WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Asakusa
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ A Wandering Warrior's Survival Guide ◈
Chapter 41: Every Connection Is a Fortuitous Encounter (2)
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“Are you awake?”
Cheon Hwi slowly opened his eyes. The ceiling was familiar.
Han So-gyeom sat before him. Needles and moxa had been applied across Cheon Hwi’s shoulders, stomach, and arms.
“You seemed to have passed out, so I called a physician while you were asleep.”
“Thank you.”
His entire body was a mess after he had forced himself to endure with Iron Chain Body.
Han So-gyeom, who had already felt Cheon Hwi’s pulse, asked casually.
“Of course, it doesn’t seem like you’ve opened your middle dantian, but there are traces of stagnant turbid qi traveling through your blood vessels all the way down to your lower dantian. Wicked qi and demonic qi are mixed together. I don’t even know what would have to happen for that to occur.”
“I don’t know either.”
“You don’t know?”
“Yes.”
Han So-gyeom merely shrugged, as if to say that was that.
“If you’d lost your mind, your whole body would have burst apart from qi deviation. What kind of wicked art did you pick up somewhere?”
Cheon Hwi shook his head.
“That would have been better, if anything.”
“Better?”
“I thought it might at least have helped me stab that bastard Gwak Do-mun once.”
“Huh. More importantly, how did you survive?”
“There’s a story behind it.”
“Of course there’s a story behind it, you brat. I’m asking how a second-rate martial artist held out against a first-rate one and even wounded him.”
“Maybe I held out thanks to the demonic qi you mentioned last time.”
“You’re saying that qi appeared and protected your neck? Even then, ten lives wouldn’t have been enough.”
“Indeed. Ten wasn’t enough.”
“...You lunatic. You’re out of your mind.”
Han So-gyeom shook his head. He thought Cheon Hwi was joking.
It was the pure, unvarnished truth.
There was no way Cheon Hwi could explain the demonic qi, either. He did not know how it had happened himself. He only suspected that the remnants of death, built up through being beheaded and having his organs burst hundreds of times, had overflowed from his middle dantian and flooded into his lower dantian.
With a groan, Han So-gyeom calmly called for the physician.
Neither spoke until the physician removed the needles one by one and left.
After the physician departed, Cheon Hwi spoke.
“I am still weak. I am ashamed that I ever thought I had become something.”
“You say that after surviving against the Blood Serpent Sword and cutting down the Black Fist Twin Tyrants?”
“Even so, that is as far as I go, isn’t it? Before a first-rate martial artist, I can do nothing.”
“Well, you’re strong among the weak, and the weakest among the strong.”
Han So-gyeom’s words might have been exactly right.
After crossing the wall of the third-rate, martial artists who could not use internal energy were no longer a match for him.
Even after confirming that once more during the Black Fang Stronghold subjugation, he felt no joy.
He had survived with a ragged patchwork of the Murong Clan’s sword principles, the Black Path’s killing sword, Returning Cloud Step, Three Powers Swift Sword, and bits of the Blood Serpent Secret Sword.
If he encountered another first-rate martial artist, he would have to die thousands of times again. He would have to start from the beginning, memorize everything again, be torn apart again, and realize it all again.
Even then, could he win?
It might be physically impossible.
Gwak Do-mun had grown up in the Black Path, so he was likely not even an expert in internal energy.
If his opponent were someone more versed in internal energy than Gwak Do-mun, Cheon Hwi would collapse before lasting even a single exchange.
Then no matter how many times he died and returned, he could not win.
‘I lack internal energy.’
The instant a first-rate martial artist’s true qi traveled along the sword, that sword had already seized control of the space before it even touched him.
To resist that sensation, increasing his internal energy was essential.
“The Murong Clan is in an uproar over you, inside and out.”
“...”
“They say a wanderer who began as a hired escort guard cut down two late second-rate fist fighters, held out against a first-rate master for a gak, and protected three comrades. They even say you wounded his cheek and endured his ultimate technique.”
Han So-gyeom added with a snort.
“If I’d heard it myself, I would have dismissed it as nonsense. At least, I would have before personally facing Gwak Do-mun and seeing that he was already exhausted.”
It was hard to tell whether that had been praise or merely news of what people were saying.
“I want to become stronger.”
