WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Asakusa
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◈ A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide ◈
Chapter 4: Walking Along the Rivers and Lakes
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Two third-rate wanderers kicked off the gravel bank and rushed forward.
Tatadak!
Cheon Hwi had saved their lives, yet they showed not the slightest hesitation in thrusting their weapons at him.
As if the Martial World was simply a place where people lived, died, and killed.
One man raised a thick saber high from the left, blocking Cheon Hwi’s view. The other slipped into his right blind spot and stabbed with his sword.
Clang!
Cheon Hwi reflexively raised his worn straight sword, knocking aside the blade and stopping the downward cut.
His heart pounded.
The shock ran through his wrist as though the bone would break. The crude forms of the Three Powers Sword his father had left him could not completely deflect the brute strength of a wanderer hardened by over a decade of real combat.
At the instant he lost his balance and his upper body fell back.
Thunk!
The iron sword from the right pierced Cheon Hwi’s waist.
“Urgh!”
The feeling of cold metal churning inside him. Hot blood poured over the riverbed’s gravel. He had been stabbed in the abdomen.
Whether the man had meant to stab his throat and missed, Cheon Hwi dropped the sword in his hand as the burning pain surged through him.
If it had ended with him merely being subdued, he would have lived on as a cripple. He did not know whether he should be grateful or not, but third-rate martial artists had no mercy.
“In your next life, know your place before you act up.”
The man with the saber swept his blade horizontally at Cheon Hwi’s neck.
Shhk!
His vision spun, and the yellow-brown water at the riverbank rushed toward him.
Before he could even feel the horrible pain of his neck being severed, the world turned black like spilled ink.
[Quarter-Hour Return activates.]
Death pushed Cheon Hwi back to the riverbank once more.
The abdominal pain and the chilling sensation of his throat being cut flashed through him like phantom pain, jolting him awake.
As though urging him not to stand there blankly. Cheon Hwi panted harshly, his back soaked in cold sweat.
His heart raced. How many times would he have to repeat this before he could overcome it?
He had no idea. One-on-one was already difficult, yet he had to face two men.
“There is one unwritten rule in the Martial World of lowlifes like us. The strong man’s word is justice. So prove it. Prove that you are right.”
Yi Mu-gwang’s dry voice struck his ears.
As the blackness covering his vision cleared, Cheon Hwi saw the two third-rate wanderers slowly approaching while keeping their distance.
The moment just before his death. He had returned exactly one gak into the past.
It was hopeless.
Even after dying and returning, his breathing was ragged. This time, however, he forcibly calmed it.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
The trembling in the hand gripping his sword eased slightly.
He had to do it. There was no other path.
“We’re grateful you saved our lives, but isn’t this a place where yesterday’s friend becomes today’s enemy?”
One of the wanderers grinned as though he had found easy prey.
It was the same smile he had worn just before cutting off Cheon Hwi’s head.
By now, there was no room for fear.
He did not want to feel the pain of dying again. To avoid that nauseating sensation, the tiny grain of internal energy gathered in his dantian stirred faintly.
That insignificant force, so faint he could barely feel it, filled him with courage through his breath.
Just as his father, who naturally possessed no impressive martial arts or cultivated inner method, had considered himself a martial artist, the pride and courage of a martial artist welled up within him.
Come. I may be third-rate, but I am a martial artist.
His senses sharpened until he could feel the blood flowing through his fingertips and toes, all for the sake of survival.
Seeing this, Yi Mu-gwang was quite surprised.
Circulating energy? No, not quite.
The energy was not deep enough to show outwardly. Yet his breathing had changed. The breath that had scattered in the face of death was visibly settling, as though trying to gather beneath his dantian.
The clearest way to distinguish a mere drifter from a genuine third-rate martial artist was whether they could remain calm before a desperate fight.
In that sense, Yi Mu-gwang found Cheon Hwi, surprisingly, to be the strongest of the three.
Having accepted the pain, Cheon Hwi lowered the tip of his sword toward the ground.
