WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Asakusa

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◈ A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide ◈

Chapter 3: They Say You Can't Trust Anyone in the Martial World

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‘What?’

His confusion lasted only a moment. Cheon Hwi’s mind raced at the sudden regression, and he quickly found the answer.

‘Poison in the fish porridge...?’

Betrayal welled up, anger surged, and cold sweat ran down his back.

No wonder they had suddenly wasted time fishing when they were so close to their destination, then served fish porridge after saying they had worked so hard.

“Young Hero Cheon, what’s wrong?”

Seeing Cheon Hwi’s pale face, the peddler beside him playfully scooped out a bowl of porridge.

“Are you excited to taste fish again after so long?”

“Hahahaha! Ah, so that was it! That was it!”

Cheon Hwi’s eyes widened until the whites showed.

“How could you do this?”

“...Wh-what do you mean?”

The peddler serving the porridge widened their eyes.

He wanted to seize the peddler by the collar and shake them. He had spent three days walking and fifteen days clambering up and down mountain paths for bastards like these.

And the one ladling out the fish porridge was the very peddler whose pack Cheon Hwi had carried.

Had he carried that pack only to have his kindness repaid with enmity?

“Please have a bowl first.”

Cheon Hwi calmly held it out.

The peddler who had cooked the porridge looked at the caravan leader, then chuckled again and handed the bowl back.

“Hoho, we’ve already eaten, and there isn’t enough to go around. It’s fine.”

The caravan leader immediately added from beside him.

“Don’t refuse. Please eat first. If any is left, we’ll have some.”

“If you’re not eating it, I will.”

The caravan leader handed the bowl to a third-rate wanderer who readily held out a hand.

“Is there poison in it, perhaps?”

Their eyes widened in surprise.

Every one of the peddlers was in on it.

The third-rate wanderers looked as though Cheon Hwi were spouting nonsense as they took the bowl, but Yi Mu-gwang, the only second-rate martial artist among them, noticed the peddlers’ strange expressions.

When Yi Mu-gwang’s face hardened, the third-rates stopped moving as well.

“If there isn’t, have some first.”

Yi Mu-gwang rose and stood behind Cheon Hwi, lending him support.

Cheon Hwi pressed the matter.

“Eat.”

“...Hm?”

“I said eat.”

“...Well, ah... What? This is... for you martial artists...”

There would be no discussion.

Cheon Hwi immediately grabbed the bowl by its rim and tipped it into the caravan leader’s mouth.

Then...

“Ghk... Ghk!”

A mouthful of fish porridge poured in roughly, splashing over their face.

“Ptoo! Ptoo! Ptoo!”

The caravan leader spat out the fish porridge with suspicious urgency. Yi Mu-gwang did not miss how they hurried to spit out what had entered their mouth rather than react to the hot porridge splashed over their face and chin.

Of course, the caravan leader had an excuse.

“H-Hot! What are you doing?!”

“Why spit out perfectly good fish porridge, then? Hm?”

Yi Mu-gwang picked up the wooden bowl and sniff, sniff, smelled the fish porridge.

Then his eyes abruptly widened, and he drew his sword in an instant.

At the sight, one of the third-rate martial artists retched and repeatedly wiped their mouth.

“Finger-Cutting Herb? Ah, they must have ground up the seeds.”

“G-Great Hero? What do you mean?”

Finger-Cutting Herb was a poisonous plant easily found nearby. If eaten by mistake, its pain was so unbearable that it made one want to cut off one’s own finger just to forget it.

At those words, the two other third-rates threw down their bowls and drew their weapons as well.

Cheon Hwi pointed his chin at the pot of fish porridge.

“What grudge do you have against us that you’d feed us poison like this?”

The peddlers could not answer. They did not dare reach for the bowls, only glanced uneasily at one another.

As if he had realized something, Yi Mu-gwang pointed his sword at the packs the peddlers had set down.

“No wonder. I could smell blood faintly coming from those bastards’ packs.”

“Blood?”

“At first, I thought it was blood that had splashed on them during the slaughter. But no one else was injured, and the bloody smell kept getting stronger.”

Thinking the situation had turned against them, the caravan leader dropped to their knees and repeatedly slammed their head into the gravel.

“I... I can explain. Really. I can explain everything.”

