The Big Picture (5)
It was a feint he'd used even against the Blood Demon earlier.
All he needed was a momentary opening with this technique.
As he circulated the feint, the energy of Yongrin Sword Art began gathering at his castle gate.
Having amassed his energy in an instant, Hanbin shouted.
"Enough!"
The short but intense command gripped his opponent.
The foe's eyes widened in that moment.
At the same time, Hanbin twisted his sword.
His blade, unleashed at full power, pierced the enemy's defense.
Slash!
Hanbin's sword struck the enemy's left arm.
Suddenly, dust billowed up.
Whoosh.
As Hanbin kept watch ahead warily, the thick dust began to clear slightly.
But the mysterious assailant was gone.
Looking closely, his severed left arm dangled from the rope that had triggered the trap mechanism.
In that instant, text appeared in Hanbin's vision.
Formula confirmed via Dragon Eye.
You have acquired Gui (return) from the application section of Yongrin Sword Art.
As Hanbin's lips curled into a slight smirk,
the rope descended, weighed down by the severed arm.
Swoosh.
Then, a urgent voice came from behind—Hwang Bo-man-cheong.
"Fall back!"
At the cry, Hanbin looked up.
The ceiling above began to shake.
At the same time, the floor trembled.
The collapsing ceiling crashed down onto the unsteady ground.
Boom!
Hanbin hurriedly retreated.
Tat-tat-tak.
The ceiling sections fell one after another.
Like mahjong tiles toppling in sequence from their orderly placement, the ceiling kept sinking steadily.
Thud! Thud!
Behind Hanbin, the relentless sound of heavy iron dropping echoed.
Glancing back, he saw the falling chunks from the ceiling were genuine iron slabs.
Anyone crushed under that iron wouldn't survive, no matter their martial prowess.
As Hanbin ran, Hwang Bo-man-cheong, carrying his son on his back, started sprinting too.
Tat-tat-tak.
Thud. Thud.
The iron drops matched their footsteps at regular intervals.
When two paths appeared ahead, Hwang Bo-man-cheong halted.
Thud!
He stopped abruptly, plunged into thought. Hanbin tugged at his sleeve.
"This way."
"Got it."
Guided by Hanbin, Hwang Bo-man-cheong navigated the maze-like passages.
Thud. Thud.
The iron drops still resounded behind them.
Hwang Bo-man-cheong glanced back and clicked his tongue inwardly.
He'd never even heard from his father, the previous family head, about these trap mechanisms.
All he'd been told was that the one who solved the riddle of the Big Picture would gain the power of the Huangbo Family.
Hwang Bo-man-cheong had thought it a metaphor, comparing family management to a game of go.
Who among the family heads would have imagined actually playing go on the massive go board-shaped training chamber?
Probably no one but him.
Yet someone had entered this secret passage he didn't even know about!
But even more astonishing was the martial prowess of the Hebei Paeng Family's youngest son.
The opponent was clearly a Hwagyeong master.
He could suppress such a foe at full strength, but was there any later-generation expert who could?
Hwang Bo-man-cheong was certain there was none across the south and north of the Yangtze.
And the way he wielded his sword, needling the enemy's nerves—it was like a seasoned veteran of decades in the jangho.
Most shocking of all was his current display.
Navigating the paths as if reviewing a go game was something even Hwang Bo-man-cheong couldn't easily mimic.
In a calm state, he might memorize the forks like go moves, but could anyone recall them amid this absurd crisis?
The Hebei Paeng Family's youngest was doing just that.
Then,
Hanbin stopped.
Thud.
They'd arrived at the go board-shaped training chamber—the starting point.
As Hanbin smiled at Hwang Bo-man-cheong,
BOOM!
A sound several times louder than before erupted from behind.
Hanbin turned and gaped.
A house-sized iron slab had crashed down over the exit he'd escaped through.
Under iron that massive, martial realm meant nothing.
In the jangho, Hwagyeong masters were likened to those who could cleave Mount Tai.
But that was mere metaphor—who could survive being buried under Mount Tai?
Catching his breath, Hanbin looked to Hwang Bo-man-cheong.
The man stared blankly at the fallen iron, sharing the sentiment.
Stepping aside, Hanbin said,
"Elder, set the young master down first."
"I lost myself there."
Hwang Bo-man-cheong laid his son on the floor.
Checking him over, he sighed in relief repeatedly.
Hanbin asked,
"How's the young master's condition?"
"With my blood pressure points sealed, he'll just sleep it off if nothing else goes wrong. His breathing's steady too. Thanks to you. My gratitude."
"Glad to hear it."
"That aside, escaping this place comes first."
"In that case..."
Trailing off, Hanbin glanced at the dark iron go stones on the floor.
Hwang Bo-man-cheong nodded.
"Same thought here."
Silently, they began picking up the stones.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
They removed them in reverse order of placement.
Soon, the go board-shaped training chamber was clear.
Hanbin and Hwang Bo-man-cheong pocketed the stones in leather pouches and awaited changes.
As expected, the mechanism stirred.
Groooan, groooan.
As the trap screamed, the floor began rotating slowly.
