The Reincarnated Hunter Sweeps Up All Fortunes - Chapter 5

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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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Episode 5
Episode 5
The sound came from the direction where Jeokryuha Munju’s quarters lay.
“They’re targeting the Munju!”
“Protect the Munju!”
“You took the money—now get out there and stop those Ronin that Heukdopang hired!”
Crack! Slash!
Thanks to the desperate shout, the situation became clear at once.
Heukdopang had struck first to minimize damage.
Im Gang rushed forward, sweeping his eyes across the melee of Ronin tangled together.
Identifying allies among them wasn’t difficult—they all wore cheap red cloth markers pinned to their chests, a gift from Jeokryuha.
And what if someone didn’t have the marker?
That was their own fault.
If an ally skewered them by mistake, it was justified.
‘The numbers… roughly even.’
Im Gang drew a Throwing Knife and hurled it.
[Long-Range Attack Enhancement and Long-Range Homing skills activate.]
Long-Range Attack Enhancement and Long-Range Homing were passive skills that applied to projectile actions—throwing, shooting, and the like.
They didn’t activate simply by lobbing something randomly. They required intent: the will to deal damage, to hit the target.
The effect was straightforward.
The projectile’s damage was amplified, and once a target was locked, it would be guided true.
Whoosh!
The Throwing Knife flew forward with fierce momentum, as though Inner Strength itself had been poured into it.
“I’ve hated you since way back… Gah!”
It lodged in his solar plexus. One down.
Couldn’t say I was fond of him either.
Anyway.
Though it had been a while since he’d used these skills, they felt as natural as in his former life.
He immediately drew two more Throwing Knives.
Fighting as a Ronin required knowing just two things.
First: composure.
Ronin usually brawled in confused melees, so without composure, you’d end up stabbed by a blind blade or stabbing a blind blade yourself.
In short, thinking an ally was an enemy, or striking what you thought was an enemy only to find it was an ally.
Second: momentum.
Most Ronin had no Inner Strength.
Aside from the few with exceptional bladework, they were all the same—cannon fodder.
In a fight between nobodies, what mattered was not being looked down upon.
You needed your opponent to think, ‘Huh, this one’s got something.’
‘But that’s not quite enough.’
Better yet, don’t just avoid being underestimated—establish yourself as a clear powerhouse.
So Im Gang decided to bluff a little.
“Brace yourselves—Mancheonhwau!”
“W-wait, Mancheonhwau?!”
“What madman would…!”
The Ronin froze in shock.
Of course.
It couldn’t possibly be the genuine Mancheonhwau secret technique of Sacheon Dangga.
This was what might be called the Ronin version of Mancheonhwau.
Simply put: scattering Throwing Knives and poison indiscriminately. Why would Ronin know anything about precision blade-work or sophisticated poison arts?
“Everyone get down!”
“Don’t get down, you idiot—scatter!”
No Ronin could stay calm watching a madman about to do something crazy.
In the instant the Ronin, who had been scrambling together chaotically, froze in confusion and hesitation.
Im Gang spotted his mark.
‘…Now!’
And he threw the Throwing Knife.
“Gah!”
“Ugh!”
The blade lodged between the target’s brows, and his body collapsed—dead.
That moment.
A moment of stillness descended over the blood-soaked melee. With merely two Throwing Knives, he had upended the entire battlefield.
“Is this all you have?”
Im Gang drew out two more Throwing Knives, his smile cruel and blood-tinged.
Ah.
This is precisely the gap between your eyes and mine.
But why are you all standing there?
He hurled the blades without hesitation.
“I was planning to return after this and propose to her…”
You didn’t die.
“Is this place my grave…”
Had I struck the heart instead of the leg?
Im Gang dispatched another ten Ronin with his Throwing Knives, and when he closed in on a couple more with a blade, the tide shifted decisively toward Jeokryuha.
The skill bonus granted him unerring accuracy.
That was when.
The master of Heukdopang turned his attention this way.
* * *
Heukdopang harbored a few masters of some renown throughout Hangju.
