May I Take Lives?

Martial artists of Murim typically styled themselves knights-errant.

But what, at its root, was a knight-errant?

Scholars disorder the statutes with their writings; knights-errant violate the laws with their blades. So wrote Sima Qian.

It was mockery, plain and simple. These so-called knights-errant were ruffians who broke the law with steel — a single sentence that cut through every self-proclaimed hero of the jianghu. A breed that drew the blade the moment things didn't go their way.

Those of the Orthodox Path were somewhat better, but the fundamental priority they placed on martial force never changed.

Yangha Ironworks was never without its crowds. Martial artists swarmed a master craftsman the way bees swarmed a hive — that much was only natural. And wherever men who put the blade first gathered, accidents were frequent. That was why the Azure Chivalry Hall stationed warriors there at all times.

Their role was to guard the ironworks and protect the craftsmen... but they, too, were martial artists who styled themselves knights-errant — the sort that drew steel the instant things went sour. Sun Wukong was watching the proof of that with his own two eyes.

"I hear the young master is carrying some rather precious goods. Don't worry. We have no intention of drawing steel and simply taking them. We'd just like to... discuss a transaction."

The man sneered. A loud clack rang out as his sword shifted in its scabbard.

Imbo, a warrior of the Azure Chivalry Hall, had been watching Sun Wukong since the ironworks.

He walked in carrying meteoric iron. And he's supposed to have even more?

Imbo immediately set his subordinates in motion, intending to dig up Sun Wukong's identity. Naturally, information was scarce. Since entering the Namgung Clan, Sun Wukong had not set foot outside even once.

Some mixed-blood son of a Tibetan magnate and a Westerner, come touring the Central Plains?

Tibet. It was plausible enough. If he were the half-blood child of a notable who traded with the people of Tianzhu and the Westerners beyond the great desert... to a Central Plains native like Imbo, who had lived his entire life here, Tibet was a land of mystery — a distant place overflowing with every kind of treasure. The guess that such a man might have brought this much meteoric iron with him on a pleasure tour of the Central Plains was reasonably convincing.

Even so, Imbo did not move rashly. He watched them all the way from the ironworks to the wine house.

Imbo had reached the rank of First-class, and he sensed not a trace of internal energy from Sun Wukong. The way the man walked, the length of his stride, the movement of his arms — none of it belonged to a martial artist.

The one beside him, Ojeong, was another matter. He had the look of a street thug, but the bearing of a trained warrior was unmistakable.

A rich young master from Tibet and his bodyguard, then.

Imbo remained cautious. This was meteoric iron they were talking about — and a great deal of it. He needed to be certain whether this was a blessing that had rolled to his feet, or the kind of prize that would tear a man's mouth apart if he tried to swallow it.

Not long after, Imbo was sure. It was the moment Muhwa sat down beside Sun Wukong.

He's keeping a woman around, too?

Imbo snorted a laugh. The sight of a beauty in heavy makeup settled his thinking. She wore a sword at her waist, but one look was enough to know she was no martial artist. Female experts of Murim never powdered their faces that thickly. She didn't have the slender, delicate air of a courtesan, exactly — but then, this fellow's taste probably ran toward that healthy, robust kind of beauty.

Above all, he felt not a shred of internal energy from her.

That, of course, was because Muhwa's cultivation stood at the Peak Realm, a height that utterly surpassed Imbo — but no such possibility existed in a mind already sunk in confirmation bias.

If he's just touring from Tibet, he won't have any special ties to the Murim of the Central Plains.

Imbo made his decision.

If I can just get my hands on that meteoric iron, my standing in the Hall will...

The warriors of the Azure Chivalry Hall unleashed their presence. Being surrounded changed the pressure entirely — it was a different dimension of intimidation.

"That's a face I've never seen in this neighborhood. Don't tell me you've come touring from Tibet?"

"And what would you do with that if you knew?"

The unexpected answer stopped Imbo's mouth for a beat. None of the usual signs of a man under pressure showed at all. Those languid eyes were filled with an almost bottomless ease.