It was an awkward stance that did not even show an intent to defend. The two wanderers exchanged glances, then kicked off the ground.
“Die!”
The saber on the left traced a broad arc toward the crown of his head, while the iron sword on the right rushed at the blind spot near his waist like an osprey diving for a fish.
Swish!
He had experienced this trajectory once before.
Cheon Hwi had no eye for reading sword paths, but he could at least read something he had already experienced.
Head, then waist!
Cheon Hwi instinctively twisted to the right, focusing on stopping the straight sword thrusting toward him.
The saber crashed down as if to split his skull, but Cheon Hwi twisted his body halfway around and pulled back his head, barely avoiding it.
Whoosh!
At the same time, he swung aside the thrust.
Clang!
The two men’s eyes widened.
So did Yi Mu-gwang’s, who was watching from several steps away.
He dodged... and blocked it? How?
In a fight between self-proclaimed third-rate drifters, dodging was harder than blocking.
And the hardest kind of evasion was not retreating outward, but slipping inward. It meant going against one’s instinct to escape.
More than that.
He barely avoided it.
Slipping inward and narrowly avoiding the attack?
It was rare for a third-rate martial artist to show such talent.
Was he born a fighting cock?
There were people who instinctively saw an opponent’s opening even while being beaten to death.
A greenhorn who had not even reached third-rate had stepped into the blind spot created by the path of his full-powered downward strike and narrowly evaded it.
That brat... he is no ordinary fellow.
Yi Mu-gwang’s eyes darkened as he watched.
Slice!
Cheon Hwi’s sword drew an arc from below to above.
Three Powers Sword. Second Form, Vertical Slash.
It was a rough sword technique without any flashy skill, but he had trained that upward cut for years.
The blade shot up in an instant. Before the wanderer could react, it tore through his clothes and split him from beneath the chin to the tip of his nose.
“Arghhh!”
Blood spurted as the first wanderer collapsed.
The second man, who had been thrusting at Cheon Hwi’s waist from the right, panicked and hurriedly pulled back his iron sword, trying to prepare a defensive stance.
But Cheon Hwi moved half a beat faster.
He did not let the opening created as the man tried to widen the distance go to waste.
His clenched hand shot forward, and he drove the full weight of his body toward the man’s heart.
Three Powers Sword. Third Form, Thrust.
Thunk! Crack!
The straight sword shattered the second wanderer’s collarbone and buried itself deep near his heart. The sound of crushed bone rang out.
Shhk!
When Cheon Hwi twisted the blade and pulled it free, the wanderer rolled back his eyes, coughed up bloody foam, and sprawled across the riverbed.
Drip. Drip.
The wanderers’ blood ran down Cheon Hwi’s straight sword and soaked the gravel.
With an expressionless face, Cheon Hwi flicked the blood from his blade and looked at Yi Mu-gwang.
In an instant, the surroundings became as silent as the grave.
Only the sound of the muddy waters in the lower reaches of the Black Dragon River echoed softly.
“...”
Yi Mu-gwang, who had stepped back to watch, finally closed his hanging mouth.
Was it luck? No. He could not cut down two third-rate martial artists through luck alone.
The two third-rates had coordinated to some extent. One targeted the high line, while the other targeted the middle line.
It was difficult enough to properly block or evade either path. Yet he had done both at once.
And counterattacked?
It was insight like he was fighting enemies he had faced dozens of times. Perhaps instinct was the better word.
He knows how to fight.
Even third-rate dogfights had their levels.
Some people dreamed of becoming martial artists their whole lives but were born without the instincts of a beast, leaving them weak in real combat. In other words, they lacked the talent to connect martial training to actual battle.
But Cheon Hwi was the opposite.
Before holding a sword, he looked almost listless. Yet when people charged at him with the intent to kill, he seemed like a sword demon born under the Heavenly Killing Star.
“You do have some talent.”
That was how it looked to Yi Mu-gwang, who had no idea how many deaths Cheon Hwi had experienced through this fight.
