Legend of the Wandering Wolf Knight
In the martial world of the Central Plains, having an alias was hardly special anymore.
There had been an era when only the truly exceptional earned epithets as symbols of reverent awe, but in modern times, their prestige had plummeted considerably. Exceptions existed, of course. As the innate honor tied to an alias faded, an unspoken hierarchy formed between grand titles and cheap labels. The result was that in today's Murim, virtually anyone with a shred of wanderer's grit carried an alias of some kind.
"Chain-scythe Cho Ryeogon? Never heard of you."
"Don't you worry. You're about to get real familiar."
Cho Ryeogon, third brother of the Four Heroes of East Lake, brandished his weapon in proud accordance with his title. Heavy iron chains were coiled tightly around his torso like a suit of armor, the slack unspooled from his grip with a curved sickle glinting at its terminus. Admiring gasps rippled through the onlookers, the tavern stirring into an excited commotion at the sight of the third brother stepping up to fight.
The Four Heroes of East Lake boasted respectable cultivation: the eldest was in the late stage of the First-rate Realm, the second brother in the mid stage, and the third and fourth brothers in the early stage. Bound as sworn brothers, they frequented Dongho Lake east of Wuhan—hence Dongho—and wandered the realm upholding chivalry—hence Four Heroes. When all four fought in unison, they were said to possess the strength to challenge even an expert of the Peak Realm, granting them considerable fame across Hubei Province.
"Right. Quite a literal alias, isn't it?"
The middle-aged swordsman watched Cho Ryeogon's chain-scythe—or more precisely, his chain-draped chest—his face settling into cold neutrality. Rope was one thing, but with solid iron links wound tight around a man's vitals, landing a fatal blow would be exceptionally tricky. The swordsman tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade. He was a rogue known across the region as Dongho Nang-gwi, notorious for his nasty disposition and feared as a late-stage First-rate martial artist.
"Your lip flaps end here. Prepare yourself!"
"Come on, then! Let's see how long that confidence lasts!"
Cho Ryeogon whirled his chain in roaring arcs, carving silver rings through the air with his sickle, while a faint, wavering heat haze rippled along the edge of Dongho Nang-gwi's sword. Glaring daggers at one another, the two men sprang forward.
One was an early First-rate warrior armored in iron links, unleashing an erratic, unpredictable trajectory. The other was a late First-rate swordsman manifesting wisps of Sword Qi, dead set on cleaving through armor and flesh alike.
Yet their collision never rang out with that satisfying, metallic clash.
"Whoa, hold on a second."
Slotted cleanly between their colliding stances stood a youth—no, a mere boy.
His expression was one of profound exasperation, not bothering to conceal his disbelief as he stared down Cho Ryeogon. The sudden intrusion painted pure shock across the faces of both combatants. Behind them, the remaining brothers of the Four Heroes and the tavern patrons looked on in utter dismay.
Cho Ryeogon frantically twisted his stance mid-air, wrenching his scythe's trajectory upward, while Dongho Nang-gwi angled his footwork to the side, diverting his thrust toward empty space. Cho Ryeogon diverted because he was a righteous chivalrous hero; Dongho Nang-gwi diverted because he had no desire to invite public disgrace by slaughtering an innocent bystander.
Yet, rendering all their frantic adjustments entirely pointless, the meddlesome boy casually drew his sword.
Drawing a blade right into the crossfire? Is he out of his mind?
Dumbfounded, Cho Ryeogon and Dongho Nang-gwi gaped at him—only for radiant, brilliant golden Sword Qi to bloom along the boy's edge.
Ah. We were the crazy ones.
To think they had brazenly staged a brawl right in front of a Peak Realm master.
Their manners instantly injected, the two seasoned fighters hastily sheathed their weapons.
"Attention."
"Yes, sir!"
"Ahem."
To see a burly man and another nearing forty stand ramrod straight like chastised schoolchildren before a fresh-faced youth might have seemed pathetic. And indeed, it was utterly pathetic. Anyone witnessing the spectacle would find it too humiliating to show their face in the jianghu again. But that rule only applied when dealing with an ordinary boy.
This was Sword Qi. Not some faint wisp or colorless glimpse, but an unbroken aura blazing with vivid, saturated color. In other words, the youth before them was at least an early-stage Peak Realm master—a caliber of expert that would require all the Four Heroes working alongside Dongho Nang-gwi just to contest, especially with their fourth brother currently out of commission with injuries.
"Today was supposed to be a good day, you know? I just wrapped up an escort job and came to unwind at a tavern for the first time in two months."
"K-khem... My sincerest apologies."
Cold sweat beaded across Cho Ryeogon's forehead at the boy's blatant displeasure. The chains wrapped around his torso were meant to deflect ordinary blades; before authentic Sword Qi, they were no better than brittle twine.
"If it isn't too bold... may we ask the young hero's name?"
"I would also be honored, if you don't mind. A Peak Realm master at such a tender age... in all my long years, I've never seen the like."
Giving out a name was easy enough. The youth who had silenced the entire hall in a single breath casually sheathed his blade and replied with an airy shrug.
"Dokgo Sanwol. I don't have an alias, so you probably haven't heard of me."
Sanwol genuinely believed he was a nobody. He had never performed any earth-shattering martial feats to earn widespread renown, and he hadn't slapped an author's name or pen name onto his comic books.
Yet contrary to his modest assumption, an explosive, near-rabid roar erupted throughout the room.
"D-Dokgo Sanwol?!"
"The creator of Nangahyeopjeon!"
"The author of Nangahyeopjeon is a Peak Realm master?!"
