The Divine Thief's Request
“Thief! There's a thief!”
“Catch that bastard!”
The shouts of the martial artists filled the night sky.
A sprawling estate of dozens of buildings, and hundreds of martial artists besides. The killing intent they exuded as they drew their blades was uniformly sharp and ferocious. The courtyard wall, taller than the roof of any ordinary building, made it plain that this was no common power.
And atop that very symbol of authority, a man looked calmly down at the hundreds of martial artists below.
“Think you can catch me?”
The man's low voice carried clearly into every one of those hundreds of ears. From that single remark alone, one could feel that his martial prowess had reached a truly transcendent realm.
Then it happened.
From among the hundreds of martial artists, an old man stepped forward — one whose fierce glare and overwhelming presence stood out even in that crowd.
Sword Venerable Namgung Cheon.
A warrior who had claimed a seat among the Ten Great Masters with a single blade, and whom no one doubted would become the next Alliance Leader. He approached with a leisurely gait, then abruptly launched his body forward.
Craaack—!
He rose like an honest-to-heaven thunderbolt and swept out his sword. The strike was so fast that no one would have seen it at all, had it not been for the trail it carved through the moonlight.
The blade cleaved empty air.
Namgung Cheon's eyes went wide.
The man who had toyed with him still stood proudly atop the wall. He had merely shifted two steps aside.
'When, on earth, did he—'
Even the man called the Sword Venerable had failed to properly follow his opponent's movement. He had believed he'd cut him down, and yet the man's body felt as though it had literally passed through space itself.
“Body-Shifting Transposition.”
The man deliberately spat the technique's name aloud. There was no grand reason for it. He simply thought it looked cool.
Naturally, no one but the man himself saw it that way. Beyond third-rate fighters freshly bursting with pride at their newly learned arts, virtually no one announced their technique names aloud. That a master capable of toying with the Sword Venerable's sword strikes would commit such an ugly habit was simply absurd.
Regardless.
The man vaulted clean over the wall and dashed away, a sword sheath in his hand — the sheath of the Blue Heaven Divine Sword, the very pride of the Sword Venerable.
Behind Shin Tu, who fled with the sheath, the Sword Venerable and dozens of masters gave chase. They hurled blue sword qi — the signature of the Namgung Clan — in wild arcs, but they and their sword qi alike only fell further and further behind.
The man hurled his body toward a vast lake.
The Sword Venerable and a handful of masters managed to advance across the water through the subtleties of water-treading footwork. They believed he had made a foolish choice. No master of lightness arts, however skilled, was without limits on the water.
Yet the man ran on serenely across the lake, which stretched endless as the sea.
One by one, the masters felt their inner strength and concentration give out and turned back for shore, until at last even the Sword Venerable could do nothing but stand silently on the water's surface, glaring at the man's receding back.
Returning to his retainers, the Sword Venerable spoke in a resolute tone.
“The place that man is headed is surely Shaolin!”
The madman had been plundering the Martial Alliance first, then the Nine Sects and the Five Great Clans one after another. All that remained now were Shaolin, the Namgung Clan, and the Tang Clan of Sichuan. Fortunately, the Tang Clan and Shaolin lay in perfectly opposite directions from here in Anhui, and judging by the direction the thief had taken, he was all but certain to make for Shaolin.
The Sword Venerable ordered his subordinates to dispatch an urgent letter to Shaolin so they could prepare in advance.
That very night, the Tang Clan of Sichuan was robbed.
Everyone was left beyond astonishment. It wasn't simply that the thief had defied expectations — it was that he had crossed the vast distance between Sichuan and Anhui in a single night.
And that same morning, while the world was still reeling —
Shaolin was robbed too.
From that day on, the nameless thief came to be known by the epithet Divine Thief.
Shin Tu, having thoroughly emptied the Five Great Clans, the Nine Sects, and the Martial Alliance, sat brazenly in an inn, slurping down noodles.
No one recognized him. Few had ever seen his true face to begin with, and even the faces they had seen were fakes.
Shin Tu wore no mask. It simply lacked style.
