The Death Match on Deck
It was as though the goddess of vengeance, Nemesis, had finally turned her gaze upon them.
"Cough...! Cough!"
Bang Dupil, his whole body ripped to shreds, spat blood and looked around wildly.
The deck was littered with corpses and slick with blood.
Among the dead were the escorts he had brought with him—plenty of them.
Torn apart mercilessly by the Goema, they had died without even the dignity of closing their eyes.
He had never dreamed he’d be fighting monsters like this here.
Baekmun Express was finished.
Not only the escort chief himself, but also Chief Escort Ma Song, whose head now rolled alone across the deck, and every elite escort had been killed.
The company still had a steward left, but when both head and waist had vanished in one stroke, that was all there was to say.
So this is how I die... before I can even get my revenge...
His body shivered with chills, and his consciousness drifted farther and farther away.
Blood kept seeping from the countless sword wounds across his body.
If he could have treated them at once, maybe he could have muddled through somehow.
But his limbs trembled helplessly.
The main sinews in his arms and legs had already been severed; even twitching a finger was difficult.
At this point, the only thing he could do was turn his head and watch that bastard Sama Ryeong get toyed with.
"Kraaahhh!!"
Someone had escaped him somehow—the Dang Clan girl, apparently—and the poison she spat blasted into his face, making him scream and clutch at his features.
After that, he seemed to exchange a few words with the other man, then went berserk and charged.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Gehk...!?"
Of course, that lasted only a moment before he was punched in the head, chest, and solar plexus in quick succession.
It was clear the attacker was no amateur; just watching made Bang Dupil feel strangely refreshed, though it also raised questions.
Who the hell is that guy...?
Who was it that was beating Sama Ryeong like a dog on a summer festival day?
He was wearing the same uniform as the escorts, sure, but there was no way he belonged to Baekmun Express.
There wasn’t a single escort in his company with that kind of hidden strength, and certainly not one with hair that black.
Either way, he was still a barbarian of the Central Plains.
Deep in his blood flowed the stubborn doctrines of Central Plains supremacy.
Dark, lowly black hair suited only for porters and menial laborers.
The important work was for people of the Central Plains.
Just as that suspicion deepened, smoke burst out around Sama Ryeong.
That bastard! Is he trying to run?!
Bang Dupil’s fading eyes flared back to life.
He might not be able to kill the man with his own hands, but if he could at least drag him down with him, that would do—and now even that seemed to be slipping away!
No, no, I can’t let him get away like that!
Clenching his teeth, Bang Dupil rolled over.
Then, forcing his severed limbs to move through sheer grit, he dragged—no, crawled—toward the pile of luggage and cargo.
He had thought they wouldn’t notice after he died, but he had seen it.
He knew where Sama Ryeong had hidden the cage.
The man who had been sent back nearly fifty years had finally crawled to the area where the baggage and cargo were stacked.
Crash!
He roughly shoved the luggage aside and lifted the cage hidden in the corner.
I’ll make sure you become my companion in death, you bastard!
He would not waste the chance granted by the goddess of vengeance, Nemesis, who had taken pity on him!
Once he pinpointed Sama Ryeong’s route through the smoke, he shouted,
"Hey!! You demonic cult bastard!!"
The man who had been fleeing with the hem of his undergarments fluttering behind him froze.
When he looked at the cage in Bang Dupil’s hands and his eyes bulged as if they might split, the corners of Bang Dupil’s mouth rose just as high.
As Sama Ryeong lunged forward, Bang Dupil, with the last flare of his life, hurled the cage with all his strength.
Heh... Go on then... suffer, you bastard...
His consciousness went dark just as the cage flew away in a gorgeous arc.
What waits for a spark that flares one last time is only fading.
Thud.
"Damn it!"
Whether Bang Dupil lived or died, Sama Ryeong chased after the cage like a dog.
He might leave, sure, but he had to take the Baekdu Cheongak-eung back with him no matter what.
Only then could he save at least a shred of face before him.