“Well, that should be possible. I hear the clan is preparing a reward to honor your contribution.”
“Can I receive it soon?”
“...?”
“If possible, right now.”
Cheon Hwi slowly raised himself. The wound on his shoulder had not even fully closed.
Han So-gyeom narrowed his eyes at him.
“A man who wishes to grow stronger but doesn’t know when to rest is a fool.”
“I can’t just lie here waiting for a reward that may come at any time. There is still much I have not seen in the Outer Hall Archive. At the very least, I think I should read one more lightness art manual.”
As if telling him to do as he pleased, Han So-gyeom left the room.
.
.
.
Before even a meal's time had passed since Cheon Hwi entered the Outer Hall Archive, the tightly shut door opened without a sound, and heavy footsteps entered.
A middle-aged man in a splendid silk robe stood there with his hands clasped behind his back. He was the Inner Hall Chief Steward, responsible for managing the Murong Clan’s Inner Hall.
“I am Murong Jang-hak, Inner Hall Chief Steward.”
When Cheon Hwi tried to rise and offer his respects, Murong Jang-hak said,
“That will do. There is no need to force yourself up. How do you feel?”
“I am well.”
The Inner Hall Chief Steward’s tone was gentle, but his gaze and manner carried a faintly condescending air.
At a gesture from the chief steward, the person following behind set down a small wooden box and a token.
“Normally, an Outer Hall warrior is never awarded more than two taels of silver. However, we have made special note of your merit in clearing a path alone, throwing yourself into danger at Black Fang Stronghold to save your allies, and holding back the Blood Serpent Sword. Five taels of silver are a consolation for your efforts.”
Cheon Hwi’s gaze passed indifferently over the bright silver.
Five taels of silver.
One tael held great meaning for Cheon Hwi. It was money earned by risking his own life and his father’s, money that was tantamount to the price of his father’s life.
The five silver pieces even looked like five of his father’s lives.
It was a fortune with which a rural farming household could eat well for years, but Cheon Hwi’s gaze shifted to the wooden box beside them.
“This must be the most important reward.”
A benevolent smile formed on the chief steward’s lips.
Cheon Hwi’s eyes widened.
“It is a Lesser Yang Pill. What do you think? Even if one is not of our blood, the Murong Clan shares good things without restraint. It can mend torn qi channels and, depending on the recipient’s capacity, grant as much as five years of pure internal energy. At the very least, it will build up three years’ worth of power. That alone is worth more than the silver, would you not agree? Hahaha.”
It was a precious spiritual elixir for wanderers with no connection to such medicines.
Cheon Hwi lowered his head deeply and offered his thanks.
“Thank you, Chief Steward.”
“There is one last thing.”
“...There is more?”
The rewards did not end there.
At this point, the recipient could only grow suspicious. Were they doing this so he would forget how they had placed him at the front of the Vanguard Unit to die?
He did not know, but it was enough to feel burdensome.
Of course, there was no reason to refuse.
“This token grants access to the Martial Classics Pavilion.”
“The Martial Classics Pavilion...”
“Indeed. It is where martial arts manuals of every kind are gathered. Even among the inner compound’s martial artists, access is rarely granted unless one belongs to the direct line, and among external-surname disciples, only the few who have rendered great merit may enter. The elders have especially permitted it because they value your martial talent.”
“...!”
Cheon Hwi’s eyes flashed wide.
“However, under Inner Hall rules, you are permitted only three shichen. If there is any martial art you can take in within that time, you may make it your own.”
Three shichen.
Six hours.
Once the chief steward finished speaking, Murong Jang-hak examined Cheon Hwi’s expression.
The wanderer’s face showed little change, though Murong Jang-hak had expected tears of gratitude and a vow to devote his life to the clan.
“...I can only lower my head in thanks for the clan’s great benevolence.”
“Ahem. Then I shall take my leave.”
Thinking that this was not enough, the Outer Hall Chief Steward swallowed his disappointment and rose. Perhaps withdrawing cleanly without voicing regret would instead sway Cheon Hwi’s heart.
Clack.
The door closed, and silence settled over the room once more.
Cheon Hwi slowly raised his head.
There was little gratitude or loyalty to be found on his face.
If someone asked whether he was grateful, then yes, he was grateful.
These were rewards he had never expected.
