Chapter 32: Sword Demon Goes Down to the Five
The gatekeeper of Dojeonru (Gambling House), Yang Gwang-pil, yawned widely as he looked out over the night streets of Shenyang.
“Yaaawn! Isn’t there anything fun going on?”
Yesterday had been a blast—a wild chase between a scoundrel skipping out on a bar tab and a courtesan.
Thanks to that, his shift hadn’t been boring at all. But tonight, the surroundings were quiet and uneventful.
“Hehe, maybe I’ll visit Wolhyang after I get this month’s pay.”
As Yang Gwang-pil chuckled to himself—
Step. Step. Step.
A man approached the front of Dojeonru.
It was a disheveled-haired youth in a blue martial robe, a sword hanging from his waist.
“No kids allowed. This is a gambling den.”
“Oh yeah? Then I’ve come to the right place.”
“The hell? Where’d this brat learn to talk like that to an adult?”
“You told me to yap, so yap I did.”
“Huh?”
“You said yap, didn’t you?”
From the crooked smile on the boy’s face, Yang Gwang-pil realized he was being mocked.
“You little bastard, wanna die? You dare mock the great One-Armed Sword Demon?”
“Oh dear, such a grand nickname for a mere thug of the Hao Clan. And you’re not even one-armed.”
“You little—!”
As Yang Gwang-pil moved toward the boy, a strange feeling hit him.
He was sure he’d heard the boy say…
“Hao Clan? Y-you… who are you—?!”
“They say a man follows his name.”
“Gah!”
Pop!
The boy’s figure vanished—and then excruciating pain exploded in Yang Gwang-pil’s right shoulder.
Crunch!
“Aaaagh!”
“Since I came asking for help, it wouldn’t be nice to shed blood. But still…”
The boy, Hoyeon, struck Yang Gwang-pil’s shoulder with the sheathed sword, shattering it. Then he kicked the collapsing man away.
Bang!
Yang Gwang-pil’s body smashed through Dojeonru’s door and sprawled in the middle of the gambling hall like a crushed bug.
He had wished for something exciting—and ended up becoming the excitement himself.
“Who the hell?!”
“We’re under attack!”
“A kid?”
At the commotion, Dojeonru’s guards rushed out. The patrons, thinking government troops had raided the place, dove under tables.
“This is a gambling hall, right?”
Hoyeon slung his sheathed sword over his shoulder and faced the dozen or so guards with drawn blades.
“Let’s gamble. The loser becomes the winner’s lackey.”
“Kill him!”
“Die!”
Tat-tat-tat!
The warriors charged at once—but Hoyeon calmly nodded, his face composed.
“I won’t kill you. Merciful, right?”
Swish!
He avoided a slashing sword that came at a diagonal angle and lifted his leg.
He stood like a crane atop a still lake—this stance was Jeongsu Yeogyeong (Still Water Like Mirror), the opening move of Hakjeonggak, one of the rare leg techniques of the Namgung clan.
Slash!
From stillness to motion, his kick spread like a crane unfolding its wings.
Hakik Gaejeon (Crane Wing Unfolds).
Crash! Boom!
“Gaaah!”
Not so graceful was the result—a warrior struck in the chest flew through three tables and tumbled far away.
“You bastard!”
“Stop calling me that. Someone out there with real parents might get offended.”
Hoyeon’s leg rose again, his toes sharp like a crane’s beak, and he began pecking furiously.
Pabababak!
Hakhoe Jiksa (Crane Beak Straight Pierce).
Crack!
“Guaagh!”
A warrior’s blade shattered in half. Having his pressure point struck, he vomited up meals from three years ago and collapsed.
“Ugh, disgusting.”
Wham!
Frowning, Hoyeon kicked the vomiting man like a whip, sending him flying into two more charging guards.
“Aaaagh!”
“Sh—!”
Boom!
All three became a human ball, rolling into the wall in a heap.
Now fear began to show on the guards’ faces.
“H-he’s a master!”
“This damn crane-bird bastard!”
“He’s a leg-technique expert!”
Just then, a lean man with a sharp gaze stepped forward, spinning a spear as he came.
“Step aside, all of you.”
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
As he spun the spear and walked, the guards cheered.
“Master Wi! Show him!”
“Phantom Spear God Wi I-gyeom!”
“Haha! The brat’s done for now! Master Wi is a first-rate martial artist with an elite nomad license!”
The guards shouted to break Hoyeon’s morale, but he only smirked.
