The Day of a Second-Rate Murim Practitioner
Even though the youngest of the Cheongha Three Heroes had been eliminated, turning them into the Cheongha Three Heroes, it was still three swords against one. Normally, three people fighting one should have been overwhelmingly advantageous, and that principle still held true here. The difference came down to their attitudes.
An Seong-il was overwhelmed by the numbers and kept looking for a way to run, while the Cheongha Three Heroes pressed in with the goal of ending the fight quickly. They say momentum in battle can never be emphasized enough, and that was clear when looking at An Seong-il, who was constantly retreating and parrying, versus the Cheongha Three Heroes’ all-out offensive.
This went on for about twenty exchanges. By the way, in Murim, an “exchange” is basically the same as a turn in a turn-based game in modern terms.
An Seong-il thought, ‘Huh. This is more manageable than I expected?’
The oldest of the Cheongha Three Heroes, Jo Gaksan, thought, ‘Damn it, the gap in our levels is this huge?!’
In truth, the ultimate form of coordinated combat wasn’t three people against one, but four. Humans have four cardinal directions—front, back, left, and right—so surrounding an opponent from all sides was what truly completed a proper joint attack technique. The perfection of four directions had been proven since ancient times. Buddhism had its Four Heavenly Kings, and Taoism had its Four Divine Beasts. That was why directions had been grouped into fours since antiquity.
Therefore, three was inherently incomplete. Especially when the enemy’s realm was superior. First-class late-stage and Peak early-stage—only a single step apart, yet that wall was far higher than expected.
Another ten exchanges passed. Jo Gaksan exchanged glances with his brothers. It was a wordless conversation forged through long brotherhood.
‘This isn’t working. Let’s bounce. We still need to collect the youngest.’
‘Excellent idea, Brother.’
‘I’ve been waiting for you to say that, Brother.’
The content was more pathetic than expected. But considering the nickname of Jo Gaksan, the eldest of the Cheongha Three Heroes, it made perfect sense.
In Murim, nicknames followed simpler logic than one might think. Once someone reached first-class, they were considered a proper martial artist, but there were simply too many first-class martial artists in the current Murim. So for a first-class warrior to earn a cool nickname, they needed achievements that anyone could acknowledge and admire.
But with so many people and so few true achievements, nicknames usually combined their main area of activity, a distinctive trait, and their personality.
Like this: Cheongha (operating in Cheongha) + Jilpung (swift like a gale) + Hyeop (a good guy).
In Jo Gaksan’s case, his specialty was speed like a gale. Especially his mystical strategy of retreating like the wind whenever a fight turned against him! That was the nickname people had given him in admiration.
‘But the youngest isn’t coming up. Maybe he broke something?’
‘Since the youngest is gone, the third will take care of him.’
‘Wait, me again? Can’t the second brother handle it this time?’
‘Ahem, third brother… talking back?!’
Unfortunately, the youngest was already dead. But since news of his death hadn’t reached them, the dead truly do stay silent. If the youngest had said, “Hey, I’m dead, brothers,” his older brothers would have flown into a rage and fought to the death. They might even have gotten a few holes punched in their bodies before avenging their evil youngest brother.
But right now, all they could think about was running away.
Jo Gaksan barely deflected An Seong-il’s sword strike that came shooting in like a beam, then suddenly roared,
“Now! Yeonhaenggwisan!”
An Seong-il, who had been seizing the initiative to continue his attack, quickly took a step back. He didn’t know what Yeonhaenggwisan meant, but he retreated just in case it was some dangerous technique.
In reality, Jo Gaksan’s shout of “Yeonhaenggwisan” meant absolutely nothing. He had simply spat out random words to scare his opponent and create an opening for a gale-like retreat. Just like how the dead Zhuge Liang had driven away the living Sima Yi, a meaningless word had successfully repelled a Peak expert.
It was truly a mystical stratagem.
And the fame of the Gale Hero shone brightly.