Eventually, it stopped.
Clunk.
Hanbin walked toward the door they'd entered through.
Stopping before it, he tilted his head.
Where the iron door should be was now an iron wall.
"What the...?"
"Seems the exit's sealed."
"Then let's catch our breath and think."
Hanbin pulled a slender flask from his bosom.
Thin as a blowpipe for poison needles.
As Hwang Bo-man-cheong tilted his head, Hanbin offered it.
"Care for a sip?"
"What's this?"
"Fire wine."
"Thought you were just a go prodigy. Didn't peg you for a drinker."
"Not a drinker."
"Not one, yet you carry fire wine?"
"Sometimes it's necessary, Elder."
"Necessary, huh..."
Trailing off, Hwang Bo-man-cheong watched as Hanbin pulled another flask, uncorked it, and pressed it to his wrist.
Drip.
He spat out his sip of fire wine.
"Pfft."
"What's wrong?"
Hanbin asked nonchalantly. Hwang Bo-man-cheong pointed at the flask.
"This—is it definitely for drinking?"
"On the battlefield, what's the difference between drinking liquor and disinfectant, Elder?"
Hanbin gestured around. Hwang Bo-man-cheong nodded silently.
This was indeed a battlefield, as Hanbin said.
He himself, Hanbin, and especially his son—they were all defeated remnants.
Sprawled here, they were like dead stones on a go board.
Hwang Bo-man-cheong said,
"We lost the big game."
"Lost? The game's not over yet."
"Not over? So we're alive?"
"Miseong—unborn."
"Miseong? So we have a chance to survive."
"I wasn't talking about us."
"Then who?"
"The bastard who escaped, leaving an arm behind like a lizard shedding its tail."
"Hah, worrying about him now? Do we even look like survivors?"
"Ever heard 'daemabulsa'—immune even to great demons?"
"Daemabulsa... So you're calling us the great horse?"
"Not us—the family head. In the Huangbo Family, if not you, who else is the great horse? Being your home turf, I figure the great horse won't die here."
"Comforting words with logic to them."
Hwang Bo-man-cheong chuckled. Hanbin shrugged and continued,
"Not just talk—don't worry, Elder."
Finishing, Hanbin tore his martial robe to bandage his remaining wound.
The reason for hasty treatment was simple.
The recovery formula was restoring his body.
The wound already itched.
Soon, the gash would heal over.
What would Hwang Bo-man-cheong say witnessing that?
Hanbin wanted no needless misunderstandings.
Meanwhile, Hwang Bo-man-cheong watched Hanbin in astonishment.
The disinfection and bandaging were too practiced—like a wandering ronin who'd traversed hellish battlefields.
The Hebei Paeng Family's youngest?
At that age?
As he tilted his head, Hanbin finished treating his wound and pulled something else from his bosom, handing it over.
"Have some of this at least."
"Now what?"
"Jerky."
"Heh, just how much do you have stuffed in there?"
This was sincere.
Hanbin's bosom seemed a bottomless pit, endless items pouring out.
"Curious?"
Grinning, Hanbin rummaged again and produced a leather scroll.
"And this?"
"You'll see."
Hanbin unrolled it on the floor.
Shhh.
Hwang Bo-man-cheong tilted his head at the odd sight.
Inside the scroll: hanji paper and a brush.
* * *
At the same time, at the foot of Garam Mountain, overlooking the Huangbo Family.
A woman sat cross-legged amid the mountainside, where only beast cries echoed.
Faint sword energy swirled faintly above her crown.
The pure energy flowed in and out of the crown's vital point before vanishing.
It had been absorbed into her body.
Regulating her breath for a moment, she opened her eyes.
Her gaze was serene, her skin dark.
But her most striking feature was her appearance.
Her dirt-caked clothes evoked a miner.
Her already swarthy skin, plastered with mud, blended so seamlessly with nature that one might not recognize her as human without close inspection.
Even the mountain squirrels seemed to see her as part of it, frolicking before her.
It was none other than Sim Miho.
Uncrossing her legs, she sighed at the pickaxe beside her.
"Hoo..."
What had befallen Sim Miho?
Hanbin's order to her had been simple: scout the passage from Garam Mountain to the Huangbo Family.
A daunting task for one alone.
But it came with an irresistible carrot.
The Pahon Sword Hanbin had taught her.
She never dreamed comprehending the transcendent sword art while pickaxing.
There's a jangho saying: swing the blade ten thousand times to master a form.
A thousand pickaxe swings had led her into the first form of Pahon Sword.
And now, a minor insight to elevate her realm.
Sim Miho hefted the pickaxe again.
"Is my fate to wield neither sword nor blade, but a pickaxe from here on?"
Muttering, she glanced aside.
A sizable grave mound lay there.
She circled behind it.
A pit like a graverobber's dig stretched back.
Without hesitation, Sim Miho leaped in.
How far did she go?
Before a dirt-blocked passage, she muttered,
"Almost there, right...?"
She checked Hanbin's map.
Then raised her pickaxe.
Faint energy rippled along it.
She swung at the blocked passage.
Bang!
The dirt pile exploded outward in an instant.