Clang! Clang-clang!
The cage rolled across the floor with a metallic rattle.
You worthless bastard!
If you were going to die, you should’ve done it properly!
Suppressing the bile rising in his throat, Sama Ryeong reached for the cage.
The order from that person had been to capture the Baekdu Cheongak-eung alive, so he intended to check it carefully in case something had gone wrong.
"Hm...?"
A startled sound slipped from his mouth.
The Baekdu Cheongak-eung’s eyes were both blank sockets, and its beak had twisted sideways.
The eyeballs that should have been inside those sockets were now rolling around at his feet.
No matter how carefully O Naho had crafted it, the thing had been battered and tossed throughout the battle, and its durability had clearly taken a hit.
"What the hell...?"
While Sama Ryeong stood there in a daze, unaware of this fact—
"Oh, score."
The predator was delighted to see the prey he’d let slip away come right back on its own.
"!!?"
Startled, Sama Ryeong stepped back, and Geom Mujin’s foot moved as well.
Wham! Wham!
The tips of his feet struck Sama Ryeong’s shins, and the bones bent like a bow.
"Kyaaagh...! You... bast...!"
And thus, some faraway alien warrior was created.
Mujin Sword Style
Empty Hands
Skull-cracking haymaker.
His fist, with the middle knuckle protruding just a little, slammed into the back of Sama Ryeong’s head as the man fell.
BOOM—!!
"!!!!!"
Crack—!
The force was so violent it felt like his eyeballs might burst; Sama Ryeong’s head was forced down, then his waist bent inward at a brutal angle, and his face smashed into the floor.
"......"
His arms and legs went limp, and he couldn’t even scream.
Winner: the floor.
His face stopped only after half-shattering the deck.
If he’d practiced facial conditioning more diligently, this never would have happened.
Tsk, lazy bastard.
"If you were going to run, you should’ve done it after talking. You had to spill everything before you left."
So said Geom Mujin, the inaugural champion of the first-ever Deck Death Match, hosted by Geom Mujin.
* * *
Meanwhile, Dang Seorin and the others, having repaired the skiff and escaped, were rowing toward the harbor.
"I-it’ll be okay, right...?"
Dang Seorin, clutching the child tightly in her arms, kept looking back like a puppy that had to pee.
Of course she did—the hero and her older sister were still on that ship.
"I’m sure they’ll be fine."
Unlike Dang Seorin, Hayoung remained calm.
"We need to go east, not that way."
She pointed in the direction the skiff should have been heading.
"Ah, r-right. But why am I the only one rowing from earlier—"
"Is Hayoung not worried about your sister...?"
She tried to complain softly about what was practically elder abuse, but Dang Seorin cut her off mid-sentence.
"₩!%#&+"
O Naho barely managed to swallow an incomprehensible string of words.
At this rate, one of them might be delivered to the shore as a corpse.
"Pardon? I’m not sure what you mean."
"N-no, you’ve just been so calm all this time... I’m the only one worrying about my sister and the hero..."
Normally, she’d have been screaming that she’d swim back to save them if she had to, so it felt strange that she was taking a skiff so obediently.
"......"
Hayoung looked at her sulking expression with an odd gaze.
Did she really not know?
"Young miss Seorin, do you truly not under—"
"Eh!? Everyone, look over there!"
At that moment, O Naho, bent over the oar, shouted.
"The b-b-boat is sinking...!"
The ship they had just been riding on began to go under.
But neither of the two had returned yet!
"W-we have to turn back—"
Dang Seorin hurriedly tried to turn the skiff around, but soon realized it was unnecessary.
Slash, slash, slash!
A figure leaping from the sinking ship was running toward them.
Not floating on debris in the river—running on the water itself!
"W-water striding...!"
Dang Seorin said in a shocked voice.
Even within her family, one of the Four Great Clans, only a tiny handful could perform water striding.
Perhaps her father, the head of the Dang Clan, and a few of the elders could manage it.
