Chapter 20
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Chapter Four: Hidden Sword Hunt (Finding the Hidden Sword) (5)
‘That... that’s fire!’
The Fox of Bireung Mountain had climbed the mountain and spotted the flames.
When he’d circled the village earlier, there hadn’t been the slightest sign of a fire breaking out. Sure, every house had stacks of firewood, but he’d confirmed with his own eyes that they were piled far enough away to be out of reach of any flames.
Someone had deliberately set that fire.
‘Four Thousand Four!’
One name immediately sprang to mind.
Four Thousand Four sprang into action. The blaze in the village was obvious arson. If it wasn’t, he’d gladly burn off ten of his fingers. It was a blatant ploy to rivet everyone’s eyes on the fire while swiping a sword.
‘Damn it! I need to get down there fast!’
He checked his escape route.
If the villagers gave chase, he’d have to bolt straight up the mountain. And from this summit... there were two paths. One to flee. One to hide.
‘Fleeing... wouldn’t even make me break a sweat, right?’
Exactly. He figured fleeing wouldn’t settle the score. He didn’t know the terrain and couldn’t very well play guide for a mob. Hiding was the smarter play.
He’d already scouted a spot.
From the village, he’d spotted a depression near the peak, shrouded in deep shadow. It wouldn’t be visible from below, and even dashing along the mountain paths, it wouldn’t catch the eye easily.
That was why he’d climbed up here—to check it out.
Sss...
Habitually unfurling his Phantom Empty Step, he scanned the area.
Places invisible from the trails, unseen unless you went looking.
‘Gotta hole up here first!’
He personally inspected the spot he’d eyed.
His hunch was spot on. Hide here, and they’d never find him.
Bireung Mountain had places like this too. Whenever pursuers closed in, he’d duck into one. Chased by this one and that one... over twenty times by his count, but never caught when he hid.
Only once—when he thought fleeing might work—he bolted and got nabbed.
When someone’s on your tail, running isn’t always best. Especially if they know the lay of the land inside out, while you don’t even know where paths lead... Hell, better to sit tight and get caught. Saves everyone the hassle.
‘Safe as houses.’
Having confirmed the shadowy nook, he immediately started down the mountain.
Fires like that don’t burn long. They’d distract the enemies for a moment, but flames this vivid snapped vigilance back quick.
The sword keepers would double down on their watch.
To snatch a sword, you had to move in that sliver between the blaze erupting and their guard going up. Strike in that gap, or forget it.
The window was razor-thin.
If Four Thousand Four had moved right, he’d be hugging a sword and hightailing it to the mountain by now.
He needed to hustle down too.
‘Ah! What a hectic damn day this’ll be!’
Pouring every ounce of strength into his legs, he raced downward.
Mountain village houses all looked much the same.
Front gates on some. Plenty without. Yards, houses. Some sat right by the road with no gate or wall. Folks raised livestock too—pigs and rabbits aside, most roamed free.
Creeeak!
He shoved open the gate.
This house was the same: push the gate, yard opens up. House farther in...
What set it apart was the bamboo-woven platform smack in the yard’s middle. And the person sitting on it.
Grandma!
Well past sixty, maybe even seventy. Tiny frame, barely scraping five feet.
Her hair was snow-white. But it gleamed with luster—no ugliness there. Nothing shabby about her.
Her skin was clear too.
Faint wrinkles made her look freshly past sixty at a glance.
Still, he pegged her at over seventy.
He prided himself on reading people. Looks, clothes, mannerisms—all the cues adding up to an age guess.
To him, she was past seventy.
“Gulp!”
The sight of her made him swallow hard.
His body locked up.
Feet glued to the dirt, couldn’t budge. His mind screamed to bolt inside, but his legs wouldn’t obey. Head and body pulling apart.
‘Master!’
Only now did he notice the sword nestled against her chest.
‘That the one?’
No clue which sword to grab, so he couldn’t say for sure. The ones he’d fought carried swords too. Which damn sword was it?
But hers felt different. Special.
A treasure sword, plain and simple.
Red dragon embossed on the scabbard, ruby studding the hilt—pure opulence.
It screamed “the one you need.”
Whether it was or not didn’t matter anymore. In Four Thousand Four’s eyes, nothing but that granny’s sword existed. He’d locked in on it as the sword.
But how... how to take it?
Tap! Tap!
The granny sitting on the platform patted the spot beside her. Come sit.
“Gulp!”
He swallowed again.
