Chapter 3
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Prologue 2
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The woodcutter, Uncle Jang from the Jang Clan, had been in high spirits lately. Even as he hobbled along on his swollen legs, a grin never left his face.
"Do you know who the guy with three swords strapped to his back is?"
"Who is it?"
"Who else? It's the renowned Three Blades One Flash. The one who cut down ten Evil Faction members on Mount Bul in a single stroke! And that's not all—he's also a guest of the Huangfu Clan, one of the Five Great Clans."
"Wow."
"Get this—the Three Blades One Flash himself visited my house yesterday. He said I'm the best storyteller in the village and tossed me a hefty sum of silver. Just as the rumors say, he's a generous soul."
The Girl let his words flow in one ear and out the other as she inserted needles into his meridians. She flinched at the sharp pricks but kept beaming. Uncle Jang's stories showed no sign of stopping, weaving the thatched hut with aliases she'd never heard before. Gale Sword, whose blade danced like the wind. Rock-Piercing Spear, who could punch through stone with his lance. Were their tales really that captivating?
"Heroes carry conviction."
There was power in Uncle Jang's voice as he replied.
To devote one's life to something greater than scraping by day to day. To roam the continent, wagering everything on a single sword, igniting one's soul in those moments of raw truth.
Uncle Jang's eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his gaze stretched farther—to drifting clouds in the vast blue autumn sky. Perhaps he was reminiscing about dreams from his younger, smaller days, the Girl mused. As the pain ebbed away, he slipped into a serene sleep, his face utterly at peace.
The villagers' eyes on the martial artists who visited the village were much the same. They whispered about these legendary heroes they'd only heard of in tales, and some even begged them to leave sword marks on firewood as souvenirs. But not everything that came with them was good.
Sometimes frightening rumors spread. A villain listed on the wanted posters had come to the village, they said. His name was one of the Jiangming Three Evils—bandits who ambushed travelers on mountain paths, robbed them, and committed unspeakable acts. The village chief warned everyone to watch out for men wearing robes emblazoned with the bold characters for Dragon Star Clan.
"Those bastards must be prowling every inch of the mountains. Someone even visited the shrine to the Mountain Immortal."
The chief said he'd twisted his back dodging questions. He confessed to the Girl that he was too scared to speak up with those shady types stirring up the whole village, that he just didn't have the courage.
All she could do was smile and reassure him that things would be fine. Even so, the old chief thanked her profusely and sent her off with two chickens.
"Next week, I might have to head to Jiangming myself. Looks like I'll need to report this to the lords of the Tian Clan."
The chief rubbed his back and vanished into the distance. The Girl sat on the porch, watching the path he'd taken.
Heroes who swung their blades for the common folk. Villains who oppressed them. The martial world of the stories was always as clear-cut as measuring a plank. Like a fairy tale: the good triumph over the evil. Those who wielded qi lived in such a straightforward realm, they said. Staking their lives for a fistful of justice.
They seemed to have found something worth chasing through cycles of pain and suffering. Unlike her.
The Girl preferred quiet. The slow shift of seasons' temperatures.
He liked quiet days too.
Gangil appeared outgoing on the surface, great at livening up the mood, but peel back a layer and there was a boy who cherished flowers and silence. He often watched others' reactions. Probably from years of serving customers, a flaw had etched into his heart. Lately, grudges must have piled up inside him. Once this commotion ended, she should suggest they escape to somewhere peaceful.
Just the two of them.
Deep in the mountains, there was a rock where the autumn leaves blazed in vivid reds. Not far from the village, with a wide-open view. The Girl closed her eyes and pictured it. Climbing the mountain with Gangil. Holding his warm hand, drawing closer at risky spots...
His breaths, his body heat. The broad back she'd seen today.
Unable to bear her burning heart any longer, the Girl ducked inside and pulled out her medical texts. She flipped one open and glanced up—the sky was overcast. Rain was coming soon.
Outsiders kept flooding the small village. They wandered in groups, up to all sorts of strange things.
They scrutinized the dense autumn foliage of the mountains and muttered things like, "Truly a prime site."