“After the One-Armed Sword Demon, now the Phantom Spear God? So this is Yongdamho’s lair.”
“Kid, apologize now. My spear doesn’t know mercy.”
Wi I-gyeom smirked threateningly.
Hoyeon shrugged.
“I do know mercy. So here’s a warning—put killing intent in that spear and you won’t be able to hold chopsticks again.”
“You little punk! Die!”
Tap!
Wi I-gyeom charged, twirling the spear, red tassels fluttering hypnotically at the tip.
“Chaa!”
Crack!
At the moment of thrusting, he twisted the shaft—adding Jeonsaryeok (Spinning Force).
Swoosh!
Hoyeon calmly shifted his stance to dodge like flowing water. Wi I-gyeom’s eyes gleamed.
‘Got him!’
His skill came from his exceptional wrist strength and flexibility.
Twist!
He sharply twisted his wrist, making the spearhead curve like a serpent toward Hoyeon.
At the same time, he channeled Black Killing Force into the spear, turning the tip jet-black.
‘Die! Iron Spiral Soul-Chaser!’
Rumble!
A steel tornado that had taken countless lives roared toward Hoyeon’s heart.
“I warned you.”
Grab.
Hoyeon grinned as he caught the blade of his sheathed sword.
“Don’t put killing intent in your attacks.”
Slash!
Hoyeon drew Yuaegeom—and a piercing blue sword energy exploded.
The blade, glowing sapphire, swept from bottom to top.
Cheongouunhaeng (High Sky, Moving Clouds).
Tung!
True to its name, Cheongouunhaeng dismissed Iron Spiral Soul-Chaser like swatting a fly.
“Wha…?”
“You should’ve let go of the spear.”
Wi I-gyeom clung to the spear with all his might, which was his mistake.
His raised arms left his body wide open.
“You brought this on yourself.”
Slice!
“Cause and effect.”
Slice!
“Clean up your own mess.”
Crash!
Hoyeon cleanly severed both of Wi I-gyeom’s wrists and then kicked him in the face.
Kaboom!
“…”
“…”
“…”
Blood spilled everywhere. The gambling den fell into utter silence.
“Tsk. Ended up spilling blood after all. Fine. I’ll oil the blade.”
Shrrk. Clack.
Hoyeon sheathed the sword. No one dared move.
Then—
“P-please stop!”
“Hm?”
A short, scruffy-bearded middle-aged man cried out in a trembling voice.
“A-are you from the Namgung clan?”
“I’m Namgung Hoyeon. Now, where’s my old man?”
“Old man…?”
“Oh, there he is.”
Hoyeon pointed past the middle-aged man, to a trembling young man clutching a sword.
“U-uhhh…!”
Yeonggil clutched the Cheonroegeom, unable to believe his eyes.
The boy in front of him was supposedly the biggest pushover among the Namgung clan’s young masters.
The same guy who once downed expensive liquor and threw silver to barmaids…
‘He’s… a monster! I messed up big time!’
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Facing Hoyeon’s calm, cold blue eyes, Yeonggil trembled in terror.
“You know what you stole?”
“Uuh…”
“Cheonroegeom is a sacred relic of our clan. Stealing it is a declaration of war.”
“Uwahhh!”
“W-what?!”
“Namgung clan? One of the Ten Great Families?!”
“I-I didn’t know! I was just hired!”
At Hoyeon’s declaration, everyone in the gambling hall turned pale.
The Namgung name was still not to be taken lightly.
“Everyone here dies—except the mangy dog you all keep in this den.”
“Ugh…”
“Next, I’ll mobilize the Iron Sword Division and crush any allied groups to the roots.”
Step. Step. Step.
As Hoyeon walked forward menacingly, Hao Clan’s Shenyang branch leader, Ma Mujun, trembled before shouting:
“P-please, great sir! I-I apologize! Our subordinate’s greed blinded him into making a mistake!”
“Mistake? Anyone can make one. But there’s a price.”
“P-please have mercy! If you’d just forgive us—!”
“Forgive? Sure. But pay the price.”
“Pardon?”
Ma Mujun blinked, not realizing the difference in Hoyeon’s repeated words.
Hoyeon smiled gently.
“I’m a curious person.”
“C-curious?”
“If you can’t answer my question, I’ll get in a really bad mood.”
“Ask anything.”
Ma Mujun gulped hard.
Seeing that obedient attitude, Hoyeon nodded and asked,
“What do you know about the Gwedong Branch?”
