The Debt of Grass
Jang Muhwi’s words about a guest arriving made Pajuk Seonsaeng narrow his eyes.
Seeing that reaction, Jang Muhwi gave a light laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’ll greet him myself, sir.”
With that, Jang Muhwi turned his head and looked toward Cheolwoo, who stood some distance away.
Their eyes met, and Cheolwoo hurried over at once.
“Speak, young master.”
“Take the elder and move away for a while. After twenty paces, change direction toward the moonlight.”
“Ah, understood, young master.”
Cheolwoo finished speaking and stepped beside Pajuk Seonsaeng.
They followed Jang Muhwi as he began walking again.
When the moment came, Cheolwoo tugged Pajuk Seonsaeng aside. A large rock and dense thicket stood there, offering perfect cover where not a single ray of moonlight could reach. Hidden in the darkness, Cheolwoo and Pajuk Seonsaeng held their breath.
Just as Jang Muhwi’s figure disappeared from view, a man in white robes appeared. Wearing a mask, he followed Jang Muhwi’s trail at a leisurely pace, as though out for a stroll. He was clearly the guest Jang Muhwi had mentioned.
Once the masked man vanished from sight, Cheolwoo let out a long sigh and turned his head.
“Whew. I think we need to call for help.”
He looked back the way they had come, but Pajuk Seonsaeng caught his sleeve.
“Stay put.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“The friend you serve told us to hide. That means he’s confident enough to handle this alone, doesn’t it?”
“Aigoo. You’ve got the wrong idea about our young master, sir. He doesn’t have that kind of ability.”
“When talent goes unseen, there are usually two reasons. Either it’s so small it can’t be noticed, or it’s so vast it lies beyond ordinary sight.”
“Huh? What does that mean—too vast to be seen?”
“Have you ever heard of the great peng?”
“What’s that?”
“They say the great peng flaps its wings only once a day. That single beat carries it from Qinghai all the way to Hainan. Yet people never see it flap.”
“How could anyone miss a flap that big?”
“Because that one flap takes an entire day. No one can tell whether the bird is moving its wings or simply resting. Look at the moon. Can you see it move?”
Pajuk Seonsaeng pointed at the moon, and Cheolwoo’s mouth fell open. He understood the meaning now.
His surprise lasted only a moment before he asked, “So… you’re saying our young master is a great peng?”
“Who knows? We’ll have to watch and find out. If you’re that worried, go fetch help.”
Pajuk Seonsaeng smiled broadly and strolled off in the direction Jang Muhwi and the masked man had gone. Cheolwoo stared blankly at his retreating back for a moment.
Today had been strange. His ordinarily unremarkable master had drawn attention like never before—first in the technique duel, and now by deliberately luring an enemy alone.
His hesitation didn’t last long. Instinctively, Cheolwoo followed after Pajuk Seonsaeng.
Up ahead, Pajuk Seonsaeng lifted his head and gazed at a high branch. Cheolwoo followed his line of sight. The moonlight filtering through was so faint it was barely noticeable—just like the young master he served. Cheolwoo thought he was letting his imagination run wild and gave a quiet, invisible chuckle.
─┼
Jang Muhwi, walking slowly along the mountain path, quietly turned his head. A narrow side trail branched off there. He stepped onto it and deliberately slowed his pace, maintaining the distance between himself and his pursuer.
In truth, Jang Muhwi felt grateful to this unknown enemy. He had found Pajuk Seonsaeng today, yet he had not yet made the man his own. It was unthinkable that a scholar who had tutored countless students—and even the crown prince—would be won over by a single sword debate. The real work of building that relationship began now.
Every treasure demanded a price. In his previous life, Wi Gunak had spent considerable time earning Pajuk Seonsaeng’s favor. Jang Muhwi had been prepared to do the same. Yet an opportunity had presented itself: nothing forged closeness faster than surviving life and death together. He was almost thankful to the pursuer for providing it.
Jang Muhwi stopped walking. The clearing where he stood was silent—no insect sounds, and even the moonlight was blocked by branches, creating an eerie atmosphere. This was no time for sentiment, however. His body was no longer that of the Iron Blood Sword Squad’s leader. At present, he was merely an average martial artist among Qinghai’s late-stage talents—perhaps even below average. Yet experience sometimes outweighed inner energy or secret manuals.
Jang Muhwi looked around. This place favored him completely. How many late-stage talents had fought on uneven ground thick with weeds rather than the clean stone floors of training halls? The moonlight was faint as well. He turned his head slightly and spoke in a low voice.
“Come out. If you’ve followed me this far along such a rough path, you must have urgent business. Hiding like that only makes me feel slighted.”
Jang Muhwi stared into the darkness. A black shadow suddenly leapt out—a man in white robes wearing a mask. Without a word, the masked man raised his scabbard and laid it horizontally across his body, the formal gesture of a life-and-death duel.
Jang Muhwi tilted his head.
“Why bother with etiquette when you’re here to kill someone?”
“Hah. I suppose I was overly polite.”
The masked man finally spoke. Jang Muhwi studied him for a moment, then raised a hand and pointed at the man’s sword.
“That’s exactly what I mean by empty formality, friend.”
“Am I your friend?”
“We’ve crossed swords. Doesn’t that make us friends? That mask must be uncomfortable. Why not take it off?”
Jang Muhwi gestured toward the mask. The man sounded startled.
“How did you know?”