People with their faces hidden under broad hats gathered in droves, milling about in front of the inn. Sword-bearing martial artists increased daily until they outnumbered the villagers. Bringing up the rear were two starkly contrasting men.
One was a giant in golden silk robes staying on the village's east side. He stood over nine feet tall. One morning, the Girl caught a glimpse of him from a distant hill.
He was striking. His fists were thick as pot lids, his legs like massive beams. A house-sized carriage served as his quarters, pulled by four sleek black horses with glossy coats.
Brown and yellow qi flowed thickly around the man, denser than anyone the Girl had ever seen. A ferocious energy like a raging bull surged from his lower abdomen—his dantian—coursing up his spine and head, permeating his entire body.
The man on the west side, by contrast, rarely showed himself. Word was he wore a lavish robe densely embroidered with dragons. Rumors also swirled that he was a murderer who'd slain several people. Whispers flowing through the village painted that picture: the silk-robed man and the dragon-robe man.
Martial artists swarmed endlessly to each one's camp. But villagers couldn't even approach. Venturing too close brought angry rebukes.
"Who could they be?"
"Not sure. My dad told me to be careful talking to guests."
Gangil gave an awkward smile. His father had drilled it into him: tread lightly around martial artists.
Suddenly, a call for the waiter rose from a far table. Gangil dashed off to take the order. The Girl rested her chin in her hand, watching his back. He bowed, clapped, and bantered. Whatever he said drew booming laughter that filled the inn.
The mood was electric now—someone offered to show off a feat. Tables cleared in an instant as martial artists stood and clapped. A nagging unease gripped her; she glanced at Gangil, who nodded reassuringly.
"They get like that sometimes. Probably just in high spirits. Still, it could get risky—want to wait outside?"
"Yeah, I will."
Looks like she wouldn't get a moment today.
The Girl pulled a flower from her bosom. A pure white mistflower. Gangil's face flushed red, and she slipped out of the inn with a chuckle. Slowly, ever so slowly, she walked home.
Some odd feeling tugged at her.
The sky was too clear. The short autumn sun dipped languidly beyond the western mountains. A chill wind blew, and beasts howled from afar. A strange day. As if something were about to happen.
The Girl took five steps and looked back. Another five, then glanced at the inn. The quiet night carried sounds far. A loud voice boomed from the lantern-lit inn. But it wasn't joyful.
Someone was raising their voice. Like a fight.
She whipped around. No thought of what to do—just pure urgency. The Girl ran. But she'd come too far; she couldn't catch up in one burst. Still, she ran. Pushed her feet until her lungs burned at her throat. The noise grew louder. Closer now, the curses sharpened into focus.
"Think wearing one Dragon Star Clan robe makes you somebody? The Jiangming Three Evils? More like Three Mutt Hounds!"
"Fine by me. I'll skin your ugly mug alive and decorate my flask with it. Die cursing those worthless eyes!"
Ching!
The clash of metal.
Her mind went blank. Gangil shouted loud: "Get out! Run!" People poured out the inn's entrance. The Girl panted, scanning desperately. Please.
Where was Gangil? Where was he?
But he was gone. Sword-belted men, heroes, scattered from the inn. Where was Gangil? One step. Two. She shoved through the crowd, drawing nearer. Curses and yells battered her ears. And finally.
"Aaaagh!"
A scream that should never have come. A voice she knew too well. Then, crash. The inn's wall shattered, and two shadows exchanged flashing sword strikes before vanishing into the dark.
Nothing remained.
Not the spacious inn remodeled from a thatched house. Not the savory broth simmering with beef for the noodle soup. Not the tables where they'd sat and talked.
Chill. The air on her cheek was ice-cold. The Girl's frantic steps slowed. Slowed... and stopped. She didn't want to believe it. What was happening felt like a vicious nightmare. Unreal. Sudden, unprepared for, agonizing. This couldn't be real.
There he lay before her. Gangil collapsed, wailing in pain, crawling on the ground. A massive sword gash across his back. Deep. The Girl checked his pulse.
Gangil was barely alive.
...At least he was alive.
The next instant, the Girl hoisted him onto her back and raced home. Praying to the Mountain Immortal that she wasn't too late.