Return of the God of War - Chapter 50

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 50. A Half-Hearted Guard
Screech!
The Bakdo, now as familiar to him as part of his own body, cut through the empty air.
Though fatigue had accumulated in his body from the day’s Martial Sparring, the blade’s edge remained sharp as ever.
“Hah. Hah.”
Half a watch had passed as he ran through the martial forms, picturing his next opponent.
Even as his breathing grew ragged, Muk Byeong-ho did not stop—he repeated it once more.
The atmosphere at home had grown utterly grim.
His sister Muk I-yeon had buried herself in some remote corner of Yunnan and showed no sign of returning.
His mother Hye Rang-yeong had watched the tower of effort she’d built over years crumble, and now she drowned herself in wine, lost to despair.
The mother who once felt as solid as Mount Tai now seemed so diminished that he could barely recognize her.
When the things she’d held in her grasp vanished, so too did the footsteps of the visitors who had worn away the threshold with their coming and going.
It was karma—all her relationships forged by nothing but profit and loss.
If he, too, abandoned all effort and gave up now, it felt as though there would be no future left at all.
That was why Muk Byeong-ho had chosen to enter this sudden opening in the So철 Blood Martial Tournament.
He intended to show the retainers of Sadocheon through this opportunity.
That he still possessed himself as a trump card for his mother Hye Rang-yeong.
Responsibility.
In his previous life, the Muk Byeong-ho known as the executioner had never harbored such a feeling.
That very emotion was now the force that drove his present self forward.
Drip, drip.
Blood trickled from his torn palms.
Still, he gripped the Sword tightly once more.
That was when it happened.
“When you unfold the forms starting from the lower stance, keep your elbows closer to your torso.”
A voice suddenly came from behind, and Muk Byeong-ho spun around sharply.
Standing there was a figure dressed from head to toe in night-black garments—a person cloaked entirely in shadow.
“Muk Yeo-jin?!”
At his cry, the figure in black—Muk Yeo-jin herself—tilted her head slightly in mild amusement, but whether she was called by one name or another mattered little to her.
What concerned Muk Yeo-jin lay elsewhere.
“Take your stance.”
At the same time, Muk Yeo-jin seized the rhythm of her Fist Techniques.
Tomorrow, when the So철 Blood Martial Tournament resumed, Muk Byeong-ho’s next opponent would be the successor of the renowned Cheolgwon Hall from Fujian.
By any objective measure, he was a formidable foe—one against whom Muk Byeong-ho’s victory seemed rather unlikely.
Yet if he could experience the opponent’s martial arts beforehand and identify his weaknesses, it would be entirely possible to overturn the outcome.
Muk Byeong-ho’s eyes flashed with understanding.
He had grasped Muk Yeo-jin’s intent.
He swallowed hard and steeled his resolve.
“I’m in your hands. Thank you.”
Muk Yeo-jin mimicked the Bunpa Iron Fist, the martial art of Cheolgwon Hall, as closely as she could while facing him.
The Bunpa Iron Fist was itself considered a Superior Technique and a Rising Rank Fist Art.
Yet the more she unfurled it, the more its shortcomings became apparent to her.
It was a moment when she truly grasped anew just how refined the Sanwang Martial Arts were—the fierce and singular secret art she had mastered.
Of course, that was Muk Yeo-jin’s perspective; her opponent Muk Byeong-ho, meanwhile, was having a terrible time of it.
Thud!
“Gak—!”
Struck across the abdomen, Muk Byeong-ho retched.
Because he had skipped dinner in his fervor for training, there was nothing to expel.
He looked as though he might be about to cry out in agony, yet Muk Byeong-ho pushed himself back up.
“Once more, if you please.”
Beneath her face mask, a faint smile touched Muk Yeo-jin’s lips.
Another watch’s worth of training unfolded in this manner.
Muk Byeong-ho collapsed to the ground.
His body was covered in bruises, yet his face looked relieved.
He had finally managed to graze the hem of Muk Yeo-jin’s garment with his blade.
Muk Yeo-jin gazed at the slight rend in his sleeve before shifting her gaze to where he lay sprawled on the ground.
‘That should suffice.’
