A Lucky Day (5)
The shock was fleeting. Akbigwang drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Hoo."
He finally steadied himself, but his stomach still churned.
Even a master like Akbigwang was utterly helpless against seasickness.
The ones watching the fight most comfortably were the Mountain West Three Evils trapped in the net.
Even as the boat spun faster and faster, Binghyeol Seosaeng narrowed his eyes.
How could he move like that without even keeping his balance?
Was there a swordsman like that hiding in the North?
And one with a cruelty more vicious than any Sapa or Demonic Cultist.
Even more shocking was that this swordsman was from the righteous factions—no, a direct descendant of the Hebei Paeng Family, one of the North's Five Great Families.
This could upend the entire power structure of northern Murim, he thought.
At that moment, Pyeonyeok Rang-a, standing beside Binghyeol Seosaeng, clenched his fist and kept muttering something under his breath.
Binghyeol Seosaeng turned to him.
"Third Brother, what are you doing?"
"Second Brother, look at that. The carriage is tilting. If it weren't for that carriage, we'd be free, right?"
Pyeonyeok Rang-a pointed at the carriage at the stern.
Sure enough, it was swaying precariously.
Pyeonyeok Rang-a shouted again.
"Tip over! Tip over!"
Then came Heukui Salpung's scream.
"Gah!"
Binghyeol Seosaeng whipped his head around.
"Brother, what happened?"
"I dropped it."
"Dropped what?"
"The Cold Iron Box..."
Heukui Salpung pointed at the bundle sliding toward the boat's edge.
"Gah, that's..."
Binghyeol Seosaeng screamed too. It was the bundle containing the Cold Iron Box with the Qingming Pills that Hanbin had entrusted to him.
What if that fell into the river?
He didn't even want to imagine what would happen next.
Right then—
The sliding bundle bounced into the air from the rocking boat.
Whoosh!
As it flew out over the river, the Mountain West Three Evils gaped.
"Damn it!"
"This isn't our fault."
Someone snatched the bundle mid-air.
Amid the chaos, the clash of Hanbin and Yang Ak-gun continued unabated.
Clang! Clang!
Yang Ak-gun figured he wouldn't lose in speed on the boat.
If he felt pushed back, he could just retreat quickly and set up the next move.
But Hanbin thought differently.
Right now, he didn't need to overwhelm Yang Ak-gun with speed.
Against a super peak master like this guy, Hanbin had a perfect method.
He swiftly recalled one formula from the Yongrin Sword Art.
'Attack the east, strike west.'
It was a technique that crippled the opponent using five years' worth of inner power.
Sure, wasting five years of power stung, but the Yongrin Sword Art's power recovered daily anyway.
Swish!
Hanbin's sword traced a bizarre path.
Yang Ak-gun slashed swiftly at the blade snaking in from the left like a serpent.
Swoosh!
Yang Ak-gun's eyes widened.
There was nothing there.
Sensing ill intent, he twisted his body and raised his sword on the opposite side.
Swish.
The incoming blade changed direction again.
By the time Yang Ak-gun realized it, it was too late.
Pierce!
Hanbin's sword sank into flesh.
Yang Ak-gun retreated in panic.
Seeing the blood trickling from his shoulder, he bellowed.
"What the hell are you?!"
This was genuine bewilderment.
Hanbin's strike had been flashier than the Plum Blossom Sword Style of the Volcanic Sect and sharper than the Four-Day Sword Style of Jeonchang.
He'd never heard of a young swordsman like this in the North.
Hanbin grinned wide.
"I keep telling you, Hebei Paeng Family. Why do you keep doubting it?"
"A Paeng Family member using a sword...?"
Yang Ak-gun trailed off, staring at Hanbin.
Hanbin gazed leisurely into the empty air, as if Yang Ak-gun wasn't even worth his time as an opponent.
Of course, he wasn't really staring at empty air.
Confirming formula with Dragon Eye.
You have acquired Human-grade gujeol: Ja (since).
Someone approached Yang Ak-gun.
It was Geom-o, his right-hand man. He handed over the bundle.
It was the one Heukui Salpung had been holding—the Cold Iron Box.
While everyone was distracted by the duel, Geom-o had snagged the target.
Yang Ak-gun laughed as he took it.
"Hahaha."
"..."
Hanbin tilted his head, eyeing Yang Ak-gun.
Yang Ak-gun shook the bundle in his right hand.
"The elixirs matter more than the fight. We'll settle this another time."
Yang Ak-gun and Geom-o leaped into the air simultaneously.
They were diving into the river.
Then Yang Ak-gun flicked his right hand.
It looked like he was throwing a hidden weapon.
But his hand struck his subordinate's shoulder instead.
Poke!
He had sealed Geom-o's pressure points.
Geom-o, airborne, tumbled to the deck.
Thud!
As his subordinate fell, Yang Ak-gun smirked and vaulted over the railing.
Splash!
Hanbin dashed to the rail in a flash, hand on hilt.
Swish!
Peering over the edge, he saw Yang Ak-gun climbing aboard a small prepared skiff.
Hanbin gritted his teeth. Akbigwang shouted from beside him.
"First, the boat..."
Akbigwang trailed off, pointing at the mechanism the bandits had tampered with earlier.
