Yong Mugang took a deep breath and asked, “How did you find me?”
An ordinary person would have asked, “Who are you?” But for him, the critical question was how he had been tracked. Even seasoned assassins had failed to trace his movements. He was intensely curious about how such a young man had found him.
“You seem curious,” the man said.
“Yes,” Yong Mugang replied.
“You want to know so it won’t happen again.”
The man hit the nail on the head, and Yong Mugang forced a smile. “As if that’s possible.”
“I’ll explain,” the man said, glancing out the window before continuing. “The areas where you committed your crimes always fell within the Crippled Sect’s territory.”
“…”
“Of course, no one in the martial world would pay attention to the Crippled Sect’s influence,” the man said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “It’s a faction only the disabled can join, and there’d be no apparent connection to a notorious bandit like the Flower-Plucking Bandit with his remarkable movement techniques.”
“That alone wouldn’t be enough to find me,” Yong Mugang said.
The man smiled faintly. “Because your disability wasn’t discovered?”
Yong Mugang’s eyes widened. No one in the world knew his leg was impaired.
“No one would expect the Flower-Plucking Bandit, with his astonishing techniques, to have a crippled leg,” the man continued. “You must have painstakingly trained to use that prosthetic leg so naturally. And…”
The man’s gaze sharpened like a blade. “To avoid pursuit, you killed the only person who knew—your master, the Lone Thief.”
Thud.
Yong Mugang’s eyes bulged as if struck in the back of the head. That was a secret buried deep within his heart. Killing his master was akin to killing a parent. Even for a reckless criminal like him, if this truth were exposed, he’d be utterly isolated, unable to seek help from anyone.
‘How does he know this?’ Yong Mugang thought, his breath catching in his throat.
Suppressing his shock, he asked calmly, “How did you find out?”
“Wherever you committed your crimes, there were always unique traces left by someone using a prosthetic leg,” the man replied. He had deduced that Yong Mugang’s left leg was impaired and that his sudden disappearances were linked to the Crippled Sect.
“Remarkable,” Yong Mugang said, swallowing his astonishment. “To think someone could identify traces even I wasn’t aware of.”
He continued, “No one ever figured out I was part of the Crippled Sect.” He prolonged the conversation as much as possible, seeking an opportunity to escape. “To investigate even the traces of a prosthetic leg, you can’t be a martial artist. Are you from the authorities?”
The man didn’t answer, instead gazing out the window at the moonlight, as if waiting for something.
Seizing the moment, Yong Mugang quickly pressed a hidden mechanism on the floor.
Clank.
Poisoned darts shot out from the wall.
Boom!
At the same time, he smashed through the door and bolted outside.
Thud.
But as he tried to use his movement technique, a searing pain tore through his neck.
“Argh!” The man from the room was already behind him, gripping his neck.
A commotion arose, and the people of Nonggahong poured out. Among them was Song Okbang, the vice-sect leader of the Crippled Sect, known as the Great Mother.
“Who are you?” Song Okbang demanded, glaring at the man holding Yong Mugang. “Do you know this is the Crippled Sect’s stronghold?”
“Funny,” the man said with a smirk. “Do you even know who this man is that you’re hiding?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Song Okbang replied. “If a member of our sect requests a hiding place, we provide it. That’s our rule.”
“You’d better change that rule,” the man said, a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes. “Or after today, every branch of the Crippled Sect, including this place, will be wiped out.”
Song Okbang fell silent. In her sixty years of a tumultuous life, she had the courage to laugh even with a blade at her throat. But meeting this man’s gaze, an inexplicable fear welled up within her.
Clatter.
Two dragon-drawn carriages rolled into Nonggahong, and people disembarked. The carriages bore flags with the character “Steel” —they were from the Steel Merchant Escort Agency, based near Nonggahong.
Song Okbang’s eyes widened at the unexpected sight. Why would an escort agency’s carriages enter the Crippled Sect’s stronghold?
She blinked at the middle-aged man stepping out—it was Jang Ildo, the head of the Steel Merchant Escort Agency.
