Chapter 8
I used mishonhyang on myself. A drowsy haze settled over me. But it wasn’t a problem. I could always flush it out with my qi, and aside from feeling a little foggy, it didn’t interfere with moving around at all.
So I hid my martial level and applied for a gambling match while still under the influence of mishonhyang.
“Ohmu. First-rate. Tiger Fist. Under the influence of mishonhyang. Any other special notes?”
“None.”
“Good. Go wait in the betting area.”
After that, I started preparing for the matches. I’d already made arrangements so that once the bouts began, all the money could be bet on me, and at this point all I had to do was keep winning.
“Ohmu. Victory!”
The first match was over. I had won narrowly, because I needed to keep the gamblers from betting on me. Just as I’d expected, there weren’t many fools willing to wager on a first-rate fighter who looked drunk on mishonhyang.
“Ohmu. Victory!”
The problem began after the second bout ended. The payout was much lower than I’d expected. I frowned and looked around. One bastard exchanging his hand for money was irritating to see.
“A guy in orthodox garb in the Black Market. Unusual.”
It was rare enough for someone from the orthodox faction to come into the Black Market and join the betting in the first place. And even if they did, they’d usually dress like an unorthodox fighter to hide the fact that they were orthodox. No one would show up in full orthodox robes like that. And yet he was participating in the matches openly, wearing orthodox clothing all the same.
The moment I thought that, I heard one of the gamblers place his bet.
“They say that orthodox bastard bet on some guy called Ohmu this time and a reverse payout exploded.”
“What, like that’s some rare thing? Must be beginner’s luck.”
Then I understood why my payout had been smaller than expected. I felt irritated. What kind of lunatic would bet money on someone drunk on mishonhyang? But a moment later, my irritation was joined by suspicion.
“Does that bastard know I’m hiding my true level?”
I didn’t have time to think it through any further. The next match was already starting.
“Right. Once is enough. There are plenty of people who gamble on reverse odds.”
I glared at him for a moment, then stepped into the next bout.
“Ohmu. Victory!”
This time, too, I engineered a narrow win. My body took some cuts, but I’d allowed only enough damage to keep moving without trouble, so it wasn’t a serious issue. The real problem was that my payout had been low again.
“That crazy orthodox bastard bet on the reverse payout again.”
“And it hit again? He’s got insane luck.”
“So it seems.”
My annoyance slowly turned into suspicion. The bastard had bet on me again, as if he knew I’d win.
I even considered throwing a punch at him just to find out what level he was. That was when the young master of the Paeggeom Sect stepped onto the arena and called the orthodox guy out for a match.
“Baek-ga disciple! Baek Mugeuk! Realm: third-rate. Technique used: Baek-ga Seven Sword Art.”
The bastard’s name was Baek Mugeuk. And his level was third-rate. That made me realize how stupid it had been to think he was some hidden master who saw through me.
A third-rate nobody figuring out my true strength was nonsense from the start. He was probably just a born lucky bastard or a lunatic chasing a massive windfall on reverse odds.
“I’ll put five hundred and fifty nyang on Baek Mugeuk!”
Yes. Exactly. He was a lunatic. A reverse-odds lunatic staking that kind of money on a match against a first-rate martial artist.
“How could a third-rate fighter even think of beating a first-rate one?”
I decided he was just crazy. But without realizing it, my eyes kept drifting back to him. Then our gazes met. Something about that look gave me an odd, impossible feeling.
One thing was certain: it was not the kind of look I’d expected. There was no gambler’s excitement in it, no greed. Only a calm, lazy indifference. It was almost as if he were saying, with that look alone:
“If you want to make money, bet on me.”
Was mishonhyang affecting my mind that much? To think I’d be having these thoughts about a third-rate nobody.
I shook my head and was about to walk away. But what I did next was the complete opposite.
- Put all the money I have on Baek Mugeuk.
As if possessed by something, I sent a telepathic message telling them to bet on him. No matter how I looked at it, it was crazy. Maybe the smaller-than-expected profits from the betting pit had fanned my greed.
“Is this what gambling is? It feels like being dragged into a swamp.”
I turned back to look at the arena. Two martial artists stood there. Baek Mugeuk was loosening up casually, while Woo Dae-un stood with his arms folded, glaring at him.
