The Warrior Who Laughed at Lee Man-ju's Name
When the men he had sent ahead toppled one after another, Bushuku panicked, stamping his feet in a frenzy of frustration.
Before he could even finish his rant, Hong-wi kicked a third man in the ribs and sent him sprawling.
With a dying groan, the man rolled down the slope.
Bushuku bellowed at his underlings.
"Useless wretches! Can't even handle those two?"
"A chief who won't step forward himself — I've never seen anything so pathetic."
As Hong-wi called out, adjusting his grip on his sword, Bushuku gritted his teeth. He jabbed a finger at Giahuchuyi and Baduri standing beside him and roared.
"You gluttons! What good is carrying bows if you won't use them?"
Giahuchuyi and Baduri, who had been standing dumbfounded watching the fight, snapped back to their senses at last and hastily nocked arrows to their bowstrings.
Hoin saw it and cried out in alarm.
"Your Majesty!"
In truth, Hong-wi never heard that voice. The violent excitement of battle had his heart pounding, and his ears registered nothing at all. But he did not miss the two men beside Bushuku drawing back their bowstrings. Instinctively, he raised the sword in his hand.
He could see it clearly — the two of them hauling their bowstrings back to the full draw, level with his temple. He could almost hear the sharp hiss of air splitting apart.
"Ugh!"
"What—!"
Bushuku, who had been eagerly anticipating the sight of an arrow burying itself in Hong-wi's chest, spun around in shock. His mouth hung open.
There was Baduri, bow clattering to the ground, clutching an arrow embedded in his shoulder.
Flustered, Giahuchuyi swung his bow toward the direction the arrow had come from.
"...What in the—?"
The eyes of Bushuku and his bandits all turned toward where the arrow had flown. Hong-wi and his companions followed their gaze.
There, a single mounted warrior stood with the sun at his back, bow raised. Clad in leather armor and a helmet, he had a broad, angular face with sharp, well-defined features and wide-set shoulders, and like most Jurchens his head was shaved except for two braids trailing down his back.
"Who... who the devil is that?"
Before Bushuku could finish shouting, a sharp whistle cut through the air once more. Just as Bushuku ducked his head with a yelp, the bow slipped from Giahuchuyi's hand. He stared down in stunned dismay at his bow, snapped clean in two by the arrow.
The warrior, who had just loosed his second shot, spoke in a voice cold as ice.
"To dare defile this sacred ground with banditry. You must have a death wish."
"Who the hell are you?"
Bushuku snarled. Baduri, still clutching his wounded shoulder and wincing with pain, looked up at the warrior — and his face froze.
So did Giahuchuyi's.
The warrior answered with unhurried ease.
"To terrorize innocent people here at Anchuuunbugu and not know my face — that is a surprise. But since you claim ignorance, I'll tell you. I am Tung Jugang, son of Tung Narcha."
"Wha—"
Bushuku's face went rigid. Too stunned to move, he stood there blankly, his sword drooping in his grip. His underlings, already shuffling backward, wore the same look of dread.
Bushuku spun toward Utai behind him and unleashed a torrent of curses.
"Hey... what in blazes is going on? Why is Tung Jugang here? You said we had at least a day!"
Utai could only reply, "I don't know, sir."
Watching this, Hong-wi felt curiosity stir in him. Just who was this Tung Jugang, that his mere name could provoke such a reaction?
He studied the warrior who had called himself Tung Jugang with careful attention.
"Ngh... Tung Jugang!"
Bushuku shouted.
"Do you have no idea who stands behind us?"
"Who? That brother of yours, Kunuma?"
Tung Jugang replied lazily. Bushuku spat out his words in a tirade.
"Lord Lee Man-ju stands behind our brotherhood! You're a Jurchen yourself — you've got no business raising a hand for these Joseon dogs and traitors... isn't that so?"
As Bushuku babbled on, a flicker of contempt crossed Tung Jugang's face. The next moment, he burst into a great laugh.
"So Lee Man-ju is behind you — what of it? And those people over there, wherever they come from — what difference does that make?"
"You... you son of a—"
The answer caught Bushuku completely off guard. Hong-wi, too, was quietly astonished. He had met countless Jurchen warriors by now, but never once had anyone spoken Lee Man-ju's name so lightly, as if it meant nothing at all.
The warrior's laughter died, and he fixed Bushuku with cold eyes.