“Why are you here, Agency Head?” she asked. Living in the same region, they were somewhat acquainted.
“There’s a ten-thousand-tael consignment in Nonggahong,” Jang Ildo replied.
“A consignment in our sect?” Song Okbang tilted her head.
“Yes. We received five thousand taels as a deposit this afternoon.” At noon, a mysterious man had visited the agency, paying five thousand taels upfront and commissioning them to transport an item from Nonggahong to the Emei Sect by dusk.
The distance was only a hundred li, and with such a hefty deposit in a slow season, it was an offer they couldn’t refuse.
“They’re here,” the man holding Yong Mugang said. “This is the consignment.”
Slash.
The sword on his back gleamed with a cold light. In an instant, Yong Mugang’s head was severed from his body.
Splatter.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
The man casually tossed the severed head to Jang Ildo. “Deliver this head to the Emei Sect. You’ll receive another five thousand taels.”
Jang Ildo, with thirty years in the escort business, had never been so stunned. To behead a Crippled Sect member within their stronghold and order its transport? The sect’s martial arts weren’t exceptional, but their tenacity and cruelty toward enemies rivaled the Tang Clan.
Song Okbang glared at the man. “Do you know what it means to kill a sect member within our stronghold?”
Every faction had its rules, and breaking them undermined its authority. Martial factions fiercely upheld their codes because a breach could erode their prestige. The Crippled Sect’s sole rule was an eye for an eye. Despite being composed of the disabled, their members were countless across the Central Plains. Those who harmed them faced relentless vengeance, making the sect a sanctuary for the disabled.
“The Crippled Sect exists across the eighteen thousand li of the Central Plains. No matter your status, you’ll pay for this.”
“Do as you will,” the man replied calmly.
Song Okbang shouted, “Reveal your identity! Or else…”
“Bu Eunseol,” the man said solemnly, looking down at her. “Disciple of the Nangyang Pavilion, Bu Eunseol.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “The… the heir of Majeon?”
Song Okbang was stunned. Bu Eunseol, the legitimate heir of the Nangyang Pavilion and Majeon’s successor, the Martial Soul Command Lord. Even if she could kill someone of noble lineage, she couldn’t touch the future ruler of a million demonic warriors.
“Be more selective with who you shelter,” Bu Eunseol said coldly. “If you harbor someone like Yong Mugang again, the name Crippled Sect will vanish from the martial world.”
Not only Song Okbang but also Jang Ildo, staring at the head, widened his eyes. “This is the Flower-Plucking Bandit Yong Mugang?”
“Yes,” Bu Eunseol said, gazing at the distant sky. “He’s been evading pursuit for years by using his dual identity as a Crippled Sect member. The martial factions simply didn’t know.”
Song Okbang trembled. She realized Bu Eunseol’s words were no mere threat. If they had knowingly sheltered Yong Mugang, Majeon might not act, but this young heir would surely dismantle the Crippled Sect entirely.
Whoosh.
A piercing sound rang out from the sky, and dozens of white-robed martial artists entered Nonggahong.
“Stop!” a thunderous shout echoed.
It was none other than the Heavenly Sword and his Divine Might Corps.
“You!” The Heavenly Sword’s eyes widened upon seeing Bu Eunseol. He had scoured the Central Plains to capture Yong Mugang, finally tracking him to the Crippled Sect—only to find Bu Eunseol had beaten him to it.
Smirk.
Bu Eunseol flashed a cold smile at the Heavenly Sword. As he turned to leave, the Heavenly Sword sneered, “Is this your grand plan? Sabotaging my every move?”
“Do you think these tricks can stop my rise?” he added, scoffing.
“Sabotage?” Bu Eunseol replied with a smirk. “You call capturing a martial world criminal sabotage?”
“Since when does Majeon care about catching criminals?” The Heavenly Sword raised an eyebrow. “Yong Mugang was a villain the Alliance was hunting relentlessly. Why are you stepping in?”
