Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Covert Squad (1)
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Deceiving the enemy with false information.
Luring the enemy with fabricated intelligence.
Subduing the enemy with misleading details.
Flattery and sweet talk, honeyed words hiding venom, cunning schemes and machinations, baseless rumors, stirring up unfounded gossip, feigning an attack east to strike west, hanging a sheep's head over dog meat, slanderous plots, calling a deer a horse, inconsistent appearances, blending feints with reality—these are the inescapable fates of strategists. Virtue and ethics cannot coexist with military prowess, just as ice and charcoal cannot mix.
… Omitted …
Such is the essence of a strategist’s ability.
What gives wings to a strategist’s cunning is a wealth of information.
As chaos deepened and martial artists struggled to contend with the might of monstrous freaks and divine beings, the value of intelligence warfare shifted dramatically from before.
In that era, when the skills of countless schemers were held in high regard, intelligence organizations mostly functioned as mere underlings and subsidiaries to the strategists.
Yet there existed an intelligence outfit that itself could stand in as an exemplary strategist.
The Hebei Peng Clan rose to fame as a martial powerhouse, but in the end, it was not the Heaven-Destroying Squad that defined their legacy. They effected great changes with small forces in many places.
Bearing the simple yet profound name of Spy and Secret, they confronted the military might of the Kunshan Blood War and the Revered Martial Alliance’s uprisings—powers unbeatable by force alone—with modest yet monumental resolve.
The origins of the Invincible Blade Arts, created by the Blade Emperor, lay within them… Omitted …
—from the Draft of Hanbaek’s Murim History of Turbulent Times
Excerpt from Hanbaek’s Diary.
“Hoo…”
A sigh escaped him unbidden.
Oho stepped into the shade of a tree and wiped the blood from his black-and-white swords with his lapel.
Fighting like this would dull his blades. He had to check them periodically before the blood could dry and cake.
The pursuit that began at dawn showed no signs of ending even as daylight stretched into midday.
The enemies were relentlessly tenacious.
He had already killed eight. The number he had deeply slashed to render combat-ineffective was more than double that. Yet the encirclement showed no signs of loosening. These were no ragtag band of unorthodox riffraff. They were a properly trained force.
‘But…’
Rustle!
Oho tore through the forest path and scaled the hillside.
As if lying in wait, two figures lunged from the side. Both wore black—one in martial robes, the other in scholar’s garb.
‘Strange, isn’t it.’
Clang! Clank!
He deflected a broadsword with his black-and-white blades and unleashed Eighteen Stance Leg Techniques. The black-robed martial artist who charged first was sent tumbling into the underbrush.
‘Exactly this!’
The next one swung a willow-leaf saber.
It didn’t suit the scholar’s robes at all, and the way he deployed his saber arts was peculiar. His footwork and strikes seemed disconnected. Yet they weren’t clumsy. It was a fighting style he had never seen before.
Cling!
He parried the willow-leaf saber and swiftly ducked low.
Swoosh!
An arrow whistled past his head.
‘This too.’
Their weapons were all over the place.
Aside from the black clothing, nothing matched. Different materials, different styles.
‘And yet they coordinate so well.’
That was the noteworthy part.
Disciples of major orthodox sects typically trained in the same foundational techniques tied to their core martial arts lineage. Even if they wielded different weapons, it was the same. Their sect uniforms were usually uniform too.
But not these guys. Far from similar—they didn’t even seem to share roots.
Clang!
He infused his inner energy and shoved the willow-leaf saber away.
Two cracks spiderwebbed across its broad blade. The man faltered and retreated. His retreating footwork was Southern Fist lineage. His origins seemed to lie there too. High cheekbones, blunt brow ridges—a skeletal structure common south of the Yangtze.
Rustle! Swoosh!
While that happened, the black-robed martial artist who had rolled down the slope climbed back up and thrust his broadsword.
Those using broadswords at least shared similar techniques overall. Their footwork suggested a Northern Fist foundation, blended with a thrusting style popular in Shandong.
Shing!
He swung his golden sword lightly to deflect it, then circled around a massive tree. The arrow whistling through the air thudded straight into the trunk.
‘The disciples hail from across the entire land. Fundamentally unlike regional sects.’
At least the broadsword users had consistent swordsmanship.
But were they the main force? No, that didn’t seem right either.
He could tell from how they coordinated their joint assault.
The broadsword and willow-leaf saber were perfectly matched in proficiency. Despite coming from entirely different backgrounds with wholly different martial arts, their synergy was precise.
Like a kind of army.
An army came to mind first and foremost for one reason: one of them wielded a bow.
Bows weren’t common among Jianghu folk. There were exceptions, but nine times out of ten, anyone using one was ex-military.
Of course, these couldn’t possibly be imperial troops.