"Boss. I'm afraid we've made a terrible mistake. If that man Tung Jugang has brought his men here... no, I'm wrong. We should flee."
The squat Baduri whispered urgently. A few of the underlings were already glancing around, slinking toward the rear.
Ordinarily Bushuku would have answered with a volley of abuse, but his bravado had already crumbled; he could only mumble, not daring to raise his voice.
Meanwhile, Giahuchuyi was studying Tung Jugang closely. Then Tung Jugang shouted again.
"You may have come here to rob as you pleased, but now that you've laid eyes on me, there is no walking away!"
His thunderous roar made Bushuku's whole gang flinch. Then Giahuchuyi whispered.
"Boss. Something's off. I haven't seen anyone besides that man since a moment ago. Think it through — if what we saw last night was him, he wouldn't have had time to bring a whole troop. He might be alone."
"Ugh... hmm."
Bushuku fidgeted, fear clearly gnawing at him despite himself. Instead, he turned to Giahuchuyi and said,
"Hey, then you go take him on. I'll cover you from behind—"
Giahuchuyi's eyes went wide. Baduri wore an expression of pure incredulity. A brilliant scheme — throwing an already wounded man into the fray. Even Utai, who had stood by with arms crossed saying nothing, let a look of contempt slide across his face.
Seeing this, Tung Jugang burst out laughing once more.
"Ah, what a shame. If you had shown the spine to fight as you did in the beginning, I might have been inclined to forgive your trespassing here. But you're nothing but a coward."
"This is between me and those men! What business is it of yours?"
"Is that so?"
At Bushuku's outburst, Tung Jugang turned his gaze toward Hong-wi's company. Hong-wi calmly met his eyes.
"From where I stood, it looked like you couldn't even beat that merchant — he had you pressed. So how about it? Step up yourself and cross blades with him. I'll watch from here."
"Fine! I'll do just that!"
Bushuku, his spirit recovering, shot a sidelong glance at Hong-wi and bellowed. Tung Jugang was one thing, but surely he couldn't lose to some half-grown Joseon pup of unknown origin. His face said as much.
"The nerve of those men."
Hoin muttered under his breath as he listened to Tung Jugang, then looked at Hong-wi.
"Your Majesty, there's no need to be played by these ruffians' games. If you'd let me—"
"No."
Hong-wi replied.
"When someone has laid out the stage for me, how could I back away? I will fight him myself."
Hong-wi stepped forward and planted both feet calmly on the ground.
Hoin spoke up with an anxious voice.
"Your Majesty, there's no need to—"
"Hold your tongue."
Cha Gyeong-yeon cut Hoin off, his voice low but firm. When Hoin turned to him, uncomprehending, he answered at once.
"Do you want to make a coward out of him? The way I see it, our friend Tung Jugang over there wants to test His Majesty."
There was none of Cha Gyeong-yeon's usual slippery charm in his tone — he was utterly serious.
"Who does that man think he is, testing His Majesty?"
Hoin grumbled, but he stepped back no further.
This is turning out stranger than anyone could have guessed...
Cha Gyeong-yeon's eyes remained riveted on Tung Jugang.
"He could be in real danger."
"From Bushuku? Not a chance — the man's got nothing, as far as I can see."
At Cha Gyeong-yeon's answer, Hoin shot him a sidelong glance.
"How can you know that?"
"Ha. You've trained with a sword yourself — can't you read a stance? The man has no fundamentals whatsoever. There's no way His Majesty will be outmatched by that brute's flailing."
Cha Gyeong-yeon paused, then went on.
"The only trouble is... His Majesty has yet to experience a true fight to the death."
He glanced at the men sprawled on the ground. The three Hong-wi had felled were not grievously wounded. Hong-wi had merely subdued them — he had never intended to kill.
In a duel, disarming an opponent is a far more difficult art than cutting him down or crippling him... but the experience of taking a life is a heavy one — heavier still for the one who takes it, needless to say, and no lighter for the one who does the deed.
Meanwhile, Bushuku was bellowing at Hong-wi.
"What rotten luck today — I'll just have to stain my blade with your blood."
Hong-wi was entirely unmoved by the empty provocation. He simply studied his opponent, steady and unblinking.
Over the past several months he had trained under Cha Gyeong-yeon — not only in yusul but in the fundamentals of the martial arts as well. Now he poured every fiber of his attention into the blade and the man before him.
