Chapter 332
Chapter 332
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 332
Chapter Title: Ruins of Zhuul Village
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Wang Sopyeong, the man with a thick beard like a hometown mustache, panicked greatly.
Had he blocked or dodged the sword with his own weapon, he might not have been so shocked. But to catch the blade with his fingers?
Not even clashing swords—just the mere sight of it made his stomach churn as if he were about to vomit. The gap in skill was obvious.
Wang Sopyeong's vision went white.
'I thought he was just some no-good beggar...'
Even in the recent fights against those terrifyingly strong Qingcheng Sect Taoists or Emei Sect nuns, he had never crossed blades with an expert of this caliber.
'This damn—'
Oblivious to Wang Sopyeong's inner thoughts, the beggar asked again.
"Where did the villagers go?"
The killing intent behind that question was palpable.
Wang Sopyeong realized that he was only technically still breathing—his life was effectively over. Wielding a weapon against an expert was a capital offense, and this beggar seemed to have ties to the villagers, no less.
Any ordinary person might have trembled and bowed their head, but Wang Sopyeong considered himself fairly resolute.
Thus, he bellowed,
"Where? To hell, you beggar bastard! I sent them all there!"
In the next instant, Wang Sopyeong saw a staff swinging toward his head.
That was the last sight he beheld in life.
He felt his skull shatter.
*
Hong Geolgae had reflexively swung his weapon, smashing the man's head.
This was rare for him. Hong Geolgae rarely took lives.
Even during the Orthodox-Righteous Great War, he had preferred breaking an arm or leg here and there over killing.
But now, rage surged in his chest. He had despised the Zhuul Village folk, true, but he hadn't wished them dead.
'It might be a lie. He could just be spouting nonsense now that he's swung his sword.'
Hong Geolgae scanned the surroundings, intending to repeat the question.
The people nearby flinched upon meeting his gaze and backed away.
One of them raised his hand high and shouted,
"I said we shouldn't kill them!"
The tension drained from Hong Geolgae. What he meant as an excuse was, in fact, confirmation that they had massacred the Zhuul Village people. His mind reeled.
Hong Geolgae clutched his head with his left hand and tapped the ground with his staff.
Then, he asked a single word.
"Why?"
It was a question ripe for misunderstanding, but the man understood exactly what he meant.
Not 'Why did you say not to kill them?'
But 'Why did you kill them?'
Yet the man hemmed and hawed, unable to answer readily.
Hong Geolgae let out a deep sigh, then charged at the men, swinging his staff wildly. These were not strikes tempered with his usual intent to spare lives.
Those who merely had limbs broken were extraordinarily lucky. Many had their heads caved in and died on the spot; others were struck in the neck or back, left in worse states than death.
In truth, even survivors didn't last long. Hong Geolgae finished them off with further blows.
The gap was so overwhelming that the gang entrenched in Zhuul Village didn't dare attack Dang Mujin's group and instead began fleeing.
As they scattered, Dang Mujin considered using his flying wheel to kill them all but held back. If Hong Geolgae needed help, he would have said so.
Uncertain, Dang Mujin glanced at Hyun-gong.
When unsure of what to do, following Hyun-gong's lead never led to problems.
Fortunately, Hyun-gong wasn't extending his sword; he simply held his position.
Yeom Physician watched Hong Geolgae rampage impassively. He was struck anew by the company he kept.
They appeared as playful youths at rest, but each wielded power surpassing the sect leaders or clan heads of even the grandest sects. It was a surreal reality, but true.
Hong Geolgae raged and panted for a good while before his head cooled enough for him to grab the wrist of one fleeing man.
The captive screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Spare me! Please, milord, spare me!"
"I've got some questions."
There was no promise of mercy.
But with his wrist seized, the man clung to faint hope and nodded obsequiously.
Hong Geolgae asked,
"Who are you lot?"
"We're just stragglers! Honest!"