Is he leaning on his bodyguard?

"Don't waste my time setting the mood, and don't drag this out with a bunch of this and that. Get to the point. You swarmed in like a pack of dogs because you wanted the meteoric iron, didn't you? Like a bunch of beggars scrounging for scraps."

The drawling tone made Imbo's brow twitch.

"...Well. That does make this easier. Hand over everything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you have that's meteoric iron. We'll pay you for it."

"How much?"

"We won't be stingy."

"Hmm."

Sun Wukong glanced around. Eleven Azure Chivalry Hall warriors, Imbo included. He counted them under his breath, one, two, as if running the numbers, then clicked his tongue.

"Not enough."

"You haven't even heard—"

"Eleven trash lives isn't nearly enough."

"...!"

Imbo's face flushed the instant he understood what that meant.

"So you're playing the bastard because you've got a bodyguard, is that it?"

Sun Wukong gave a short laugh and turned to Ojeong.

"Hear that? You're my bodyguard."

"Aigoo. What a horrifying misunderstanding."

Muhwa, who had already guessed where this was heading, cut in.

"Is this it? The plan Teacher Sun cooked up?"

Sun Wukong only smiled, inscrutable, instead of answering.

"What the hell are these people babbling about?!"

Imbo's eyes flashed as he drew his sword. From the look of them, they had no idea what the Murim of the Central Plains actually was. The young master was putting on airs because he had a bodyguard — and a woman sitting next to him, besides. Thrash the bodyguard thoroughly enough and he'd panic and hand over the meteoric iron. That much was obvious.

Imbo swung his sword at once.

Ojeong yelped and overturned the table to block.

A sharp crack split the air.

"I told you, I'm not a bodyguard!"

It was a swift, piercing sword. But Ojeong, even out of water, was a First-class expert who could more than hold his own on land — and since the sparring match he had embodied considerable insight, and grown. He slipped and parried the three or four blades that came crossing in.

While his men engaged Ojeong, Imbo moved to seize Sun Wukong.

Or rather — he tried to.

A ringing clash of steel.

"...The woman?"

Imbo's brow furrowed. The rebound was unnatural. The shock that slammed up through his wrist nearly tore the sword from his hand.

Muhwa had already drawn her blade and stepped in front of Sun Wukong. The corner of Imbo's eye twitched.

So she wasn't just some girl he was keeping around?

The alarm rang far too late in Imbo's head.

The woman was a bodyguard too.

He bit down on his lip. Regret was useless now. There was no taking it back. In the jianghu, once steel was drawn and swung, both sides had to see it through to the end. Imbo had to cow Sun Wukong into handing over the meteoric iron cheap. Sun Wukong had to put down Imbo and every warrior of the Azure Chivalry Hall. They knew that as well as he did.

Imbo's sword came down like a thunderbolt.

A storm of ringing steel. A full-blown brawl erupted. Food went flying, bowls shattered, chairs and tables splintered and crashed to the floor.

In the chaos, Ojeong handled three of them without much trouble. The remaining eight rotated in a wheel assault against Muhwa. She was on a different level from anyone in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Azure Chivalry Hall — but eight men pressing from every direction in a rotating attack left her with no clean opening. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cramped interior of the wine house only made it worse.

And through all of it, Sun Wukong sat perfectly still.

Ojeong exploded.

"Hey, Great Hero! A little help here! You do realize this is happening because of you?!"

Sun Wukong's voice was leisure itself.

"Tut, tut. How could I lift a finger when my bodyguard is fighting?"

"You—"

This bastard's actually serious.

Sun Wukong cackled, slid a hand between the cat's forelegs and chest, and hoisted it straight up.

Mrow.

It was almost grotesque. In the middle of a fight where blades thick with killing intent were flying in every direction, he spoke to a cat as if he were some immortal standing apart from the mortal world. Strangely, his voice carried with perfect clarity, and every eye in the room stamped the image of what he was doing into memory.

