Chapter 3
Chapter 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Picking Up the Axe
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Jeom Baek-i was every bit as explosive in temper as he looked. He exuded a feral aura like he was about to unleash a killing blow at any moment. But he couldn't charge in recklessly. There was something off-putting about the two parallel scars running across the monk's shaved head. And that flawless stance suggested a brutal counterattack no matter which side he struck from.
Jeom Baek-i thought to himself.
'This rice-slurping bastard's got some chops.'
The monk was equally hesitant to make the first move. He'd pegged him as just a muscle-bound bear, but the guy was radiating a piercing killing intent.
'Definitely not some run-of-the-mill demon spawn...'
While these two representatives of their factions were locked in this tense standoff, Heuk Do-san was lost in his own thoughts.
'What the hell happened?'
It had been the previous night.
Heuk Do-san and his nine old mercenary comrades had sensed this would be their final battle and plunged into the sea early. Clutching a single plank, they'd bobbed like rice grains, waiting for their chance.
Their original plan was to sneak aboard a targeted Demonic Cult treasure ship and pick off the guards one by one amid the chaos. They'd packed plenty of deadly hidden weapons and poison for the occasion. No way they could win a straight fight against the elite experts guarding a treasure ship.
But unexpected fortune smiled on them. The Righteous Alliance masters—probably without realizing it—had swarmed the Demonic Cult treasure ship and launched a fierce melee.
The Righteous Alliance experts overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, slaughtering the Demonic Cultists in one fell swoop. Then, without even checking the treasure hold below deck, they boarded another Demonic Cult ship and continued the fight.
Idiots.
Heuk Do-san and the nine old mercenaries took the treasure ship without spilling a drop of blood.
Down in the hold, sure enough, chests brimming with gold and jewels lined the space. They were so thrilled they cheered three times over.
"Gold eternal!"
The heart-pounding excitement was short-lived. They hoisted all the sails, pointed the rudder south, and fled like mad. Everything went off without a hitch.
Until that damned meteor shower hit.
If hell unfurled on earth, would it look like that?
It was terror incarnate.
The sea boiled. Ships exploded like fireworks. Towering waves like mountains crashed over the gunwales.
The treasure ship lost its bearings and pitched wildly. Then, in an instant, a meteor fragment punched through the sail and slammed into the stern.
Heuk Do-san had never heard such a thunderous roar in his life. Shrapnel flew everywhere, the bow reared straight up. That's when something heavy smashed into the back of his neck.
Probably a flying mast.
That was the last thing Heuk Do-san remembered.
And now he was in this mess.
Let him sort it out again.
According to Jeom Baek-i, the meteor shower had wrecked everything—battle lines be damned. But if that was the case, where did all those countless participants in the Righteous-Demonic Great War go?
How to explain this freezing weather and the endless, empty ocean?
'Hang on, what about those old lechers?'
Suddenly, he thought of the old mercenaries who'd been with him on the ship. The ones handling the sails on deck had likely been swept into the sea when the meteor hit. But Old Man Mu, gripping the helm from inside the hold...
'He might still be alive.'
Heuk Do-san sliced a generous length from the adit rope dangling over the gunwale—the thick line used to secure sails—and wrapped it four times around his waist.
It cinched his flowing robes tight, creating a broad belt about half a span wide.
He thrust his dagger into the belt, then flung open the hatch connecting the deck below to the hold.
As expected, the stairs to the hold came into view. Ignoring the deadly confrontation unfolding at the gunwale, Heuk Do-san slipped down into the hold.
* * *
Stepping into the hold, he saw holes torn everywhere. A massive gash at the stern—clearly from the meteor fragment—let gale-force winds howl through.
Knee-deep seawater sloshed on the floor. It must have surged in through the stern hole every time a wave crested. A miracle the ship hadn't sunk.
The mast was snapped, the rudder gone without a trace. Now it was just drifting with the wind and currents.
"Damn it!"
Heuk Do-san first climbed onto the edge of the stern hole, yanked down his pants, and relieved himself.
Splaaaash!
The pent-up relief hit all at once, making his body shudder. He emptied his bladder clean, shook off twice, tucked it away, and pulled up his pants.
Next, he scooped up a floating gourd flask of liquor, broke the seal, and chugged without a second thought. The fiery burn down his throat finally made him feel alive.
With his wits about him, he surveyed the hold more closely. But for some reason, neither Old Man Mu nor the neatly stacked treasure chests were anywhere to be seen.
'Sunk into the water?'
Just then, a bailer bucket floated into his knee. Hollowed log connected to a thick bamboo tube—used for scooping bilge water from the gunwales.
Heuk Do-san started bailing furiously. His toes ached like they might snap off in the icy water, but sweat beaded on his back.
After half a day of struggle, the water dropped to ankle height, sloshing faintly.
But no treasure chests anywhere in the hold. Finally, he figured it out. The floorboards were gouged and scraped toward the stern hole by something heavy.
'Where the hell did they go?'
When the meteor hit and the bow reared vertical, all the treasure chests on the floor had been sucked straight out the stern hole. By now, they were probably some octopus's new home on the seabed.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!"
Heuk Do-san spat the curse three times, just like he'd cheered three times upon first spotting the treasure.
But it didn't ease the frustration. After a decade bouncing between battlefields, he'd thought he'd snag one last haul and head home.
Then he spotted three or four thin streams squirting up like a kid's piss from the far corner.
Heuk Do-san jolted in shock.
Water hadn't only come through the stern hole. A small amount had seeped through the floorboards too. Left alone, the ship would sink in less than a day.
