Chapter 206
Chapter 206
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 206
Chapter Title: The Fallen Void Sword
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Gulp, gulp.
A cool stream of water flowed down his throat.
Various meat dishes were laid out on the table, and empty liquor bottles were piled up on one side.
However, unlike the abundance of food, only one person sat there.
“Keuheuh!”
The middle-aged man who had chugged from the bottle without pause let out a satisfied groan, his face flushed red.
‘Today the liquor tastes especially good.’
He drank every day, yet strangely, the flavor felt different each time.
Thud.
He set the bottle down on the table and stared into empty space before opening his mouth.
“It’s been quite a while since I came to this place.”
He never could have imagined spending his entire life in Shin-gang, lording over a mountain stronghold as a bandit chief.
His name was Munyang. His alias: Final Enlightenment Hollow Sword.
Just a few years ago, he had been a promising Daoist of the Jongnam Sect.
Yet how had a man like that fallen into such a state?
The answer was simple.
Human greed.
In the most critical moment of his life, he had failed to rein in his desires, making a mockery of his years studying Taoist scriptures as a Daoist.
Originally, if asked to name the most accomplished disciples of Jongnam, he would have easily ranked within the top five in martial prowess.
But no matter how long he waited, he remained stuck as a disciple, unable even to advance to elder by middle age.
And so, dissatisfaction gradually built up deep within him.
—We shall select a new elder.
At last, his chance to claim an elder position had arrived.
But soon, his face hardened.
There was only one elder spot available.
Could he truly claim it?
In his judgment, it was impossible.
The method for selecting the new elder was straightforward.
‘The one who survives to the end in the sparring matches.’
That crushed him.
He was skilled, yes, but not outstanding enough to surpass every other contender.
Thus, he changed his approach.
He couldn’t simply give up after waiting decades for this moment.
My prospects are shorter than theirs?
Then if I snap every one of theirs, mine will be the longest.
He secretly sought out his top rivals, staging “accidents” to inflict harm on their bodies one by one.
Ankle for one, arm for another, waist, abdomen, and even dantian for some.
With his competitors eliminated, he finally felt confident he would reign supreme in the sparring.
But a long tail always gets stepped on.
In the end, his schemes were exposed, and the sect leader delivered his verdict without hesitation.
—Excommunication.
Stripped of the Jongnam name and even his surname, he wandered the world aimlessly.
Yet nowhere in Jungwon would offer a warm welcome to an excommunicated criminal who had maimed his fellow sect members.
Fleeing the world’s pointing fingers, he found himself in Shin-gang before he knew it.
While living alone on a mountain, he encountered bandits.
And that was when he discovered something astonishing.
‘They don’t know who I am…?’
Not a single bandit recognized him.
It was only natural.
Bandits scraping by in remote Shin-gang valleys could hardly know every Daoist from the distant Nine Great Righteous Sects.
But that realization opened his eyes to a new world.
No one here knows me.
So why not live freely?
In short order, he subdued the nearby bandit gangs, united them under his banner, rechristened himself Munyang, and claimed the stronghold as his own.
“Living like this isn’t so bad.”
For years now, he had lived cut off from the martial world of the central plains.
He basked in the adulation of his illiterate underlings and bled the common folk dry, feeling not a shred of guilt.
Daoist? What nonsense.
He had only entered Jongnam thanks to his childhood sword talent, then spent his days mindlessly reciting scriptures.
His true nature had always suited this path.
He had simply taken decades to realize it.
Of course, habits from those decades meant he wasn’t quite as crude as the real bandits.
The very thought of sackcloth made him grimace, so he ordered his men to wear proper martial robes.
‘Still, I get the itch sometimes.’
All the same, he often regretted having no outlet for the swordsmanship he had honed his entire life.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he had drawn his blade.
As he drifted into thought,
Crack!
A fresh liquor bottle suddenly cracked, then shattered with a crash, spilling its contents across the table.
It had happened without him laying a hand on it, so he furrowed his brow.
“What’s with this sudden bad luck?”
Staring at the shattered remnants, Munyang felt an inexplicable unease and growing irritation.
But he shook it off and dusted his hands.
Just then,
“Fortress Lord, the tribute squad is back.”
A subordinate reported from outside the door.
Muyang’s expression soured with displeasure.
“You’re awfully late. Was there some special reason?”
“Well…”
The subordinate trailed off before continuing cautiously.