One among them was Chae Hyeol-geom, a Swordmaster notorious for his savagery—he carved flesh from bone like butchering meat, leaving victims bloodied and broken—and served as the action captain of Heukdopang.
‘The Morale is shifting toward Jeokryuha?’
Chae Hyeol-geom sensed something amiss. His role in Heukdopang’s battles was to crush the enemy’s Morale through ruthless cruelty.
Thus he noticed it before anyone else.
‘Who is that?’
He traced the source of the shift in Jeokryuha’s Morale.
A single Ronin.
The age… could not have been more than twenty.
No mere Ronin without Inner Strength—he faced the disciples of Jeokryuha.
He did not know what situation had unfolded.
‘That is irrelevant.’
To reclaim the Morale, he would have to separate bone from flesh on that wretch.
There was an unspoken rule: Ronin fought Ronin, Martial Sects fought Martial Sects.
For an action captain to face a mere boy Ronin was somewhat beneath dignity.
Yet the stakes were too high to refuse.
“Brother, if one uses an ox-blade for a chicken, won’t it be overkill?”
“That is correct. We shall handle it!”
The moment Chae Hyeol-geom moved to act, his right and left arms stirred—bloodied blades flashing.
True, it would be beneath his station to intervene personally.
His right and left arms possessed little Inner Strength—mere whispers of power—but they fancied themselves competent Smasters in their own right.
A boy Ronin would hardly…
“Screech!”
“Gack!”
…What?
Chae Hyeol-geom’s eyes widened like lanterns.
* * *
Im Gang was dancing on his feet.
To be precise.
His shoulders were bobbing from the relentless throwing of Throwing Knives.
Though he was enjoying himself, too.
‘Every knife I throw finds its mark—how could I not be thrilled?’
He had paid his master a considerable sum to learn Dongsinggong.
No surprise there.
Master-disciple bonds among Ronin had always worked this way.
‘Dongsinggong… it is certainly effective.’
He had lost count of how many times it had saved his life—proof enough of its worth.
Yet why struggle in treacherous close combat when he could dart about from a distance, flicking knives?
Just as he landed another Throwing Knife in a Ronin’s body.
“Krrr-hehehehe! I’ll carve you into slices like cured meat!”
“What soft, tender skin this young one has!”
Two figures rushed toward him, their voices sharp and hungry.
Their speed was considerable.
Im Gang started, a flicker of alarm crossing his face.
By pure reflex, Im Gang drew two Throwing Knives and hurled them forward.
“Screech!”
“Ack!”
The Long-Range Homing skill found its mark without fail.
……He was just breathing easier when he caught sight of Heukdopang clothing.
Im Gang stared at the two crumpled figures with an expression of mild displeasure.
‘Hired Ronin fighting Ronin—isn’t that an unspoken rule? Actually, before that—aren’t these guys second-rate fighters?’
The fact that second-rate martial artists had fallen to nothing more than thrown knives left him speechless.
But it had worked all the same, so wasn’t everything fine?
“Insane! He threw Throwing Knives and took down a Heukdopang swordmaster?!”
“I’ve always known he had the makings of greatness, but……!”
“This reckless little pup!”
Allied Ronin cheers erupted from all sides.
Meanwhile, the enemy Ronin’s faces were draining to an ashen gray.
The battle between the Ronin was, for all practical purposes, already over.
But.
“You bastard! I’ll end you!”
There were always those who thrashed about in their final death-throes.
Chae Hyeol-geom, both arms severed, came charging at Im Gang.
He was markedly faster than the two fighters he’d already put down!
And yet.
“Die!”
“……??”
Chae Hyeol-geom suddenly leaped high into the air, his blade raised to full extension.
In that instant, Im Gang felt only bewilderment.
‘Has he gone mad with a death wish?’
Even a first-rate martial artist capable of wreathing a sword in Inner Strength would never make such an attack.
Because.
While airborne, there was no way to evade an enemy’s strike.
Unless one possessed the second-stage leap of the Ladder Cloud Ascension or the legendary Void-Stepping Technique, it was impossible—a fact even a third-rate Ronin knew.
Thus.