The old woman was all sword. Hair: sword. Sleeves: sword. Eyes: sword. Fingers: sword. Shoes: sword. Nothing wasn’t sword. Everything was.
“Come sit.”
She tapped the spot again.
He shuffled over, stumbling. Propping his shaky frame on his blade, tottering forward.
He plopped into the platform’s corner.
The old woman smiled benignly, eyes brimming with grandmotherly warmth, like gazing at a beloved grandson.
“What was the final sword?”
‘Final sword?’
She’d watched his fight. Seen how he’d slain ten assassins. No lying to her. She knew he was the enemy.
“Peeling Onion Layers.”
“Peeling onions?”
“Peel the onion. Peel again. Keep peeling. In the end, nothing’s left.”
“That’s right.”
“They say after stripping the final layer clean, you swing.”
“The sword you just described—is that the one from before?”
Peel the onion to the end, then swing...
He didn’t know if it was nonsense or gospel, but he’d heard it somewhere. When he thought all was lost, it popped into his head, and he’d tried it.
He had no idea how he’d killed those four assassins.
He’d snatched all four dagger fragments in his left hand at once.
That alone demanded insane speed and power. Strength to snag four simultaneously, speed to sweep those flying from all directions.
Tough for a body stripped of martial arts.
And he’d swung his sword too. Slashed four chests in a straight line. East, west, south, north—mowed them down in an instant.
Couldn’t do it again if he tried.
He said, strained,
“I don’t even know how I pulled it off back there.”
A glint flashed in the old woman’s eyes.
No lie. Pure truth. And she’d read the truth.
Miraculous, then.
He’d unleashed a technique unknown, unpracticed, never even glimpsed in his life.
She tapped the sword in her bosom.
“This is the one you must take.”
“You’ll give it?”
She shook her head.
“Steal it. How will you?”
He rose from the platform. Drew his sword in silence.
‘No openings...’
Sword raised, he glared at the old woman. Half an hour now.
She sat on the platform. Not even looking his way. Just sitting.
Openings everywhere.
She radiated the peace of a granny tending fields.
“Yawn!”
She raised her left hand to cover a yawn.
Still, he couldn’t strike. The instant he lunged, she’d turn sword again. Become the world’s sharpest blade, piercing his heart.
She hadn’t drawn. But it was as good as drawn.
Why’d Vanguard send him to steal from this old woman? He’d barely walked out of Thunder Prison—no way they thought he could take her.
Expected a theft?
Then he wasn’t the guy. Send a pickpocket. Among his crew, the Fox of Bireung Mountain would’ve been better.
Couldn’t the Fox have pierced the Twelve Stems Formation?
Either way, Vanguard tasked the impossible. A sure failure.
‘Enough... this’ll do...’
He abandoned life again.
Breaking the Twelve Stems Formation, he’d given up countless times. Consoled himself it was his best shot. As long as it looked like he’d tried...
But this time, truly over.
Couldn’t return empty-handed. Even if he quit, she wouldn’t let him. Over ten dead by his hand already.
Ten...
Killed ten to escape Thunder Prison. Ten more right after.
What a cursed fate!
“Enough!”
He bellowed.
The old woman’s eyes widened, fixed on him.
Shiiiing!
With dying strength, he charged. Squeezed every last drop of milk-suckling might into his downward slash.
In that instant, the old woman changed.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
He saw it happen.
Hair became sword, clothes turned blade, fingers and feet swords too. All of her became sword. Before she even drew, her whole body transformed first.
Slaaash! Thud!
His descending blade grazed her. Damn it all, he saw it clear as day. Then her sword-hand speared throat and solar plexus.
‘Guh!’
No scream escaped. Knees buckled, breath choked off, couldn’t cry out... World spun before his eyes, then he crumpled flat.
The old woman settled back on the platform. Gazed silently at the fallen Four Thousand Four.
“Onion peeling? Heh!”
She chuckled.
She knew the true sword principle of Onion Peeling.
Peel the onion, peel and peel. Strip the white flesh layer by layer to the end. Finally, the spicy core is peeled away.
What remains? Nothing.
Four Thousand Four meant the Sword of No-Self... unleashing it in a state forgetting even yourself.
Not just anyone’s trick. Only one who knows every sword inside out, flows through any technique effortlessly—the Sword God alone.
Above all, no one stripped of martial arts could unleash the Sword of No-Self.
What nonsense was this fool spouting?
“Amusing fellow.”
The old woman pressed her scabbard firmly into Four Thousand Four’s back.
Sealed his pressure points. So he wouldn’t flee while she dealt with the ones on the mountain.