The Wave Sword Finds a New Master
Let's have some fun. Mun Jeong-yeok's blade was a masterpiece. It was said to ripple like a willow branch dancing atop crashing waves, which earned it the stylish name of the Wave Sword. Holding the prestige of Bokju's First Sword meant a mediocre weapon would only tarnish his dignity. So he had two choices: wield something closer to cheap scrap iron, which would still be hailed as a treasure in a master's hands, or carry a famous sword with a gleaming edge. Otherwise, how could he uphold the dignity of being the greatest swordsman in the administrative capital of Chengdu? Well, the greatest sword, not the greatest man. Of course, for a true master an unassuming blue-steel blade carried far more style than any storied famous sword. It had real character.
But a duel between masters is decided in a single instant. The fight between Cheong and Mun Jeong-yeok proved exactly that. Had he known about the Small Hand Witch's Sosu Magong, he might have countered it. Not knowing left a single fatal opening. A brutal strike from the cold poison technique to his dantian twisted his energy channels, throwing his qi circulation into chaos. That shattered his protective aura, leaving him unable to block the hand blade that drove straight into his skull and split his head neatly in two.
This is how battles between masters work—one mistake leads to defeat, and defeat leads to death. The stronger the expert, the finer the weapon they must wield. The saying that a craftsman does not choose his tools only applies when the expected result is merely ordinary. To produce a masterpiece, one needs tools worthy of a masterpiece. In truth, the greater the craftsman, the more rigorously they select their instruments.
And now that supreme blade among supreme blades, forged with a master's utmost devotion, the Wave Sword, had found its new owner.
Whoa. The color is absolutely killer.
Cheong lifted the sword and gave it a gentle shake. The blade flexed like a supple willow branch. She gripped the tip and poured her full strength into it. Her razor-sharp senses caught what felt like the sword itself screaming.
Aaaagh! Stop! I surrender, I surrender! My bones, my frame is breaking! Spare the sword! This crazy bitch caught a famous sword! It's breaking, it's breaking!
Only when the Wave Sword had bent to its absolute limit did it finally snap back straight. It had met a truly filthy owner.
Satisfied, Cheong gripped her Wolgwang-geom and was busy pulling the scabbard free from Mun Jeong-yeok's corpse when—
“No way!! Hyung-nim! You actually defeated Mun Jeong-yeok?! That’s incredible!!”
Having separated the scabbard from the body, Cheong rummaged through the man’s clothes and asked, “Huh? Was he famous?”
“Of course! Mun Jeong-yeok is Bokju’s First Sword! Bokju’s First Sword is Mun Jeong-yeok! He’s an incredibly famous master of the sword!”
“Hmm. That much, huh. Oh, gold wound medicine. Just as I thought.”
The sword had looked decent, so she’d hoped the spoils would be good too. Sure enough, even the container was impressive. She had already used most of the gold wound medicine Dang Nan-a gave her on Yeon Pa, and the rest had gone into her own side.
“That’s exactly it!! He was on the verge of the Harmonious Realm! They say he’s a sword genius on the cusp of that very breakthrough!!”
“Well, he wasn’t in the Harmonious Realm yet. Besides, that’s how rumors from the unorthodox factions always go—they all start from the person’s own mouth. Looked to me like he’d been bragging about reaching the Harmonious Realm any day now for the last ten years.”
Whether in taverns or restaurants, the ones loudly boasting about their realm this and their upcoming transcendent or super peak that were always from the unorthodox side. In fact, this was the eighth year that Mun Jeong-yeok had supposedly been “on the verge” of the Harmonious Realm, so Cheong’s guess was more or less on the mark.
“But still! Mun Jeong-yeok was a late-stage transcendent! Hyung-nim is only early-stage transcendent! This is a tremendous achievement! Truly, the word ‘achievement’ fits perfectly!!”
U Na-ram’s usual over-the-top excitement was nothing new at this point. Yet her shouts carried far and wide across the battlefield.
Cheong’s fame surged with every murmur. For reference, Bokju was the capital of Fujian Province—one of the great cities whose population dwarfed even the combined numbers of Namnyeong and Gyerim. Being called Bokju’s First Sword therefore meant far more than some local celebrity. Of course, the actual top three in Bokju were all daoists, so Mun Jeong-yeok had only been fourth. Still, since he was known as the First Sword rather than the First Man of Bokju, it wasn’t exactly a lie.
After that the government forces poured in, rounding up everyone except the righteous martial instructors, and the battle ended in victory.
