The woman took back her purse, her eyes widening in disbelief.
“What did you say?”
Without answering, Bu Eunseol climbed straight into the carriage.
“Hey!”
Fuming, she yanked the carriage door open again, only to freeze.
Cough, cough.
Bu Eunseol, now seated, had begun to cough violently.
Blood mixed with the coughs, and in moments the bandages wrapped around him were soaked crimson.
Seeing this, the woman’s resolve softened.
“…No helping it, I suppose.”
Frowning, she closed the door once more.
“We’ll just have to endure some discomfort.”
“Young miss, there are plenty of skilled coachmen around here,” Bu Eunseol said quietly.
“Hmph. You can’t fool my eyes.”
She scanned the inside of the relay station and spoke firmly.
“The old man is clearly the best one here, isn’t he?”
Just like Bu Eunseol, she had instantly recognized that the elderly coachman possessed the finest skill and kept his carriage in the best condition.
After all, on a long journey, nothing mattered more than the driver’s competence and the vehicle’s state.
Still, she could hardly force someone who refused even extra payment.
In the end, she turned to another carriage and began haggling.
Meanwhile, the carriage carrying Bu Eunseol slowly pulled away, following the merchant caravan.
Clack, clack.
Sitting inside the gently moving carriage, Bu Eunseol gazed out the window with a grave expression.
‘Who was that monk?’
The monk’s prayer had seemed ordinary, yet a mysterious light had lingered in his eyes—an aura seen only in supreme masters who dominated the martial world.
Had it not been for the bandages, Bu Eunseol would have suspected the Dalai Lama himself had disguised himself as a monk.
‘And how does he know about the secret archive that only the Martial Venerable and Mu Gyeol are supposed to know about?’
Recalling the monk’s gaze, Bu Eunseol’s own eyes narrowed.
Despite his shabby appearance, the man was undoubtedly a master of extraordinary background.
Cough, cough.
Lost in thought, he started coughing again.
His inner energy was almost completely depleted so his body held no strength at all. Even though the carriage moved very slowly, every jolt made him dizzy.
‘At least the Silent Tiger Soul Sword looks like this—thank goodness.’
The Silent Tiger Soul Sword had the plain, unremarkable appearance of an ordinary iron sword found anywhere. Whether wielded by Bu Eunseol, Seon Woojin, or any third-rate martial artist, no one could easily tell it apart.
Clack, clack.
Before long the carriage was passing through a mountain path.
Yet from some point onward its speed had noticeably slowed.
‘This isn’t a good sign.’
An ominous premonition flashed through him.
And it soon became reality.
“—Halt!”
A thunderous shout rang out.
Thud thud thud thud.
The sound of a large group moving echoed through the air.
Looking out the window, Bu Eunseol saw roughly a hundred bandits encircling the caravan.
Their clothing varied wildly, yet the fabric quality was noticeably fine—far from ordinary bandits.
‘They don’t seem like rootless thieves.’
This region belonged neither to the orthodox sects, the demonic path, nor any established Green Forest bandit territory.
Rootless thieves sometimes appeared here to rob caravans but these bandits moved with far greater speed and discipline than typical mountain stronghold outlaws.
They were clearly not ordinary bandits, but rather martial experts disguised as such.
‘They have some other purpose.’
A sharp glint flashed in Bu Eunseol’s eyes.
A group this size would never target the meager wealth of a small caravan.
They definitely had another objective.
“May I ask from whence these fine heroes hail?” At that moment the leader of the caravan’s escort stepped forward. “This old man’s eyes are dim; forgive me for failing to recognize you.”
A middle-aged man glanced briefly at the silver saber at his waist, then clasped his hands toward the bandits. “I am called Gwa Cheonho. Friends in the martial world have generously bestowed upon me the title Thousand-Victory Silver Blade.”
Most bandits who operated for years would accept a reasonable payment from a caravan, save face, and withdraw. For that reason, caravans always hired well-connected martial artists capable of smooth negotiations when bandits appeared.
Gwa Cheonho was precisely such a hired expert.
“A nobody whose name I’ve never heard,” the bandit leader sneered.
Gwa Cheonho’s eyes widened.
“What did you just say?”
“Stay out of this. We only need to confirm something.”
“Confirm what?”
“You don’t need to know.”
At a nod from their leader, the encircling bandits slowly advanced.
Gwa Cheonho drew his silver blade.
“There is morality even in robbery. These are mere merchants untrained in martial arts—how can you draw blades and oppress them without cause?” He stepped forward boldly. “State your affiliation and purpose clearly. Otherwise there will be no negotiation.”
“Negotiation?” The leader stroked his chin and shook his head. “Too troublesome… Better to kill them all.”
He shouted to his men, “No need to confirm anything. Just slaughter them all.”
