Chapter 391

Moon Jeong-yeok’s sword is a legendary blade.

It’s got a fancy name, “Paryu Sword,” because it resembles the branches of willow swaying in the waves.

If you possess the honor of being the Number One Sword in Fuzhou, you can’t be using some mediocre blade that tarnishes your reputation.

So, you either use a piece of junk that looks like a cheap metal scrap, or you wield a sharp, magnificent sword—you have to choose one to maintain the dignity of being the top swordsman in a whole administrative authority.

It’s not about being Number One, but Number One Sword.

Of course, a skilled martial artist would find a worn-down Cheonggang Sword much more stylish than a legendary sword.

Absolutely classy!

But a fight between masters usually ends in a split second.

Just look at the clash between Qing and Moon Jeong-yeok.

If they had known the wicked demoness’s Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat technique, they might have acted differently, but they missed that one chance.

After taking a brutal hit from the Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat at the Dantian, his energy was thrown into chaos, disrupting the flow of Qi, and the failure of his protective meridian meant he couldn’t block the knife-hand that struck his head, tearing him apart.

Thus, in battles between masters, a single mistake leads to defeat, and maybe even death, which is why masters should use superior weapons.

The saying “A craftsman does not choose tools” only applies when there’s a demand for average results.

To create a masterpiece, you need tools that match that caliber; paradoxically, the more of a craftsman you are, the more meticulously you must pick your tools.

And now, among the swords that a craftsman crafted with utmost care, the finest of the fine, the Paryu Sword, is about to meet a new owner.

“Wow. This looks incredible.”

Qing lifts the sword and gives it a gentle shake.

With the blade bending like a willow branch, Qing grips the hilt tightly and applies all his strength.

The razor-sharp, sensitive blade screams as if it’s crying.

Aah, stop! I surrender! My bones! My bones! Oh my god, it’s going to break! The sword is in your hands! Please, don’t break it!

Just before the Paryu Sword, bent to its limits, was about to snap, it finally straightens out.

It seems this sword has found quite a dirty owner.

Holding the Moonlight Sword (Eleventh Sword), Qing breathes a sigh of satisfaction while drawing the scabbard from Moon Jeong-yeok’s corpse.

“Wait! Hyung! You took out Moon Jeong-yeok! That’s amazing!!”

After separating the scabbard from the corpse, Qing starts rummaging through his pocket, asking,

“Eh. Is he famous?”

“Absolutely! Moon Jeong-yeok is the Number One Sword in Fuzhou! If you mention Moon Jeong-yeok, you’ve got to mention Number One Sword! He’s incredibly famous for his sword techniques!”

“Hmm. Is that so? Ah, I knew it. This gold herbal medicine, you see.”

The sword looked promising; I thought the spoils would be decent, but even the box itself looks great.

The gold herbal medicine given by Tang Nan-ah was used up mostly by Yeon Pa, and the rest was consumed on the side.

“That’s how it is! He’s about to reach the Realm of Transformation! They say this sword master is on the verge of greatness!”

“Still, it’s not the realm, is it? And he’s just spouting rumors out of his own mouth, you know? I bet he’s been bragging about reaching the realm for at least ten years.”

Whenever you eat at a tavern or a restaurant, the ones loudest about their achievements are usually from the heterodox sects.

In truth, this year marks eight years since Moon Jeong-yeok’s impending reach for the realm, so Qing’s guess isn’t too far off.

“But! Moon Jeong-yeok is late-stage Supreme Martial Artist! And you’re early-stage Supreme Martial Artist! This is a remarkable feat! It truly deserves to be called an achievement!!”

I’ve been hearing Woo Na-ram’s noisy excitement constantly, so this isn’t surprising.

Yet, the cries spread far and wide.

“Did the Cheonhwa Sword take down the Number One Sword in Fuzhou?!”

“Did they fight in the middle of the enemy’s territory? Is that even possible?”

“The Cheonhwa Sword is a woman warrior who took on the Fire Demon King at her peak! And she’s the master of Divine Skill!”

Qing’s fame skyrockets with these whispers around.

For reference, Fuzhou is a major city in Fujian province, where the combined population of Nanning and Gye-rim doesn’t even come close.

Thus, being the Number One Sword in Fuzhou is definitely not a small-time persona.

Of course, being a magnificent person doesn’t mean much if you’re nothing but a traveling swordsman, as Moon Jeong-yeok is only a rank lower than the top dogs.

But since it’s the Number One Sword we’re talking about, it wouldn’t be a total lie.