But now, they looked like nothing more than an attempt to put a leash on him and keep him confined.
They had been offended when he refused to become an external-surname disciple, then thrown him into the vanguard as a shield of flesh. Now that he showed some promise, they wanted to fasten a sturdy leash around his neck.
Still, he was happy.
He could not stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upward.
“If you’re going to give it to me, give it properly. Only three shichen of access.”
Cheon Hwi boldly opened the lid of the wooden box.
A thick, fragrant scent of medicinal herbs rushed out, revealing a small elixir.
Compared to the Black-Shell Softshell Turtle Elixir, its energy was nothing remarkable.
Cheon Hwi picked up the pill and tossed it into his mouth without hesitation.
Then he sat down cross-legged.
No one had properly taught Cheon Hwi, who came from a wanderer’s background, how to consume spiritual elixirs. And having grown accustomed to this, there was something he had failed to consider.
The Black-Shell Softshell Turtle Elixir still remained within him, not yet fully dissolved.
‘I will gladly swallow the bait you’re throwing out to put a leash on me. I’ll suck every last drop of sweetness from it, then leave.’
Lost in such thoughts, Cheon Hwi put the spiritual elixir in his mouth without thinking much of it.
Gulp.
The moment the Lesser Yang Pill traveled down his throat and settled in his lower dantian, Cheon Hwi immediately realized he had eaten something he should not have.
Fwoooosh!
Cheon Hwi realized he had consumed it far too hastily.
The Black-Shell Softshell Turtle Elixir had not yet fully dissolved in his lower dantian, and only then did he remember the cold water qi and yin qi it had left behind.
‘What is this? It still hasn’t dissolved... Urk!’
The opposing spiritual elixirs within his body collided, creating a disastrous effect worse than even the deadliest poison, and with it came the thought that he had consumed it far too recklessly.
“Kh, urgh...!”
Cold sweat drenched Cheon Hwi’s whole body as his veins bulged like writhing worms.
Then, as the yang qi of the Lesser Yang Pill collided with its opposing force, the energies inside him twisted. His lower dantian warped, and he began to fall into qi deviation.
Rumble...
“Cough!”
Blood burst from his mouth.
And at that moment, Cheon Hwi was smiling.
‘Wait. This might actually be better?’
Even as he vomited blood and died, Cheon Hwi could think only of ways to grow stronger like a madman.
‘If I use this... I might be able to reset my time in the Martial Classics Pavilion.’
The original limit for reading martial arts manuals in the Martial Classics Pavilion was only three shichen, six hours.
But if he made use of this spiritual elixir?
It felt as if he had obtained an unlimited extension pass.
That was right.
When it came to coveting martial arts, Cheon Hwi was already out of his mind.
* * *
His darkened vision brightened.
Before Cheon Hwi, the Inner Hall Chief Steward was once again continuing his explanation.
“However, under Inner Hall rules, you are permitted only three shichen. If there is any martial art you can take in within that time, you may make it your own.”
“Thank you!”
Cheon Hwi sprang up and shook the Inner Hall elder’s hand with his injured arm.
“Uh... Uh? Sit, sit down.”
There had not even been time to stop him this time.
The Inner Hall Chief Steward was startled when the man who had seemed so dazed suddenly jumped up and shook hands.
“Th-then get some rest.”
“No. I have rested enough.”
“What do you mean, rested enough? Your shoulder is still bleeding.”
“Could I shamelessly ask one more favor?”
“...A favor?”
“Please prepare a handful of fasting pills for me.”
“Ah. You intend to eat them inside the Martial Classics Pavilion. That will not be difficult.”
“Thank you.”
As the Inner Hall Chief Steward rose to say that he would take his leave, Cheon Hwi stood with him and spoke.
“Then please arrange it at once. And an escort to the Martial Classics Pavilion as well.”
“...What? Ah... Y-yes, of course.”
Thinking that he was a young man with remarkably rare initiative these days, the Inner Hall Chief Steward walked ahead.
Whether he had three shichen or one, it no longer mattered to Cheon Hwi.
“That is the place.”
“Ah? Ah, yes, it is. But are you truly planning to enter immediately without any preparation? Once you leave, you cannot enter again. Wouldn’t it be better to go after your body has fully recovered?”
“It is all right. Time is of the essence.”
“...Well, as you wish.”
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