He wanted Hanbin to disable it.
A quick glance around: Escort leader Yun Yong-ho was holding the coachman from flying off by centrifugal force, while one guard barely clung to himself.
But Hanbin couldn't let Yang Ak-gun escape.
The bandit leader rowed away, kicking up white foam.
As expected of the boss—his rowing was no joke.
It was clearly the Yangtze Eighteen Strokes.
This technique, a bandit specialty, created eighteen waves per oar stroke, channeling inner power into the oars.
Even with an extra boat, catching him was impossible.
Yang Ak-gun could go, but not with those formulas.
Yet the boat spun wildly, and the skiff receded.
Then Hanbin spotted deck splinters—iron nails.
He snatched one up.
'Hundred Shots, Hundred Hits.'
The wood shard flew like an arrow from his hand.
Poke! Thunk!
Hanbin's attack hit true.
New text appeared, and Hanbin smiled.
Confirming formula with Dragon Eye.
You have acquired Human-grade gujeol: Ja (Ja).
What?
It was the exact same message as before.
Hanbin quickly checked the newly acquired gujeol.
......
[Human-grade - Ja (Ja), Ja (Ja)]
Two identical characters. He couldn't tell what technique it formed yet.
But snagging two Human-grade gujeols was the mission's biggest haul so far.
If all formulas were four characters, he needed two more gujeols—six characters—beyond the 'Rise from the Dead' he'd already secured to fill a basic manual shelf.
More masters would keep coming, lured by the bait he'd scattered.
Hanbin murmured softly.
"Today's my lucky day."
Right then—
Akbigwang's near-death rasp came from beside him.
"Big Bro! I'm dying."
Hanbin struck Geom-o's pressure points, betrayed by Yang Ak-gun.
Poke!
Geom-o's eyes trembled like aspen leaves as he came to.
Hanbin spoke.
"Stop the mechanism first. I'll spare your life."
Geom-o's gaze steadied instantly.
He steadied himself, rushed over, and yanked the key part of the broken device.
Creak!
With a strange grind, the boat righted itself.
The mast straightened too.
The spinning vessel halted.
Finally, everyone aboard sighed in relief.
* * *
A short while later.
Hanbin's boat reached the opposite bank.
Due to the mishap, it had drifted farther downstream than planned, missing the ferry landing, but a suitable embankment height let them unload safely.
Everyone disembarked as if nothing had happened, but their faces were ashen.
Akbigwang, blood drained from his face, approached Hanbin.
"You okay, Big Bro?"
"Don't worry about me—go look at your reflection by the water, Bigwang."
"Me? I'm fine. Have you... ever been on a boat before?"
Hanbin met his suspicious glare with a serious look.
"Bigwang!"
"Yes, Brother."
Akbigwang turned abruptly polite. Hanbin tilted his head.
Momentarily, he continued.
"Go bring those guys over."
He pointed at the group hesitating on the boat.
They were Yang Ak-gun's abandoned bandits.
No need for Akbigwang to fetch them—the bandits, having overheard, lined up before Hanbin.
As they formed ranks, the watching Mountain West Three Evils rushed over frantically.
Pyeonyeok Rang-a planted himself in front of Hanbin.
Hanbin tilted his head.
"What's with you?"
"N-no, I have something to say."
"To me? You want me to let you go?"
"N-no, absolutely not. Letting us go is up to a great hero like you."
Pyeonyeok Rang-a grinned awkwardly, mismatched with his bulk. Hanbin asked.
"Then what?"
"Can I beat 'em?"
"Beat who?"
"Them!"
Pyeonyeok Rang-a jabbed his wolf-tooth club at the bandits.
Whoosh!
Just raising it stirred the wind.
Geom-o, locking eyes with Pyeonyeok Rang-a, bowed his head hastily.
No bandit could ignore the Mountain West Three Evils' infamy.
And a young master commanding them?
Geom-o couldn't fathom his identity.
Commanding the Three Evils meant he had to be a Sapa powerhouse.
No matter what he claimed about being the Hebei Paeng Family's fourth young master, Geom-o couldn't buy it.
He didn't expect mercy. He glanced at his arms.
In a few hours, one would likely come off.
Or maybe his head.
As Geom-o squeezed his eyes shut, head bowed—
Pyeonyeok Rang-a whispered to Hanbin.
"Great hero, isn't this unfair? You let us work for you, but send these vicious thieves packing? Is that the way of the jianghu?"
Hanbin narrowed his eyes at Pyeonyeok Rang-a.
"Wanna join 'em?"
"N-no."
Overhearing, Geom-o tilted his head.
From the talk, it sounded like they wouldn't kill him.
He saw a glimmer of hope.
Then Hanbin's voice rang out.
"If you're done, get lost. All of you."
What?
The bandits raised their heads in unison.
Exchanging glances, they tilted their heads in confusion.
This was beyond imagination.
Banditry meant risking your life.
Fail, and you faced execution by authorities.
Failure demanded a price.
But just... go?
Geom-o studied Hanbin's face.
Hanbin snapped.
"What, not going?"
But Geom-o couldn't move. Hanbin's words felt like the opposite.
Leaving now seemed to invite a knife in the back.
Frozen, Geom-o and the bandits stared at Hanbin.