WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: BerageeBomb
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ I Obtained the Martial God’s Book ◈
Chapter 3: Blue Stone Valley
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A broad basin opened up beyond the narrow entrance.
Dry reeds and silver grass taller than a person densely covered the valley floor.
Whenever the mountain wind blew, yellow waves rippled through them with a dry rustle.
“They picked one hell of a spot.”
Du Chil boasted as though it were his own home.
“Block that cramped entrance, and not even a hundred thousand Martial Alliance troops could break through. There’s a spring inside that never runs dry, too. You think the old military advisers of the main force put their heads together and picked this place for nothing?”
In other words, once the entrance was blocked, nobody inside could get out either.
A chill ran down the back of my neck.
We did not reach the main force’s camp until the sun hung over the western ridge.
Black military tents filled the basin.
The clanging of metal mixed with the neighing of horses between hundreds of bonfires.
Smoke from cooking rice tangled with the stink of blood and pus from the wounded.
There were not enough tents, so Demonic Cult foot soldiers lay in rows on nothing but straw mats.
Separate tents for demonic warriors wearing red headbands stood atop a high rocky mound at the western edge of the camp.
They were a hundred paces from the soldiers’ straw mats.
The Heavenly Demon Divine Cult’s banner I had seen earlier fluttered from a flagpole at the center of the camp.
“Twenty thousand.”
Du Chil pointed at the camp with his chin.
“Twenty thousand troops packed into this tiny valley. Isn’t it a sight?”
The number twenty thousand struck my mind like a thud.
In front of the central tent, each squad was reporting its battle merits.
Once they lined up before the clerk, the squad leaders came forward and recited the results.
It was Third Squad’s turn.
“Third Squad. Thirty deployed, twelve returned.”
The clerk wrote it into the ledger.
Eighteen had died, yet the tip of the brush did not so much as tremble.
“How many enemy heads?”
“I didn’t bother counting the nameless lackeys from the orthodox factions.”
Jang Pal took a bloodstained scrap of cloth from his pocket and tossed it onto the desk.
It was a sleeve embroidered with the red plum blossom of the Mount Hua Sect.
“We took down one of Mount Hua Sect’s second-generation disciples. We weren’t in a position to bring back the head, so I brought this as proof instead.”
The scratch of the brush stopped.
For the first time, the clerk looked up with interest.
“A bunch of rank-and-file soldiers took down a second-generation disciple of Mount Hua Sect?”
“This new recruit latched onto them like a mad dog, and I cut their throat while they were occupied.”
The clerk’s eyes swept over me.
“Name.”
“...Seo Jin-hyeok.”
“Seo Jin-hyeok of Third Squad. Assisted in killing a second-generation disciple of Mount Hua Sect.”
The brush began moving again.
My three-character name had been recorded in this world’s ledger.
It was only three characters, but goosebumps rose along my spine.
After finishing the report, we left the tent.
Jang Pal opened the money pouch taken from the Mount Hua disciple.
With a clink, two silver taels fell into my palm.
“This is your share for not dying and holding on until the end.”
“...I’m not sure I did enough to deserve this.”
“If you’d really done nothing but sit around, your head would already be rolling around under that bastard’s sword.”
Jang Pal stuffed the remaining silver into his pocket and spoke evenly.
“If you stayed alive, that alone means you earned your keep.”
The porridge we received for dinner was little more than salty water with a few grains of millet sunk in it.
Still, as the warm salt water went down my throat, I felt alive again.
It had only been a day since I complained about getting sick of convenience store lunch boxes.
My life had always been like that. I never appreciated comfort until I fell into hell and realized how good things had been.
I decided to stop doing that now.
In this world, whining without reading the room could really get my head chopped off.
“But, Seo Jin-hyeok.”
Du Chil looked at me as he scraped his bowl clean.
“You really seemed like a different person today. I watched you for half a year, but that was the first time I’d seen that kind of viciousness in you. When you bit the back of that proud Mount Hua Sect bastard’s hand, I got chills all over.”
“People can change fast after they barely survive a real brush with death.”
Jang Pal added flatly as he scooped up porridge with a wooden spoon.
“The idiots who don’t change always end up as meat skewers at the second brush with death.”
“True. Your head was always quicker than your sword arm.”
Du Chil snickered.
“Was it three months ago? The kitchen’s grain ledger had a discrepancy, and everyone was about to get beaten to death over it. You fixed it and balanced the books in a single night. If you’d studied swordsmanship with that brain of yours, you’d be wearing a Ten-Man Commander’s armband by now, at minimum.”
It seemed this world’s Seo Jin-hyeok had no talent for martial arts whatsoever, but was quick with numbers.
It left a bitter taste in my mouth, as if they were mocking the real me.
Jang Pal pointed at the iron sword in my hand with his chin.
“You planning to survive the next fight with that chipped piece of scrap?”
“This is the only weapon I had to begin with.”
“Run to the supply depot right now and trade it for a decent one. Give them one silver tael, and they’ll hand you something with a properly sharpened edge.”
“Doesn’t the army supply weapons for free?”
“The free weapon the army gives you is exactly that junk in your hand.”
Du Chil, who had been picking his teeth nearby, suddenly cut in.
“If you hate spending money that much, pick up the swords of dead soldiers. After a big battle, ownerless swords are everywhere. Assuming you’re still alive by then.”
I looked down at the iron sword in my hand.
I could replace it with the two silver taels, or save the money.
I needed to think about which choice would keep me alive longer.
As the sun set, replacement soldiers poured in.
