The Martial Village of Luoyang
Luoyang. Luoyang. This city, steeped in thousands of years of history, carried within it every joy and sorrow imaginable. Its name inevitably summoned a string of epithets: the Ancient Capital of Nine Dynasties, the Center of the Earth, the City of Peonies… Even the great Northern Song historian Sima Guang, in his Comprehensive Mirror in Aid of Governance, had described it thus: “If you wish to understand the rise and fall of empires throughout the ages, go to Luoyang.”
Just as those labels clung to it like tags, Luoyang was a place that had experienced every possible flourish and decline a city could endure. And now, having shaken off the decay caused by the Yuan and Ming dynasties’ neglect, it was enjoying a new era of prosperity.
Luoyang had always been under the absolute authority of the imperial government, leaving no room for the Murim world to interfere. But when the court turned its back on the city, a vacuum formed. Just as air rushes in to fill an empty space, the forces of Murim had swiftly moved to occupy that void.
They called it the Murim Alliance.
Founded fifty years ago in response to the catastrophe unleashed by the Blood Cult, it served as the supreme headquarters of the righteous martial world. “Though that title has become somewhat outdated since the Black Dance Union appeared,” Namgung Woo murmured to himself.
Ever since Dan Un-ak had emerged and established the Heukmuryeon, the once all-encompassing Murim Alliance had lost its influence over the unorthodox factions. It had shrunk into an alliance representing only the orthodox white path. Even so, the Murim Alliance was still the Murim Alliance, and Luoyang was still Luoyang.
The Heukmuryeon, often compared to the Alliance, had taken root in Sukcheon County and achieved staggering growth compared to its origins, yet it still could not rival Luoyang itself.
Dong—! Dong—! Dong—!
The moment Namgung Woo and his party entered Luoyang, a majestic sound of drums began to ring out. Namgung Woo turned his head toward the source of the sound. In the very heart of the busiest district stood a massive pavilion. It was the Drum Tower.
A landmark of any great city, the Drum Tower housed drums that were struck at precise intervals to announce the time. “It feels almost like the city itself is welcoming us,” said Yang Jeong, his gaze stolen by Luoyang’s splendid streets. He looked around like a country bumpkin visiting the capital for the first time.
Perhaps because he had only recently entered the Peak Realm, he still hadn’t noticed. “For a welcome, those stares don’t seem particularly friendly,” Geumsin remarked quietly yet pointedly, sensing the gazes fixed upon their Changcheon Squad.
Only after hearing Geumsin’s words did Yang Jeong finally become aware of them. He quickly straightened his posture. His hand, which had unconsciously moved toward his sword hilt, froze awkwardly at his waist as belated awareness caught up with instinct.
Namgung Woo, walking at the front, stood still and slowly expanded his senses. Amid the ordinary auras of commoners, he detected the distinct waves of martial artists. Footsteps approached from every direction—some heavy, some light, some sharp, some dragging. They closed in as if surrounding them.
Their appearances varied wildly. Some wore proper martial uniforms, while others were bare-chested. A few had added pieces of armor to their chests or shoulders. Their weapons were equally diverse. Swords and blades were common, but here and there were men carrying spears—strictly regulated by the government. Some, like Geumsin, carried wooden staffs or short rods. Unusual weapons such as nine-section whips, rope darts, and even tonfa-like guai, axes, one-handed blades paired with shields—all manner of armaments from across the world were on display.
Yet there were also bare-handed experts carrying no weapons at all. They did not appear to belong to a single unified organization; they arrived from different directions and began eyeing one another warily. It seemed they had all been tracking the same target—Namgung Woo and the Changcheon Squad—and had coincidentally converged.
After a brief standoff, the subtle battle of nerves beneath the surface appeared to resolve. A middle-aged warrior stepped forward. He carried a double-bladed spear across his back and was, in Namgung Woo’s estimation, one of the strongest among those encircling them. At least among those currently standing on the same ground.
“Are you the young hero Nam Woo?” the warrior asked.
Namgung Woo answered lightly. “How rude.”
Was it arrogant? No. This was simply how it had to be now. He had not come here as a weakling begging for help. He was the leader of the Changcheon Squad and the prospective family head determined to rebuild the Namgung Clan. Therefore, he could not afford to appear weak in any way.
The middle-aged warrior’s eyebrows twitched at Namgung Woo’s tone. He narrowed his eyes and began slowly raising his aura, then let out a short, incredulous breath. “Fine. A promising junior should have at least that much spirit. I am Cheok Mu-hong, known as the Swift Lightning Spear. Satisfied?”
Though Cheok Mu-hong had introduced himself, Namgung Woo did not return the courtesy. Instead, he shifted his gaze and scanned their surroundings. He could have perceived every movement using Changnyeongmanan and his refined senses without moving his head, but he deliberately turned to look. It was a deliberate display.
“You didn’t come all this way just because you were curious about my name.”
These people had known about Namgung Woo and the Changcheon Squad from the start. Thinking they had gathered merely to hear a name would be far too naïve. And above all, an unmistakable fighting spirit—tinged with competitive curiosity—radiated from them.
“Do you wish to confirm it yourself? Whether the rumors are true?”