Then, the Imperial Guards swooped in, capturing all but the benevolent martial arts instructors, bringing the battle to an end.

It was a victory.

—-

Salt Merchant Yo Hwan-cheol muttered in disbelief.

“Why on earth is the Government Office…?”

Yo Hwan-cheol was cuffed from behind.

The rope trailed behind, wrapping around the neck of the person behind him.

So, they were all lined up in two rows.

If anyone tried to break free and flee, the ropes would tighten and choke them.

And right behind Yo Hwan-cheol was none other than the self-proclaimed master of strategy, Jo Kwang-ang.

“I have no idea either. Even the military’s been mobilized.”

Unexpectedly, even in the ancient, primitive Central Plain, there’s a system of separation of powers.

However, this doesn’t come from the belief that the concentration of vast power breeds abuse that harms the common people’s lives.

It’s more convenient for the Emperor when those below him tear each other down, a structured division benefiting the ruler.

Naturally, they usually bond as sworn brothers and shout “We’re all in this together!” while taking everything for themselves, leaving the commoners in misery.

Thus, the Prefectural Governor administers the affairs of a city.

The Commanding Officer leads the military forces of that same city.

The Inspector enforces criminal laws.

The patrol officers fall under the Inspector’s domain, and the soldiers obey the Commanding Officer, with both having to be present due to the authority of the Prefectural Governor.

Furthermore, there’s only one person who can make this trinity work in Nam-nyeong County.

Prince Suswi.

“Banju, have you ever caused trouble for the prince?”

“No way! There’s no way someone running a salt operation would do that.”

“Huh. Then how come? It seems like they intentionally rounded up only the young disciples from our sect.”

“Isn’t it more likely because of you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The prince of Sichuan is staying with the Gye-rim Sword Faction, and where are the Gye-rim folks right now? With Bai Lian Iron Fist as a guest, how would you feel if that family’s servants all vacated the place?”

“Then we should catch the Gye-rim folks…”

“Ultimately, who cares what the landlord thinks? If the landlord makes his grievances known, you might as well try to understand the ways of the martial world.”

At that, former Bai Lian Iron Fist, now the self-proclaimed master of strategy, Jo Kwang-ang’s face darkens.

“What? Are you saying this is my fault? If it was foreseeable, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Jo Kwang-ang’s voice sharpens, making Yo Hwan-cheol flinch.

Still, it’s not like he could afford to offend the Sado Sect, especially in circumstances like these.

“No, I was just analyzing the situation thinking it seemed like it. I’m not blaming the sect leader.”

“Hmmm. Well, it might actually turn out to be for the best.”

“For the best?”

“If we had to retreat in battle, the losses could have been heavy. But hell, how long will they keep us locked up? It’ll probably be safer in prison, so it’s better to endure a little inconvenience and come out unharmed, right?”

“Oh, is that so?”

“The revenge of a man never ends, no matter how long it takes. As soon as I’m out, I’ll request a thousand-man combat unit—”

*Slap!*

The rope smacked Jo Kwang-ang in the mouth.

“Damn! Look at these criminals! You’re so desperate to escape, you think you’re amusing us with your chatter?”

Jo Kwang-ang’s expression turns sour.

Of course, it’s natural for a nobody to dare strike the lips of a master.

The rope around his neck makes it easy enough to snap off the cuffs on his arms.

However, venting his frustration was just a momentary relief; treason is a permanent crime.

“Hey, you! Keep your eyes open! Answer me!”

“…My apologies.”

“Does a mosquito crawl? Louder!”

*Slap!* The stout patrol officer smacked Jo Kwang-ang on the cheek again with the very rope.

Jo Kwang-ang’s blood pressure skyrockets.

Once again, the rope swings in, landing another slap.

It doesn’t hurt, but the feeling is just filthy.

“I should tell my General and demand an immediate execution—”

“No! I’m sorry!”

Jo Kwang-ang’s startled voice rises.

“One more time!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Tsk. What good is it to be a master if you’re just a low-life thug feeding off the blood of the common folk?”

Jo Kwang-ang grinds his teeth in frustration.

While being called a low-life is bad enough, being compared to a being that sucks on the blood of the common folk, referred to as the Number One in the World by the Government Office, feels ever so humiliating.

That guy’s not getting away with this.

Jo Kwang-ang keeps glancing at the patrol officer’s face as if etching it into his memory.

Behind and in front of him, the line of the Sapa prisoners extends endlessly.

—-

A victory banquet was held at Jangsan Warrior.