It would not be easy, but he would not fall ignominiously to the Cheolgwon Hall successor.
With momentum on his side, victory itself was well within reach.
Having achieved her purpose, Muk Yeo-jin turned silently and departed.
Then Muk Byeong-ho finally voiced the question he’d been holding back.
It wasn’t a question of who you were.
“Why… why are you helping me?”
Muk Yeo-jin’s footsteps faltered for a moment.
“Win. No matter what.”
With those words alone, she vanished like the wind once more.
* * *
That night, Muk Yeo-jin and Bu Yeon made their way to an inn near Sadocheon.
After a brief survey, Muk Yeo-jin entered a place bearing a modest but charming sign that read Fengyun Inn.
Though its exterior suggested it might do little more than host flies, the interior bustled with unexpected vitality, and they were fortunate enough to find a window seat still available.
They promptly ordered wine and food, then settled into easy conversation.
“Where has the patriarch gone?”
“The merchant house couldn’t be left unattended much longer, so my sister returned first.”
“Then we’ll have to drink her portion as well.”
“Ha! Agreed. Let’s live a little tonight.”
As the wine and dishes arrived, the two men began clinking cups in earnest.
At first, they exchanged pleasantries and shared stories about Hong Ryeon—matters too intimate for letters.
But as empty bottles accumulated, the conversation gradually shifted from public to personal matters.
Before long, their drinking had taken on the easy, familiar warmth of close friends.
“Ha! You should’ve seen how startled I was—my eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.”
Bu Yeon was talking about the hunchbacked old man he’d encountered at the banquet hall.
“To think that old man was the Sadocheon Master himself. Truly… just remembering that moment, I feel like my pants would still be soaked.”
“When your children are born someday, boast about it—tell them their father once traded jokes and shared honey cakes with the Sadocheon Master himself.”
“I absolutely will.”
The two men burst into hearty laughter and raised their cups again.
Muk Yeo-jin felt a strange sensation rise within her.
Before the regression, she and Bu Yeon had often drunk together, but the atmosphere had always been heavy.
Back then, she herself had little peace of mind, and whenever the drink went to his head, Bu Yeon would lament bitterly the sister he’d sent away.
But this evening.
Not a trace of melancholy showed on Bu Yeon’s face, despite his demonstrated capacity for drink.
‘He’s changed.’
Yes.
It wasn’t just Muk Byeong-ho who differed from his past life.
Bu Yeon and she herself had transformed just as profoundly—as had their mother and Biao Yeon—each for the better compared to before the regression.
And.
Here came another pair.
Their relationship, too, would undergo great change in this new life.
“Pardon us, but would it be possible to share your table? The Sadocheon banquet has drawn quite the crowd to the nearby inns, and we’re short on seating…”
A server hurried over to ask.
Though the drink was beginning to settle pleasantly upon him, Bu Yeon was perceptive enough to first gauge Muk Yeo-jin’s inclination.
When Muk Yeo-jin nodded, he promptly answered the server.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
While the server went to fetch the other guests, Bu Yeon leaned in and whispered.
“I do hope they’re beautiful women.”
Well.
His bearing was so polished that one often forgot—but he was a vigorous man in his mid-twenties now.
Given typical marriage customs in Zhongyuan.
Had he not set aside romantic pursuits in his search for Bu Young-seol, he’d likely have had several children by his age.
But unfortunately.
The figures the server brought were a young nobleman attended by an impressive retinue of guards.
Bu Yeon’s face fell with evident disappointment.
Muk Yeo-jin was just smiling at his reaction when—
‘…!’
A faint current of energy snagged at her senses.
It bore the mark of the Hwayeong Demonic Art.
The source was one of the guards standing behind the young nobleman.
What were the odds that in this corner of Guangxi, so close to Sadocheon, there’d be another martial artist versed in the Hwayeong Demonic Art?
Observing the young nobleman’s demeanor, Muk Yeo-jin’s suspicion hardened into certainty.
‘So the beautiful women the subordinate director wanted have indeed arrived.’
Though it was merely the young mistress of the Cheonma Divine Cult in male disguise, along with her escort.
Cheon Hwa-rin had used a supreme-grade face mask—there was no trace of deception in her appearance.