“You’ve got some nerve. What’s the reason?”

“S-Spare me!”

Before Cheon Hwi could say more, Yi Mu-gwang’s broad saber split the sunlight as though they were no longer worth hearing out.

Its wide blade stopped at the chin of the caravan leader, who had fallen backward.

“Before you die, let me ask. Did you not want to pay us? Or what was it for? Were you afraid we’d turn into bandits on the way back? Hm?”

“...Th-that...”

“Forget it.”

There was no mercy in Yi Mu-gwang’s hand.

Slice! Thud.

The stink of blood suddenly washed over the foul scent of river water.

“G-Great Hero! Great Hero! I’ll... I’ll eat it! I’ll eat it!”

Yi Mu-gwang merely watched as they drank the fish porridge.

Perhaps they had risked their life in hope of some stroke of fortune, such as being naturally immune to poison.

Blaaagh!

He soon clutched his heart, vomited blood, and collapsed.

Only then did the third-rate wanderers, who had still harbored doubts, erupt in outrage.

“I-It really was poison! You bastards aren’t even fit to be called dogs!”

Cheon Hwi remained still, but Yi Mu-gwang and the wanderers did not spare those who had cooked the fish porridge.

In the Martial World, it was only natural to repay those who tried to kill you with death.

“We truly don’t know anything! We never imagined there was poison in the fish porridge!”

“Spare us! I don’t know anything! I was only hired as a porter!”

Yi Mu-gwang stopped the excited third-rate martial artists from killing everyone. Still, he spared only a few who truly knew nothing and lay trembling on the ground.

“Open the packs. Take out what’s inside.”

Yi Mu-gwang made the porters open the packs that smelled particularly strongly of blood.

Inside were things that anyone could see looked like suspicious dried animal organs.

“We weren’t told what we were carrying...”

But Cheon Hwi spotted one porter from the original group of peddlers who had survived the day before.

“You know, don’t you?”

“...Hic!”

Startled, the porter wet their trousers and lowered their head in fear. But Cheon Hwi had seen all manner of things since childhood at the bottom of society. He could not feel sympathy over something like that.

“Speak. What is it? Tell me, and you live.”

Yi Mu-gwang crossed his arms and listened as well.

“A three-year-old girl’s...”

Cheon Hwi furrowed his brow.

“Speak.”

“They said it was... the dried heart... of a girl less than one thousand days old...”

Only now did he think he understood why they had not transported it through an escort agency.

If they had used an escort agency, the agency would have inspected everything being carried to determine such things as whether it was fragile and set the price accordingly.

“C-Can I go?”

Cheon Hwi shook his head.

Slice!

Blood sprayed over Cheon Hwi’s face as if it were inevitable.

The cleanly severed head rolled along the riverbed.

“Too easy a death for such a piece of trash.”

“I agree.”

He knew the porter had probably not extracted and dried the hearts themself. Still, he had no intention of sparing anyone who had agreed to transport such things.

“You don’t look very surprised. Do you even have any humanity?”

“I am surprised.”

“You don’t look surprised.”

“...I’ve seen too much to be surprised by something like this.”

Yi Mu-gwang glanced at the third-rate martial artists, who looked a little sickened after seeing the bodies, then shrugged.

Yi Mu-gwang was more merciful than he appeared.

He searched the dead caravan leader’s clothes, gave the uninvolved porters their wages and food, then let them leave.

Finger-Cutting Herb seeds were also found in the caravan leader’s sleeve.

The third-rate martial artists stripped the dead of their clothes, then tossed the bodies into the river.

“Why don’t you change your clothes?”

“I’ll wash out the blood and put them on once they’re dry.”

“You’re not refusing, at least.”

Only then did Yi Mu-gwang hold out a hand to Cheon Hwi.

“Thank you. You’ve got sharp eyes.”

“I only asked on the off chance, and happened to be right.”

“It wasn’t luck. At the bottom, sharp eyes are more useful than most movement techniques.”

The three third-rate wanderers, who had been annoyed at being called third-rate alongside Cheon Hwi and had looked down on him, repeatedly bowed their heads.

Whatever else happened, it was certain that their lives had been saved.