When facing a blade, the most basic principle is to gauge your opponent's skill first. This bandit chief Bushuku had evidently picked up a sword somewhere, but as far as Hong-wi could judge, his swordsmanship had no foundation at all. For all his bluster, the man was tense, his movements absurdly cautious.
Still, for Hong-wi too, this was the first time since Yeongwol that he had ever crossed blades in a true fight to the death. So though he gave no sign of it, he was far more nervous than he let on.
Seeing Hong-wi stand quietly, Bushuku gained a measure of courage.
Hah, he's scared stiff. What a day for fortune — every kind of vermin crawling out of the woodwork... well, the pay's good enough.
Bushuku growled his grumbling aloud, raised his sword, and then — with a shriek that was less a battle cry than a monster's howl — charged, hacking wildly as he came.
"Aaaaargh!"
The scream was meant both to intimidate Hong-wi and to drum courage into himself. But Hong-wi was hardly the man to be felled by such a mindless charge. He twisted aside and slipped neatly out of the way.
"Ugh!"
The heavy, full-bodied slash met nothing but air, and Bushuku's own momentum carried him stumbling several steps past before he could turn around. He had barely wheeled about when Hong-wi's kick landed square in his belly.
With a short, choked gasp, Bushuku's body folded forward. Hong-wi nimbly retreated.
Watching this, Tung Jugang wrinkled the bridge of his nose slightly.
"Hm."
Bushuku staggered about for a long while, barely able to breathe. When at last he collected himself, both his eyes were trembling with rage. He glared at Hong-wi with murderous venom.
"This one... this one and that one and—"
The whelp he had taken for a worthless greenhorn was toying with him, and Bushuku lost himself entirely to fury — the one thing utterly forbidden in a fight to the death. The moment he found his footing, he began swinging his sword wherever it pleased.
Tung Jugang gave a short scoff.
"A clumsy fool... doesn't hold a candle to his brother."
Hong-wi deftly evaded the sword that the berserk Bushuku flailed about, giving ground bit by bit. After several wasted swings, Bushuku's strength was sapped and he was gasping for breath.
Hong-wi, by contrast, had not lost a single breath.
"Why not put the sword down?"
"Rubbish!"
Bushuku growled at Hong-wi's words. He knew it was a matter of pride now. For a proud Jurchen warrior to fail against a single Joseon peddler — there was no disgrace like it. How would he ever hold his head up before his men again?
"Take this, you dog!"
But again Hong-wi had little trouble twisting aside and slipping past the charging Bushuku, then lashing out a kick at the man's backside as he stumbled past. Robbed of his balance, Bushuku let out a single shriek and pitched forward, rolling across the dirt. The sword flew from his hand with a ring of steel and clattered across the ground.
Hong-wi brushed the dust from his clothes with one hand.
"Not bad."
Tung Jugang, who had been watching in silence all this while, let the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smile. Hong-wi answered briefly in the Jurchen tongue.
"You flatter me."
Tung Jugang glanced at Bushuku.
"Finish it."
"The fight looks over to me."
At Hong-wi's answer, Tung Jugang shook his head.
"Your opponent doesn't seem to think so."
Sure enough, Bushuku lay on the ground spewing curses, groping about to reclaim his sword. Hong-wi shook his head.
"Is there any need for that?"
"You're too soft... I'd wager this is your first fight to the death?"
The words struck home, and Hong-wi found himself momentarily at a loss. While he hesitated, Tung Jugang continued, slow and deliberate.
"Your swordsmanship is decent enough, but your duty in a death-fight is still crude. In a sparring match, when a victor is decided, it ends there. A fight to the death does not. It goes on until one of you is dead."
"Nnngh!"
Bushuku hauled himself to his feet. Dust-caked and wild-haired, he looked for all the world like a vengeful ghost, glaring at Hong-wi as if to devour him whole.
Tung Jugang said evenly, "...If you keep showing mercy, one careless moment is all it will take for him to end you instead."
Without answering, Hong-wi turned his body toward the bandit chief. He looked down at the point of his own sword. For an instant, a thread of hesitation swept through his whole body.
Can I truly kill this man?
"If he means to see this through, then I have no choice but to do the same."
Before Tung Jugang's words had even faded, Bushuku came screaming at him. Hong-wi moved almost on instinct. Twisting his body away from the swinging blade, he swept his own sword around in a deep, clean arc across the man's exposed flank — then broke away to the right and studied Bushuku.
"Aaah—"