The Blood Woman of Mount Wu, Ak Nan-hyang
It took considerable time for word of what had happened in Sambong-hyeon to reach the main headquarters.
The distance between the Asura Sword Sect's main headquarters and Sambong-hyeon was roughly 190 li—close to a hundred kilometers. With several mountain ranges and any number of territories lying between them, an ordinary traveler on horseback would need at least seven days. A martial artist of sufficient realm, able to cross mountainous terrain at a pace no horse could match, could arrive within two or three.
A messenger pigeon took anywhere from three days at best to four at worst, and those figures assumed an ordinary bird. The finest hawks would arrive within a few hours, and even a superior-grade pigeon was guaranteed delivery within a day—but Yi Do had no access to anything of the sort. The moment the affairs of Sambong-hyeon were settled, he had dispatched a plain, ordinary messenger pigeon to the headquarters. That message had only now arrived.
Yi Do, newly appointed Branch Master of Sambong-hyeon, had executed two of his own branch members.
Wang Mu-tan and Jin Geon.
And his stated reasons were extraordinary.
They had rotted discipline from within, dragged the honor of the Asura Sword Sect through the mud, and shown none of the bearing demanded of warriors belonging to the sect. Instead, like corrupt officials, they had bled their territory dry through extortion and plunder. They had shown not a trace of remorse, and—having uncovered clear evidence that both were directly implicated in the earlier massacre at the Sambong-hyeon branch—Yi Do had carried out summary execution. Beneath that report were pages of testimony detailing everything the two men had embezzled over the years, and the manner in which they had discharged the missions handed down from the Asura Pavilion.
The report struck the Asura Sword Sect like a thunderbolt.
Each reaction was strikingly different.
The Sect Master, Dokgo Dan-ya, first assailed the elders, demanding to know why such an atrocity had never been properly reported. The elders became mutes who had swallowed honey. Elder Chodong fell to his knees before the Sect Master begging forgiveness, and one by one the rest followed him down.
They even offered their rationalizations. They had merely buried the matter for a time out of fear that a full-scale war with the Pacheon Fist Sect might erupt—not because they had intended to let the crime go unavenged. So they pleaded for one more chance, and Dokgo Dan-ya answered with cold finality.
This matter would be left entirely in Yi Do's hands.
He was deeply curious, he said, to see what the boy would do next—and since he had already begun the work, it was only right to entrust all of it to him. At those words, Asura Pavilion Master Sangguan Yeonhwi nodded his agreement, while the elders scowled and furrowed their brows, yet in the end had no choice but to concur.
After the assembly adjourned, the massive, bald-headed man who made his way toward the elders' quarters—Elder Neung Don—brought his fist crashing down on the table.
Crash.
His lips trembled violently.
"That bastard... killed Wang Mu-tan and Jin Geon? How dare he?"
The Southern Wilds were vast—but this "Southern Wilds" did not refer to the southern lands belonging to the Kingdom of Jeok. It meant, quite literally, the southern wastes at the very bottom of the world. Push past the southernmost edge of the Kingdom of Jeok and keep going, and you reached a region where human life simply could not be sustained. It was known as the Great Desert, and that place was the Southern Wilds.
Warriors from there were exceedingly rare. Rarer still were the ones who came to the Asura Sword Sect—for anyone with real strength had no need of it, preferring instead the Southern Ten Thousand Moons Sect, whose roots lay in the Southern Wilds themselves. Neung Don had always been the exception.
He had cherished Wang Mu-tan and Jin Geon, who shared his homeland. He had looked after their interests, even trained them personally.
And now they had been butchered like animals.
"That bastard... you coddle him, and he just climbs and climbs, the shameless worm."
Rage boiled up in him. If Yi Do's report had gone to the Asura Pavilion, the elders alone could have handled the matter—but it had not. Yi Do's dispatch had gone straight to Dokgo Dan-ya. That the arrogant whelp had dared bypass both the Pavilion and the elders and appeal directly to the Sect Master—Neung Don found it unbearable. Fury surged, and he bellowed.
"Yi Maeng-rip!"
A man waiting outside opened the door and stepped into Neung Don's quarters.
"Yes, Elder."
"You—go to Sambong-hyeon. Now."
There was no questioning the order. The man called Yi Maeng-rip dropped instantly to one knee.