Ripple.
Geom Mujin closed the distance in an instant and stepped onto the skiff.
"Phew! You got pretty far in just a minute."
"You have returned, sir."
"Yeah."
Hayoung naturally took the Dang Yulin he handed over.
"H-hero...! You’re safe... huh?"
As Dang Seorin greeted him, her eyes widened into perfect circles.
It was because she saw his face after he took off the mask.
Th-that face...
It was a face she could never possibly mistake, and her brain ground to a halt trying to make sense of the situation.
"Y-y-you can’t mean... y-you are...!?"
Dang Seorin trembled like a broken wind-up doll.
Shudder, shudder!
"U-uhn...!"
The child in her arms frowned at the twelve vibrations per second.
"L-l-l..."
Instead of her, Hayoung opened her mouth.
At this rate, they’d never reach the harbor before the sun set.
"I’m honored to meet the Great Swordmaster, one of the Seven Martial Stars."
"So you recognized me after all."
"As a member of the Sichuan Dang Clan, that’s only natural."
There was a needle hidden in her words.
"And you didn’t seem to have any intention of hiding it, sir."
Since I’d been planning to reveal my identity anyway, I’d come with my face uncovered on purpose.
If people didn’t know who I was, I couldn’t show off, after all.
"H-Hayoung... is that really...?"
"Yes."
When Dang Seorin asked in a trembling voice, Hayoung nodded.
That was the signal.
One, two, three.
"The Great Swordmaster!!"
"The barbarian sword— no, the Great Swordmaster!?"
Exclamations burst from Dang Seorin and O Naho.
No, seriously, this old man?
Geom Mujin narrowed his eyes, and O Naho clapped a hand over his own mouth.
Dang Seorin flushed bright red, while O Naho went pale as ash.
They reacted in opposite ways at first, but soon Dang Seorin, too, turned ashen and wore the same look.
Memories of everything that had happened since they first met came flooding back.
How she’d been a total wreck in the mountains.
How she’d written an entire novel on her own and mistaken him for some devoted romantic.
And all the other pathetic nonsense besides.
I-I’ve been showing him nothing but my most embarrassing, useless sides this whole time... what do I dooo...!
No matter how she thought about it, it was embarrassing and hopeless.
She’d be mortified enough if this were just a plain benefactor, but this was a benefactor who happened to be the object of her admiration, too!
She wanted to talk to him.
She also wanted to flee the scene immediately out of sheer humiliation.
Go on, say something! Do you know when another chance like this will come?
No! Stay quiet right now! You’re just going to stammer and fail to say a single proper word anyway!
You bastard, if you can let a chance like this slip right through your fingers, are you even a warrior of the Sichuan Dang Clan? A duel, then!
Like hell you’ll dodge! If I win, you’re getting squashed into the side of the skiff!
Inside her head, two opposing emotions held a guillotine match.
"Ughhh..."
Dang Seorin clutched her head and crouched down.
Leaving behind the girl who might not be returning to reality for a while, I turned my head away.
"By the way, sir, it looks like you’ve been rowing by yourself this whole time. Want me to take over for a bit?"
Geom Mujin, seated with his legs spread wide on one side of the skiff, asked with the air of someone doing charity work.
In a proper Confucian society, that would’ve been enough to make a person froth at the mouth, but O Naho just shook his head frantically.
"N-no! Take over? What for! The older you get, the more important strength training becomes, and this is perfect for that!"
"Come to think of it, didn’t you say something to me earlier? Something about supplying McDaria with Seven Martial Stars toys—"
"I’ll get you to the harbor in comfort! You must be tired from all that fighting, so please rest!"
Goosebumps rose all over O Naho’s body as he shouted.
You can tell by the eyes.
Those are the eyes of someone who knows exactly what his Happy Meal toy looks like!
"Full speed."
"Full speed!"
Slash-splash-splash—!!
As someone burdened with a debt of guilt toward him, O Naho rowed until the joints in both arms felt like they were burning alive.