Shing.
The bandits drew their weapons and immediately began cutting down the caravan’s escorts.
“Arghhh!”
The guards, caught off guard, screamed in agony.
Even the most ruthless bandits usually targeted wealth, not indiscriminate slaughter.
Yet these men attacked as though possessed by bloodthirsty demons, carving through guards and merchants alike without hesitation.
“You bastards!”
Gwa Cheonho swung his silver blade, engaging the bandits.
“Stop them!”
At his command the remaining escorts drew their weapons and fought back.
“Argh!”
“Aaahhh!”
Screams rang out continuously as martial artists fell gruesomely.
The bandits’ skill was overwhelming; the caravan guards stood no chance.
Worse, their saber techniques were brutally efficient, cleaving torsos and heads in two without the slightest hesitation, as though facing mortal enemies.
Just as the surviving guards fell and the blades turned toward the merchants—
“You vile scum!”
A carriage door burst open. A woman wearing a face veil drew twin swords and stepped forward.
It was the very merchant woman who had earlier tried to hire Bu Eunseol’s carriage.
“There you are.”
The bandit leader scanned her up and down, then burst into coarse laughter.
“Hiding like a rat among the caravan, eh!”
It turned out the bandits’ true purpose in attacking was to hunt down this twin-sword-wielding woman.
“You heartless monsters! Why slaughter innocent people?!”
Fury blazed in her eyes at the sight of the butchered corpses. She brandished her twin swords and charged, cutting into the bandits.
Slash slash slash!
Her swordplay seemed learned from a renowned master—refined and sharp.
Unfortunately, she clearly lacked real combat experience.
The strength of twin swords lay in endless chained attacks and elusive footwork that made it impossible to read feint from truth.
Yet her techniques focused only on beautiful, flowing postures.
While they looked dazzling and impressive, in actual battle they were useless flourishes.
“Not bad.”
After she felled several bandits with her flashy style,
“Heh heh heh. I’ll handle you myself.”
The leader drew his blade with a sinister chuckle and stepped forward.
Whoosh!
As his heavy saber unleashed keen saber-qi, the woman leaped like a butterfly, evading and counterattacking.
But that proved to be a fatal mistake.
“You should have kept both feet on the ground no matter what.”
The leader continuously unleashed sharp saber strikes at her while she floated in midair, preventing her from landing.
Forced to defend, she had no choice but to keep using qinggong to stay aloft.
He stood firmly rooted, attacking at leisure, while she remained airborne—constantly expending energy and struggling to maintain balance.
Eventually she could neither advance nor retreat; every clash drained her true qi while she hovered helplessly.
Clang!
Finally one of her twin swords slipped from her grasp and fell.
With only one blade left, her stance collapsed completely.
Bang!
She took a palm strike from the leader and tumbled to the ground like a bird with broken wings.
She scrambled up quickly, but blood trickled thinly from her lips—she was internally injured.
“Did my uncle send you?”
“You don’t need to know.”
As the leader raised his blade, she swallowed the blood in her mouth and spoke.
“These people have nothing to do with me.”
“So?”
“Let them go. You only need to kill me, don’t you?”
“Heh heh heh. Such a kind heart.” The leader glanced coldly at the trembling merchants. “I would love to, but I’ve received a commission.”
“A commission?”
“To make it look as though bandits robbed and killed everyone here.” He gave a faint smile. “A killer from the Blood Zhao Sect can hardly go back on his word.”
At the mention of Blood Zhao Sect, the merchants’ faces turned deathly pale.
These were no ordinary bandits—they were elite assassins from one of the martial world’s infamous killer organizations, disguised as bandits to slaughter everyone, including the woman.
“Blood Zhao Sect, is it?”
The woman bit her lip.
The leader—one-kill assassin Ma Deung of the Blood Zhao Sect—grinned wickedly.
“If you understand now, why not give up?”
Then, as if reconsidering, he shook his head.
“No… killing you outright would be a waste.”
His gaze lewdly roamed over her slender, veiled figure and he licked his lips.
“No one specified how you have to die, after all.”
Obscene flames danced in his eyes.
“The rest of you—kill them all. I’ll… take care of some personal business.”
Licking his lips again, Ma Deung struck her acupoints with a crack. Just as he turned, carrying the woman in his arms—
Creak.
The old carriage door groaned, shattering the silence.
It was merely a rusty creak, yet it carried an eerily long, lingering echo.
Thud.
A heavy footstep sounded.
A shadow descended from the carriage.
An old iron sword hung loosely at his side and thick bandages stained with blood and pus covered his face.
It was Bu Eunseol.
“Who the hell is that now?”
Ma Deung studied Bu Eunseol’s wretched appearance, noticed the shabby sword, and scowled.
“Some pathetic would-be hero. Kill him.”