But neither did he stoop to crude tricks like a human-skin mask. He merely manipulated his qi to deceive the senses of others, warping the contours of his features as they perceived them — and he could maintain that exquisitely delicate control of energy even while unleashing his lightness arts at full force.
Then it happened.
A woman entered the inn.
In the same instant, Shin Tu roused his qi and warped his features. He kept eating his noodles with a composed face, but beneath the surface his heart pounded as though it would burst.
The crimson-haired woman drew every eye in the room as she looked around. Then she walked straight across the inn.
'Go away, keep going…….'
Contrary to Shin Tu's hopes, she stopped precisely in front of his table.
“Let's have a chat, shall we?”
It was always like this. No technique he devised could fool her eyes — and this was a technique that had deceived even the man hailed as the finest under heaven.
“How do you keep seeing through it, exactly?”
“I told you, I see everything.”
She smiled sweetly, her eyes turning red.
Falling Fire Dotting the Eye. Eyes that could read the energy of all heaven and earth — with them, no matter what trick Shin Tu pulled, grasping his essence was no great challenge.
“You haven't finished eating.”
“Shall we talk here, then? Yesterday, in the end—”
Shin Tu shot to his feet in alarm. Sure enough, always the same. What she was about to say was obvious.
'Yesterday you went and robbed Shaolin too, didn't you?'
And then another pursuit force would be raised in the area, and he'd have to go on the run for a while.
Shin Tu followed her out of the inn with the expression of a thoroughly jaded man.
The two sat side by side on the edge of a cliff. The drop was so sheer you couldn't see the ground below, yet both were perfectly calm.
“Want to make a bet with me?”
Her proposal was unexpected. Shin Tu looked at her with a face that said he found it laughable.
“What kind of bet? No, wait. Whatever it is, you won't beat me.”
“That's what trying's for.”
Her sudden offer stirred his interest. Having plundered the entire Orthodox world, he'd been toying with the idea of moving on to the Demonic Cult next. And more than that, the fact that she — a woman running a respectable operation like the Nakhwa Iron Pavilion — was herself a thief delighted him.
She was the only thief in the world Shin Tu acknowledged.
The wager she proposed was simple. Naturally, it was theft — only the target was unusual.
“The Cheonghae Iron Pavilion?”
Shin Tu regarded her with narrowed eyes. The Cheonghae Iron Pavilion was the blacksmith faction everyone in the Central Plains acknowledged as the finest.
“Isn't that a bit too obvious? If I rob the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion for you, it's you who benefits.”
She burst into a faint laugh. “Confident, aren't we?”
“Haven't you heard the rumors? I'm Shin Tu. The Shin Tu who caught the Poison Venerable's thrown dagger mid-air.”
“The Cheonghae Iron Pavilion's formation is different. I barely made it past the threshold before fleeing for my life. I nearly died.”
Shin Tu's expression hardened. “That bad?”
He inwardly acknowledged her skill. It was true she fell short of him — but put another way, he believed that apart from Shin Tu himself, there was no one under heaven who could catch her.
In an instant, competitive fire blazed in his eyes.
“Well, well. Looks like I've found a stop to make before I rob the Demon Cult Leader of his undergarments.”
“……Why on earth would you rob those?”
“Anyway. So if I rob the Cheonghae Pavilion for you, what will you do for me?”
“Everything.”
“What did you say?”
Shin Tu, who had been gazing at the far distance beyond the cliff, frowned and turned to look at her. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“I'll give you everything. Anything you want — all of it.”
“…….”
Only then did Shin Tu instinctively understand. The words she had just spoken were not a wager. They were a plea.
What history lay between the Nakhwajeong and the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion? The question flickered through his mind briefly, but he chose not to voice it. The reason was, as always, clear.
'It wouldn't look cool.'
To Shin Tu, who lived and died by style, the truly cool thing would be to come back after toying with the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion effortlessly, and only then ask.
Shin Tu rose from his seat.
“Tonight. Let's meet here again.”
“Huh?”
“No — actually, looking at your face, you'd just sit here waiting all day. Go home. I'll come find you tonight.”
