The Legend of Red Cloud - Chapter 30

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

Episode 30. The Ghost Sword
The Ui-gi-dae had only one dining hall.
It was the only place where those receiving the Ui-gi-ryeong were spared discriminatory treatment—at the table.
After all, criminals though they might be, they were still masters of the martial arts.
Such men, forbidden from using their Nae-ryeok, were driven into brutal foundational physical training.
It was a form of hazing, a breaking-in process.
They endured five hours of such training each day, snow or rain making no difference.
And that was only half of it. The quarters where they could rest their exhausted bodies after training hardly deserved to be called a home.
The crumbling earthen walls looked ready to topple at the slightest wind, while the ceiling was riddled with holes through which the sky was plainly visible—these were merely the amenities.
Two straw mats laid on the ground served as a bed, covered by a third mat in place of blankets.
The beggar’s hovels beneath the bridges of Gae-bang would have been a luxury by comparison.
It was naked contempt. It was scorn.
More than the grueling training itself, the mere fact of receiving such treatment was an insult—a psychological torment that few could overcome.
For the Maeng-ui-dan’s masters, known for their fierce pride, it was as deadly as death itself.
Which was why they could not afford to discriminate even in food.
Moreover, the Maeng-ui-dan existed for combat, and operations came frequently.
During those operations, food was limited to rations.
It made no difference whether they passed through a village with inns or through desolate mountain terrain.
Food consumed during operations became an easy target for enemies to tamper with.
So proper meals could only be had at the garrison upon return from an operation.
For this reason, the Maeng-ui-dan’s warriors were fastidious about food, whether they were gourmands or not.
If one were to discriminate even in meals to such men—men already broken by humiliation in training and quarters—then…….
There’s a saying that even a rat seeks a hole through which to escape before it’s chased.
What need to speak of masters of the martial arts composing the Maeng-ui-dan?
That was why, even among the Ui-gi-ryeong, food bore no discrimination.
The instructors who drove the Maeng-ui-dan members under Ui-gi-ryeong to the brink, the guards maintaining security at the Ui-gi-dae, and the Maeng-ui-dan members themselves under Ui-gi-ryeong—all ate in the same place, the same food.
It was how they managed emotions on the verge of explosion.
This was why the Ui-gi-dae had only one dining hall.
Yet accidents still happened occasionally.
Collisions erupted between the Maeng-ui-dan members dining and the instructors or guards who, as usual, would needle them.
As such conflicts sometimes escalated to the point of casualties, the veteran instructors and guards, having accumulated such experiences, made it a point not to even meet the eyes of those under Ui-gi-ryeong in the dining hall when possible.
The problem lay with the new guards…….
“Hey, you stink. Finish up and get out!”
The ones who flinched at the rebuke from a new guard were warriors from the Hwangsan-dae.
Not the powerful, well-connected majority of the Hwangsan-dae, but the weak descendants of petty merchants sent in hopes of forming even the slightest connection with such men.
For the most part, such men kept to themselves and did not step forward, so they rarely caused trouble.
Yet somehow, not just one or two but seven descendants of petty merchants had been placed under Ui-gi-ryeong.
“I’m not leaving!”
It was just as the descendants of the petty merchants, flinching at the repeated pressure, were rising from their seats with darkened faces.
“Oh! Yi Myeong!”
One of the petty merchants’ descendants, hearing the voice from behind, turned and broke into a delighted expression.
“Hui Jun!”
“Well, it’s been ages, hasn’t it?”
Hui Jun approached in a single stride and clasped the young man called Yi Myeong by the hand.
“Three years now? Back then, you had mentioned…….”
“Yes, yes, that was it. But what brings you to this place?”
Hui Jun hastily cut off his own words and asked, while Yi Myeong tilted his head but answered readily enough.
“Well… it was by Father’s order……. But what about you—what are you doing here?”
As far as Yi Myeong knew, Hui Jun was as ill-suited to the Maeng-ui-dan as he was himself, if not more so.
“Well… it’s just how things turned out…….”
Yi Myeong, seeing Hui Jun’s awkward smile, drew closer and whispered while glancing around.
“Then you’ve abandoned Cheonju-hak?”
At Yi Myeong’s question, Hui Jun’s smile took on a bitter edge.
“No—that’s not something one can abandon.”
To be honest, there had been no shortage of anguish.
How could there have been none when he had turned away from a future stretching before him like a well-paved road to choose instead the battlefield—and a Gangho battlefield at that, where life and death crossed paths constantly?
Yet Hui Jun could not abandon Cheonju-hak.
The teachings of the Heavenly Lord, the truth of the Heavenly Lord…….
Yi Myeong, sensing the tangle of feelings beneath Hui Jun’s firm yet deeply conflicted voice, darkened his expression.
“Don’t tell me that’s why you were sent here?”
“…….”
Yi Myeong nodded as he watched Hui Jun smile awkwardly without saying a word, confirming that his suspicion had been right.
“I’ve heard similar stories. That the royal court, which banned Cheonju-hak, enslaved or sold its followers to the war front.”
The truth was far crueler than that.
Any woman with even a hint of beauty was inevitably made into a courtesan, while sturdy men were sold as slaves to the battlefield or the mines.
Those who fit neither category were executed without question.
Of course, there was a way to survive.