If not official forces, then private soldiers were the next best guess.
Mercenary strike teams showed these traits. But they didn’t quite feel like the retainers of some local tyrant either. There was no whiff of the discipline forged by military codes.
If anything, they smelled of ink and scholarship.
That was evident in their fighting style.
Their formations were well-structured but lacked rigid rules, their attacks fierce yet uninspired. It screamed coordinated assaults planned by intellect rather than instinct.
Whether in warrior robes or scholar’s garb, it held true. He hated to draw the comparison, but their traits resembled the Covert Squad.
‘No, scratch that resemblance.’
Covert Squad agents were uniformly sharp.
This one in scholar’s robes was dimwitted. He was still thrusting with a visibly cracked willow-leaf saber.
Shing! Crack!
Oho slashed outright, shattering the blade. Shards tore into the scholar’s robes, spraying blood. The man dropped the hilt and clutched his wound as he staggered back.
An arrow would come next.
Swoosh!
Oho twisted aside. The air hummed viciously. The arrow packed real power, but he had no intention of taking it.
‘Martial artists in the end!’
Even the archer seemed a mix of ex-military and Jianghu origins.
Imperial longbowmen trained mainly in mounted archery on plains and curved long-range shots. This was the straight-line style of hunters. Hunter archery, honed for game in the wilds, sometimes evolved into unique martial arts. Like this guy.
‘A group like this in the martial world…’
To gather such disparate individuals, there had to be a common goal.
Those assembled that way typically operated under banners like alliance or league. Societies could fit the bill depending on context.
The most obvious example was the Murim Alliance.
When the Murim Alliance convened, the Nine Great Sects and Six Great Clans rallied entirely different sects under one banner to address shared threats. You’d see various martial arts and origins blending in battle. But that was just one case—these were different. He couldn’t imagine them fighting alongside the Peng Clan in the Murim Alliance.
If anything, they’d be the opponents.
Exactly.
The Murim Alliance existed precisely to fight groups like this. Unidentified forces uniting under a common goal could become tremendously dangerous. That was the alliance’s very purpose.
There were many ways to gather shady sorts. Not just intangible ideals like faith, ideology, or conviction, but tangible rewards like money or land worked too.
‘No fanatic vibe.’
He ruled out faith.
Cults didn’t fight like this. Cultists’ eyes burned with madness beyond blind devotion, and dying zealots shone with a martyr’s ecstasy.
These had neither.
They seemed coldly rational. They had resolve akin to martyrs, but it wasn’t faith-driven. They struck at strangers without hesitation and fought fearlessly unto death.
Something powerfully bound them, but what?
‘If I don’t know, I’ll find out.’
Oho vaulted a boulder and scanned the ridgeline.
They were inside a rugged hill formation with a distant view of Mount Sapseok. Black-clad figures flanked the slopes in three groups. Front, rear—efficient placement.
To break one point, you’d face reinforcements from before and behind piling up. Even piercing one meant another fight. Excellent for draining stamina and morale. Superior encirclement tactics.
‘There!’
Oho’s eyes flashed.
Time to meet the leader of these mystery foes.
His body shot in one direction.
A speed utterly unlike before.
He arbitrarily released his martial restrictions and unleashed the Covert Squad’s secret lightness skill, Dark Travel Mist. Unless he falsified his report, discipline was certain. But now wasn’t the time to worry about that.
Swooooosh! Rustle!
His robes flapped as if to tear.
Flashy like the Heaven-Destroying Squad’s Qi Control Wind. Blame the turbid qi buildup. His inexperience played a part too. Once Qi Control Wind became Qi Control Divine Wind, and Dark Travel Mist evolved to Dawn Travel Mist, he could sprint through an autumn leaf-strewn forest without a sound.
Thud thud! Flutter!
He swiftly crested the rocky hill.
The tightly woven enemy net faltered in an instant.
Due to the sudden speed shift.
Oho’s movements were wholly different now. Not just speed—direction too. He plunged inward, not outward through the encirclement.
Thud!
Leaping tree to tree, he dropped into a shaded depression thick with foliage.
There he was.
“Impressive.”
The man was impeccably dressed in scholar’s robes.
He complimented Oho even as the latter dropped from above.
“Not really.”
Oho scanned him sharply.
His attire was meticulously groomed, but the fabric seemed modest. Around thirty, give or take. Maybe younger. A face with a story—deep shadows cloaking his features.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Want me to explain it in words?”
Oho shot back instantly while swiftly inhaling and gathering his energy.
He’d come to glimpse the leader’s face, but this could get him killed.
This one was strong.
Even a swift great tiger could lose its life stumbling into a rival’s den away from home.
That was exactly the vibe.
Wenwu versatility was rare, but he’d seen it.
Today included.
This man’s martial prowess even outshone his intellect.