----
Yo Hwan-cheol muttered in a daze, “Why in the world would the government office…”
Yo Hwan-cheol had his hands cuffed behind his back. A length of rope connected the cuffs to the next prisoner’s neck in a single long line. Anyone who tried to break away would choke both the person in front and behind. The man directly behind Yo Hwan-cheol was none other than Jo Gwang-ang, the self-styled Undefeated Strategist.
“I have no idea. They even mobilized the army.”
Even in the ancient, primitive, and uncivilized Central Plains, the three branches of government existed in a strange form of separation of powers. It had nothing to do with noble ideals about preventing the abuse of concentrated authority. It was purely for the ruler’s convenience—so the subordinates would be too busy tearing at each other to challenge the emperor. Naturally, the three branches usually formed a sworn brotherhood, shouted “We’re all in this together!” and devoured the common people without mercy.
Thus the Provincial Administrative Office handled civil administration, the Military Command Office controlled the army, and the Surveillance Office enforced the law. Constables belonged to the Surveillance Office, soldiers to the Military Command Office, and both could only operate together under the authority of the Administrative Office. In Namnyeong County, only one person could make that trinity possible.
Prince Susi.
“Sect Leader, have you ever offended the prince?”
“Impossible! Why would the head of the Salt Gang do such a thing?”
“Hmm. Then why are they dragging away every single one of our unorthodox brothers in a neat line?”
“Isn’t it because of that very reason?”
“What do you mean?”
“The prince from Sichuan is staying at the Gyerim Sword Sect. Where do you think the Gyerim people are right now? If the entire household suddenly vacates the premises while the White Lotus Iron Fist is a guest, how do you think His Highness would feel?”
“Then they should be arresting the Gyerim bastards—”
“The one who would complain is the homeowner, isn’t it? If the homeowner lodges a complaint, would His Highness bother learning the ways of the murim?”
At those words, the former White Lotus Iron Fist—now the Undefeated Strategist Jo Gwang-ang—darkened.
“Wait, so you’re saying this is my fault? If you saw this coming, why wait until now to say it?”
Jo Gwang-ang’s voice grew sharp. Yo Hwan-cheol flinched. Still, he couldn’t afford to earn the unorthodox alliance’s hatred. Especially not with the situation as it was.
“No, no. I was simply analyzing the logic of the situation. It’s only my personal opinion. I’m not blaming the Squad Leader.”
“Ahem. Well, perhaps this is for the best.”
“For the best?”
“We might have suffered massive losses if we had tried to retreat during battle. In the end, how long can they really keep us locked up? Prison might actually be safer. Wouldn’t it be better to endure a little discomfort and come out later?”
“Ohhh, so what you’re saying is—”
“A man’s revenge is never too late, as they say. Once I’m released, I’ll request a thousand-man elite combat unit from the alliance and—”
Smack.
The rope struck Jo Gwang-ang across the mouth.
“You lot! Mere criminals and yet you’re running your mouths like you own the place! Do the executioners look that funny to you?!”
Jo Gwang-ang’s expression crumpled. Of course it did. A pathetic whelp who couldn’t last a single punch had dared to strike a master’s lips. With his neck bound by rope and wooden shackles on his wrists, he could snap them all if he wanted. But while revenge could wait, treason was forever.
“This bastard! Glaring at me?! Answer properly!”
“…I apologize.”
“Are you a mosquito buzzing?! Louder!”
Smack.
The swollen-headed constable struck the transcendent master’s cheek with the rope again. Jo Gwang-ang’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Another rope slap followed. It didn’t hurt, but the humiliation burned.
“I should report this to the general and request immediate execution—”
“No! I apologize!”
A startled Jo Gwang-ang raised his voice.
“Once more!”
“I apologize!”
“Tsk. So what if he’s a master? Nothing but a cheap thug who sucks the blood of commoners.”
Jo Gwang-ang clenched his teeth so hard they nearly shattered. Being called a cheap thug was one thing, but hearing that he sucked the blood of commoners from a government dog who was the greatest bloodsucker in the world was simply too humiliating. I won’t let that bastard live.
Jo Gwang-ang kept glancing at the constable’s face, burning it into his memory. Stretching out in front and behind him was a long line of unorthodox prisoners tied together with rope.
----
A victory banquet was held at Jangsan Martial Hall. It wasn’t as if no one had died in battle, but war has always been celebrated with a feast first and mourning for the fallen afterward.
“Great Hero! Will you accept my cup?!”
“Heavenly Flower Sword! Care for a drink with me?”
