Chapter 80
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: Voices of Dissent
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Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
The departure had been modest, and the squad members' faces were pale.
"Once we pass Yeonju, Shandong will be behind us. As you know, we just follow the Jiangnan coast down to Hangzhou."
Eom Pung retraced their route, reconfirming the obvious.
They had crossed Jeonam and Yeonju, and before they knew it, they had reached the tail end of Shandong.
They could have taken the sea route, but having chosen the land path instead, they gathered all sorts of information as they headed for Hangzhou.
"But... are you really just going to leave like this?"
Glancing left and right, Eom Pung once more questioned his sole superior.
The familiar Shandong soil was no different from before, but the people treading it grew more changed with each passing day.
"Should we have at least made an announcement?"
Seo Mun-ha countered with a puzzled look.
"That's not it."
"Then what's the problem?"
Eom Pung clamped his mouth shut.
There were countless sources of unease, and problems aplenty if he started listing them.
For starters, the procession was pathetically lacking for an event from a great clan like the Seo Mun Clan.
Far from majestic, it was downright shabby.
Eom Pung, fiercely proud of his clan, could hardly be satisfied slinking out like petty thieves without a whisper.
This was the glorious inaugural mission of a newly formed unit, after all.
At odds with his expectations, he felt like a fishbone lodged in his throat.
"At the very least, shouldn't we have informed the young lady or young masters?"
Even setting aside his own feelings, the cold detachment before him meant not a word between siblings.
"They'll feel slighted."
True to his nickname, Seo Mun-ha vanished like a ghost.
As Eom Pung said, by now, several would be throwing tantrums.
And calling him heartless to boot.
"No helping it."
Seo Mun-ha and the entire Hyeoncheon Unit had been vigilant in every action, great and small.
Not only their movements but even the squad members' mouths had been tightly sealed, with Seo Mun-ha's hints and warnings permeating the very names "squad" and "leader."
The reason wasn't some lukewarm sentimentality or nostalgia from his past life.
"No harm in being cautious."
Jeonam was Seo Mun Clan territory, but with their prestige came countless watching eyes. Following the paths of the famed Myeongho and Seungnyong Units, they had never revealed their identities.
"This isn't something brute force can resolve right away."
What chance did the hastily assembled Hyeoncheon Unit have, when even the clan's elite Myeongho and Seungnyong Units had failed?
Thus, he approached the matter from an entirely different angle.
"Let's take a short break."
Seo Mun-ha, leading at the front, lightly waved his hand.
He paid no heed to the exhausted squad members.
"Huuuh."
Like rain in a drought, the words made them collapse one by one.
Thud!
Limp limbs hit the ground with heavy thumps.
The bracelets and anklets shackled like leg irons.
Thirty jin each, totaling one hundred twenty jin weighing them down.
"Huuuuh."
The brutish iron lumps might pass for ornaments at a glance, but to the deathly squad members, they were nothing but cumbersome nuisances.
"Young master."
Eom Pung, checking on them, cautiously broached the subject.
He wore the same himself.
Even he, at the peak realm, found it grueling—what of the others?
"This... how long do you plan to make us wear these?"
He pointed to one of the issues he raised.
The already small group was dwindling further.
These past few days, the dropouts had surged.
The Hyeoncheon Unit, formed of thirty-odd men, had mostly failed even basic clan training.
It was natural they couldn't endure Seo Mun-ha's rigors, and many left carrying shattered hopes.
Besides those who fled the clan, only about twenty remained.
Even these were growing haggard by the day, so Eom Pung's worry over more departures was hardly unfounded.
"Don't like the design?"
"..."
"Fair enough. We rushed it, so the patterns and shapes got no attention."
"It's not that."
Eom Pung sighed inwardly, as if in lament.
"It's too heavy for them to wear."
"Heavy?"
"These aren't even people who've learned proper martial arts yet."
"That's odd."
Seo Mun-ha tilted his head.
The training they underwent was standard even for military soldiers.
Armor is heavy, and adding helmet and spear makes it heavier still.
"No training boosts stamina and strength more efficiently than this."
No one appreciated the care he'd put into it.
"Armor stands out too much."
Their distrustful faces met his subtlety with outright dismissal.
"We've been force-marching for days."
Eom Pung stated facts, not excuses.
In this brutal trek, even a single horse or simple cart was a luxury.
Day-and-night forced marches shaved days off, but their pallid faces screamed limits reached.
Moreover, Seo Mun-ha's repeated coldness and scorn fueled it.
The squad members' eyes, tested to their patience, brimmed with feral resentment, on the verge of erupting.
Wounded pride festered amid frail bodies and minds, leaving Yang Jeong and Gu Chil walking on thin ice in the middle.
"Better to ask them directly."