“Your sword. You were wearing it earlier, weren’t you? Same robes, too. If you were going to disguise yourself, you should have changed your clothes, not just worn a mask.”
Jang Muhwi folded his arms. The man’s sword bore rather ornate decorations—eye-catching ones. To Jang Muhwi, the identity was obvious: Wi Gunak. So why had he followed them here? Because his opportunity had been stolen? No. Pride was the more likely reason. The fact that he had come masked suggested his ego was badly bruised. Erasing the one who had damaged his reputation from the world—that was the sort of thinking expected from the heir of a powerful martial clan.
Wi Gunak glared at Jang Muhwi, then casually drew his sword.
Shrrring!
Faint moonlight glinted along the blade. Jang Muhwi drew his own sword as well.
Shrrring.
Then he drove it straight into the ground.
Thud!
Wi Gunak sneered.
“Hah. Have you given up on living?”
“Your prejudices remain as strong as ever. On a night like this, a hot club suits better than a cold blade, don’t you think?”
“Ridiculous.”
“I only meant that sometimes a club is medicine. Don’t take it to heart.”
Jang Muhwi spun around. Wi Gunak lunged after him, but Jang Muhwi was no longer there. Only faint rustling sounds came from the darkness. Wi Gunak hurried toward the noise, which clearly belonged to someone fleeing. Then Jang Muhwi’s voice drifted out of the shadows.
“Let’s begin, friend.”
Wi Gunak’s lips curled upward.
“Hah. You think winning a technique duel means you can win a real fight to the death?”
That was his honest belief. He thrust his sword toward the voice. It was a simple technique, yet it carried the full weight of the Wi Clan’s century-old legacy—Blue Sea Full Bloom. Without sufficient inner energy, one could not even imitate it. Like flower petals covering a lake, Wi Gunak’s blade scattered in every direction. The sword moved so fast that the faint silver gleam looked like scattered petals in the darkness.
Shhhk-shhhk-shhhk.
It was the perfect technique for fighting an enemy hidden in multiple directions. Wi Gunak believed no one could escape his sword while concealed in shadow. The more inner energy one possessed, the greater the advantage in such a situation. A smile touched his lips.
Then a sharp sound came from behind.
Thwack!
Wi Gunak instinctively threw himself aside. That was only the beginning. Attacks flew at him from every direction, forcing him to keep dodging. Worse still, the grass kept catching at his ankles. Somehow, his feet kept tripping over the weeds. Another dull impact struck his back.
Thud!
Wi Gunak pitched forward. None of it made sense. If a worm wriggled, would a dragon so much as blink? Jang Muhwi was the worm; he was the dragon. So why—?
Wi Gunak ground his teeth. Yet Jang Muhwi’s scabbard never stopped striking, always using the same single technique: Horizontal Sweep of a Thousand Troops. It sounded grand, but it was nothing more than a simple left-to-right slash—the kind street thugs used every day. How could such a crude move counter the Wi Clan’s Blue Sea Full Bloom?
Even more baffling was the fact that Wi Gunak kept stumbling while his opponent moved as freely as a butterfly in windless skies. Then Jang Muhwi’s voice came again.
“Knotting Grass to Repay a Favor.”
It was an old tale about tying grass to repay kindness—completely unrelated to the current situation. Wi Gunak lifted his head, but Jang Muhwi remained invisible.
“What the hell does that mean?” Wi Gunak snapped.
“I have a small debt to repay you.”
“Hmm…”
Wi Gunak swallowed a deep breath. When faint moonlight finally illuminated the ground, he saw the weeds—some of them knotted together. Only then did he understand. Jang Muhwi had been tying grass into traps while attacking him in the pitch-black darkness.
Wi Gunak’s instincts screamed. Jang Muhwi looked different now. His way of fighting was nothing like that of other noble heirs. Whether Wi Gunak understood it or not, the man before him was clearly an asura who had survived countless battlefields. There was no chance of victory. At best, he had a ten percent chance of winning. No—winning was not the only concern. He could end up crippled, or worse, dead. After all, that had been his own intention in following Jang Muhwi.
Wi Gunak spoke quickly.
“This is all a misunderstanding. Spare me.”
Pride and reputation only mattered when one still possessed them. Faced with losing everything he had built, he could not afford to cling to such things. Of course, he knew Jang Muhwi would never let him go. Yet Jang Muhwi merely stroked his chin, as though considering how to finish the matter. Wi Gunak bit his lip. The method didn’t matter—surviving came first. He was even prepared to drop to his knees and beg.
This was the true face of the Wi Clan’s late-stage prodigy.
Wi Gunak shouted again.
“I never meant to harm you. I only wanted to talk. I’ll compensate you generously, so—”
“I’ll let you go.”
“What…?”
Wi Gunak stared blankly. Jang Muhwi had answered so casually. Wi Gunak searched the words for hidden meaning, but Jang Muhwi continued in a flat voice.
“Leave before I change my mind.”
“You’re serious?”
Wi Gunak backed away, suspicion still etched on his face. Once he had put some distance between them, he turned and ran. He hadn’t gone far before he tripped again. He scrambled up at once and fled without looking back.
Jang Muhwi watched him go in silence. He had spared Wi Gunak because of the opportunities only Wi Gunak could find in the future. To Jang Muhwi, Wi Gunak’s value as a tool was limitless.
A moment later, Jang Muhwi pulled his sword from the ground where he had left it. He tilted his head. Beneath the spot where the blade had been embedded lay a small silver pouch.