Dokgo Dan-ya had expressly entrusted everything to Yi Do. To send a protector there under those circumstances would be a glaring problem—had there not been a way around it.
"Listen carefully. Today you set out to inform the families of Wang Mu-tan and Jin Geon in the Southern Wilds of their deaths—and on the way, you happened to pass through Sambong-hyeon. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Neung Don continued.
"Your task is simple. Go and watch that creature Yi Do. The moment he steps out of line—if he does anything that can be called a problem—report to me at once."
Yi Maeng-rip was no fool. He asked:
"You mean for me to manufacture a pretext."
"Precisely. If the wretch bent the knee of his own accord, this would be a different conversation—but I see no sign of it. So I intend to be rid of him as soon as possible. Your role in this is critical. Can you do it?"
Yi Maeng-rip's position was direct protector to Elder Neung Don. He assumed a formal bow of the fist.
"Yes. I will carry out your command and return."
"Good. Go."
Yi Maeng-rip turned at once and was gone. Neung Don's anger settled once more.
That cursed wretch.
He longed to sweep away that mad dog of no breeding, rampaging as though the heavens belonged to him—and yet he could not. The Sect Master of the Asura Sword Sect was watching. Which meant he had no choice.
He needed a reason the Sect Master himself could not refuse.
Yes. A pretext. He needed only to manufacture a pretext—above all else, a pretext.
"He doesn't... know about that matter, does he...?"
The massacre at Sambong-hyeon. It had unquestionably been the work of the sects of Jangan Commandery, but it was Wang Mu-tan and Jin Geon who had incited them to it. Neung Don knew this. That was why he had buried the whole affair—to shield the two men. Yi Do's dispatch had said only that the two were "directly implicated."
The whole thing smelled of smoke.
Still... no matter how I turn it over, the answer is the same. Cut him down before this grows any larger.
And there was one mercy he could scarcely believe.
Great Elder Myo Man-ri had entered seclusion just now. He would not emerge easily.
In the end, circling around and around, the same conclusion waited at the bottom.
A pretext. He needed a pretext—one ironclad enough to silence the Sect Master and every other mouth besides. All he could do was pray that the Yi Maeng-rip he had just dispatched would see the work through properly.
Neung Don opened the window.
A torrential downpour was hammering the world—the first heavy rain in a long while.
And at that very moment, Yi Do was still in Jangan Commandery.
The Jong clan, the Wol household, the Hwang clan, the Jin clan. Four great families in all, together with the branch members of the Pacheon Fist Sect's Jangan Commandery branch, stood behind this affair. Of the woman with the folding fan, however, there was still no information. He intended to ask again on his way back.
He walked forward slowly.
He had already taken the heads of the masters of the Jong clan, the Wol household, and the Hwang clan.
"Now... just a moment."
The man stumbling backward before him was Jin Mu-pyeong, master of the Jin clan. Yi Do leveled the Cloud Dragon Sword at his throat. The man froze where he stood. To the trembling wretch, Yi Do asked:
"Does it feel unjust?"
"I— I beg your mercy, it is unjust—"
"Why?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"You have laid hands on Sambong-hyeon how many times now? Countless."
"...That is..."
Yi Do gazed steadily at Jin Mu-pyeong as the man trailed off. He could already predict what excuse would come stumbling after.
"Every time you struck, Sambong-hyeon showed no vengeance worth the name—only cowered and shriveled in fear. That must have looked utterly laughable to you."
Jin Mu-pyeong swallowed hard.
It was the truth of it.
All this time, Jangan Commandery had raided Sambong-hyeon's merchant caravans without cease. And each time, what had Sambong-hyeon done? The branch and the warriors of Sambong-hyeon had banded together to offer "escort."
Escort. Yes—that was the word. Not retaliation. Protection, nothing more.
But not anymore. Yi Do had come to Sambong-hyeon. It was his territory now. Touch it, and the retribution would be twice the offense—then twice that, and beyond.
"Do not cry injustice. Every wound here is one you cut yourself, is it not?"
He had no wish to hear what came after, and no intention of listening.
Shk.
The Cloud Dragon Sword punched through Jin Mu-pyeong's throat. He twisted the blade sideways—crack—and the neck gave way. He drew the sword free, wiped the blood against the dead man's robes, sheathed it, and turned.