“I think you’ll understand when you see for yourself.”
“...?”
Puzzled, Munyang rose from his seat.
He pushed open the door and stepped outside, immediately firing off a question at the sight before him.
“What is this?”
“The entire village refused tribute, so we bound them all and dragged them back to the stronghold.”
Even a rough count showed a filthy huge number, but to think they had hauled the whole village.
Refused tribute, had they?
Ha.
Muyang let out a hollow chuckle, his gaze turning icy.
‘I haven’t taken the field lately, and they’ve all gotten bold.’
Guess it was time to wield the sword again.
Fingering his sword hilt, he issued his command in a voice as chilling as winter frost.
“Lock them all up. We’ll carry out punishments on the lot tomorrow.”
At Munyang’s order, the villagers were hauled off to the prison.
It was less a proper jail and more a wooden shed without bars.
Still, they were tightly bound and tossed inside.
The bandit who finished the job sneered and slammed the door shut.
Clunk.
From the sound outside, they could tell it had been bolted.
With only faint moonlight filtering through a tiny window to see by, a low voice spoke up among them.
“...We made it inside without detection, just like the newbie said.”
The men around nodded at Songjwa’s words.
In truth, most of the “villagers” dragged in were members of Ibi-ja’s unit.
They had disguised themselves as locals and taken the real villagers’ place.
Subduing these bandits would be simple.
No need for a frontal assault—just surround the stronghold and rain arrows until none were left.
But their current mission was more important than mere extermination.
‘Confirm whether the North River Stronghold’s lord is truly a Daoist from the Nine Great Righteous Sects.’
To gather intelligence, infiltration had been necessary. When they couldn’t find a way in, Hyeok Mulin had provided the answer.
They glanced fondly at the rookie for a moment before turning to Ibi-ja.
“Captain, what’s the plan now?”
Ibi-ja fell silent, deep in thought.
‘He’s a Daoist, all right.’
From the cut of his martial robes to the way he wore his sword.
With his keen eye, Ibi-ja had covertly observed the lord’s movements and bearing, confirming the intelligence was spot on.
And one more thing.
‘The Lord already knew.’
He stole a glance at Hyeok Mulin and gave a subtle nod.
This was information the Lord had already possessed.
Which meant this was a test directed at his unit.
So, what now?
Ibi-ja closed his eyes and sorted his thoughts.
And at the end of it,
Snap.
He snapped the ropes binding him and curled his lips into a smirk.
“We’re splitting the squad into three teams.”
Moonlight sharpened the edges of Ibi-ja’s face as he issued orders to his men.
The next day.
“Ugh…”
Muyang clutched his pounding head as he rose.
The sun was already high in the midday sky.
He had no memory of how much he drank last night—just that he had poured it down relentlessly. He grimaced.
Even after a full night’s sleep, the hangover lingered.
Still, he rose leisurely from his bed and stretched his stiff limbs.
Today, there was work to be done.
It was time to get moving.
‘They said they dragged in the entire village last night.’
He had seized defiant tribute holdouts before, but hauling a whole village? That was a first, and even he found it absurd.
‘The more I think about it, the more insolent they seem.’
They knew full well what happened to those who refused demands, yet they defied him anyway.
Big beasts like them needed the whip, not the carrot.
Give them an inch, and they started scheming.
Muyang donned his robes and barked orders at the subordinates outside.
“Bring out last night’s bunch. Executions start now.”
“Yes, sir!”
He wouldn’t kill them all.
Then there’d be no one left to collect tribute from.
But rebellion demanded a price.
Half.
Exactly half. Slaughter them, then release the rest with a terror they’d never forget.
“Fortress Lord, we’ve got them.”
At his subordinate’s words, Munyang stepped outside.
In the harsh daylight, they seemed even more numerous than the rough count from last night.
His gaze swept from left to right across the group.
“Phew…”
Was he seeing things from the booze?
Muyang exhaled, purging the last of the liquor haze.
With a clear mind, he confirmed it was no illusion.
His eyes sharpened, and he slowly curled his lips.
“...Why are you lot there?”
The “prisoners” before him.
The ones bound in ropes were all North River Stronghold bandits.
And in the places where his subordinates should have been stood complete strangers.
He turned his head sideways, eyes locking on where his men ought to be.
“Then who the hell are you?”
They wore the stronghold’s martial robes, but he had never seen their faces before.
The man slowly parted his lips in response.
We are.
“Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.”