After they caught their breath and the commotion of the departing porters died down, the third-rate martial artists sheathed their swords and spoke while looking at the unpleasant bag.

“What do we do with that now?”

“What do we do... Well...”

Greed flickered in the eyes of the three third-rate martial artists.

Cheon Hwi spoke as though it were obvious.

“Shouldn’t we burn it and at least hold a simple rite for them?”

But even Yi Mu-gwang, who seemed like he would agree at once, did not appear to agree.

Swish. One of the third-rate martial artists spoke as though they had not heard Cheon Hwi’s words.

“Great Hero. I heard from the caravan leader where they were supposed to meet. A little farther upriver, there should be a place where those bastards are waiting with a ferry boat on the riverbank.”

Cheon Hwi asked with distaste.

“You mean to sell it? You heard what it is!”

“Kid. Those who need to live have to live, don’t they?”

“Right. We’re grateful you saved our lives, but this is separate. Who will pay us? Great Hero Yi Mu-gwang just paid the porters, so there doesn’t seem to be much left for us.”

“If it is the promised wage, hasn’t enough already come out of that bastard’s money pouch?”

The third-rate wanderers looked away at Cheon Hwi’s words.

No, Cheon Hwi would have been fortunate if they had. With no gratitude for being saved, they sized Cheon Hwi up and down while gauging Yi Mu-gwang’s reaction beside him.

“Then we will follow the Great Hero’s decision.”

“...Even if we burn them and honor their souls, the children will not return.”

“So you are saying we should sell them?”

Cheon Hwi’s voice was almost a growl, but the third-rates stepped forward even more boldly.

“No, no. You have to listen to the end, boy! Sell them? What are we selling? When the people who come to buy them hand over the money, we’ll take care of them too!”

“Hm? That’s right! Those people must be lackeys of the higher-ups who want to buy wicked things like this.”

The suggestion seemed to tempt Yi Mu-gwang, who stroked his chin. He appeared to consider it.

The third-rate martial artists refused to back down.

“Great Hero, think about it. Wouldn’t we each get a few silver taels at least?”

At those words, Yi Mu-gwang tapped his fingers as though weighing the danger against the reward.

He was judging how dangerous those coming to receive the goods might be, and what might stand behind them.

Even roughly estimating the payment for handing over the goods, it would surely amount to several silver taels. It was not enough money to change one’s life, but it was enough to change it for a little while.

Yi Mu-gwang was exactly in the middle. He did not care whether they sold it or not.

And experience had taught him that, when he did not care either way, it was better to choose the side that put a few coins in his hand.

The scales quietly tipped toward selling it. After finishing his deliberation, Yi Mu-gwang spoke.

“Let’s go sell it.”

At those words, Cheon Hwi drew the sword at his waist.

Shing.

A plain straight sword came free, driving away the scent of blood in the air.

“Oh.”

Yi Mu-gwang could not help but be surprised. Was this young man truly drawing his sword in earnest?

A child who had not even reached third-rate had drawn his sword in anger at injustice.

He surely knew that even if he died a thousand times, he could not win.

Yet he had drawn his sword.

What should this be called? Hot blood? No. He was not so rashly hot-blooded.

If he had followed behind his father, a self-proclaimed third-rate wanderer or martial artist, since before he could even wipe his own nose, then he would know what it meant for a martial artist to draw a sword.

A deep smile naturally spread across Yi Mu-gwang’s face.

He took a step back, respecting Cheon Hwi’s resolve.

The two third-rates understood it as well.

Either way was fine.

On one side of the scales stood three third-rate wanderers. On the other stood a greenhorn who had not even reached third-rate.

Shing. Shing.

“We’re grateful you saved our lives, but isn’t this a place where yesterday’s friend becomes today’s enemy?”

The two third-rates spread apart as though forming a loose joint attack formation, closing in around him.

Yi Mu-gwang added at the sight.

“Hwi. There is no shame in avoiding a place where you will die.”

“I won’t die.”

“Good.”

Then Yi Mu-gwang moved well away from the three and spoke.

“In the Martial World of lowlifes like us, there is one unwritten rule. The strong one’s word is justice. So prove it. Prove that you are right.”

Cheon Hwi realized, as he watched the people whose lives he had just saved point their swords at him, that this was the land upon which he had set foot.

The Martial World.

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