Toll Road

In the Murim, there is a thing called nongeom — the Discourse of the Blade.

It is a form of sparring in which martial artists of a certain level forgo actual swordplay and instead call out the names of their forms, competing purely on their understanding of the martial arts. When amateurs try to ape it, though, the whole thing usually degenerates into a shouting match where the loudest mouth wins.

Which was precisely the situation unfolding now.

"I took the low stance with the Crouching Dragon Form and drove the Hard Iron Fist straight into your soyo point, Elder Brother. Therefore, this bout is mine."

The second son of Merchant Jo, puffed up with pride, declared himself the victor of the little Discourse of the Blade they had staged while out on their pleasure trip.

"I dodged every bit of it."

"What kind of nonsense is that? You at least have to use some martial arts."

The second son was thrown off by the first son's shameless cheek.

"Didn't you bawl your eyes out yesterday after catching my fist? You don't need martial arts to dodge something like that."

"You—!"

The Discourse of the Blade collapsed into a war of words, and before long the war of words turned into a scuffle of shoving and thumping. The escort guards, clearly well used to this, heaved long-suffering sighs and tried halfheartedly to pull them apart.

"Jo Harang! You're the highest realm among us — say something! This is not how a Discourse of the Blade is done!"

From where I stood, both of them seemed far more interested in running their mouths than in any actual discussion of sword theory. Stuck awkwardly between them as the client's sons, Jo Harang wore the face of someone who wanted no part of this and could find no way out.

"What, is Elder Brother the Azure Cloud Sword of the Namgung Clan now? Just dodge everything and counterattack!"

"The martial arts a punk like you can throw out? Yeah, I can dodge those just fine."

"Oh, this bastard is really—!"

Round two broke out atop the carriage. And behind her two elder brothers, watching the whole spectacle with profound contempt, stood their younger sister.

"Those two, dreaming of becoming great heroes. Honestly."

Jo Yeongyeong — the precious only daughter Merchant Jo was said to dote on like a jewel. From her rolled the particular brand of teenage scorn and pickiness that only a pampered young miss can perfect.

"Hey. You. The porter over there."

I had been carefully keeping my eyes averted, sensing that getting tangled up with her would be a headache. She pointed me out anyway as I walked along under my pack.

"I'm not a porter, though?"

Jo Harang, the Minor Tiger Blade, was a fighter on the verge of the Peak Realm, so she was given a free pass to focus on escort duty while the laborers carried her gear. The rest of us, on a long journey like this, were expected to shoulder our own packs and bundles. And the one tiny space we had been allotted on the cart had already been filled with a human-shaped bundle of cargo.

"If you're a vagabond, I've got a job for you. Go hit those idiot brothers of mine once each and come back."

A bold little young lady, wasn't she. Apparently the sight of her brothers getting all worked up playing hero on the way to watch the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering had thoroughly disgusted her.

"As you well know, you can't hire a vagabond for free, miss."

Still — asking me to go thrash the client's own sons? Then again, I had dealt with more than a few nightmare clients in my time. I shaped my fingers into the outline of a coin, as if to say, this is what I need.

"How much, then?"

"Ten gold coins."

For that much, I could take the risk of landing a couple of punches. I already had a few ideas for how to smooth things over afterward, too.

"Hilarious. As if a regular-grade vagabond like you is worth that much."

Jo Yeongyeong snorted right in my face, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"People like you are worth a silver coin at best… Huh?"

She was still muttering complaints when her gaze shifted — and then she froze solid, as if she had been struck by lightning. Wondering what she had seen, I glanced sideways. There was Ilhong, radiant even through the human-skin mask, that devilish beauty on full display.

"S-so handsome…"

Jo Yeongyeong's eyes locked onto Ilhong's face and stayed there. Her gaze went soft and unfocused; her mouth fell open in a dazed little heh. All that earlier pickiness had vanished — her eyes looked ready to drip sweet honey.

"Y-young master, what is your name?"