No pitch to seal the leaks. He'd have to bail every morning until he transferred to another ship or reached land.
"Fuck this!"
This wasn't frustration a mere "damn" could fix.
But what could he do? Spilled milk, runaway wife.
Feet already soaked, he bailed again to buy as much time as possible.
That's when he spotted a body pinned under a pile of collapsed stern planking.
The legs—wrapped in greaves and bound tight with cowhide—looked familiar.
'Old Man Mu!'
He tossed the bailer and rushed over, grabbing the legs and yanking.
As the body slid free, Heuk Do-san recoiled again. He'd clung to the helm until the end and taken a meteor fragment full-on—his head was gone.
'You foolish old coot...'
Tears welled up unbidden.
Early on, when they'd only just started traveling together, he'd asked Old Man Mu why he made war his trade. With those sword skills, couldn't he do anything else? Why not head home now and find honest work?
Old Man Mu, oiling his blade, had replied:
"I've tried. It never worked out."
But Old Man Mu had wanted something else until the very end.
That was when Heuk Do-san learned how vast the gap between what one wants and what one can do—sky and earth apart.
He'd sung of opening a cloth shop back home if they nabbed the treasure ship...
Dead is dead, living is living.
Heuk Do-san rummaged through Old Man Mu's tattered bosom. Out came a spyglass just over a span long.
Used by sea sentries to spot stars and enemy ships at night. Old Man Mu had pulled off five feats with it.
Heuk Do-san pocketed the spyglass, hoisted Old Man Mu's body, and heaved it into the sea.
"There are treasure chests somewhere down there. Find 'em for me—use it as your fare to the afterlife."
A nameless old mercenary in this world, but in the next, he'd be the one arriving with the fattest purse since hell opened its gates.
Turning away with a bitter pang, something glinted where Old Man Mu had lain.
A small axe.
A hand axe with a sturdy water locust handle and a palm-sized blade. Wulin folk called it a Battle Blossom Axe.
Old Man Mu had named his Thunderclap Axe. Split a skull with it, and it'd feel like a lightning strike.
A brutish weapon if ever there was one, but Old Man Mu insisted it was the most humane. Ended life in one blow, no time for pain.
Heuk Do-san hefted the Thunderclap Axe, waggling it back and forth as he mused.
'Damn, all I get after ten years of war is one lousy axe.'
Better than nothing.
"I'll put it to good use."
* * *
'These fools are still at it.'
Back on deck, Heuk Do-san clucked his tongue. Drifting the open sea on a ship that could sink any minute—did they have time for this standoff?
If you've got strength, figure out how to survive first.
Then he felt eyes blazing toward his waist. No surprise. He'd gone below with just a dagger on his left hip; now he sported an axe on his right.
Unlike the dagger, this was a real weapon. Just holding it doubled Heuk Do-san's combat prowess.
"Found it rolling around down there."
Heuk Do-san stroked the axe head gently as he spoke.
In that instant, eyes gleamed with predatory light.
Jeom Baek-i of the Demonic side moved first. From that massive frame came arrow-like speed—he reached the hold hatch in a flash.
As he leaped for the hold, the monk from the righteous side burst forth.
"Where do you think you're going!"
In a pinch, the monk kicked hard at a fallen mast lying across the deck.
Boom!
The explosive launch sent the mast roaring toward Jeom Baek-i with a thunderous crash.
Jeom Baek-i vaulted lightly, letting it slide beneath him.
He then unleashed a Whirlwind Kick at the monk diving past him into the hold—a gale-force spin kick technique. Loaded with internal energy and rotational force, the heavy heel smashed toward the monk's temple.
The monk bent backward sharply with the Iron Bridge technique. His robes billowed upward, unable to keep pace with his body's twist.
Jeom Baek-i's toe grazed the monk's nose by a hair.
The next instant, Jeom Baek-i's leg snapped sideways, slamming the monk's ribs.
Thwack!
Despite the dull thud, the monk didn't budge. Instead, Jeom Baek-i's foot rebounded. One technique flashed in Heuk Do-san's mind.
'Golden Bell!'
A Buddhist body-hardening art that forged flesh like an iron bell.
At mastery, it granted a diamond-indestructible body no sword could pierce.
Perfectly timed, the monk slapped the deck left-handed and sprang up elastically, thrusting his right to strike Jeom Baek-i's philtrum.
Heuk Do-san clucked his tongue.
'Tsk tsk, look at this fool monk!'
Striking with a fist from midair was a master's ploy to intimidate lesser foes—big motion to inspire fear.
Useless against equals. Big moves expose gaps. This was tantamount to offering your whole body as sacrifice.
Sure enough, Jeom Baek-i twisted like lightning with Capturing Hand, seizing the monk's wrist. He yanked hard, slamming him to the deck.
In that moment, the monk curled like a worm, then exploded his legs. The deck was at the end of those legs.
Crack-boom!
The monk punched through the thick gunwale planking and dropped into the hold.
Jeom Baek-i seemed ahead in the fight, but the monk won the race to the hold—using the enemy's force against him.
'Golden Bell into Four Taels to Move a Thousand Catties! That was his aim. No ordinary monk.'
As Heuk Do-san pondered this, the horrified Jeom Baek-i tried hurling himself through the hole. Unable to stand by, Heuk Do-san murmured low.
"Going for a weapon?"
"Huh?"
"There aren't any."
"What?"
"This is the last one."
Heuk Do-san stroked the axe head again, like it was precious treasure. Jeom Baek-i's face twisted in fury.