They started talking. To me, who had broken into the Peak realm, it felt as if they were speaking right in front of me.
“Orthodox. For the record, I’m first-rate.”
“How kind of you. Going out of your way to tell me that.”
I could understand Woo Dae-un’s confidence. But I couldn’t understand why Baek Mugeuk was so unhurried.
“Does he have a card up his sleeve?”
Baek Mugeuk’s lips curled slightly as he went on.
“By the way, don’t you know something? What matters in a fight isn’t some realm or rank.”
“Heh. That’s the kind of thing third-rate fighters like you always say.”
“You don’t know the length until you compare it, right?”
“You’re all mouth.”
Dong.
At the instant the bell rang.
Thud.
Something happened no one expected.
Not even me.
“What the--”
Everyone’s eyes went to Woo Dae-un’s foot.
Beneath the sword buried in the top of his foot, bright red blood suddenly welled up and poured out.
“Ghk!”
Woo Dae-un swallowed a scream and swung his sword wildly. Baek Mugeuk pulled his sword back and retreated.
“W-what the hell!”
“That’s cheating!”
“A sneak attack? How cowardly!”
Criticism erupted from the stands.
But the bout didn’t stop. That was only natural, because Baek Mugeuk had moved the instant the bell rang, and besides, there was no such thing as a foul in gambling matches.
Only...
Unlike the gaze and movements that had seemed so obvious, the sword strike he launched at the very start showed no preparatory motion at all.
Even to my eyes, eyes that had stepped beyond the Peak realm. He had done nothing more and nothing less than perfectly pierce the one thin thread of opening created by his opponent’s guard dropping for an instant.
Insane.
What kind of talent and experience did it take to execute a sneak attack like that? I found myself muttering before I knew it.
“Y-you bastard, you coward!”
“What are you talking about? Did you think this was some kind of sparring match?”
Baek Mugeuk sneered coldly at the flustered Woo Dae-un. Woo Dae-un grimaced and reset his stance.
“Don’t think you’ll die cleanly!”
“Try it if you can.”
Woo Dae-un gathered his qi and unleashed it. The force of it was enough to justify him introducing himself as first-rate.
Dangerous.
I clenched my hand hard.
Before I knew it, my palm was damp with sweat from the tension.
It was true that Baek Mugeuk’s ambush had narrowed the gap between them considerably.
But now that Woo Dae-un had begun fighting in earnest, there would be no second chance to use the same trick.
No matter how much of a foot he’d taken, for a third-rate fighter to beat a first-rate one was still a brutal task.
And then the feared outcome began to unfold before my eyes.
Clang.
With a sharp metallic ring, Baek Mugeuk’s body was driven backward in a skid.
Woo Dae-un pressed the advantage and began unleashing the illusory sword techniques unique to the unorthodox schools.
Baek Mugeuk blocked them somehow, but his reactions were slow.
Slashes began to etch themselves across his body, and his clothes slowly turned red.
After a dozen exchanges or so...
Clang!
During the repeated clash, both swords collided in the air.
Then they pressed against each other, forcing one another back.
In that brief moment, I could see how ragged Baek Mugeuk had become.
Whatever advantage he’d gained with the opening sneak attack had already been more than canceled out by the damage he had taken.
Woo Dae-un resumed his stance with a self-satisfied look, while Baek Mugeuk stood still with his head bowed.
Had he realized the difference in skill and been driven to despair?
Is he giving up...?
Only then did I feel my wits come back to me. What had I been thinking, betting my entire fortune on a third-rate fighter?
Regret came flooding in like the tide, and then...
“Hoo. I’m starting to get the feel for it now.”
Baek Mugeuk suddenly lifted his head and swung his sword around. Woo Dae-un snorted as if he’d heard something absurd and answered.
“What did you say? A third-rate brat like you, with my sword?”
“No. I mean I’m getting used to this body.”
“Nonsense!”
Woo Dae-un poured all his power into his sword, aiming to end it there and then. It looked like he was trying to bring out everything he had for the final blow.
That was the moment.
“That sloppy swinging of yours isn’t illusion swordplay.”
Baek Mugeuk’s form shot forward like a sliding shadow.
“Huh?”
Startled, Woo Dae-un swung the sword he hadn’t fully settled yet.