Bu Eunseol’s smile turned colder. “What does the demonic or righteous path matter when it comes to catching a vile criminal?”
Jang Ildo, having packed the head in a box, bowed respectfully to Bu Eunseol. “We’ll deliver this to the Emei Sect.”
The Heavenly Sword bit his lip, watching. ‘He did this on purpose.’
For Bu Eunseol to arrange an escort agency to deliver the head, he must have tracked Yong Mugang long ago. Yet, he deliberately waited until the Heavenly Sword arrived, timing the capture to steal his thunder.
“Clever move,” the Heavenly Sword said, forcing a casual smile. “Using an escort agency ensures the news spreads quickly, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” Bu Eunseol replied, a knowing smile spreading as if he’d realized something. “Then I’ll use an escort agency to send your head to the Sword Venerable.”
“Heh heh heh. Hahaha!” The Heavenly Sword laughed, nodding. “I love that madness in you…”
But Bu Eunseol ignored him, leaping into the air and departing.
‘That bastard!’ The Heavenly Sword’s eyes sparked with fury as Bu Eunseol ignored him and left.
Crack!
Yong Mugang’s body crumpled as if crushed, obliterated by the Heavenly Sword’s terrifying inner energy.
“This is what it means to have the upper hand in an information war,” the Heavenly Sword muttered, a dazed expression giving way to a sly grin. “Then I’ll use it too.”
His eyes gleamed with madness. Bu Eunseol had been preempting his moves, but the Heavenly Sword could now obstruct Bu Eunseol’s every step in return.
“From now on, the tables will turn.”
The Martial Alliance surely had the means to track Majeon heir’s movements.
“You can look forward to it, Bu Eunseol.”
The Heavenly Sword bared his teeth in a grin, ready to repay Bu Eunseol in kind.
***
In the meeting room of the Suppressed Demon Pavilion, Bu Eunseol, Yoo Unryong, and Myo Cheonwoo sat together, deep in discussion.
“He took the bait,” Yoo Unryong said. “That lunatic isn’t focusing on gathering merits anymore. He’s pouring all his effort into tracking your movements. It’s faster that way.”
“I thought he was just a madman, but he’s got some brains,” Myo Cheonwoo said with a laugh.
Yoo Unryong shook his head. “He’s not a simple madman. Except for his inability to empathize, he lacks nothing—martial prowess, intellect, everything.”
“Hmph. Still just a monkey in the Buddha’s palm,” Myo Cheonwoo said, looking at Bu Eunseol. “What’s next? It’s going as you predicted.”
Bu Eunseol had deliberately stolen the Heavenly Sword’s merits to provoke him, knowing it would drive him to interfere with Bu Eunseol’s plans.
“I’m heading to Thousand Blinding Winds,” Bu Eunseol said.
“Thousand Blinding Winds?” Myo Cheonwoo tilted his head.
Thousand Blinding Winds was a coalition of bandit groups dominating the regions of Yanyuan and Liangshan in Sichuan. Unlike typical bandits who plundered, they extorted “protection fees” from highland villages.
Initially light, these fees had grown oppressive, leaving villagers on the brink of starvation. But the Thousand Blinding Winds’s forces were formidable, and their base in the remote highlands of Sichuan was nearly impregnable, deterring any faction from challenging them. The journey alone was grueling.
“In this freezing weather? And Thousand Blinding Winds is much closer to the Martial Alliance’s territory,” Myo Cheonwoo said, crossing his arms. “You could actually lose the lead this time.”
Bu Eunseol shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Thousand Blinding Winds isn’t the goal.”
Yoo Unryong, studying a map, suddenly lit up. “Wait, if it’s Thousand Blinding Winds’s territory…”
After a moment of thought, his jaw dropped. He knew Bu Eunseol was cunning, but setting a trap by exploiting human psychology like this was beyond his expectations.
“You’re using the situation there,” Yoo Unryong said.
“Exactly. Thousand Blinding Winds is just bait,” Bu Eunseol confirmed.
“You’re terrifying,” Yoo Unryong said, shaking his head. “And this isn’t the end of your plan, is it?”