Ah. I had always known a day like this would come. Unlike her martial skill, which had stalled a little against a bottleneck, Ilhong's looks had been growing more devastating by the day. Force that into the shape of a boy, and what you got was a peerless young beauty of a young master — the kind that only appears once in a generation.

"…Ilhong."

That sinner of a woman, Ilhong, took in the situation and managed an awkward smile. Even that stiff little smile seemed to please Jo Yeongyeong; a silly grin spread across her lips.

"Oh my. Even your name is so delicate and beautiful."

How, exactly, was that name delicate? So the sons were martial-arts-obsessed, and the only daughter was a face-obsessed gold digger. Merchant Jo must have had his hands full.

"But your load looks terribly heavy. Why don't you put it on the cart?"

She called the laborers over and ordered them to load everything Ilhong was carrying onto the cart. Meanwhile I stood right there under the exact same kind of pack, feeling more than a little left out. The difference in treatment was night and day. For the record, my face wasn't bad either — I was handsome enough that the merchants' wives in the caravan used to swallow hard when they looked at me. But put a lump of gold next to a stack of silver and the silver vanishes. Standing next to this kid, I felt myself dimming a little. If any youthful romance ever looked like it might bloom, I was definitely going to ditch this one first.

"Young Master Ilhong, what do you say? Come to my carriage for a little while — we could have some sweets and tea and talk…"

The merchant's daughter flushed and pressed the invitation hard. Ilhong shot me a look that said, What do I do?

This much she should decide for herself. Why did she have to ask my opinion about every little thing?

"Bring back plenty of snacks."

"Captain… I'm being serious here."

So am I, you brat. After walking this long, a person needs sugar. And do you have any idea what it feels like to live on nothing but dry trail rations every single day?

"Shall we go, then, Young Master?"

My eye for people really was sharp. Back when I first saved this one from a beating, I had already thought, Give this kid a few years and a little flesh on the bones, and every woman around will be falling over. And already those signs were starting to show, clear as day.

"…I'm grateful for the offer, but I'd still rather stay with the captain."

She turned down the comfort of a carriage and stuck to my side. Tsk. What a waste.

"Tch."

Jo Yeongyeong took one look at Ilhong glued to my back the way she always was, clicked her tongue, and started sending me looks of pure jealousy. Why, in this situation, was I the one getting the blame?

"You there, vagabond. You like women, don't you?"

"Of course. Can't have the balance of yin and yang falling apart, can we?"

I wanted to ask her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the same thing. Did she like men?

"Just you wait. I'll steal that one in the end."

"Ah… right."

So this was what people meant by an itch in the mouth. At my flat reply, Jo Yeongyeong huffed a sharp hmph! and spun on her heel. Up ahead, the two brothers who had been stuck together with angry growls had finally broken apart and were sitting there panting.

"You loser. You're a disgrace to the Jo household."

"Shut your mouth, Elder Brother. Anyone could see I won."

"You shut yours."

Apparently they had finished a brawl that wouldn't have impressed a third-class martial artist. Jo Harang stood off to the side looking like someone who was starting to regret taking this job.

"Maybe it isn't just the Murim people who are strange around here."

My condolences, Merchant Jo. Your harvest of children is… not ideal. For a while I watched him through the carriage window with a look of pure pity as he enjoyed refined conversation with his wife.

Crunch, crunch.

I chewed on sweet snacks as I walked for a long stretch along the sparsely grassed highway. These treats were the special delicacies Jo Yeongyeong had secretly packed for Ilhong alone. But we were partners, so we split whatever we got fairly.

"Don't know what this is, but it's good."

Wasn't this the so-called trickle-down economy? Stick close to a pretty face and snacks just fall into your lap without you lifting a finger.

"If I could just get up on that cart, I'd have nothing left to wish for."

When we first set out I had told myself the long road would at least be good for footwork training. That thought lasted about a day. After ten straight days of walking, all I wanted was to dump this body of mine somewhere and let something else carry it — martial arts be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠damned.

"Want me to scoot over for a bit?"

Jo Harang, perched on the horse-drawn cart polishing her great saber, must have felt my stare, because she offered that.