"Well. Doesn't look like they've committed a crime quite that big. No need to go as far as killing."

Mrooow.

Sun Wukong tucked Teacher Janggyeong quietly into his robes and rose from his seat.

That was when Imbo came at him like a thunderbolt. Muhwa and Ojeong's skill was no ordinary thing — he could not swear he would win. The only way out of this, he realized, was to take Sun Wukong hostage, the one who appeared to have never trained in martial arts at all.

In that instant, a red gleam gathered at Sun Wukong's fingertip.

At the same moment, Sun Wukong's presence transformed. A red aura rolled outward as if a colossal fire-demon were swallowing everything around him. And in the heart of that blaze, his golden pupils flashed.

The face of Imbo, still charging, went paper-white.

A—a master!

There was no mistaking it. The presence, the atmosphere — all of it. Imbo swallowed dry and spun on his heel. Instinct told him, without a shred of hesitation, that he had to run.

Imbo was a capable martial artist. Capability, in the jianghu, meant hard-earned experience. He loaded his internal energy into the sword he had been swinging and hurled it.

Sun Wukong flicked the incoming blade aside with a fingertip.

In the beat it took to discard the sword, Imbo turned and bolted from the wine house. The place was already in an uproar; outside, people had begun to gather, murmuring. His thin calculation was that if he slipped into the crowd, no one would dare scatter killing techniques through that many bodies.

"Well. You don't need to look twice at the character of a man who covets someone else's things."

Sun Wukong closed the distance in a single burst. The movement that brushed past her like a passing wind put a flash of astonishment in Muhwa's eyes, even as she held off the warriors.

What kind of movement art is that?

Sun Wukong left her surprise behind him, vaulted over Imbo's head, and cut him off in a single breath.

Imbo clenched his teeth and thrust both palms forward. Palm force loaded with tremendous internal energy came crashing out.

Sun Wukong extended the red point gathered at his fingertip.

A fierce, whirling heat bloomed from that single spot and tore a shockwave through the air. The atmosphere ripped apart, and for an instant the space around them collapsed into vacuum. The palm force Imbo had unleashed was swallowed into that void and vanished without a trace.

In that instant, Imbo met Sun Wukong's eyes for the last time. He wrung out every last scrap of strength, about to pour his internal energy forth again — and Sun Wukong's fists moved in a dazzling blur.

A crack. Imbo's left arm snapped. A wet, splintering crunch — his right arm shattered and dangled useless. A sickening crush: his left instep caved in as if a hammer had driven it into the floor. A grotesque wrench: his right knee folded the wrong way.

The Azure Chivalry Hall warriors all fell silent at a sight that made death look like mercy.

Sun Wukong glanced around.

"What are you waiting for? Not going to drop those swords?"

"...!"

"Want me to make it so you can't even hold chopsticks, like this one?"

The words were barely out before swords clattered to the floor in a rush. Sun Wukong grinned.

He drew the yoryeok back from his fingertip.

Not bad.

Yoryeok was, by nature, something that roared out like a storm. He had compressed it to a single minute point at his fingertip. Compression, not expansion — a way of wielding yoryeok he had never once used before. Sun Wukong smiled with satisfaction and looked over the men who had surrendered.

Every last one of them was in poor shape. Muhwa had not been cruel about it, but the warriors she had faced were covered in wounds, large and small.

She came over.

"Teacher Sun. Was the meteoric iron bait? To give us a justification?"

Throw out a prize they couldn't resist. Let them strike first, and build a righteous pretext. Then hit the Azure Chivalry Hall and take the ironworks rights back. That was how it looked to Muhwa. Her expression was not a good one. In the end, wasn't this just leading with force — the very method the Namgung Clan elders had been pushing?

"This makes enemies of the Azure Chivalry Hall. Whatever their temperament, they're still Orthodox Murim."

A sigh escaped her on its own. The Namgung Clan already carried a certain reputation in the jianghu. This was just adding another spoonful of infamy on top of it.

Sun Wukong shrugged and turned away.

"Let's go to the ironworks."