If one renounced Cheonju-hak and placed their thumbprint on a written oath denying the doctrine, they might be released after a few months of imprisonment.
But not many chose that path to escape their suffering.
Cheonju-hak was not merely a doctrine, despite what its name suggested.
Without understanding the depth of those convictions, Yi Myeong was astonished that Hui Jun endured the threat of death to preserve his faith.
The Hui Jun he knew was someone with a gentle heart.
“That’s impressive,” Yi Myeong said quietly.
A sharp voice cut through as Hui Jun merely smiled bitterly at his friend’s admiration.
“What business do you have interrupting when an elder is speaking? You wretched bastard!”
There are certain curses one should not utter, whether in the Gangho or the mundane world.
Words that mock castration or compare a man to a mule are among them.
They refer to someone unable to produce heirs—someone who cannot be called a man.
Normally, to hear such words would ignite a fury that burns hotter than fire.
Yet for some reason, Hui Jun merely chuckled.
As if it hardly mattered at all.
That careless laugh had touched a raw nerve in the guard who had picked the fight.
“What, you’re laughing? You wretched bastard!”
The guard’s step halted as he lurched forward in rage.
It was because his eyes had locked directly with those of the man whose arm rested across Hui Jun’s shoulders.
Shiver.
An icy chill crept involuntarily down his spine.
‘A master. This man is a master!’
And one so formidable he could crush someone of the guard’s caliber with a single finger.
Dong Pil, the arm across Hui Jun’s shoulders, watched the chastened guard with amusement.
“Hey there, our youngest. When did you become such a thing? You dare throw around such a cute title before we strip away that ridiculous skin of yours and air it out in the back?”
“Oh, you’ve arrived? Master.”
Dong Pil’s voice, which had been about to scold the disrespectful guard, was cut short by a sudden interruption.
“What pitiful wretches…….”
Dong Pil’s curse trailed off, his mood soured.
The one who had received the salute from the middle-aged man stepping forward from among the guards was entirely unexpected.
“You’re still here?”
It was Liu, just entering the Dining Hall, who had answered the man’s greeting with a flat tone.
Because of this, the middle-aged man’s voice reached Dong Pil’s astonished ears again.
“Where else would someone like me find acceptance?”
“If you’re called Gwi Geom, there must be many places willing to extend their hand, even if not quite at the highest ranks?”
At the name Gwi Geom, Dong Pil’s eyes widened further.
Whether or not Gwi Geom noticed Dong Pil’s shock, he continued speaking.
“Since you are here, Master, where else would I go? So long as you remain at Saja-pyeong, I too must remain here. But given my origins, the Maeng-ui-dan only accepts me in this place…….”
“You still hold great weight to a small debt of favor. It was nothing to me—those men who crossed the boundary simply had bad luck.”
Because he had heard such words before, perhaps, Gwi Geom let them wash past him with only a smile.
“Yet the debt of saving my life remains unchanged, Master.”
“A life debt is nonsense…….”
Liu brushed past Gwi Geom, his face flushed with awkwardness as he threw out the grumbling remark.
Gwi Geom followed him respectfully, as if attending to his every need.
Guided by Gwi Geom, Liu sat at an inner table mainly used by instructors and guards.
Though it was the same Dining Hall, the tables used by the permanent staff—instructors and guards—were in somewhat better condition and positioned more advantageously within the hall.
As Liu settled into his seat, Yi Song sat down beside him and greeted Gwi Geom familiarly.
“It’s been a while, Gwi-sa.”
Gwi-sa was Yi Song’s own particular way of addressing Gwi Geom respectfully.
Gwi Geom’s lips curved into a soft smile—he did not dislike Yi Song’s way of speaking.
“It has been a while for me as well, Scholar.”
But the warmth did not last long.
Jwa Ryang’s interjection shattered that pleasant moment in an instant.
“A cursed greeting. Still lurking about as if there’s scraps left to pick up.”
“Even if there were scraps worth eating, they wouldn’t be yours. So drop it.”
“You bastard!”
Jwa Ryang looked ready to launch himself forward, his expression turning savage in an instant, but neither he nor Gwi Geom facing him made any move. Neither dared strike first.
The truth was, both men were perfectly matched in skill.
Once before, their hot tempers had sent them hurtling toward each other, yet neither had emerged victorious.
Certainly, if they fought in earnest—if blood truly spilled and death became the aim—one would eventually fall. But the victor would pay a terrible price for it.
Their abilities were that evenly balanced.
That no calamity had befallen them despite their clashes was thanks to the presence of one man between them.
Both knew it well.
If they crossed the line, he would not sit idly by.
That was why their quarrels had remained nothing more than practice bouts.
Since then, the two had squabbled many times, yet no victor ever emerged. Eventually, they settled into trading barbs and insults.
Both men had come to accept that without a clear outcome, they were only wasting their strength.
Yi Song, understanding this dynamic well, could smile faintly even as the situation threatened to explode into violence at any moment.
“Still, both of you show such vigor. How admirable your liveliness is…….”
Dong Pil could not hide his startled expression at Yi Song’s measured response.
Though Jwa Ryang was said to be the strongest in Jeok-sa-jo aside from their leader, Gwi Geom was the wielder of the Killing Blade—a sword once called the Butcher of the Demonic Path, an absolute force unto itself.
That was why Dong Pil found Yi Song’s composure so difficult to understand.

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