Standing, Seo Mun-ha scanned the squad.
The water was rising, alright.
These problem children needed their rotten mindsets checked, and though he'd downplayed it, their perseverance in coming this far earned recognition.
"Heavy?"
Like their first meeting, Seo Mun-ha eyed each one.
"Speak if you have something to say. I'll hear it."
Yet no one replied.
They just nodded at each other, gauging reactions.
"Gripe, whatever."
His gaze lingered on the last man.
Seo Gyeom, dragging extra sandbags atop the four shackles.
Intensified training and conditions compared to others.
He'd violated rules before, forced into exemplary punishment. While two fled the clan, he showed stubborn grit.
"..."
Including him, the squad silently exchanged intents.
It wasn't lack of voice that kept complaints silent.
Avoiding Seo Gyeom's fate played a part, but obeying the demonic training and strict hierarchy stemmed from a shred of hope as Seo Mun Clan warriors.
A man's ambition and resolve.
"...It's heavy."
One raised a tentative hand and continued.
"Training to get strong is good. We want it, even."
"Then?"
"This is outright abuse, isn't it?"
Speaking his mind, he represented the rest.
"It's not tempering the body—it's ruining it."
With words flowing, all nodded in agreement.
Even if initiation hazing involved beatings and harassment, wasn't this excessive?
"So, conclusion—you can't do it?"
"That's not what we mean. Teach us proper martial arts!"
Seong-cheol demanded without mincing words.
Having crossed the line, he held nothing back, bolstered by the majority's cheers as he raised his voice.
"Isn't that the leader's duty? We didn't join the Seo Mun Clan just for physical conditioning!"
His impassioned cry echoed through the hills.
"Can't even run yet, and already flapping wings."
Emphasizing the leader's duty, Seo Mun-ha sneered back.
"Should I praise big dreams?"
"Leader!"
Seong-cheol shot to his feet in outrage.
"I can guess without looking. Think learning a few clan techniques makes you a master."
"That's...!"
Caught off-guard, Seong-cheol flapped his mouth in displeasure, words failing.
He'd meant to retort instantly, but couldn't deny it outright.
"All of you. Whining at this level means you've seen it all."
Seo Mun-ha drew the longsword from Seong-cheol's waist.
A chilling metallic ring, sharp edge glinting blue.
"With such soft thinking, you'll die quick."
The murim world isn't kind.
He personally corrected their shallow views and complacency.
Swish!
The longsword twice cleaved air, suddenly shearing Seong-cheol's hair.
Plip, plip.
Not a trace of inner power.
That sluggish stroke was visible even to Seong-cheol's eyes, yet for some reason, he couldn't twitch as the blade approached slowly.
Seo Mun-ha hadn't restrained him. Seong-cheol simply couldn't move his weary body a finger.
"Foes won't pity your plight. Weighted a thousand, no—a million jin, or qi depleted."
The squad dry-swallowed silently.
As if that blade tip aimed at them.
Seo Mun-ha released the flat, catching the falling blade below.
"Fights are won by the last one standing."
He raised a fingertip.
Shing.
The sheath climbed the blade, pointing at its owner.
"Swing your sword eleven times to their ten, a hundred one to their hundred."
Survivors become masters, not masters surviving.
"Simple, right?"
Child's talk.
"Training for that one extra, precise swing—anytime, anywhere."
Silence fell at his emphasis on basics.
"Can't do it? Fine. Might be your last chance. Pack up and head back to Jeonam."
Without clan arts yet, the exit stood open.
Grip.
As if entranced, Seong-cheol clutched the sheath unwittingly.
Seo Mun-ha turned to the rest, as if querying.
Surprisingly, no one cried quit.
They knew the clan's straits well enough.
But mistaking shortage of hands and talent for leniency was a grave error.
"Let me make it clear now."
The squad's sky-high gripes evaporated in a blink.
"I need subordinates, not comrades."
No equals to stand shoulder-to-shoulder or entrust backs to.
Their superfluous presence was a drag at best, and Seo Mun-ha stated it bluntly.
No expectations, no disappointments.
"We're not sightseeing mountains and rivers in Hangzhou."
That remained unchanged, past or present.
"If you stay anyway, follow with resolve to die."
Subordinates merely trailed his footsteps ahead.
"In return."
They gazed at him, faces like Seong-cheol's.
His calm tone utterly ordinary.
"I'll make you strong."
A casual offhand promise anyone could make, yet each word carried weight and marrow.
"If you truly die, I'll avenge you."
A proposal flawless in letter.
Assuming he kept his word. And for this brief moment, an unprecedented trust flickered.
Grievances, complaints, distrust—their break ended as those membranes tore.
Step.
The remaining squad's numbers unchanged.