"Stragglers? Stragglers from what?"
"We're the no-names who tagged along in the Orthodox-Righteous Great War just to fill out the ranks and act as meat shields!"
Hong Geolgae looked around. Neither the dead nor the fleeing included anyone worthy of being called an expert.
"Why were riffraff like you in this village?"
"Not long after entering Sichuan Province, Emei Sect nuns ambushed us and turned everything to chaos. After clashing with them several times, Qingcheng Sect Taoists showed up too. We couldn't break through Sichuan and scattered in retreat. That's when we stumbled on this village. To treat our wounds and fill our bellies..."
"So. Where are the villagers?"
"..."
When no immediate answer came, Hong Geolgae's grip tightened.
Crack.
The man's wrist snapped.
"Aaagh!"
Unable to bear the agony, he shrieked. Tears and snot streamed down his face as he clutched his broken wrist, gasping pitifully.
But he knew dawdling further meant his skull would be next.
With his unbroken left hand, he pointed to the village center.
"There! Over there!"
What he pointed to was a well.
As Hong Geolgae recalled, it was the long-dried well in the village center, no longer in use. Because it had failed, western villagers used the stream, while eastern ones used wells.
Hong Geolgae could guess why the man pointed there. It had happened before, not long ago.
He approached the well and opened the lid. Sure enough, corpses were piled high below.
Too much hassle to bury them properly, and they didn't want the stench or bugs, so they dumped them in the well.
"Why kill them?"
Hong Geolgae strode toward the man with the broken wrist, eyes blazing with fury.
"We came to the village to treat wounds and get food, but some resisted, refusing to share. I just wanted a little to eat, but a few hotheads..."
The rest would be tedious excuses and self-justification. Hong Geolgae swung his staff at the man's head.
Crack!
With a crisp sound, the man collapsed, skull shattered. Blood poured from his nose.
Hong Geolgae returned to the well and peered down.
A recent tale came to mind: Yeom Physician's story of being thrown into a well, dead.
His thoughts swirled.
Another idea filled his mind now.
The words of Dae Pung-gae. That Hong Geolgae's great luck was finally running dry.
He had felt it lately. From losing at simple dice games to the misfortunes piling up around him.
Hong Geolgae slumped to the ground, staring blankly at the sky.
*
Dang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, Seolhwa—even Yeom Physician—joined forces to dig graves in a sunny spot on the village outskirts.
Winter had frozen the ground somewhat, but with multiple shovels, it wasn't too hard. Everyone's martial prowess enhanced their physical abilities.
While others prepared graves, Hyun-gong descended into the dry well to retrieve the villagers' corpses.
The dry well found new occupants: dozens of dead unorthodox martial artists, tangled haphazardly, filling it to the brim.
Hong Geolgae said to Dang Mujin,
"Mujin, give me some quicklime."
He disliked these scum being buried alongside Ma Jeon-gae in the sleeping village.
Understanding, Dang Mujin handed over the quicklime without protest. Hong Geolgae dumped nearly half into the well.
Though not much, smoke soon billowed madly from the well.
Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae half-closed the lid and stepped back. The bodies would vanish without trace soon enough.
Even with superhuman martial artists working together, digging dozens of graves took a full day. They finished at sunset the next day.
The group roughly washed in the icy stream water and retired to sleep. Empty houses abounded, making shelter easy.
Instead of bed, Hong Geolgae headed south of the village.
There stood the grave mound of his master, Ma Jeon-gae. Hong Geolgae gazed silently at it.
"..."
He had built Ma Jeon-gae's mound alone. With no shovel—just bare hands and a stick—it was poorly shaped: low, uneven, liable to wash away in rain.
But now, the mound had changed.
It was well-packed, rounded, and tall—not just high, but neatly formed.
Even suitable grass grew prettily atop it. Anyone could see it was made and maintained with care.