“I must offer a cup to the new Bokju’s First Sword!”
Cheong refused none of the wine that came her way. There was no problem with drinking heavily.
“Kyaah! This is great! Everyone gather round! I don’t know about Bokju, but today we’ll decide who is Namnyeong’s greatest drinker! Bring more alcohol!”
“Ooooh!”
But what is alcohol? It damages the brain, rots the liver, destroys every one of the five senses, and sickens the mind. It is nothing more than a momentary pleasant feeling followed by poison of the highest grade. Drunkards claim a single cup with a meal is good for health, but in reality alcohol has not one positive function in the human body. It is utterly useless trash. Therefore the righteous murim warriors, deceived by the wicked Small Hand Witch’s scheme, were drinking poison of their own free will. They weren’t simply drinking—they were pouring it down their throats. They drank and drank and drank until one by one they began to stagger and collapse.
Thus, deep into the night, a truly wretched scene unfolded at Jangsan Martial Hall. U Na-ram sprawled across Cheong’s right knee, Na Yang-gyeol across her left, and across the main training ground countless righteous martial artists lay groaning and twitching with bizarre moans.
Cheong sat alone among them, tilting her cup. Drip, drip—the last drops of wine fell as she filled another cup.
“Aww, man. The alcohol’s all gone. Aunt! Bring me another bottle of huazhu, please!”
But the person who approached was not an aunt. It was an uncle—and not from this house, but from the Gyerim Sword Sect.
“This is a letter I was told to deliver to the young lady.”
Cheong accepted the red envelope. The servant lingered, fidgeting.
“Oh right, you came all this way. Would you like a cup before you go? I’d pour you one but this is the last of it. Just a moment?”
Cheong rolled up her sleeve and began scrubbing the cup with a loud squeak.
“That’s not it. Um, the same letter has been arriving several times now, and the sender is quite ugly, so I thought the young lady should know. How dare he pester you without knowing his place? Just say the word and next time he comes I’ll slap him across the face for you.”
It was the moment an innocent errand boy earned an undeserved beating. A fierce slap without any confession came flying in! But the servant wasn’t being rude; he was simply fond of her.
Cheong, her face hidden behind the veil, smiled softly and dissuaded him.
“Ah, there’s a specific sender, and I have no interest anyway, so please don’t. Here, since you came all this way, there’s plenty of food left. Pack some up and share it with the people you work with.”
“Is that really all right?”
“Of course. Everyone’s passed out—who’s going to eat it? All the leftover banquet dishes are right there. Wrap them in a cloth, bring the cloth back after you wash it, and we’re good.”
“To think you even consider us lowly servants…”
With an expression mixing half emotion and half excitement, the servant swept up the remaining dishes from the banquet tables. To the servants of the Gyerim Sword Sect, this was food personally bestowed by the Fairy! No doubt the praises for the Heavenly Flower Sword would continue today as well. Because the precious young lady always treated people with polite speech, to the servants Seomun Cheong was a heavenly goddess.
Having shown generosity with someone else’s food, Cheong opened the letter.
I'll be waiting for you in the Lotus Room at Yonggung-ru.
She tossed the letter into a brazier, then thought for a moment. Should she go? It was either white snake venom or black snake venom. In any case, he had said there was no more of the Ten Great Poisons of the World. There was no time written, which meant he would wait until she arrived. He hadn’t added the usual threatening postscript about his identity either, so there didn’t seem to be any particular hostility.
If it was a trap, the unorthodox bastards had already been dragged away. Besides, how could they set a trap without knowing when she would come? Come to think of it, why hadn’t that old man shown up for the battle? Even if he arrived a bit late, the government had taken their side so the result would have been the same. Still, a master of poison was specialized in massacring weaklings. If the old man had been there, the casualties might have been severe.
He had grumbled about the Salt Gang this and that—had he gotten sulky?
After thinking it over, Cheong decided she might as well go right now. The battle had just ended in victory, and the government officials had hauled off all the grandfather’s people, so it would be hard for them to mobilize anyone immediately. Moreover, they probably wouldn’t expect her to come so quickly. Rather than giving them time to dawdle and scheme, it was better to go straight over and hear what he had to say.
Bo-yeol spoke with a resolute expression, serious eyes, and a solemn voice.
“This old man intends to devote himself to the Blood Sect.”
Aigoo. I shouldn’t have come.
Cheong immediately regretted it. Has the old man gone senile? If you’re going to the Blood Sect, just go quietly. Why call me here on purpose to tell me? Are you asking for cheers or something?