Eight were added to Third Squad, which had nearly been wiped out.
Every one of them looked like a pale-faced country bumpkin who had never been anywhere near a battlefield.
One particularly young recruit hesitantly unpacked his belongings beside me.
He was about the same age as the boy who had been speared to death that morning.
“What’s your name?”
Jang Pal asked heavily.
The frightened recruit tried to jump to his feet, tripped over his own foot, and fell with a crash.
“M-my name is Samdol, sir!”
“Ever held a sword?”
“I’ve held a sickle plenty well while farming, sir!”
Laughter burst out among the nearby soldiers.
Even though their own heads might roll tomorrow, they laughed foolishly.
Only Jang Pal did not laugh.
“Starting tomorrow, swing even a tree branch from sunrise to sunset. The ones who never learn to use a blade die first.”
Samdol swallowed dryly and nodded in a hurry.
The eyes of that boy, reflecting the gray sky, flickered through my mind.
I shook my head to drive the image away.
Night deepened.
When everyone was exhausted and asleep, whispers drifted over from beyond the neighboring squad’s bonfire.
“Hey. You hear the rumor? They say the Demon Venerable can’t use their left arm at all now.”
“I heard it too. They say they traded flesh and bone with that old Mount Hua Sect bastard. Gave up their left arm to gouge out one of that old bastard’s eyes.”
“Damn it. Then how long are we supposed to stay stuck in this cramped valley?”
* * *
At dawn, the entire force assembled in the camp’s open square.
At its center, someone knelt bound in ropes.
Du Chil, standing beside me, went pale.
“No. That one had a drink from me yesterday while telling me about their hometown...”
Before them stood a man in a black robe, his rank embroidered in silver thread across the chest.
Du Chil jabbed me urgently in the side and whispered in a voice as quiet as a mosquito.
“That’s Hundred Commander Han Mugang. Lower your eyes. Now.”
“The crime of spreading baseless rumors and unsettling military morale.”
Han Mugang’s voice was low and calm.
Yet it rang throughout the camp, all the way to its far edge, where twenty thousand troops stood gathered.
“The Cult’s military law is strict.”
His hand flashed, and his sword fell.
Slice!
The person’s head rolled across the dirt before they could even scream.
“Lord Blood-Hand Demon Venerable remains in perfect health. Our main force will wait here in Blue Stone Valley until the order for the next advance arrives.”
Han Mugang casually tossed his bloody longsword to a subordinate.
“From now on, anyone who harbors pointless doubts and runs their mouth will lie beside that one.”
The order to disperse was given, but no one spoke.
The hands holding breakfast bowls moved slowly.
Samdol did nothing but tremble with a spoon in hand.
“Eat up.”
I pushed my bowl toward Samdol and spoke quietly.
“This is the kind of place where the ones who don’t eat and grow weak die first.”
I said it while imitating Jang Pal’s dry tone as best I could.
Samdol made a miserable face and forced the porridge down.
If they had to prove the Blood-Hand Demon Venerable remained strong by cutting off one of their own soldiers’ heads, then the Venerable was no longer strong.
It seemed the Blood-Hand Demon Venerable, the strongest force on this front, had been badly injured and could not move.
That was why twenty thousand troops were trapped in this narrow valley.
If they crossed the plains without the Blood-Hand Demon Venerable’s protection, Mount Hua Sect’s sword qi would rain down from the sky.
When that thought reached me, the thorn caught in my throat pricked again.
* * *
There was training that morning.
I stood among the replacement soldiers.
Even after being put through the wringer for half a year, a recruit was still a recruit.
The swordsmanship taught to the rank and file had only six movements.
Thrusting, slashing, upward slashing, downward slashing, blocking, and deflecting.
No one told us whether they had names.
“One hundred each.”
Jang Pal gave the order with his arms crossed.
I swung my sword as instructed.
Strangely, while my mind knew this was the first sword I had ever held, my body remembered the paths of each movement.
This body must have swung it thousands of times over the past half year.
Samdol, standing beside me, looked like he would chop off his own foot nine times out of ten.
Jang Pal walked through the line, correcting each soldier’s form one by one.
“Don’t cut with the strength in your arms. Cut with the turn of your waist.”
“If the tip of your sword shakes, your life shakes with it.”
When it was Samdol’s turn, Jang Pal sighed first.
While Jang Pal moved on to the next row, I quietly gave Samdol some advice.
“Think of it as swinging a sickle. From up to down. The movement you’ve done in the fields your whole life.”
“Swinging a sickle?”
“You freeze up because you keep thinking of it as a sword.”
Samdol brought the sword down with a doubtful look.
For the first time, it properly cut through the air instead of aiming for his foot.
Samdol’s eyes widened.
“It works! Brother, it really works!”
Jang Pal glanced our way from a distance, but said nothing.
It was around the time I had swung my sword thirty times.
If I turned my wrist another half inch here.
Something surged up from deep in my chest.
Whoosh!
The sword whistled.
It was the sound of air being torn apart.
“Wait.”
Jang Pal uncrossed his arms and approached.
“That just now. Do it again.”
I steadied my breath and swung my sword again.
This time, though, it made only a dull sound through the air.
It was the same even after ten tries.
Jang Pal stared at me for a long time.
“Let me ask you one thing. How did you dodge that Mount Hua Sect swordsman’s blade yesterday?”
“My body moved before I could think.”
Jang Pal did not press further.
Instead, as he passed by me, he left me with one quiet remark.
“If that happens twice, it stops being luck.”
I was curious too.
Could I still not read the Book?
I did not know.
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