In truth, Sanwol's fame in Wuhan was second to none. Those who had originally received the manuscripts directly from his hands had gladly answered every eager reader who begged to know the mastermind behind the tale. In the Central Plains, fame was synonymous with power; prominent figures, whether martial artists or scholars, commanded vast influence and lived lavishly. The shopkeepers who enjoyed an unprecedented windfall thanks to Sanwol had made a point of repaying him by widely broadcasting that Nangahyeopjeon was his masterwork.
Not that Sanwol had the slightest inkling of this development.
"When on earth is the next volume coming out?!"
"Please, release the next chapter!"
"Shut up and take my money pouch! Just let me read what happens next!"
Pandemonium seized the tavern. Word spread like wildfire through the streets, and before long, passersby were piling through the front entrance in a frenzied stampede.
Nope. Talking my way out of this is impossible.
Assessing the madness, Sanwol unleashed his lightness skill. Vaulting thirty feet into the air, his foot tapped lightly against the second-floor railing. Using the momentum as a springboard, he vaulted straight through an open window, skipping across rooftops and boundary walls as he dashed out of Wuhan. If he retreated straight to his house, this crazed horde would dog his heels right to his front door.
Wait... are they actually chasing me?
Sensing pursuers behind him, Sanwol cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, several figures with martial arts training were bounding across the tiles in hot pursuit. Judging by their tempo and footwork, however, they were merely Second-rate or early First-rate practitioners.
Congratulating himself on choosing a winding path outside the city walls, Sanwol poured more internal qi into his strides and vanished into the distance. Thus, the readers' first coordinated attempt to capture the author and lock him in a room until he drew more chapters ended in complete failure. Sanwol spent the rest of the evening wandering desolate back roads, patiently waiting for the search parties to give up and disperse.
It was not until the Hour of the Rat, long after the moon had climbed to its zenith, that Sanwol was finally able to slip back into his estate. He had vastly underestimated the feverish mania surrounding Nangahyeopjeon and the obsessive hunger of fans starved for two months without an update.
"I seriously need to track down a human skin mask or start wearing a veiled hat."
Sanwol rotated his stiff shoulders and stretched his aching back, grumbling after spending hours slinking around in a crouch to avoid prying eyes. Human skin masks carried a sinister reputation and were terribly stifling to wear, while veiled hats were predominantly worn by noblewomen, making them an awkward choice for a young man. Worse, relying on a flimsy sheet of fabric to disguise one's face made for miserable camouflage anyway.
Still... it doesn't feel bad.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Sanwol's lips. Terrifying as the mob had been, every single one of those people was brimming with genuine, unadulterated passion. Seeing one's creative work recognized and loved to that degree would make anyone giddy.
And besides, the time has come.
Spreading a thick, comfortable quilt across the floor, Sanwol settled into the lotus position and closed his eyes. Drawing a long, measured breath to coax the internal qi from his dantian into the deepest recesses of his meridians, he submerged his consciousness into the tranquility of a mirror-still lake.
Six months had passed since he crossed into the early stage of the Peak Realm. It was time to advance into the mid stage and lay the groundwork for his eventual ascent to Transcendence. Early-stage Peak cultivation was more than enough to live comfortably and defend his interests, but in the brutal hierarchy of the Murim, higher realms were always better.
'Drive true qi from the dantian through the Shenque acupoint, down through Guanyuan and Qugu into the Huiyin. From there, channel it up through Mingmen, Jizhong, Shenzhu, and Dazhui, driving it straight toward Yuzhen...'
The core discipline of meditation and breathing lay in refining inner energy: drawing raw, primordial qi from heaven and earth into the tempered vessel of one's body, domesticating it until it conformed perfectly to one's martial art. This energy circulated along two primary conduits: the Conception Vessel and the Governing Vessel, cycling perpetually between the Huiyin and Baihui acupoints at either pole.
Yet along this minor heavenly cycle stood an immense, stubborn barrier: the Pass of Life and Death, an unyielding gate that severed the Conception Vessel from the Governing Vessel.
'Tonight, I break it open.'
Situated near the crown of the head at the Baihui acupoint, the Pass of Life and Death choked off the natural flow of qi, dragging down cultivation efficiency. Because the center of the circuit was barred, qi could not cycle on its own; it required active, forceful effort to shove it across the gap each time. Breaching the Pass of Life and Death was the only way to merge both vessels into a single, unbroken superhighway.
A martial artist who unblocked this gate maintained perpetual internal circulation without ever needing to enter meditative trance. Whether eating, walking, or sound asleep, their body maintained an automatic minor heavenly cycle, accumulating internal power every second of the day. Fully realized Sword Qi drained internal reserves at an alarming rate; without continuous, around-the-clock generation, no warrior could wield it with true freedom.
'Break, damn you! I haven't slacked off on my training for a single day since setting out for Anhui Province!'
Like a river swollen by a summer tempest transforming into a roaring deluge that swallows and shatters the dam blocking its path, Sanwol's internal power surged. Magnified day by day through rigorous refinement, his qi crossed from the Conception Vessel into the Governing Vessel, gathering into a raging torrent that slammed against the Baihui acupoint.
Craaack. Crack-crack.
Colliding against the Pass of Life and Death, the deluge of energy battered relentlessly against the stubborn gateway. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the barrier, allowing thin tendrils of true qi to seep into the space beyond.
KRA-SHING!
A pure, bell-like resonance rang through his spiritual sea, its gentle yet unmistakable shockwave rippling across every limb and bone. The torrent of energy that had been backed up at the Pass of Life and Death flooded through the shattered ruins of the gate.
"Phew..."
Slowly lifting his eyelids, Sanwol let out a long, warm breath, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
"Now who am I?"
A mid-stage master of the Peak Realm.
...And the creator of Nangahyeopjeon.
His cultivation breakthrough was complete. Now, it was time to get back to the drawing board.