It’s not that no one died in battle, but the custom is to celebrate victory and mourn the departed afterward.

“Great Hero! Will you accept my cup!?”

“Cheonhwa Sword! Come, have a drink!”

“I should raise a toast to the new Number One Sword in Fuzhou!”

Qing doesn’t turn down any incoming drinks.

Getting smashed isn’t an issue at this point.

“Wow! This is great! Now, let’s see who’s the finest liquor in Nam-nyeong! Bring out the drinks!”

“Woohoo!”

But what is alcohol really?

It damages the brain, rots the liver, and ruins all five senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—while driving people crazy, bringing them temporary bliss at best, a deadly poison in its truest form.

Drunkards often claim that a drink or two is good for health, but the truth is alcohol has zero positive effects on the human body—it’s nothing less than sheer poison.

So, the orthodox warriors, swayed by the wicked demoness’s scheme, end up drinking poison.

Not just drinking, mind you—they’re guzzling it down.

One by one, they stagger and fall as they keep drinking more poison.

Thus, as night deepens, a truly horrifying scene unfolds at Jangsan Warrior.

On the right knee lies Woo Na-ram; on the left knee is Na Yang-gyeol; and sprawled across the grand arena of the warrior’s courtyard are countless orthodox warriors, groaning grotesquely as they writhe.

Amid this chaos, Qing pours himself a drink, filling his glass and watching drops fall.

“Lady. We’re out of alcohol. Aunt! Just one more bottle of flower wine, if you please!”

But it’s not his aunt who approaches—rather, it’s an uncle; not from this house, but the one from the Gye-rim Sword Faction.

“A letter to pass to the young lady.”

When Qing accepts the red envelope, the servant stalls awkwardly near him.

“Oh, right. You’ve come all the way here. Would you like to have a drink? I’d love to pour you some new wine, but this is the last bit, just a moment!”

Qing rolls up his sleeves, making the cup scratchy-clean with a popping sound.

“It’s not that—uh, well, there’s been the same letter coming over and over. He’s really ugly, so the young lady should know. How dare he try to flirt with you? Just give the word, and I’ll slap him across the face the next time he shows up.”

The poor errand boy finds himself caught in an inexplicable situation.

Without any confession, BAM! A random slap lands on the errand boy!

But it’s not that the servant is rude; it’s just that they’ve become fond of him.

With a grin, Qing gently advises him.

“Oh, there’s someone sending it separately, and I’m not interested, so don’t do that. Since you’ve come, there’s plenty of remaining dishes over there; take some to share with the workers.”

“Is that really okay?”

“Of course. Who’s going to eat all this? The leftover banquet set aside is just that. Wrap it up and return it later—it’s all good.”

“Wow, how considerate of you towards those beneath you…”

The servant brushes off the remaining dishes from the banquet table with a mix of moved and excited expressions.

To the servants of the Gye-rim Sword Faction, it’s like receiving food from a celestial being! More praises of the Cheonhwa Sword will surely follow today.

To the precious young lady, who always treats people with kindness and respect, she’s a goddess in their eyes—Seomun Qing.

As Qing uses someone else’s food to gain favor, he tears open the letter.

「I will wait for you at Yonggungru Orchid Room.」

Throwing the letter into the stove, Qing briefly thinks it over.

Should I go?

After all, is it the White Poison or the Black Poison? Regardless, they once said that the Extreme Poison of Heaven and Earth would be absolutely gone.

However, the message doesn’t specify a time, so it means they’re saying to wait until they arrive, and since there’s no mention of threats regarding identity—so there’s no particular malice.

It’s not a trap, especially considering the Sapa folks have been all rounded up, and how would they know when I’d come to judge traps anyway?

Also, why hasn’t this old man gone to battle?

A step late, but since the Imperial Guards are on our side, the outcome would’ve been the same, but since the poison expert usually specializes in mass slaughter, having that old man around could have led to great losses.

Was the Salt Merchant being petty?

Qing ponders for a moment.

Hmm, then I should go right away.

Just having won a battle, and with the old man arrested by the officials, it’s tough to rally people immediately.

And he likely wouldn’t expect me to arrive sooner, so it’s better to hear what’s happening than waste time doing nothing.

Boyeol spoke with a serious expression and a deep voice.

“I am considering throwing myself to the Blood Sect.”

Lady. What a regrettable move.

Qing immediately regretted it.

Has the old man lost his mind?

If he wants to join the Blood Sect, he should just quietly go. What’s the need to call me over to tell me this?

Is he asking for my support or something?

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