A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide - Chapter 24

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Asakusa

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◈ A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide ◈

Chapter 24: More Than a Mere Escort's Level (2)

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Heavy cart wheels began rolling over the sodden mud.

Azure Cloud Escort Agency's procession finally passed through Changchun's north gate.

Their destination was Shenyang, Liaodong's largest city.

The blue escort banner fluttered slowly at the head of the procession. Packhorses snorted as they kicked through the mud left by yesterday's rain.

Experienced escort guards tightly surrounded the front of the procession and the sides of the merchant carts in the middle. The hired escort guards, wanderers employed through the Wandering Warrior Hall, were naturally pushed out to the far edges and rear.

As Cheon Hwi understood it, escort work was surprisingly not that dangerous.

That was especially true when the agency was renowned and influential, and the merchant caravan was as large as this.

Cheon Hwi silently moved to the very end of the procession and took his place at the rear.

It was the position where one had to endure all the dust and muddy water kicked up by the cart wheels. The scarred wanderer walking beside him spoke with a sneer.

“Hey, runt. Do you even know what kind of position the rear of an escort procession is?”

“...”

“Don't think you're just following behind cargo carts and swallowing dust. If bandits or Black Path bastards latch onto our tail, this is where heads start rolling first.”

The wanderer's words held malicious mockery and a subtle threat. They wanted to see the greenhorn become frightened before they even began.

When an enemy ambushed an escort procession, those at the rear were the first to face the enemy's swords and arrows.

Cheon Hwi pulled the brim of his old bamboo hat lower. A dry, cool voice came from beneath it.

“I know.”

The wanderer clicked their tongue and turned away. They seemed to think he was a clueless brat putting on airs.

‘The place where I’ll die first. All the better.’

Cheon Hwi lightly touched the old sword at his waist.

His clear eyes settled into stillness. His stride through the sticky mud remained perfectly steady.

The Well-Returning Moving Art. An inner energy cultivation method for those with no time to sit cross-legged in meditation.

Cheon Hwi thought there could be no better time to advance its realm.

Azure Cloud Escort Agency's chief escort guard, Gwak Myeong-ho, slowly rode toward the rear while surveying the procession.

Outwardly, Gwak Myeong-ho seemed to be checking the cart spokes and cargo bindings, but Gwak Myeong-ho's attention was wholly fixed on the boy in the bamboo hat walking at the very back.

The youth who had boldly taken the place of Yi Mu-gwang, the B-rank wanderer Gwak Myeong-ho had known for years.

‘Cheon Hwi, was it?’

Gwak Myeong-ho had spent more than a decade on escort missions and experienced all manner of hardships. Few could match Gwak Myeong-ho's eye for distinguishing someone who had seen real blood from someone merely pretending.

And Gwak Myeong-ho easily noticed Cheon Hwi walking at the rear.

Gwak Myeong-ho's gaze settled on Cheon Hwi's feet.

The official road was terribly muddy after last night's rain. The other wanderers grumbled as they dragged their heavy feet.

But Cheon Hwi's gait was strange.

The moment his foot touched the mud, he seemed to distribute his weight in an unusual way before lightly springing back up. No mud or water splashed around him, and his footprints were noticeably shallower than everyone else's.

More importantly, the rhythm of his steps matched his breathing. His pace was oddly slow, yet precise and regular.

He inhaled on the first step and exhaled on the second.

It was as though he were cultivating something even as he walked.

‘Could he be circulating qi while walking? A Moving Art?’

Gwak Myeong-ho nearly scoffed inwardly.

It was absurd. Combining footwork and a cultivation method was the height of inefficiency.

Even orthodox sect martial arts, which built their foundations solidly from the ground up, had not developed Moving Arts. First, because they were inefficient. Second, because one needed over a decade of secluded wall-facing cultivation before one could barely imitate such a technique.

It was not a skill some roadside wanderer could learn casually.

Gwak Myeong-ho quietly dismounted. Pretending to inspect a cargo cart, Gwak Myeong-ho lightly kicked up a chestnut-sized stone with the tip of their foot.

The stone skimmed over the mud and shot sharply toward Cheon Hwi's shin. It came without warning. An ordinary third-rate wanderer would have taken it helplessly in the shin and cried out.

But Cheon Hwi did not even lower his gaze.

His eyes beneath the bamboo hat remained fixed on the escort banner ahead. Yet, when the stone was half a cun from his shin, his ankle smoothly turned outward like flowing water.

The stone only brushed the hem of Cheon Hwi's trousers before rolling away behind him.

Cheon Hwi sensed something and dodged, but his steps tangled at that moment, and his breathing was disturbed as well. He limped slightly, then openly glanced at Gwak Myeong-ho.

Cheon Hwi's eyes met Gwak Myeong-ho's. Cheon Hwi then turned back and appeared to focus on his steps and breathing again, but Gwak Myeong-ho's eyes widened.

‘No one but an idiot would focus their breathing while walking. And there was no reason to stagger as if about to fall just to avoid one pebble.’

Gwak Myeong-ho sharply drew in a breath and approached Cheon Hwi.

“You. What are you doing while you walk?”

Cheon Hwi answered the sudden question indifferently.

“Breathing.”

Gwak Myeong-ho gave a disbelieving snort.

“Listen here. Everyone breathes.”

The scarred wanderer nearby chuckled.

“Chief Escort Guard, what else would a brat be doing besides walking? He’s probably trying not to fall over.”