Only then did Hong Geolgae realize: the villagers hadn't slighted him and Ma Jeon-gae out of hatred.
To preserve the village, they had to exile the killer, but gratitude lingered in their hearts.
Knowing no reward would come, they rebuilt Ma Jeon-gae's grave and tended it diligently for years.
Tears welled up. Hong Geolgae sniffled, then sobbed, finally collapsing into full wails.
Like most tears, he didn't know precisely why. Regret for belatedly understanding the villagers' hearts? Grief over losing his home? Disappointment that his plans to boast were dashed? Or just a need to cry?
Amid the prolonged weeping, he sensed footsteps.
He knew who. Only one knew Ma Jeon-gae's grave was south of the village.
Turning, it was indeed Dang Mujin.
Hong Geolgae wiped his tears roughly. Pretending otherwise wouldn't fool Dang Mujin.
Dang Mujin asked,
"Sad?"
Hong Geolgae nodded silently.
Then he remembered something to tell Dang Mujin. Dae Pung-gae's words.
He didn't want to pour out the full story now.
So, cutting to the chase, he said one thing.
"My master said I was born under a fate to die young. But surviving mortal peril granted me great luck, and now it's finally running out."
"Yeah?"
Dang Mujin nodded perfunctorily. Hong Geolgae liked the casual response.
He continued,
"Did I contribute to my hometown people's deaths? Did my misfortune cause them to die because I came here?"
Dang Mujin pondered without hasty reply.
Then answered,
"Could think of it the other way."
"How?"
"Zhuul Village might have been doomed to vanish far sooner. No one would call its location suitable for a stable village."
"..."
"It endured precariously in poverty; it wasn't attacked by bandits or martial artists; many survived the plague; it lasted until luckily meeting me and Elder Goe. All thanks to that great luck."
"Or maybe not."
"Then think positively."
Sound advice. His stifled heart lightened a bit.
Hong Geolgae grinned awkwardly and changed topics.
"I shouldn't go to Chengdu."
"Why not?"
"Not sure if my luck running out means no more fortune or that I bring misfortune. If the latter, I'm scared it'll transfer to you."
He thought it profound, but Dang Mujin dismissed it as nonsense.
"Ridiculous. After coming this far, turn back? And no need to worry about luck like that."
Hong Geolgae eyed Dang Mujin's face. He seemed genuinely unconcerned.
He asked,
"Why?"
"If dark clouds followed only my head, I wouldn't wander deserted places. I'd find a sturdy-roofed house and rest easy. That's sane judgment."
The sturdy house was clearly the Dang family estate. Hong Geolgae pressed,
"What if it's not mere clouds?"
"A massive storm might topple rice stalks or rip thatch from huts. But even gales don't crumble rock mountains. The Dang estate may not be a full mountain, but it's a sturdy hill. It won't fall to mere wind and rain."
Dang Mujin spoke calmly and rose.
Hong Geolgae realized his longtime friend had become a mature head of house.
Dang Mujin said,
"We leave at dawn, so sleep soon."
He glanced at Hong Geolgae, flashed a grin, and headed to find a room for the night. The red sunset seemed to set Dang Mujin's profile ablaze.
After a dozen steps, he paused and turned.
"Hong Geolgae."
"Yeah?"
"Just in case—don't tell Hyun-gong that story. He might ditch you slyly."
Hong Geolgae burst laughing. Hyun-gong totally would. The blazing Dang Mujin resumed walking, vanishing into the blazing Zhuul Village.
Only after some time did Hong Geolgae rise, brushing dirt from his pants.
Gazing at his master's neat mound, he recalled the villagers' generous hearts.
Poor themselves, yet they fed two village outcasts for twenty years.
They built and tended a mere beggar's grave for years.
Hong Geolgae headed to where the villagers' graves now stood. Dozens clustered, forming a new Zhuul Village, a new home.
'I'll come back someday.'
Bowing gratefully, he turned away.