The three men retreated as fast as a gale!
An Seong-il could only blink in utter bewilderment.
When A-Cheong came up to the second floor, she saw three men sprinting toward her like lightning.
A-Cheong scanned the numbers—the karma—floating above their heads.
Seventeen, nine, and one. They were low, but all positive karma. They must be decent guys, not the Jeungyeo Chugwi she was looking for.
A-Cheong lost interest, but the three men who brushed past her froze in place. Her appearance was far from ordinary. Anyone would be startled by the sight of a female swordsman drenched in blood and smiling eerily. On top of that, she radiated an oppressive pressure that seemed to squeeze the heart, and a single ominous hue flickered in her wildly rolling eyes.
However, A-Cheong did not make eye contact with the Cheongha Three Heroes. This was a non-verbal expression common among Murim people. It meant they had no business with each other, so they should each go their own way.
After the three men passed by, A-Cheong immediately spotted the villain on the upper floor of the inn. There was one whose number above his head was extraordinary.
Evil karma: 376. A man who had accumulated a truly horrific amount of evil deeds. In other words, he was someone she could kill.
He was the kind of trash whose death would actually benefit the world.
A-Cheong’s eyes met An Seong-il’s. An Seong-il rolled his eyes and avoided her gaze. It was the same non-verbal Murim expression as before. Let’s each go our own way.
An Seong-il did not want to get involved with A-Cheong. There was an old Murim saying, after all: Beware of children, women, and the elderly.
Of course, this saying didn’t mean one should be especially cautious of children, women, and the elderly. If you excluded children, women, and the elderly from the people of the world, all that remained were adult men. And naturally, anyone would become wary and cautious upon seeing an adult man.
So the saying “beware of women, children, and the elderly” was actually a profound warning to stay on guard and never let down your defenses against anyone you met in Murim.
An Seong-il had tried to avoid a fight using this wisdom, but A-Cheong had business with him.
“Hey. You there. Old bastard. Are you the human trash known as Jeungyeo Chugwi?”
It was sudden verbal abuse.
An Seong-il made another stupid face. The insult was so severe it made him doubt his ears.
“Yeah, you, old bastard. Why are you pretending not to know? Who else here has ‘son of a bitch’ written all over their face but you?”
An Seong-il’s face turned bright red. It was only natural—he had just been cursed at by a ridiculously young brat who looked younger than his daughter but older than his granddaughter.
“This bloodless, immature bitch dares to—”
“What? What did you just call me? Did you just curse at me? How dare you insult me so severely. This is humiliating. I cannot tolerate it.”
Despite claiming she couldn’t tolerate it, she was grinning from ear to ear as she drew her sword—
“This crazy wench—! Hup.”
An Seong-il quickly shut his mouth. Strands of energy were leaking out from A-Cheong’s Hyeopbong Sword like loose threads. This was the phenomenon where excess energy flowed outward even after sword qi had formed. It was called geomsa, or sword silk. A technique used by Peak late-stage martial artists.
Cold sweat poured down An Seong-il’s body. The woman before him was a master far above his level. His life was now in immediate danger. An overwhelming difference in skill!
“Crazy? You cursed at me again? Wow, this is incredibly insulting. Ha, I’m so angry. So, so angry.”
“No, that’s not what I meant……”
“If you had insulted my family or my parents, I might have been able to endure it. But I absolutely cannot tolerate you insulting me. No more questions! Die! My Wolgwang Sword is starving!”
Despite her playful movements, before he could even draw a single breath, the woman’s sword tip split into three distinct shapes. Three-pronged sword qi surged forward in curving arcs.
An Seong-il’s brain burned furiously. Which one was real and which were feints? Live or die? There was no time to think.
Just as An Seong-il was about to gamble his life in front of this deadly trilemma—
Every hair on his body stood on end!
‘All three are real!’