“Of course not,” Bu Eunseol replied.
Ruining a person’s reputation and honor was no easy task. Bu Eunseol aimed to drag the Heavenly Sword into the abyss with relentless, layered schemes.
“This is just the beginning.”
A bloodthirsty glint flashed in Bu Eunseol’s eyes. “Soon, the Martial Alliance will have no choice but to expel that lunatic.”
***
A bone-chilling wind howled through the mountains. The journey to Thousand Blinding Winds, requiring a relentless climb up treacherous paths, was nothing short of grueling. Bu Eunseol led the five units of the Nine Deaths Squad up the endless mountain trail.
But something was odd. Given Thousand Blinding Winds’s forces, two units would have sufficed. Yet, Bu Eunseol had brought all five, laden with an enormous amount of supplies, as if preparing for a prolonged campaign.
After climbing some distance, they spotted dozens of white-robed martial artists ascending ahead—the Heavenly Sword and his Divine Might Corps.
“Hahaha! Looks like you’re out of luck this time!” the Heavenly Sword called out, spotting Bu Eunseol’s group. He deliberately used his qinggong to descend to Bu Eunseol’s position. “What now? We’ve got the lead.”
With only one path up the mountain and the Martial Alliance’s corps ahead, Bu Eunseol and the Nine Deaths Squad couldn’t overtake them without a fight.
“You came all this way only to lose the lead?” the Heavenly Sword taunted playfully. “Of course, you could attack us now.”
His eyes gleamed with a ferocious madness. “A righteous-demonic war would be quite entertaining.”
“…” Bu Eunseol said nothing, continuing his climb.
The Heavenly Sword snorted, unimpressed. “Acting all calm, but you’re burning inside.”
Returning to his group, he shouted, “Watch out for those vile Demon Sect bastards trying to overtake us!”
Ignoring him, Bu Eunseol pressed on steadily. At the mountain’s midpoint, a clearing revealed a village.
“Catch us if you can!” the Heavenly Sword jeered. As the path widened, he led his Divine Might Corps forward with qinggong.
“…”
Bu Eunseol didn’t bother to chase. Instead, he surveyed the village. It was in a pitiful state—most houses had collapsed from landslides, and the people looked on the verge of starvation. Even a bandit raid would have looked less devastating.
“Listen up, squad members,” Bu Eunseol commanded. “Start repairing the collapsed houses and distribute the food we brought.”
“Yes, sir!” the squad responded.
Martial artists, trained in inner energy, could handle massive logs as easily as chopsticks.
Tap, tap, tap.
Wi Cheongyeong’s unit swiftly climbed onto roofs, repairing damaged structures, while Won Semun and his team distributed food to the villagers.
“Line up! We’re handing out food!” Jo Namcheon and others personally delivered supplies to the disabled.
“It’ll take about three days to fully restore the village,” Wi Cheongyeong reported.
Bu Eunseol nodded. “Take the time to do it thoroughly.”
He knew the Yanyuan region had suffered catastrophic landslides. And he knew the Heavenly Sword, obsessed with earning merits, would focus solely on overtaking him, ignoring the village’s plight.
‘Even if he had the time, he wouldn’t care,’ Bu Eunseol thought. The Heavenly Sword’s inability to empathize meant the villagers’ suffering wouldn’t even register.
“Why are you helping us instead of moving on?” the village chief asked, his voice trembling. “Don’t you need to overtake them?”
He had watched Bu Eunseol’s group and the Heavenly Sword’s corps racing toward Thousand Blinding Winds.
“The whole point of eliminating Thousand Blinding Winds is to protect the common people,” Bu Eunseol said calmly. “What’s the use if you’re dying here?”
The chief’s face filled with emotion as he wiped away tears. Martial artists often claimed to protect the people while pursuing their own agendas—expanding influence or gaining fame. But these warriors genuinely cared.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” the chief said, grasping Bu Eunseol’s hand and bowing repeatedly, barely containing his gratitude.
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