Assassins Are Also Martial Artists
‘What a thorough bastard.’
Won Seung smirked inwardly. Suspecting the Fate Building Pill and skipping the inner energy boost to analyze it instead… That meant I-ho could’ve avoided poisoning even if Won Seung hadn’t spread the antidote.
In truth, I-ho had always stood out among the kids for his prowess in both literary and martial pursuits. He’d come in second on that first day’s run—right after No. 1. No. 1 had run faster, but his brains couldn’t keep up, and he’d died in the trap formation drill.
“Join us, and I’ll give you the antidote for Blood Chain Mountain poison.”
“And who the hell are ‘us’?”
“……”
I-ho started to speak but trailed off, furrowing his brow as he glanced somewhere off to the side.
Instructor Gwak was hurrying down the slope, panting. He’d heard the review session for the drill was over and was rushing to keep Won Seung under close watch.
“Why’s Instructor Gwak tailing you?”
“Instructor Gwak’s watching me?”
Won Seung feigned ignorance, and I-ho let out a soft sigh.
“Cut the act. You know damn well. Makes me wonder if I can trust you. Anyway, we’ll talk later.”
I-ho finished and vanished into the barracks.
Won Seung mulled it over. I-ho and a few others were plotting to escape Jeokhyeolsan, erase their records, and detox the Blood Chain Mountain poison.
But suddenly recruiting him?
‘He knows Instructor Gwak’s been watching me. Means they’ve been observing me too. Risking contact with someone under an instructor’s eye… They want something from me.’
He couldn’t fully trust I-ho. Won Seung hadn’t forgotten how Sa Gyo-du had eyed him suspiciously that day. This could be Sa Gyo-du testing him on the sly.
But if it was a genuine escape offer… no need to overthink. As Dok Sabu’s poison apprentice, he’d even taught poison classes once.
They probably needed his poison skills.
The next day.
After breakfast, the instructors gathered the kids in the training ground. As they assembled, a man climbed onto the platform.
‘Not Sa Gyo-du.’
Sa Gyo-du was nowhere in sight. The stern-faced man scanned the children before leaping down to the ground.
A sword gleamed in his hand.
The kids’ faces hardened with a sense of foreboding.
“They say you’re pretty skilled assassins. Your evaluation reports are stacked high. But I don’t buy it. I only trust what I see and hear myself.”
He drew his sword. The blade flashed under the sharp autumn sun.
The man stood with his left hand behind his back, right hand letting the sword hang at a diagonal. His hidden hand had thumb, index, and middle fingers pinched together, the rest splayed wide.
The casual stance looked incredibly stylish. But how the hell do you fight like that?
Won Seung eyed the man curiously.
“Come at me one by one, in number order.”
The kids glanced at I-ho. He stepped forward with a slight frown and drew his sword.
“I’ll give you three moves. Give it your all. Or you die.”
His tone was flat, emotionless. I-ho started to retort but hesitated, then assumed a stance.
“……”
I-ho glared at the man without moving. Panic flickered in his eyes.
“What’re you waiting for?”
At the man’s indifferent prod, I-ho gritted his teeth and charged, swinging his sword.
Pa-pa-pat!
The blade split into six streams of sword light in an instant, engulfing the man. It was lightning-fast, with real killing intent.
A glint flashed in the man’s eyes. He whipped up the dangling sword.
Ching!
The six lights vanished in a blink. I-ho spun, thrusting back in reverse.
“Oh!”
The kids gasped in admiration. Feinting a retreat then striking—that move would tax even a first-rate expert. But in that instant, the man kicked I-ho square in the back.
“Kuhk!”
I-ho spun sideways and hit the dirt.
The man said coolly, “Do it right. One more chance. Three moves.”
But the second round ended the same. Three moves, and I-ho ate dirt again.
“Next.”
No. 6 was up next—and he didn’t even get a second chance. Three moves, face-plant.
Then No. 7.
‘Hang in there, Jang Chil!’
Won Seung cheered silently, but three moves later, Jang Chil lay spread-eagled, staring at the sky.
The man took all three moves, then dropped them on the first counter. Only I-ho got kicked; the rest took flat-of-the-blade smacks. Blade edges would’ve left half-corpses everywhere.
His expression stayed utterly impassive—making it all the more chilling. He was harsher on the weaker kids, so they gave their all.
“Next!”
Finally, Won Seung’s turn.
He stepped up. The man showed no fatigue after flattening a crowd of kids.
‘Huh?’
Left hand behind back, right sword dangling. It screamed disregard for the opponent. But facing it, there were no openings.
His whole body seemed exposed—attack anywhere. Yet that sword’s path was unpredictable, sealing everything.
Tch! Treating me like a scrub. Still, damn stylish posture.
