Chapter – 69
Yeon Baekrim was from Ssangryu in Sichuan and became an orphan around the age of ten.
He dreamed of becoming a martial artist, but stories of miraculous encounters with elite masters or one-on-one inheritances of absolute techniques were only found in legends. For a wandering orphan with nothing to his name, there was no master to teach him martial arts.
He had to survive, so he tried begging and even became a street performer. Eventually, he barely settled into a life in a traveling opera troupe that doubled as a shrine troupe—a life truly like a drifting weed.
And so, Yeon Baekrim spent nearly twenty wasted years trudging through life.
“!”
As usual, he had planned to take a nap on a quiet, lonely forest path.
Through the dense trees, he noticed a luxurious carriage overturned.
Around it, dozens of corpses were scattered.
When he approached, he saw the blood from the bodies forming a river.
Hoping there might be survivors, he moved toward the carriage—but tripped over a stray corpse.
Startled, he instinctively grabbed a sword lying nearby.
Falling, he got completely covered in blood.
Just as a panicked Yeon Baekrim struggled to get up after several slips, officials appeared from beyond the bushes.
The highest-ranking among them shouted toward him.
“W-what… you! You didn’t happen to defeat all these Green Forest bandits alone!?”
“No, I… I didn’t—”
The official’s eyes swept over Yeon Baekrim’s blood-soaked clothes and the sword in his hands.
“Amazing! You truly are a hero! This will serve as an example to the people of Sichuan who have suffered from banditry!”
From that day, when the official firmly grasped his bloodied hands while he had fallen over the corpses, Yeon Baekrim’s life was completely overturned.
“That man single-handedly wiped out twelve Green Forest camps… the hero of Ssangryu.”
“Ah, him? My, what a fine-looking man he is.”
Wherever he went, he received warm treatment and praise for everything he did. Even if he got caught up in unavoidable disputes, once his name was known, the other party bowed first.
Even a trembling, untested sword he had was given a magnificent name.
After his timid blade received that impressive name, the hero of Ssangryu who had wiped out twelve Green Forest camps became a rising master of the Spectral Sword, said to even split flashes of light.
It was a new life, a new world.
Yeon Baekrim gradually adapted to his newly given life as a martial artist. Of course, he lived with a fear that the truth might eventually be revealed—but the situation was already irreversible.
As the old saying goes, “If the tail is too long, it will be stepped on.”
Gradually, some began to doubt Yeon Baekrim’s abilities. This time, mere acting learned from the opera troupe would not suffice.
A senior disciple from the Hwasinmun sect challenged him to a duel.
The trouble began when a disciple of Hwasinmun couldn’t tolerate Yeon Baekrim drunkenly bothering people in a small tavern, thinking himself a hero.
Yeon Baekrim regretted it madly, kicking off his blanket in frustration countless times. But the duel’s day approached inevitably, and he fled into a deep forest to avoid the eyes of Hwasinmun’s disciples.
Bang bang bang!
Suddenly, a deafening noise erupted in all directions, and great trees toppled.
Blue beams of light shot into the sky from various places.
The ground shook violently, and dust exploded in the air.
“Ugh…”
It was a strange phenomenon he had never experienced before. Terrified, he clutched his head and hid in the knot of a tree.
How long he remained there, overwhelmed by instinctive fear, he didn’t know.
Eventually, the surrounding noise settled, and the tremors ceased. But just to be safe, he remained hidden a little longer.
Finally convinced the disturbance had ended, he carefully emerged from the tree knot. Being human, he couldn’t resist curiosity and moved toward the source of the blue light and noise.
The closer he got, the stronger the scent of plum blossoms became.
“Hmm?”
Breaking through the last of the bushes, he saw a middle-aged man leaning against the base of a tree, eyes rolled back and drooling.
If left like that in the mountains, he would either freeze to death or be eaten by wild animals.
Yeon Baekrim drew his sword and tapped the man’s shoulder.
“Hey… if you keep sleeping like this, you’ll die—”
“Yeon Baekrim, you brat!”
From the bushes behind, dozens of martial artists poured out.
They were the disciples of Hwasinmun, arriving for the duel.
Yeon Baekrim’s face went pale.
“Damn it…”
He regretted stopping to save someone else when his own life was on the line.
A strong martial artist stepped forward—it was the senior disciple of Hwasinmun, Yeon Baekrim’s duel opponent.