As he flicked the blood from his blade and sheathed it, Cheon Hwi vaguely recalled it.
Eight times.
That was how many times he had died and returned to win the fight just before.
Eight times he had endured the pain that made his teeth clench, held onto his wavering mind, and desperately searched for better movements.
Cheon Hwi let out a hurried breath.
“I proved it, as promised.”
Across the flames, Cheon Hwi stared at Yi Mu-gwang and spoke flatly.
“Was I right?”
If the strong man’s rule was truth, then Cheon Hwi, who had just taken two lives, was the stronger one.
Yi Mu-gwang let out a hollow laugh and slowly nodded.
But Cheon Hwi did not relax yet.
What if Yi Mu-gwang killed him and went to sell the goods alone?
“Put away your sword, brat.”
Cheon Hwi still gripped his sword while keeping his distance. He did not seem to know that the distance was within Yi Mu-gwang’s killing range anyway.
Still, Yi Mu-gwang was glad that Cheon Hwi had not forgotten the lesson from this incident: never let down his guard completely.
“How can I trust you?”
In response, Yi Mu-gwang threw an entire bag into the campfire where they had cooked fish stew, as though making a show of it.
“Do you trust me now?”
“...”
Cheon Hwi flicked away the blood and sheathed his sword.
“You need to wipe the blood off before putting it away, or it will rust. Wash it properly in the river later.”
“I can tell just by looking.”
“You know nothing.”
Ignoring Yi Mu-gwang’s gaze, Cheon Hwi searched the bloodied wanderers’ robes and packs, pulling out dark brown pouches.
Disgusting pouches filled with the dried hearts of children not even a thousand days old. There were at least dozens of them.
Without hesitation, Cheon Hwi and Yi Mu-gwang tossed the pouches into the fire.
Sizzle!
A rancid smell rose into the air with black smoke.
As the hearts burned, Cheon Hwi asked,
“What kind of people gather things like these?”
“I don’t know. But they won’t be ordinary people.”
Yi Mu-gwang looked at Cheon Hwi’s expression and spoke as though he could guess what Cheon Hwi was about to say.
Cheon Hwi plainly wanted to go after those coming to collect the goods.
“Forget it. It’s beyond your abilities. Beyond mine too. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve suggested selling them without hesitation. That’s why I hesitated.”
Cheon Hwi readily agreed.
“When you become strong, do whatever you want. Not now.”
“I want to become strong.”
As though he was accustomed to scenes like this, Yi Mu-gwang sorted through the martial artists’ clothing, separating what was useful from what needed to be discarded.
“You could leave them for wild beasts, but if there’s a river nearby, I prefer throwing them into it. Makes your sleeping spot less dangerous.”
Cheon Hwi grabbed the stripped wanderers by their ankles and dragged them to the riverbank.
Their bodies scraped over the gravel with a dull sound.
The river quickly carried away the blood.
Cheon Hwi lightly washed the third-rate martial artists’ clothes in the river and put them on. The shoulders were a little loose and the sleeves slightly too long, but they were better than the tattered clothes he had been wearing.
Unexpectedly, Yi Mu-gwang divided the silver and copper coins with Cheon Hwi.
As though it was only proper.
Then he said,
“Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Do you have anywhere to go?”
“...No.”
Yi Mu-gwang gave a faint laugh, as if he had expected that answer, pulled his bamboo hat low, and started walking ahead.
“You said you wanted to become strong.”
“...!”
“Follow me. Walk along the rivers and lakes, and a road may reveal itself. I’ll keep you company until we reach the Wanderer Market. If you still can’t pull your own weight by then, I’ll leave you behind.”
“...Yes!”
Cheon Hwi bowed deeply, offering the formal greeting of a disciple.
“I will serve you as my master.”
“Ahem! Master is such an embarrassing thing to call me.”
The road continued in winding turns along rivers and lakes where he had thought it ended.
It was a road granted only to wanderers.
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