Wang Family Fortress (3)
The Murim warriors weren't shocked by bite marks from the revenants on Seo Baek's body.
No, quite the opposite.
His body was pristine, without a single scar.
For martial artists who lived by the sword, a few blade wounds were par for the course.
But not a single mark? Not even a scratch?
In the jianghu, such a person was one of two things.
A greenhorn fresh out of the sect, calling themselves a Murim warrior.
Or a supreme master who'd never let an opponent's blade so much as graze them!
The warriors rubbed their eyes in disbelief, even as they watched with their own eyes.
Was this boy really a peerless expert who'd never been touched by a sword?
There was one more thing that stunned them.
The body of this boy—not even in his late teens—was wrapped in tremendous muscle.
Of course, Seo Baek was smaller in height and build than an adult, so he wasn't some hulking brute.
But the Murim folk knew better than most.
Sleek, streamlined muscle like that was far denser than bloated, showy bulk!
Wang Yi Sam clicked his tongue as he eyed Seo Baek. They'd come from Sichuan together, but it felt like seeing him for the first time.
How the hell did he train from a kid to build a body like that?
It made sense now why Seo Baek could swing that massive sword bigger than himself. With a physique like that, even Guan Yu's legendary Green Dragon Crescent Blade—eighty-two catty of it—would feel like a twig.
By contrast, when Wang Yi Sam stripped off his clothes, out popped his protruding beer gut.
He glanced down at it and thought,
External arts? No chance against the junior. Hell, even if I go all out, I'd lose.
Wang Yi Sam resolved anew to treat Seo Baek well.
Once Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam had bared their torsos, the clan leader approached to inspect for revenant bites.
The check was over in moments.
"Both of you look fine. You're permitted entry to the Wang Family Fortress."
"Thank you."
Seo Baek bowed calmly, then dressed.
As they clothed themselves, the second gate blocking the barricade rumbled upward. Beyond it stretched a bustling street teeming with people.
The Wang Family Fortress.
"Follow me."
The Wang clan warrior led Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam to a dim cave tucked in a rocky corner near the cliff face—a communal barracks.
"Sleep in that lodging over there. It's for Murim wanderers, so no charge."
"Understood."
"There's a meeting at the shen hour. If you're interested, head to the Wang clan's central tent in the fortress square."
With that, the warrior departed.
Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam went to check out the barracks.
But the moment Wang Yi Sam saw it, he grumbled.
"Tch, sleep here? Might as well camp in the Long River Three Gorges."
He had a point.
It was less a lodging than a grid of wooden poles draped with tattered cloth.
The floor was crammed with tightly packed straw mats. They were so close together, a single roll in your sleep would tangle you with the next guy.
"At least it keeps the rain off, but the wind'll whistle right through."
"Beats sleeping with revenants on your mind."
"Tch."
"Plenty of time. Let's sightsee."
No guards around, so leaving gear in the tent felt risky.
In the end, they toured the fortress packs on their backs, unpacked.
Countless Murim warriors crisscrossed the streets, weapons in hand. Vendors hawked wares from roadside stalls.
Here and there stood hasty two-story log buildings, rough but functional.
The Central Plains, utterly transformed by the revenant outbreak.
Yet the world hadn't ended.
Refugees who'd fled the infested zones had banded together, erecting barricades like this fortress or pass to cling to life.
Petty compared to old metropolises, perhaps, but the Wang Family Fortress hummed with the pulse of humanity.
Spotting an inn by the roadside, Seo Baek suggested,
"Time to spare. Noodles?"
"Sounds good. And a drink."
They sat at a table inside, and a server rushed over.
Without a word from them, he called out the order.
"Two bowls of noodles! How many drinks?"
"Hold on. Anything besides noodles?"
"First time fleeing revenants? In a fortress like this, noodles are it. Want delicacies? Look elsewhere."
"Fine. Two noodles, one drink."
"Pay up front."
Wang Yi Sam pulled a silver ingot from his pack and blustered,
"This is all I've got. Got change?"
The server smirked.
"No silver here."
"What? Why not take money?"
"In this mess, what's silver good for if you've got no food? Goods only."
"Barter only?"
"Yep."
"What'll you take?"
"Best is weapons. Ointment for wounds, too."
"Trade sword and salve for noodles? Ha!"
Wang Yi Sam was flabbergasted.
Swords were a warrior's limbs; wound salve, their lifeline.
Hand those over for two bowls? The inn's gall was absurd.
"Can't pay that much in this chaos? No noodles for you."
The server hammered "chaos" like a mantra.
It made sense, on reflection.
