Chapter 287
Chapter 287
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 287
>Chapter Title: Huihui Sect (1)
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“Cough. Please don’t translate the bit about the feast.”
Il-mok said this to O Hal-lak with an awkward look, sighing inwardly in relief.
‘Good call bringing the interpreter.’
If he’d come without O Hal-lak and something went wrong, their relations would have soured from the start.
At that moment, people dressed in Huihui Sect attire approached them as they neared the village.
Il-mok greeted them with cupped fists and a bow, then spoke.
“May the departed find eternal peace. We’re sorry to arrive at such an unfortunate time.”
O Hal-lak translated his words, and the elderly man in the center replied.
“Hahaha. Death is merely the natural order decreed by the divine. What makes it good or bad? Since fate has brought you here, join us for a meal.”
O Hal-lak seemed to ponder the elder’s lengthy greeting for a moment before translating.
“Death is natural, so it’s fine. Have a meal before you go.”
“…….”
It was strangely concise compared to the elder’s verbose words.
‘Cough. Still better than nothing.’
At least Il-mok could grasp the elder’s intent, so he decided that was enough.
With the elder’s permission, they entered the village.
“If it wouldn’t offend your traditions, might we first pay our respects to the departed?”
Il-mok asked carefully to avoid rudeness, and O Hal-lak translated for the elder.
“Hahaha. You’re people who know propriety.”
The elder laughed heartily and conveyed his approval to Il-mok.
They moved with the elder to one spot in the village.
A grave had been dug there, and the elder’s body—clad in Huihui Sect robes as a burial shroud and cleanly washed—lay prepared.
It didn’t appear to be from some tragic accident or battle.
Perhaps because Il-mok and his group were outsiders, a villager approached and briefly explained their funeral rites.
“In our Huihui Sect, we position the departed’s head toward the holy land so they may reach paradise.”
“We slaughter animals for the journey to the afterlife, so please don’t be startled.”
From O Hal-lak’s translation, slaughtering beasts at funerals was a local custom. However, the Huihui Sect’s methods blended with the original nomadic ways.
They had once been nomads, but adopting the Huihui Sect had created this peculiar mix.
Even at a funeral, the atmosphere seemed somewhat cheerful, though wails occasionally drifted from the village outskirts.
Il-mok looked puzzled, and O Hal-lak explained briefly in halting Central Plains tongue.
“No crying near the body. Makes the afterlife journey hard.”
This seemed to be another local tradition—whether from the Huihui Sect or the nomads, Il-mok couldn’t say.
They spent some time observing these unique rites together.
Once all the funeral proceedings ended, the elder approached Il-mok and his group again.
“Busy with rites, my introduction was delayed. I am Hasan ibn Tar, elder of this village. Where do you hail from?”
O Hal-lak shortened the elder’s words as usual in translation, but conversation was possible enough.
“I am Il-mok. From the Central Plains to the east—the Han lands.”
“Oh? I’d heard no one comes this way anymore, not since those heretics worshipping a peculiar god settled near the desert.”
At the phrase “heretics worshipping a peculiar god,” his companions bristled, but Il-mok quickly spoke up.
“We found a path that avoids them.”
He turned and urgently mouthed a warning to his group.
—Restrain yourselves!!
As they came to their senses at Il-mok’s glance and lip movements, taking deep breaths, the elder spoke.
“Oh. Most courageous. So, you plan to head west again starting tomorrow?”
“Indeed. Thus, I’d like to propose some trade. In exchange for silver, could we obtain a few days’ emergency rations and water, plus a night’s lodging?”
“Water’s no issue—we draw it from the river beside the village. We’ll prepare food and beds.”
“My deepest thanks. Ah, might you know the way to the largest city nearby?”
“There’s Samarkand, about three days from here.”
“If you’d share the route there, we’d reward you handsomely.”
“Hahaha. That’s no trouble at all.”
The elder agreed readily, lightening the mood considerably.
He gave orders, and soon dried meats suitable for emergency rations appeared, along with a house for lodging.
He even sketched a rough map to the city of Samarkand.
In return, Il-mok took silver from a chest he’d brought and handed it over.
Central Plains silver wasn’t local currency, but silver was valuable anywhere.
With the brisk trade concluded, Il-mok and the elder chatted more casually about the funeral they’d witnessed and the Huihui Sect.
“On your journey here, were you not attacked?”
“Truth be told, we were—by men claiming to be Huihui Sect followers.”
“Hahaha. Those are mere bandits donning our sect’s guise. They twist select doctrines from our scriptures to suit themselves. We have headaches from them too, but thanks to this fellow, we stay safe.”
The elder said this while introducing a middle-aged man.