In that instant, he realized all three strikes were genuine. It was the superhuman sense one gained when life hung by a thread. In martial terms, it was called the function of the Upper Dantian.
He knocked away the strike aimed at his heart and twisted his body with all his strength. A chill ran across his shoulder and waist, followed immediately by searing pain. He had only blocked a single move, yet he already had two wounds. The gap in their abilities was utterly hopeless.
It wasn’t just the difference between early and late Peak stage. The woman’s swordsmanship itself was an advanced martial art. For a young woman who had barely passed her twentieth year to possess such skill, her background had to be an extraordinary sect.
In other words, whether he lost or won, he would die—either now or later at the hands of pursuers. There was only one answer.
He could not fight. This was a battle he would lose no matter what.
“Wait! Great Hero! This is a misunderstanding! A misunderstanding! Please!”
“Misunderstanding my ass. I heard it loud and clear. You insulted me. Repay this humiliation with your death!”
“No, that’s not it! That’s not what I meant! Great Hero, please, just a moment!”
“Great Hero? Do I look that old to you? How dare you comment on a woman’s age.”
“Y-Young Hero, just a moment!”
“Young Hero? Is a mere lowlife who only recently reached Peak allowed to call a master that? How dare you……!”
“Female Hero! Please, Female Hero! Just listen to me for a second!”
“Female Hero? Are there separate categories of hero for men and women? Gender discrimination corrupts the world, so I shall sever that chain right here.”
The woman’s sword flew at him relentlessly. Sometimes three branches, sometimes four, and when it reached five, he had already lost the will to fight back. All he could do was flap his mouth desperately.
Already twenty exchanges. The fact that he was still holding on was a miracle in itself.
Then, as if by magic, the assault stopped.
“You keep saying it’s a misunderstanding, so let me explain.”
“Y-Yes, Great Hero—no, Young—uh, that is……”
“I had just prepared an expensive meal and was about to enjoy it. It was a very special occasion for me. The best moment I’ve had since entering Murim.”
“Ah, um… I’m sorry for causing a disturbance……”
“What? Do you think I’m some kind of murderer who kills people just because they’re noisy? That’s not it. Something suddenly fell from the sky. Since we’re inside an inn, it must have been the ceiling, right?”
A-Cheong turned her head. An Seong-il followed her gaze. A gaping hole was visible in the floor. An Seong-il broke out in another cold sweat. So that’s why she was covered in blood.
“Good. Now you understand why you have to die, right?”
“S-Spare me, please!”
“Hmm. What should I do?”
A-Cheong pretended to think for a moment before speaking.
“First, hand over the money. You ruined my food. And my clothes too.”
“I-I’ll give it to you!”
“Ah, how can I hold back? This is too much.”
“Huh? What?”
“Again! Hand over the money!”
“I’ll give it!”
“I don’t need it!”
An Seong-il panicked. What on earth did she want him to do?
Was she just toying with him after forcing him to his knees…?
Ah.
An Seong-il’s eyes darkened. The reason he had managed to survive this long was because even when multiple sword strikes flew at him at once, only one of them was ever a lethal blow aimed at a vital point. If he avoided the fatal strike, he could somehow endure the rest with his body.
In other words, the woman was playing with him. Like a cat toying with a bird, smiling brightly with a silly, gleeful grin.
“I… I’ve run into a murderer……”
“Oh. You noticed?”
A-Cheong’s smile grew even wider.
“Then you should have lived a good life. This is all karma. Karma. Because my Wolgwang Sword only drinks the blood of villains.”
A-Cheong raised her sword. The villain, sensing his end, screamed.
“Do you think you’ll be safe?! Fine! I’m a bad guy! But you think you’re any better?! I’ll be waiting for you in hell!”
“Hell? With my positive karma being this high?”
An Seong-il’s world spun. The sight of his collapsing body filled his vision. As he died, he thought,
But how could a sword falling straight from the front cut off my head? What kind of mystical swordsmanship is this…?