After all, once he'd robbed the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion, he'd finally feel like he'd gotten a proper workout — so she'd best lay that formation out thick and generous at home.
Having thrown out this boastful bluster, Shin Tu promptly hurled himself off the cliff.
Shin Tu stirred from his long reverie.
“That was the last time.”
“…….”
For a long moment, no one spoke. It is always more painful to watch someone endlessly bright wear such a sorrowful expression.
“In the end, I stole what the Pavilion wanted. On my way out, I was caught in the formation — I could only escape once I'd been reduced to rags inside it. And……”
What must have been waiting for the escaped Shin Tu was a crowd of martial artists with their blades sharpened.
Jin Seongun nodded quietly. “What would you have me do?”
He privately ran through what Shin Tu's answer might be. Revenge against the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion? Or revenge against the woman who had used him?
Given Shin Tu's temperament, the former did seem the likelier fit.
Then Shin Tu's lips curved into a smile. “Let's finish the bet we never got to settle.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The one rumored lately to be my successor turned out to be a descendant of the Nakhwajeong. And by sheer coincidence, you — the true disciple of the real Shin Tu — caught her.”
“…….”
“The will of two thieves who never finished their wager has carried across decades, down to you and her. Surely it's only right that the bet be brought to its conclusion.”
Jin Seongun blinked for a moment. Shin Tu had clearly said, when first making the request, that it wouldn't involve stealing anything. Seeing that look, Shin Tu flinched once and added hurriedly,
“This isn't a request to steal. It's a request to finish a bet.”
“……What exactly was the wager over? What were you trying to steal from that Cheonghae Iron Pavilion?”
A faint unease crept over Jin Seongun. It was his master's request, yes — but was it really all right to go pilfering goods from an innocent blacksmith's forge? This was a different matter from the thieving before.
Shin Tu, apparently catching his worry, added:
“In my whole life, I have never once wronged an honest soul. The Sword Venerable was a man so greedy for the Alliance Leader's seat that he joined hands with the Unorthodox and plotted the leader's assassination. The Luohan Hall Elder of Shaolin kept three mistresses.”
“…….”
“Go to the Nakhwajeong and you'll understand. That girl — Chae Seoryeong, I believe her name is? She asked for your help, didn't she? Go and ask her. Ask what it is you're meant to steal.”
Jin Seongun felt at a loss. It would be rather awkward to be brushed off so brusquely and then return of his own accord asking, “Sorry — about what you were saying earlier, could we pick that back up?”
But this was a request from Shin Tu himself, of all people. It was not something to be defied in the first place. He had already received a great deal from him in exchange for past favors — and perhaps even this new request would not repay everything he'd been given.
The dealings between Jin Seongun and the Martial Gods were thoroughly tilted in his favor. Each of the gods had left behind the name of greatest under heaven, and were their legacies to be inherited, warriors who would gladly give their very lives filled the world over.
“……Very well.”
Jin Seongun bowed his head. Only then did Shin Tu break into a smile, and the other Martial Gods likewise let out a collective sigh of relief — perhaps because they had each seen themselves reflected in Shin Tu, humbly asking a favor of his disciple.
“Seongun.”
“Yes.”
“If you visit my residence, there will be something of use to you. A shameful thing, for a sorry master to ask this of his disciple — but take it and use it gladly, all the same. It is the wish that you stay safe, if only a little.”
“I'll put it to good use, with thanks.”
Jin Seongun found himself growing curious. What on earth lay within the home of the greatest thief under heaven? What could even Shin Tu have failed to steal?
He was on the verge of leaving the Realm of Martial Gods when he suddenly turned back and asked,
“Master. But — do you not resent her?”
He meant the woman. After all, the circumstances made it plain: she had used Shin Tu for her own ends, and because of that, he had met his death — even if every step of it had been Shin Tu's own choice.
Shin Tu chuckled. “Where's the style in that?”
“…….”
Jin Seongun nodded once. Shin Tu nodded back in return. For a brief moment, the two exchanged a look that carried something wordless between them — and then Jin Seongun left the Realm of Martial Gods.