‘Worth learning.’
Won Seung subtly scanned the man’s footwork, stance, and energy flow. The young master said seeing and hearing wasn’t enough—embody it.
I’ll use this someday.
“What’re you dawdling for? Come on.”
The man frowned at Won Seung’s hesitation. As he spoke, his energy flow rippled faintly.
Now!
Pa-pa-pat!
Won Seung unleashed Spectrum Sword Art. He had Heavenly Middle Sword Art and Tae-eul Sword Art too, but no need to show off. He bared his teeth, channeling twenty years’ worth like full throttle.
But… without even gathering qi, the Matchless Decision’s yin-yang acupoint energy surged. Like dry grass igniting in spring wind—uncontrollable power flooded the blade.
‘What?’
Won Seung blinked in surprise as the man flinched and stepped back. First retreat ever. Then his dangling sword snapped up.
The man exhaled sharply and thrust.
Chae-chae-ching!
Their blades tangled in midair. The man’s swordplay was vicious—scouring Won Seung’s body like midwinter gales.
Three moves flew by in a flash.
Ching!
In a heartbeat, Won Seung twisted his blade up, blocking the man’s strike at his throat. Thrust straight, and Gu Ja-ang’s Four Styles Piercing Heaven first form unfolds.
But Won Seung hesitated, couldn’t handle the force, and tumbled aside.
“……”
Silence fell. The man glared, brows furrowed deep. His impassive face turned icy. He seemed lost in thought.
Moments later:
“Next!”
The next kid stepped up. Only two after Won Seung, No. 50.
Both rolled in the dirt in seconds.
The man scanned them coolly.
“You know you’ve been raised as assassins. Remember this: Assassins are martial artists too.”
He climbed back to the platform.
“Ugh…”
Overwhelmed by his aura, the kids groaned feebly where they lay.
Won Seung’s gaze pierced the man’s back as he headed for Sa Gyo-du’s barracks.
‘One of the Four Elders.’
Won Seung had heard about Jeokhyeolsan from Jong Bi. She didn’t know much, but the Four Elders oversaw the eight halls.
With Bi Jangno dead, another elder stepped in.
‘Almost… stabbed him.’
Blocking that throat strike, he’d nearly unleashed Four Styles Piercing Heaven on instinct. With forty years’ power plus Matchless Decision’s yin-yang surge… Could’ve pierced the man’s Heavenly Pivot Acupoint?
Four Styles Piercing Heaven countered defense into attack. No matter the stance, it ended piercing the foe’s Heavenly Pivot—vicious as hell.
‘Gotta master it. My life-saver.’
Gi Jangno tossed his sword aside and sat in Sa Gyo-du’s office.
He bellowed for Sa Gyo-du. The lowlife slunk in, and Gi Jangno said flatly:
“Bring the reports on No. 50… and No. 1.”
‘You could send a grunt for that.’
Sa Gyo-du grumbled inwardly but left quietly.
Gi Jangno stared out the window at a cherry tree heavy with leaves, lost in thought. When Ak Gyo-du drank poisoned liquor and died, those branches had burst with white blossoms. Now winter loomed; the leaves shivered in lonely winds, awaiting the fall.
His eyes didn’t register the green. His mind replayed the clash with No. 50.
‘That one move… If he’d thrust straight, could I have dodged?’
He wasn’t sure. Eerily monkey-like—scratching left temple with right hand. But he’d parried the throat strike. Should’ve been a gawking collapse.
Sa Gyo-du soon returned with Won Seung’s files.
“Out.”
‘Fuckin’ prick. I’m the head here, not your damn servant.’
Sa Gyo-du bowed obsequiously and left.
Gi Jangno scanned the resume, pausing at “Dokgoe’s poison apprentice.” Then the drill report—he pondered long.
‘Possible?’
Three-inch tongue driving a Central Plains top hundred to suicide? Even the Choyang magistrate died of shame. How induce that? The brothel kill on the local thug’s kid made sense.
Announce the hit, breed anxiety, strike at complacency—textbook assassin theory.
But executed it?
‘Born assassin.’
Gi Jangno took interest in No. 50. To him, only I-ho and No. 50 qualified as assassins now.
He despised sloppy kills. Poisons, hidden weapons, squatting in shit-holes to stab asses mid-dump… No respect for the dead. Face your mark, explain why, crush with skill—that was his creed.
Hence his men’s nickname: Jeokhyeolsan’s heretic.
But No. 50…
‘With that martial prowess, he bothered with the tongue to push them to death?’
Gi Jangno resolved to pull this one under his wing.
He summoned the servant lowlife again.
“Fetch trainee No. 50.”
‘Asshole. Your guard’s right there. Why always me?!’
Sa Gyo-du bowed and exited with a silent scream.