Three bandits—no, three Blood Zhao Sect assassins—immediately surrounded Bu Eunseol.
Staggering, Bu Eunseol walked toward them with feeble steps.
With difficulty he drew the Silent Tiger Soul Sword which was outwardly nothing more than a cheap iron blade.
“Hahaha.”
The tense assassins burst into incredulous laughter at the sight.
Though bandages hid his complexion, his gait was unsteady, his sword hand trembled constantly, and no sharp sword-qi—nor even a ripple of inner force—emanated from the drawn blade.
In short, he looked like a typical third-rate braggart pretending to be strong.
Raising the sword with an exhausted motion, one assassin sneered.
“Crazy bastard shaking while holding a sword—”
But he never finished.
Shunk.
A dull black iron sword had already pierced his throat.
The seemingly powerless thrust had somehow penetrated the assassin’s neck in an instant.
“A master concealing his strength!”
Shocked by the single move, Ma Deung bellowed,
“Deploy the Poison Net Blood Formation!”
Whoosh.
The assassins moved in perfect unison, forming the proud formation of the Blood Zhao Sect.
Swish!
They charged together, thrusting blades simultaneously.
One terrifying aspect of the Poison Net Blood Formation was its ability to completely trap the enemy inside while allowing layered, non-overlapping attacks from every direction.
Shing shing!
As razor-sharp sword-qi surged like waves, Bu Eunseol instinctively spun to evade.
But with no strength in his body and unsteady footing, his movement lagged half a beat.
Slash slash!
Blood sprayed as keen blades grazed his shoulder.
Staring at the crimson drops on the ground, Bu Eunseol narrowed his eyes.
‘My body has no power right now. I must move as little as possible and dismantle them one by one with swordsmanship alone.’
The assassins naturally assumed he would frantically try to escape the formation or dash around, so they had already woven a dense net of saber edges around him. Yet Bu Eunseol stood motionless at the very center of the storm of blades, silently swinging his long sword.
Whoosh!
In the end, their meticulously crafted saber net passed harmlessly around his body by a hair’s breadth.
“Strike!”
The assassins in the formation unleashed another barrage of killing moves.
But every time the old, blackened iron sword moved, it exposed glaring flaws in their own techniques.
Each time he extended the blade, assassins collapsed, vital points pierced.
—How is this possible?
How could someone so weak that a mere glancing sword-wind made him stagger possess such profound swordsmanship?
“Fire hidden weapons!”
Realizing his divine swordplay, the assassins quickly retreated and launched a storm of projectiles.
Clang!
When his sword met the hidden weapons, the impact shook Bu Eunseol’s body violently.
The weapons carried heavy inner force and he nearly dropped the Silent Tiger Soul Sword.
‘I don’t need to meet them head-on.’
When his energy was abundant he would have deflected or returned them using Return to Origin.
But now, with almost no inner force, blocking directly was impossible.
Ding ding!
Tilting the sword edge at an angle, he flicked the projectiles aside.
Meeting them squarely would have overwhelmed him, but deflecting at a slant dissipated much of their force.
Clang clang clang!
Such subtle redirection required extremely high swordsmanship as well as precise reading of each weapon’s shape and trajectory.
Though his internal energy was nearly gone and movement was agonizing, the wild-beast-like instinct dwelling within him allowed him to deflect the hidden weapons without difficulty.
But hidden weapons were not all he faced.
Shwaaa!
No sooner had the barrage eased than dozens of assassins charged again, unleashing wind-like attacks.
Shing shing shing!
With every breath stars burst before his eyes and every swing of the sword sent hot blood surging in his chest.
Yet Bu Eunseol bit his lip until it bled, forcing himself to stay focused.
‘If I fall, every innocent person here dies.’
His own death did not matter.
He had long since ceased caring about living or dying.
But he could not stand idly by while blameless commoners were butchered.
Slash slash slash!
Concentrating fiercely, Bu Eunseol unleashed his swordsmanship once more.
Though his steps still staggered, he had already felled over thirty assassins by accurately striking their vital points.
Each time the long sword struck, the assassins let out choked gasps, desperately trying to block, yet his sword path was utterly unpredictable, alive with its own will.
The way he extended and withdrew techniques was so profound it defied the eye.
—What is this?
Fear began to creep into the assassins.
Bu Eunseol’s movements lacked power and his paths meandered like a drunkard swinging a sword but no one could block even a single strike.
Shunk. Shunk.
Now he looked exactly like a drunken old man stumbling and flailing, but it was always the assassins who fell.
After barely an incense stick of time, every assassin except Ma Deung lay dead, vital points pierced.
“…”
Unable to believe the scene, not only Ma Deung, but also the watching merchants and surviving escorts stood mouths open, speechless.
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