Im Gang infused a Throwing Knife with Inner Strength and cast it free.
And.
It shot forward like a bolt of lightning.
Thunk!
“……!”
The Throwing Knife pierced Chae Hyeol-geom’s heart, and he expired mid-air without even a final scream.
The price of a senseless, stupid blunder.
“Waaaaah!”
“Again! Again! Our young master has done it!”
Unlike his shouting allies, their morale surging, Im Gang remained bewildered.
‘Is this what they call “morale”? No, wait—this can’t be mere morale.’
Something was off about Heukdopang relative to its reputation and influence. A money-grubbing mercenary outfit like that couldn’t possibly harbor warriors of true skill.
Among the evil sects he’d encountered during his years eating sword-bread in Hangju, this one was by far the most witless.
In any case.
The infamous Chae Hyeol-geom was dead, adding one more victory to his tally.
And riding that momentum, the battle between Jeokryuha and Heukdopang began its inexorable march toward conclusion.
‘The fight between Ronin is essentially over.’
They were merely going through the motions now, half-heartedly waving their blades and holding their positions.
Though Im Gang did not know the reason.
The death of Chae Hyeol-geom and his two arms had broken Heukdopang’s morale considerably.
Jeokryuha, too, had suffered significant losses.
If casualties continued to mount, both sides would reach the point of catastrophic ruin!
By now, one could see it clearly.
The victor in war was decided by nothing less than Single Combat.
The outcome hinged on who would prevail—Heukdopang Master or Jeokryuha Munju.
“You treacherous dog! A sneak attack?!”
“If you wanted coexistence, you should have proposed it earlier!”
“Coexistence? From mercenaries who do nothing but extort money?!”
‘Both of them are running hot.’
Despite the childish banter, blood was flying—a fierce fight had erupted.
Perhaps because both wielded swords.
Whether it was a connected sequence of forms or sheer cunning, the give-and-take was blindingly fast.
It was inevitable—wounds appeared one by one on arms, legs, ribs.
The vital points—throat, solar plexus—were barely blocked or grazed by the narrowest margins.
Both combatants were drenched in blood.
‘Christ, I can’t even see what’s happening.’
To Im Gang’s eyes—a mere third-rate Ronin who’d only recently awakened his Inner Strength—
this was a dizzingly high level of combat.
And yet.
one thing was becoming clear.
‘Hm. Our side looks like we’re being pushed back a little.’
Jeokryuha Munju’s expression had darkened noticeably.
Like a dog desperate to relieve itself.
Exactly that sort of look.
It was right as the Heukdopang Master rushed forward with a sinister grin that the twist came.
“Ugh!”
Jeokryuha Munju’s eyes flared. His blade fanned through the air like a folded cloth, leaving afterimages as it carved deep into the Heukdopang Master’s thigh.
From X-job’s perspective, Munju had feigned retreat to bait out carelessness—and the Heukdopang Master had taken the bait.
“Aaaahhh!”
“Dammit!”
The fortunes of both sides reversed.
The Heukdopang Master, his thigh deeply slashed, swept his blade wide to force Jeokryuha Munju back, but defeat was written across him now.
It was plain to see—his legs could barely move.
“Ugh.”
“Breathe… breathe. If you yield, I’ll spare your life.”
Jeokryuha Munju steadied his ragged breathing and advanced slowly.
The Heukdopang Master retreated.
It looked as though the contest was decided.
The Jeokryuha side, victory all but confirmed, clenched their fists and let out a roar.
Because of that.
Click.
No one saw the Heukdopang Master’s fingers move with peculiar precision.
Someone bolted swiftly from within the Heukdopang ranks.
Everyone started at the sudden movement.
“…W-what?!”
Jeokryuha Munju, exhausted from his fierce exchange with the Heukdopang Master, realized too late but couldn’t react in time.
A lowered blade was aimed at the young master’s heart.
The Jeokryuha disciples tried to rush forward—
Slice!
“Krahaha! Is it… over?”
Clang!
“…Ugh!”
A Throwing Knife cut through the air and saved Jeokryuha Munju.

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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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