World flipped by revenants—who'd trade precious food for silver you couldn't eat? Starving didn't care for coin.
The outbreak had upended everything.
Especially the world's rules. Like inns shunning silver.
Wang Yi Sam dithered awkwardly when Seo Baek, reading the server's glance, said,
"We'll pay with this."
He offered the wild boar hide strapped to his pack.
Seo Baek had skinned it after roasting the meat. No time to do the whole thing trailing the scouts, but beast hide was always valuable.
He'd noticed the server's eye lingering and pitched barter.
Sure enough,
"Not bad, but…"
"Three bowls of noodles, two drinks instead."
"What? No way. One scrap of hide for that, in this mess?"
The server crossed his arms, cocky.
Seo Baek stood without hesitation.
"Senior, another inn."
"Uh? Yeah, sure…"
The server blocked them quick.
"Aigoo, no need to go far! Sit. Three bowls, two drinks—done."
They resat.
Hide in hand, the server fetched the order.
"Junior's a sharp haggler."
"Boar hide's still hide. Worth its keep."
Untanned, coarse, stinky—it needed work for top value.
But in this chaos, as the server said, it fetched plenty.
Seo Baek had clocked that and bargained hard.
Noodles and drinks arrived soon.
"Dig in!"
"Enjoy."
They slurped noodles with chopsticks, then gulped broth from the bowls.
But after a few bites, they started critiquing.
"Worst yangchun noodles of my life. Flavorless."
"Yangchun needs rich chicken broth, scallions. No greens, bland as water."
"I give it an F."
"Agreed."
Seo Baek's crew rated roast boar after three days hungry.
For food obsessives like them, refugee slop from scant ingredients was doomed.
"Should've just grilled the hide."
"Exactly."
Still, days since proper eats beyond boar—they wolfed it down regardless.
Bellies full, they exited as shen hour hit.
"Shen hour. Let's see how the fortress runs."
"Obviously. No discrimination against wanderers—let's go."
They headed to the Wang clan's central tent in the fortress heart.
Unlike the flimsy communal tents, this was worlds apart.
The massive triangular pavilion could hold one or two hundred. Thick canvas blocked wind and rain, keeping the inside snug and warm.
Wang Yi Sam griped predictably.
"Damn! 'No discrimination for Murim folk,' my ass."
"Their fortress. Cut 'em slack."
"I'm Wang clan too. Hope they don't boot us nobodies."
Needless worry.
The entrance guards waved them in amiably.
"Enter."
"Really?"
"Of course. Wang Family Fortress doesn't check status. Any warrior willing to help run things is welcome, sect or no."
"Ha! Real righteous folk for once!"
Wang Yi Sam—sword-for-hire to the core—flipped to praise, even offering clasped-hand bows to the guards with exaggerated flair.
Seo Baek recalled his master's words.
Beware those who claim no regard for status. They'd sell out the Central Plains Murim for their own safety.
Was the Wang clan truly like Shaolin, prioritizing the realm's peace? Too soon to tell.
He followed Wang Yi Sam inside.
Dozens of warriors already packed the tent.
No discrimination seemed legit—outfits ran the gamut.
Come to think of it, the scout team's gear had been mismatched too.
Overthinking it?
Seo Baek decided to reserve judgment.
A platform stood central, with a dozen warriors seated.
Wang clan reps and minor sect leaders running the fortress.
The meeting was underway, discussions buzzing.
"No revenant hordes approaching the Wang Family Fortress currently. We've sent out scout teams nonstop, but none near here."
The central figure spoke; heads nodded around him.
He was Wang Chong, Wang clan patriarch and de facto lord of the fortress.
Sharp-featured with a long chin beard, he looked more scholar than warrior. Polite speech and refined tone amplified it.
"The Wang Family Fortress accepts aid from all Murim comrades, regardless of sect or affiliation. Speak freely if you have thoughts."
Wang Chong invited, but silence held.
No discrimination in words, but before the real bosses? Tongues stayed tied—skeletons in closets.
Fall afoul of the Wang clan? Trouble.
No takers after a pause, so Wang Chong rose.
"That's all for today, then. Scouts always recruiting—help out if you can."
"Long live the Wang clan!"
A man beside Wang Chong bellowed; applause erupted. Wang Chong acknowledged with a light wave.
Then a voice rang through the tent.
"The Wang Family Fortress is ill-suited to hold back the revenants."
Wang Chong, mid-turn, and every warrior whipped toward the source.
Seo Baek and Wang Yi Sam followed suit.
The speaker: a man in worn blue robes.