“This is Abdul Mahar, our village’s finest warrior.”
At the introduction, the man stepped forward and spoke.
“Call me Abdul. I’m grateful you dealt with those vile bandits. I’m curious about the martial arts of that distant Han land. If it’s not rude, would anyone care for a light spar?”
Il-mok pondered O Hal-lak’s translation, unsure how to respond.
“Good!!”
Before he could, Dokgo Pae surged forward.
“You rascal!”
His assigned squad leader tried to stop him, but for some reason, Il-mok approved the match.
“Be careful not to get hurt, Young Master Dokgo.”
The crowd spread out around the pair in the center, clearing space, and Abdul and Dokgo Pae’s spar began.
Abdul started with probing feints, testing with hand strikes.
“Uahaha!”
Dokgo Pae swung his massive sword in a relentless, brutish offensive.
“Urk.”
Abdul blocked with his curved blade or dodged narrowly several times.
“Ha!”
Enraged, Abdul infused his blade with qi for a counter.
“This is more like it!”
Dokgo Pae only grew more thrilled at the resistance, coating his greatsword in sword qi and pressing the assault.
‘Hm. He’s improved in the past year.’
Il-mok mused while appraising Dokgo Pae’s skill.
Clang!!
Finally, Abdul’s curved blade shattered under Dokgo Pae’s onslaught.
But Dokgo Pae, immersed in his Dokgo Clan swordsmanship, showed no sign of stopping.
“Enough!!!”
Il-mok’s shout, laced with inner power, jolted Dokgo Pae back to his senses.
Dokgo Pae halted his greatsword mid-swing at Abdul’s neck and hastily withdrew it.
“My apologies. It seems our warrior got too carried away.”
Il-mok cupped his fists, expressing regret to the Huihui Sect members.
* * *
Shortly after providing lodging to Il-mok and his group.
Abdul approached the elder.
“What’s your plan for them?”
To Abdul’s question, the elder replied.
“If they sleep carelessly, raid them. If they post watches, leave them be. Head-on, we have no chance of winning.”
When they’d first arrived, Hasan ibn Tar had thought perhaps his departed friend had sent a final gift.
The chests on their wagons had looked especially tempting.
But upon assessing them, they weren’t to be trifled with.
Seeing their top warrior Abdul with wounded pride, the elder soothed him.
“Greed is forbidden. We received silver as a modest gift—let’s be content with that for now.”
Meanwhile.
Entering the lodging provided by the Huihui Sect members, Il-mok gave orders to Gu Yang-hyeok.
“As always, best to rotate watches—ten at a time.”
“Understood.”
As Gu Yang-hyeok went to gather the Black Tiger Squad members, Jin Ha-yeon asked.
“You deliberately let Young Master Dokgo step up?”
“Indeed. They were like jackals.”
They’d feigned kindness, but their eyes told otherwise—gauging, appraising them subtly.
That was why he hadn’t stopped Dokgo Pae, and why his final shout had carried inner power like a lion’s roar.
To ensure they wouldn’t dare touch them.
“If they’re such hypocrites, wouldn’t it be better to deal with them now?”
Il-mok shook his head at Jin Ha-yeon’s question.
“If this trade succeeds and we keep using the Silk Road, we’ll pass through here regularly. Wiping out the village would make future stops for food and lodging difficult. If their words are true, we’ve three more days ahead.”
From the nomad encounter onward, it was five desolate days of desert and steppe with nothing. Destroying this village would make it worse.
“Once trade flourishes and we establish a foothold nearby, then we can clean house.”
Ending his talk with Jin Ha-yeon, Il-mok retired to bed.
‘Somehow, I have a feeling every future trade here will require a show of force.’
This was a place where showing weakness meant getting devoured, he thought.
* * *
The next morning, early.
“Thanks to your hospitality, we rested well.”
“Hahaha. Safe travels. I’ll pray to Allah for your trading success.”
Exchanging farewells at odds with their true feelings, Il-mok set off west with his group.
Jackals though they were, the supplies made for a relatively comfortable journey.
Relatively speaking.
After hours traversing the barren road—empty save for distant mountains visible across the open vista.
Sometimes through grasslands, sometimes small deserts, a monotonous trek.
“Charge!!!”
Even bandit raids felt almost welcome.
But after the first group that underestimated them was slaughtered, attacks ceased.
“Y-Young Master. There are people w-watching us from over there.”
Jeong-hyeon pointed, and Il-mok replied indifferently.
“Never mind. Chasing and killing them would just waste energy.”
Soon enough, those shadowing shadows vanished beyond the horizon.
On the third day of this dull journey.
Far across the open view, the silhouette of city walls greeted them.
The first city they’d encountered since heading west.