“Quiet.”

Cheon Hwi slowly turned to look at Gwak Myeong-ho. The boy's eyes beneath the bamboo hat were endlessly calm and serious.

A chill ran up Gwak Myeong-ho's spine, and they smacked their lips.

It was obvious that Cheon Hwi wanted to say something but was choosing not to.

He truly had been walking while using a Moving Art. At quite a high level, too.

‘Here I thought he was an arrogant brat.’

Gwak Myeong-ho mounted their horse again and muttered inwardly.

‘He’s just mad for cultivation.’

The sun set, and a camp was established in a clearing within the forest.

Having left the official road, the escort procession arranged the carts in a circle to form a barrier and lit campfires throughout the camp. The wanderers gathered in small groups, chewing dried meat and drinking cloudy rice wine to ease their fatigue.

Cheon Hwi sat apart from the others, leaning against a dark tree trunk with his eyes closed.

He appeared to be resting, but he was continuing his breathing exercise, minutely dividing the energy of the Black-Shell Softshell Turtle Elixir in his dantian and spreading it through the acupoints across his body.

Then several heavy footsteps stopped before him.

The scarred wanderer who had picked a fight with him at the rear earlier approached with a few others.

They did not appear to follow even the basic rule against drinking during an escort mission.

“Hey, that spot is ours. We had our eye on it because it’s perfect for lying down. Move. Now.”

Cheon Hwi remained seated cross-legged with his eyes closed. Even his steady breathing did not falter.

That seemingly dismissive attitude made the scarred wanderer's face flush red and blue. Annoyed, they tried to kick Cheon Hwi in the shoulder with a thick boot.

Lightning struck.

Thwack!

The old scabbard resting on Cheon Hwi's knees shot up at a speed too fast to see. Its tip struck the acupoint inside the wanderer's extended knee with precision and force.

A terrible, muscle-twisting agony.

“Gghhhk!”

Unable to scream, the wanderer collapsed to the ground while clutching their knee.

“Y-you crazy bastard!”

Another wanderer standing nearby recoiled and tried to shove Cheon Hwi. But Cheon Hwi's foot came down from the tree trunk in an instant, skimming the ground like a snake before lightly kicking the wanderer's planted ankle.

Smack!

The second man lost his balance and planted his face in the dirt.

At the cries and groans, Chief Escort Guard Gwak Myeong-ho, who had been keeping a close eye on Cheon Hwi, approached.

“What’s all this commotion?”

But it was already over.

Cheon Hwi had subdued two people without shedding a drop of blood.

Gwak Myeong-ho came to an abrupt stop.

Gwak Myeong-ho looked back and forth between the wanderers groaning like animals on the ground and Cheon Hwi, who was still leaning against the tree and calmly regulating his breathing.

Gwak Myeong-ho clicked their tongue, then came over and sat down beside Cheon Hwi with a thump.

The wanderers on the ground panicked at the chief escort guard's arrival and hurried away on limping legs.

“They started it.”

“I know.”

Gwak Myeong-ho took a small flask from their robe, took a sip, and spoke casually.

“Yi Mu-gwang. I know that man fairly well.”

Cheon Hwi's eyes trembled slightly in the firelight. Gwak Myeong-ho stared into the flames and continued.

“He was stubborn about never setting foot in the Central Plains for the rest of his life. Then he suddenly accepted this Central Plains-bound escort contract to Liaoyang? At first, I thought he’d gone senile in his old age. So it was because of you.”

Gwak Myeong-ho abruptly held out the flask to Cheon Hwi. Cheon Hwi silently shook his head. Gwak Myeong-ho gave a small laugh and withdrew it.

“I think I understand a little why Yi Mu-gwang kept you around. Did you learn anything from him?”

“No.”

“I thought as much. That’s the kind of man he is. He’d hate playing the master, too.”

At that name, Cheon Hwi's eyes stirred ever so slightly. Gwak Myeong-ho pretended not to notice and remained seated beside him.

“With a sword learned haphazardly on the streets, someday you’ll crash miserably into the wall of third-rate, no, second-rate martial arts. Even if you have talent, it will eventually rust away if you cannot refine the vessel and path to hold it. Once you reach the Central Plains, knock on the door of a respectable sect or seek out proper martial arts.”

Cheon Hwi silently looked down at the old sword resting on his knees. To tear apart Gwak Do-mun's serpent-like flexible sword, he needed to absorb true Central Plains martial arts, just as Yi Mu-gwang had arranged.

At that, Gwak Myeong-ho looked up at the sky. Stars filled it.

Gwak Myeong-ho took out the flask they had put away, raised it high toward the sky, then poured a cupful onto the ground before bringing the flask to their lips.

“He isn’t dead.”

“I know. I’m just offering a drink to someone far away.”

Watching that, Cheon Hwi complained for no reason.

“Are you allowed to drink while on duty?”

“Our escort agency’s rule says up to three sips are fine. Counting what I poured onto the ground, that makes three.”

Then Gwak Myeong-ho added as if in passing.

“When this job is over, I might write you a letter of recommendation to a sword sect in Liaodong.”

“Shenyang in Liaodong is where the Murong Clan is, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. A great clan.”

“Could you write me a letter of recommendation to them instead?”

Gwak Myeong-ho snorted at Cheon Hwi's joke, then grew serious again.

“Would that be possible? Not unless you became their live-in son-in-law.”