Namgung Woo had already heard on the way here that the Murim Alliance had announced it would host a grand assembly. He had expected a large gathering of martial artists. Even without the assembly, something like this would have happened regardless.
Ever since the Murim Alliance had established its headquarters in Luoyang, the city had gained yet another nickname: Martial Village. A town where warriors from all across the Nine Provinces gathered. Here, martial prowess was one’s very identity. Even those from proper sects or clans could not avoid this initiation rite upon first setting foot in Luoyang. Every martial artist was required to prove their strength before entering the city.
Those with powerful backing from great sects or families tended to gather among their own kind for the ritual, but the Changcheon Squad was ultimately a band of rogue warriors. Even though Paeng Ha-ryeong belonged to the Hebei Paeng Family, as a member of another organization, she was treated as nothing more than that. While directly harming Paeng Ha-ryeong might be risky, picking a fight with the Changcheon Squad as a group was an entirely different matter. If the Hebei Paeng Family intervened when Paeng Ha-ryeong herself had not even been injured, it would be nothing more than self-inflicted humiliation.
A renowned rogue squad with no powerful backers to fear. To those who flaunted their martial arts and chased fame, how appetizing must the Changcheon Squad have looked?
“Ptooey! No wonder there were so many empty lots around here…” Yang Kvae spat roughly, muttering like the wanderer he was.
“These people have no sense of reality. Or maybe someone’s been egging them on from behind,” Myo-rin added, her originally rough nature beginning to surface.
As the two began raising their auras, fierce waves of energy rose from the warriors surrounding them. The empty lots scattered throughout Luoyang served as makeshift arenas for exactly this purpose. Anyone who entered the Martial Village of Luoyang had to prove their worth.
“I had heard there was an initiation rite in Luoyang, but it seems rather brutal,” Paeng Ha-ryeong observed.
“It’s an excellent custom. Yes. This is what the gangho is truly like,” Geumsin replied. Neither showed any sign of backing down; both met the challenge head-on. Geumsin in particular looked positively eager, as if ready to draw his staff at any moment.
“Let’s move to a better location. Doing this in the middle of the main road doesn’t look very good,” Namgung Woo suggested.
Cheok Mu-hong accepted the proposal. “There’s a decent training ground nearby. I’ll lead the way.”
When they arrived at the training ground, a large crowd of spectators had already gathered. It seemed they had intended to bring them here from the beginning. A quick glance around revealed something resembling a festival. Stalls had been set up selling food, and betting rings were open—people were shouting odds and placing wagers.
“So this is Luoyang,” Namgung Woo said quietly.
A city where one could see martial artists more commonly than anywhere else. A place where ordinary citizens had completely assimilated into the Murim world, where the lives of warriors had become everyday reality. Only now did Namgung Woo truly understand that this was the Martial Village of Luoyang.
“Indeed. Well then, shall we see for ourselves the magnificent skill that supposedly slew the Five Yin Demon Lord?”
Apparently intending to go first, Cheok Mu-hong stepped up onto the training ground platform. However, Namgung Woo had no intention of stepping forward himself. If he personally dealt with opponents of this level, the very reason he had created the Changcheon Squad would become meaningless.
“Geumsin, you’ve been itching for a fight, haven’t you?”
“I have been waiting.”
“Go and enjoy yourself.”
At Namgung Woo’s command, the declaration that the Changcheon Squad had arrived in Luoyang was made.
The first declaration of the Changcheon Squad's arrival in the Martial Village of Luoyang
Near the training ground where the Changcheon Squad’s initiation rite was taking place, a group of people watched from a window seat in a nearby inn.
“Cheok Mu-hong, the Swift Lightning Spear. I’ve heard he’s quite a strong warrior. Who do you think will win?”
“Obviously that monk called Geumsin. His fighting spirit is on another level. With that short hair… is he from the military?”
“You don’t know? That’s Geumsin of the Changcheon Squad. He’s a martial monk from Hwaseong Temple.”
“A martial monk? That guy? Hah, even the Buddha’s teachings have fallen to the ground.”
They all wore identical, neatly pressed green martial uniforms. On the left side of their chests was embroidered the character —the symbol of the Murim Alliance. These were warriors affiliated with the Alliance.
“But is it really true? About that man… Nam Woo. He looks awfully young and green. Did he truly kill the Five Yin Demon Lord?”
“I find it hard to believe myself, but the Jegal Clan has confirmed it, and there are far too many eyewitnesses. At this point, it’s difficult not to believe.”
“The Five Yin Demon Lord must have been older than the head of the Heonwon Clan. Maybe he had grown weak with age.”
“Don’t judge solely by age. Have you already forgotten the case of Ha-gyeong Jin-in?”
“Ha-gyeong Jin-in came from the Nine Great Schools. He was the hidden sword that the Qingcheng Sect had meticulously forged—the personal disciple of the previous sect leader. But this man…”
The Murim Alliance warriors spoke without lowering their voices, and their conversation naturally carried to the seats deeper inside the inn. Someone who had been listening to their exchange rose from his seat and approached the group who were exchanging opinions among themselves.
“Excuse me, who were you talking about? I’d like to hear that story too, if you don’t mind.”