"Forget it. If I sit in your place, I don't even want to hear what people would say."

She was the most important escort; they had given her a seat on the cart so she could conserve her strength. If a bottom-rung hire like me shoved her off and sat there instead, what would everyone think? This wasn't a one-and-done job I planned to retire after. If I was going to keep living this life, reputation management mattered.

"Tch. Might as well train, then."

I drew out the Dog-Beating Staff Hwang Geolgae had given me and spun it in my hand like a windmill. Jo Harang watched me start swinging out of nowhere with open interest.

"You said you could pour qi into something that wasn't your body, right?"

If you could project qi outward, that was sword qi, saber qi, staff qi… or so Hwang Geolgae had told me. But no matter how hard I shoved my overflowing fifteen years of internal energy into the Dog-Beating Staff, it gave no answer. I had wanted to unleash a vicious wave of qi through the weapon the way Hwang Geolgae had done.

I had felt it at the escort company's departure ceremony: the moment someone draws out sword ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠qi, people go wild — whether the fighter is a regular-grade vagabond or a beggar. In that instant they are treated as a tremendous master, and their status skyrockets. Nobody dares speak carelessly anymore. That is what it means to be a master in the Murim.

"But it's not working."

The tip of the staff cut the empty air with a vicious snap, but there was no qi in it — only the brutal raw strength pouring out of the Heavenly Killing Star's body.

Whoom! Whoom!

I kept drilling the Dog Beating Staff Technique. Left foot driving into the earth as I advanced; staff exploding through the air. I swung until a light sheen of sweat gathered on my brow. But it felt like empty effort — none of the rapid progress I used to make. Training alone was this inefficient? It was galling to admit, but Hwang Geolgae's murderous training style really had been a perfect match for the Heavenly Killing Star. The closer the training came to real combat, the thicker the killing intent in the air, the more this body soaked up martial arts like a sponge drinking water. Something itched at the edge of my mind's eye and refused to settle into my hands. Like trying to grab running water.

"Don't tell me… you're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trying to project qi outward?"

Jo Harang, who had been watching my training the whole time, asked that with her eyes slightly widened. A regular-grade vagabond trying to draw out something like sword qi must have looked a little strange.

"This? Just staff practice—"

"Halt the carriages! Who gave you leave to pass this road—!"

A booming voice stopped every carriage and cart cold. The Jo household people, who had been enjoying their leisurely outing, startled upright. Escort guards scrambled to ring the carriages and form a defensive formation.

A dark mass of men, armed with thick broad blades, axes, and blunt weapons, sealed us in from front and rear.

"We are the brothers of the Green Forest who hold Mount Danghwi! Anyone who would cross this mountain owes this body a proper greeting first!"

Oh. Bandits.

The classic toll-road operators of this era, the kind that showed up constantly in wuxia stories, had blocked our path.

"You guys are actually real bandits, right…?"

I had to ask. Lately too many things had not been what they seemed. Go looking for a missing person and it turns out to be a trap for a fellow Association martial artist. Think you are gathering medicinal herbs and discover you are collecting a vicious poison. Take a perfectly ordinary escort job and watch a previous generation's infamous Demon Soul Horse Lord show up.

"Lucky Dog Hero — why are you stepping forward?"

Merchant Jo called out as I walked out with the Dog-Beating Staff slung over my shoulder. People said I was lucky. In truth, nobody had fouler luck than me. The star jammed into my skull was proof enough of that.

"Ha! I am Bak Gwi of the Eighteen Strongholds of the Green Forest! A bandit among bandits!"

So they were the real thing. Kind of them to provide a certificate of authenticity.

"Everyone, just watch for a moment."

The others all had the look of people wondering why a regular-grade vagabond was putting himself forward. Only Jo Harang, who had been studying my staff work so carefully, wore a different expression. My body had been itching for a fight anyway. My training had stalled for lack of real combat. I had not piled up much merit in a while, either. And the Dog Beating Staff Technique had been made specifically for thrashing beasts that walked around looking human.

I flung myself into the bandits.