Gwi Young, by contrast, had pulled her bamboo hat low and refused to show her face, as if she’d simply padded her torso with cotton to conceal her form.
Cheon Hwa-rin possessed the kind of beauty that earned her a place among the Five Beauties of the Martial World, and Gwi Young was no less striking a woman.
If the two of them wandered about openly, trouble would inevitably follow—of that there was no doubt.
Their choice to dress as men and move through the streets was entirely reasonable.
‘It seems Hwa-rin wanted to visit the marketplace.’
The hospitality at the Tianyuan Guest House where they lodged was impeccable enough to satisfy even royalty.
There would be no need to come to such a shabby inn to eat.
Yet Cheon Hwa-rin, raised without want, possessed a peculiar romanticism for simplicity—the opposite of most who enjoyed luxury. She found strange charm in plain, unpretentious things.
Just as Muk Yeo-jin had taken an immediate liking to the atmosphere of this Fengyun Inn, Cheon Hwa-rin had likely come here for similar reasons.
She had been startled by Muk Yeo-jin’s sudden arrival, but now wore an expression of contemplation.
They were outside the Sadocheon headquarters.
‘Why wait until the finals of the So철 Blood Martial Tournament? I could crush him right here and now.’
But then the cheerful voices of patrons drinking and laughing caught her attention.
She didn’t want to spoil this pleasant atmosphere on her account, so Cheon Hwa-rin naturally chose to sit down.
Bu Yeon, who had no way of knowing their true identities, spoke to them with easy familiarity.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Since we’ve met by chance, I’d be delighted to pour you a drink, if you don’t mind.”
“Thank you.”
Cheon Hwa-rin replied, her voice deliberately deepened.
As Bu Yeon filled her cup, the escort standing behind her stepped forward and immediately inserted a silver needle into the drink.
She was checking for poison.
Bu Yeon felt a twinge of embarrassment and scratched his cheek.
“Haha… your escort is truly thorough.”
“My apologies. I’ve told her to stop doing unnecessary things, but she never listens.”
For Cheon Hwa-rin, who possessed Immunity to All Poisons, such precautions were genuinely pointless.
Gwi Young knew this as well, yet performed the ritual every time regardless.
“But tell me—why does your escort insist on standing instead of taking a seat?”
The question came from Muk Yeo-jin, who had been quietly observing the pair.
Gwi Young answered in her deliberately gruff, masculine voice.
“To remain focused on my duties, of course.”
Muk Yeo-jin nodded at this.
Yet despite this gesture of agreement, her next words contradicted it entirely.
“You’re a half-measure of a guard.”
“What do you mean?”
Gwi Young’s tone sharpened noticeably.
Muk Yeo-jin pressed on without hesitation.
“Think about it. If you stand rigidly behind your master in an ordinary inn like this instead of sitting down, what will the other patrons think?”
“That is…”
Gwi Young faltered for a moment, but Muk Yeo-jin didn’t relent.
“Will they think, ‘My, what an excellent guard that one is! A true professional!’ Is that what they’ll think?”
Muk Yeo-jin shook her head.
“Not at all. Humans prefer to tear down rather than praise. No, they’ll think this instead: ‘What a miserable master that must be, refusing to dine with his own retainer! How I pity that poor subordinate. Curse that wretched master—I hope he trips over a stone on his way out!'”
Gwi Young’s shoulders trembled faintly.
She recognized it as sophistry, yet no suitable rebuttal came to mind.
Muk Yeo-jin smirked and drove the point home.
“So you see, you’re a guard concerned only with your master’s safety, not her reputation—a half-measure in every sense.”
“You…”
Gwi Young’s killing intent began to rise as indignation overwhelmed her.
A calm but firm voice cut through the moment.
“Sit.”
It was Cheon Hwa-rin.
“She’s not entirely wrong.”
“But… but then—”
“Do you want me to earn a reputation as a miserable master?”
Silence.
Gwi Young finally closed her mouth.
“I said sit. Now.”
As Cheon Hwa-rin pulled out a chair and urged her, Gwi Young had no choice but to comply.
It was the first time in a decade and more of their master-servant bond that the two women had sat at the same table.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————