All four heads of the great families were dead. He walked back out into the rain.
It was time to return.
He had crossed the border and entered Bibong Mountain when, perhaps a quarter of an hour in, he stopped where he stood and slowly drew the Cloud Dragon Sword from its sheath.
He closed his fist tight around the grip and turned his gaze toward a tree at the edge of the clearing.
From there came the sound of a woman's thin laughter.
"Your instincts are excellent."
A woman. Long-haired, wearing a smile of almost unbearably seductive charm—and in her hand was a single segmented iron folding fan.
"I heard a distinguished martial artist had taken office as Branch Master of Sambong-hyeon, but this is beyond distinguished, isn't it?" She unfurled the fan with a flick and went on. "Cutting through a downpour like this and still carrying this much scent of blood. How entertaining. Truly."
Yi Do listened in silence, then spoke.
"Among the warriors of the Hong clan, I found a corpse killed by that fan of yours."
She smiled sweetly.
"So?"
"Such an unusual weapon drew my eye... and it seems the one who wields it is you."
"My, my. Hey now—we've only just met, and you're already calling me this and that?"
"I'd say we're well past the point where you can afford to guard your dignity. You and I."
Laughing, she walked toward him. Even beneath that sheeting rain, not a single drop clung to her clothing. She had wrapped herself in an unbroken veil of qi.
She came to a stop directly in front of him.
"Let's clear something up first, because I think you've misunderstood."
"What misunderstanding?"
"I had no interest in wading into that massacre. I only happened to see it while passing through. I thought I'd stepped in filth, so I simply watched and meant to move on—but one of the Hong clan's warriors came charging at me. I suppose I looked like easy prey."
"And?"
"And so I killed him. You examine corpses rather carefully, don't you? Someone like you can already tell I'm not lying."
There had been several points of doubt—and this was one of them. The corpses he had seen marked by the folding fan bore a time of death dramatically different from the rest. Run the reasoning out, and only one warrior had survived to the end; he had tried to flee in the final moments, chanced upon the fan-wielding woman, and died at her hand. It could, in other words, be read as an accident.
Assuming every word she said was true.
"An accident. I truly couldn't have cared less—but at the very end, out of sheer wounded pride I suppose, the fool suddenly swung his weapon at me even after I told him to go. What was I supposed to do? Kill him, obviously."
Yi Do remained quiet. Not because he needed time to think or anything of the sort. He simply did.
"Then why reveal yourself to me?"
"Two reasons. First—I put in a request with the Heavenly Window, and it seems they've been sending people looking for me. Wasn't it you they sent?"
"It was."
"It looked like that would never end, so I decided the misunderstanding had to be resolved one way or another. That's the first reason. The second is—well, this is really the important one. It's the reason I came."
She smiled brilliantly.
"You're wasted on the Asura Sword Sect."
Both her eyes fixed upon him.
"Why not come to us? I'll give you a real position—none of this Branch Master business."
Us. A real position.
But there were words that had to come first, before any of that.
"You haven't told me a single thing—who you are, where you're from—and you ask me to follow you?"
At that, the woman blinked, then laughed at herself.
"Ah—my apologies. I skipped the most important part. It's my first time recruiting anyone, you see. Let me start with the introduction. My name is Ak Nan-hyang. Does it ring a bell?"
His brow knitted at once.
"Apparently it does."
Ring a bell—far more than that. In the Zheng-Mo War that would tear through the Kingdom of Jeok ten years from now, martial artists by the dozen would carve out their legends, each flaunting their own deeds.
For good, and for ill.
And among them—among the latter—there had been a woman whose terrible renown eclipsed nearly all.
The Blood Woman of Mount Wu, Ak Nan-hyang.
A warrior of the Realm of Entering Divinity who had stood not with the righteous but with the demonic in the Zheng-Mo War—she had single-handedly annihilated four legions of the Murim Alliance, taken the heads of four elders of the Imperial Sword Sect, and wiped eight of its branches from existence. The name of that Great Devil was Ak Nan-hyang.
By his recollection, Ak Nan-hyang was said to wield a sword—yet here she was, of all things, using a folding fan. Apparently far more versatile than he'd assumed.
"You have my name. Now I'll tell you where I'm from as well."
The Blood Woman of Mount Wu swept her hair back from her brow and continued.
"I've come from the Ming Cult. Join us."