But even that cut only through empty air.
Illusion.
The essence of it lay in deceiving the opponent’s senses, even their instincts. In that sense, Baek Mugeuk’s sword technique fully embodied the mystique of illusion swordplay.
It was an exalted sword art far beyond anything a third-rate fighter should have been able to perform.
What in the world is that...?
Even as I watched with my own eyes, I couldn’t believe it. And yet that impossible thing was happening before me.
Woo Dae-un swung his sword to intercept the blade storming toward him. But Baek Mugeuk’s sword had scattered like a mirage and vanished from the very beginning.
Then, from an entirely different direction, the sword flashed out and severed Woo Dae-un’s arm.
As fresh blood spurted into the air, I caught the faint scent that brushed past my nose.
Have I gone insane...?
Had acting like a third-rate fighter truly turned my eyes into those of a third-rate fool, too?
I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of the sword art spread out before me, but only one thought came to mind.
The sword arts of the Daoists famed across the Nine Great Schools.
It was...
...the Plum Blossom Sword Art, isn’t it?
I still couldn’t believe it, so I could only blink.
* * *
Thud.
Woo Dae-un collapsed to his knees with a dull crash. A groan slipped from him, apparently from the pain of losing his arm.
It had been close.
I’d put on a good show, but even so, fighting a first-rate opponent in a third-rate body was not easy.
Especially since I still wasn’t used to this body.
“Hoo.”
I reset my stance and brought my sword close to Woo Dae-un’s throat.
The arena had fallen into a silence so deep it felt frozen.
The spectators wore looks that said they couldn’t understand what had just happened.
They stared blankly at the kneeling Woo Dae-un for a moment, then suddenly began twisting their faces into something monstrous.
“You stupid fuck! I bet on you and you lost?”
“How the hell does a first-rate martial artist lose to a third-rate one!”
“You were all in on this, weren’t you? If not, how the hell could he lose!”
Filthy curses filled the betting hall.
The result of a first-rate fighter versus a third-rate one was obvious without even looking.
No, it had to be obvious.
Because most of the money here would be riding on the first-rate fighter’s victory.
But something that should never have happened in this betting hall had happened.
The third-rate fighter had beaten the first-rate one.
The gamblers who had lost their money were already worked into a frenzy, surging to their feet and starting to hurl whatever they could grab.
“Kill him!”
“Kill that idiot bastard!”
In the logic of the unorthodox factions, defeat was tied directly to death, so it wasn’t strange. On top of that, this was a gambling pit where death could come at any moment anyway.
“They’re saying to kill him?”
“Spare me...”
“Guess he really should be killed, huh? You are unorthodox, after all, and this is the Black Market.”
“Stop!”
Then a thunderous voice rang out in all directions.
Everyone in the betting hall turned toward the source of that voice. There, they saw an old man standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Young brother. How about stopping there?”
“Why should I?”
“You already won the bout, didn’t you?”
“This bastard still hasn’t given up, though. No winner has been declared yet.”
“Heh heh heh. Then I’ll declare it. Winner: Baek Mugeuk.”
The moment the old man spoke, the gamblers fell silent.
He was no ordinary person.
“Hoo. If I keep going here, it really does feel like things will go all the way to the end.”
I pulled the token from my bosom and tossed it to the old man. He caught it lightly.
“Now make sure you pay out the money properly.”
For the first time, the old man’s expression hardened. But I didn’t care and asked,
“What’s the multiplier?”
“Baek Mugeuk, one hundred times. Fifty-five thousand nyang of silver...”
At the old man’s announcement, everyone’s mouths dropped open.
It was definitely not a bad sum, considering what I’d expected.
“That’s not bad. You’ll issue it as a draft, of course?”
“...”
The old man released a powerful burst of aura for a brief instant, as if he were ready to kill and bury everyone on the spot.
And then, as though nothing had happened, he let the force disperse. Slowly, he spoke.
“Since it’s such a large amount, issuing a draft would be the proper thing to do.”
“Good. Fast work is appreciated, old man.”
I bowed toward him.
Then I cupped my fists in a proper salute.
Excessively so, for anyone watching.
“I’ll be leaving now after a good time.”
Waving a hand, I sauntered out of the betting pit.
The betting hall remained as still as a grave until my figure disappeared completely.