dimmed for a moment, then grew still again.

It was then that Aelak retrieved a large wooden carved figurine from his saddle and set it down before the two of them.
Thud.
A dull sound echoed through the temple.
His four subordinates heard it. But they turned their eyes away, feigning ignorance.
“This wooden figurine… it’s someone who was killed in the North Sea, isn’t it? Even the hair is carved in fine detail.”
Cheok Ha-rin leaned in to examine it.
Aelak didn’t answer. His gaze lingered briefly on the figurine.
Every strand of hair on the figurine’s head had been carved with the tip of a blade.
“If you recognize any of the wounds here, tell me.”
Aelak spoke with a certain forcefulness.
“You asked before, but… I don’t know. I was seriously ill for quite a long time. My knowledge of the martial world isn’t as deep as someone who’s been active all along.”
“This mark here.”
Aelak pressed his finger against the first scar that ran down from the shoulder.
“This mark was made by a sword. Do you know what swordwork it is?”
His question was cold and direct.
Cheok Un-hui, called the Greatest Sword Under Heaven—naturally he would have studied swordsmanship. But still,
“…I don’t recognize it. I’ve never seen a mark like this before.”
Cheok Ha-rin shook her head.
Aelak raised his gaze and stared at Cheok Ha-rin in silence, his finger still resting on the first scar.
‘You really don’t know?’
A voiceless question.
Unable to bear the weight of his scrutiny, Cheok Ha-rin spoke.
Firelight danced across her taut features in shades of crimson.
“I truly have never seen a mark like this. What kind of sword burns flesh black like that?”
Aelak kept his finger pressed against the scar but said nothing.
“…The swordwork I was taught doesn’t include anything like this. I know swords, but I only learned the Yeon-hwan Sam-geom technique. If I recognized it, I’d tell you. I really don’t know.”
She wasn’t lying. She truly didn’t know.
That this scar had been made by her father’s blade.
Guileless ignorance—Aelak could press no further.

It was then that Cheok Mu-young returned from his inspection. In a glance, he took in the atmosphere of the hall and understood his sister’s predicament.
Water dripped steadily from his damp shoulders, but he made no move to dry himself.
He deliberately feigned obliviousness and sat down in a corner, calling to his sister.
“Ha-rin. Come here a moment.”
“Brother, look at this. There’s a dark mark on the shoulder….”
“I saw that already. It’s not an actual scar on the body—it’s carved into the figurine, so I couldn’t even begin to guess what it is.”
Cheok Mu-young hedged his words. As though he truly didn’t know.
‘He was asking about the scar while I was away…’
Had he perhaps grown suspicious of their father? No, that couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have.
‘No. I never revealed Father. There’s no reason for him to suspect anything.’
Certainty climbed slowly through his chest.

Cheok Mu-young leaned toward his sister. He spoke low, so quietly that no one else could hear.
“Don’t get too close to him.”
“…Why?”
Cheok Ha-rin turned to face her brother, bewildered.
His tone was stiff, stilted—a cadence she’d never heard from him before. It was also the first time she’d seen him so tense.
“Fine. But you have to tell me why later.”
Instead of answering, Cheok Mu-young placed a gentle hand on his sister’s shoulder.

Aelak’s eyes never left the figurine.
His hand traced the wounds carved into it again and again, as if to soothe away their pain. And with his animal senses, he caught every word that passed between the Cheok siblings.
The sound of rain grew louder.
Water that overflowed the eaves fell upon the broken stone threshold and scattered in all directions.
Over the eight scars etched into the figurine, the glow of embers slowly cast a shadow.

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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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