“I knew it! Trying to dodge the duel… so you really are just a flashy fool!”
The disciple’s eyes fixed on Yeon Baekrim’s trembling sword.
“That’s not the Spectral Sword you’re holding—it’s your trembling heart!”
Yeon Baekrim swallowed hard. Judging by the disciple’s look, begging wouldn’t save him. Even someone without martial skill could feel the lethal aura.
Where had it all gone wrong? Everything was regretful and terrifying. He should have just told the truth from the start.
“Ah, no!”
Suddenly, someone from among Hwasinmun’s disciples screamed. The fallen middle-aged man was…
“Lord of Vagabonds, Lee Cheolju…!”
“What!?”
The disciple turned to see the face of the collapsed man—his face turned pale.
It was a face he had seen in Guangdong, someone who ruled the region as the “Lord of Vagabonds,” Lee Cheolju.
His true martial skill was unknown but considered absolute, rumored to rival even the legendary masters.
Even the top master of Hwasinmun would need to yield to him.
The senior disciple nervously looked around. The only one visible was Yeon Baekrim—his clothes slightly dusty, but otherwise neat—while the infamous Lee Cheolju lay unconscious.
Swallowing hard, Yeon Baekrim realized he had no time for hesitation.
“Please forgive this fool who didn’t recognize your majesty,” he said.
That day, the disciples of Hwasinmun fled without looking back.
From the Spectral Sword wielder who could split flashes of light, Yeon Baekrim rose as the absolute master known as the Sun-Moon Sword.
Word spreads fast. Once tales of his deeds in the Sichuan wilderness circulated, Yeon Baekrim’s fame shot to the heavens.
Even the opera troupe, where he always played the lead, admired his appearance, which only reinforced his growing reputation.
By then, Yeon Baekrim began to take advantage of the situation—for survival.
If anyone discovered that the Sun-Moon Sword was actually wielded by a man with no martial skill, he would die instantly.
And hiding this truth was not difficult. His reputation prevented most challenges, and in rare disputes, a single display of the sword would have challengers bowing.
Occasionally, some martial artists would ask about his techniques, but Yeon Baekrim had learned a way to deflect them:
“I do not teach my martial insight to others. Insight is like life—its meaning differs for each person. You must find your own path.”
With his acting skills honed in the opera, a few lines of rehearsed dialogue left everyone satisfied, nodding as if they had attained understanding.
Even now, the same trick worked.
And so, as he walked along, he kept up the pretense, narrowly avoiding real confrontations, until he ran into… trouble.
When he tried to take a quiet nap in the trees, he unexpectedly ran into Guan Cheol-woo—the man he had earlier clashed with—and five more of his similarly built companions.
Fear coursed through him, but he tried to maintain composure. His eyes narrowed, and he muttered, “The Six Freaks of Henan?”
Normally, a low voice and sharp gaze would make opponents flee—but not this time. They approached confidently, one with a heavy arm slung over his shoulder, whispering something ominous.
“I just heard a very interesting story…”
A chill ran through Yeon Baekrim. The situation seemed to confirm that his true identity as the Sun-Moon Sword had been discovered.
His throat dried, head spun, ears rang.
“Am I about to die?”
But Yeon Baekrim remembered the third unwritten rule he had learned:
“Even if trapped in a tiger’s den, if you stay calm, you survive.”
Taking a deep breath, he crafted a plan.
“Hey, young man… I might have a way to fulfill your request,” he said, pretending to praise.
The Six Freaks, who were infamous in Sichuan, collapsed in an instant, before he could even take a step back.
Yeon Baekrim’s eyes fell on one of them, and just as their eyes met, he quickly looked away, still too afraid to face them fully.
He had survived, once again relying on luck, quick thinking, and the persona of a martial master.
Later, when asked to spar, he declined, citing rules he had set for himself as the Sun-Moon Sword:
Do not linger in one place too long.
Avoid fights whenever possible.
Even if someone appeared weak, one could not anticipate how situations could change.
And yet, the dangerous encounters continued. One by one, he managed to navigate these threats through acting, bluffing, and sheer luck, maintaining the facade of an extraordinary martial artist.
Yeon Baekrim’s life remained a precarious balancing act: a simpleton hiding behind the myth of the Sun-Moon Sword, barely surviving by cunning and careful improvisation, while the world around him saw only a rising martial arts hero.
