The Tiger of Mount Heng, Cheol Mubaek, stood like an iron tower.
The entrance gaped wide enough for two carriages to pass through side by side, yet not one of the fifty-odd mounted bandits of the Red Wind Band dared set foot inside.
They had seen clearly how the men who went ahead of them had died.
Some had died with their heads blown apart. Others had been pierced through the abdomen or killed when their limbs were broken. No one had properly seen when or how Cheol Mubaek’s fist moved.
More than twenty had died that way.
“Monster…”
A deep voice from behind rescued the mounted bandits, who were paralyzed with fear.
“You may leave now. I’ll handle this place.”
At the appearance of the voice’s owner, Pung Yang, the Red Wind Band Leader, the mounted bandits retreated like the tide going out. Only then did the two Peak masters face each other.
“Good to see you again, Senior Cheol.”
“I don’t recall ever taking a bandit as my junior.”
“You’re still as prickly as ever. They say even brushing sleeves creates a bond, and you and I have traded blows, haven’t we?”
“We did. Then you ran away without even looking back.”
“Let’s call it a strategic retreat. I didn’t expect you to show up there either, Senior Cheol.”
“Have your internal injuries healed?”
“My insides were burning, so I had a rough few days. But it wasn’t enough to kill me, which is why I’ve shamelessly come back.”
“Today, it won’t end with mere heat.”
“Oh, dear. How about we settle this through conversation? For a man of your age to have such a fiery temper…”
At Pung Yang’s shameless remark, Cheol Mubaek ground his teeth.
“Conversation? If you hadn’t betrayed us, Lee Cheonbaek, my friend, might have lived.”
“I’m not stupid enough to join a fight with no chance of winning.”
“As if that weren’t enough, you killed Lee Seogwang too?”
“I’m not softhearted enough to spare a brat who came at me without knowing his place.”
Pung Yang smiled gently and continued.
“If I’d known that brat would become my brother-in-law, I might have spared him.”
“You bastard!”
A lava-like aura boiled up from every inch of Cheol Mubaek’s body. Under the formidable Scorching Yang Qi of a Peak master, the snow blanketing the ground melted away, and the vegetation turned yellow.
Pung Yang exclaimed in admiration at the sight.
“Your internal energy is remarkable, as expected. If Senior Cheol had only set his mind to it, I’d be facing the Mount Heng Fist Sect today.”
“I’ll rip off your limbs.”
“Still, you shouldn’t be too confident.”
“Don’t count on the same stroke of luck as last time. You have no one to use as a shield today.”
Pung Yang smiled faintly.
“Why do you think I sent my men away?”
“That…”
Cheol Mubaek hesitated. Pung Yang’s relaxed attitude had been bothering him for some time.
What is he plotting?
Last time, Pung Yang had withdrawn after suffering internal injuries in barely a hundred exchanges. The fact that the man who had used his subordinates as shields to escape had sent everyone away and come here of his own accord meant that he was confident enough to do so…
“What dirty trick are you planning?”
“A dirty trick? I simply couldn’t use a chicken-killing knife on a tiger, so I stepped in myself.”
“You? Alone?”
“Why not?”
“There’s no way. I’m grateful, if anything.”
Cheol Mubaek glared at Pung Yang suspiciously and clenched his fists.
“Thanks to you, this will be over easily.”
Whoooosh!
The instant he finished speaking, a scorching gale rushed straight toward Pung Yang. Pung Yang swallowed a breath and swung his curved saber at the red fist energy flying toward his chest.
Boom! Boom-boom!
The two Peak masters collided. Roaring explosions rang out one after another, and the resulting wind swept across the snow-covered ground.
Beneath a mound of snow that had leaped high into the air, one man staggered backward.
“Ugh.”
Pung Yang swallowed a groan and looked at his torn palm. He had avoided the disgrace of dropping his weapon, but the difference in strength was undeniable.
“You’re still as strong as ever.”
Cheol Mubaek stepped toward him and answered.
“It’s too late for regrets.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“I’ll start by tearing that mouth apart.”
Fwoooooosh!
Cheol Mubaek lunged forward with the movements of a tiger.
The ferocious forms of the Shura Annihilating Fist, a martial art thought to have been lost long ago, poured down upon Pung Yang.
Kwa-gwa-gwang!
A fierce bloody battle was raging along the fortress walls. Despite facing a four-to-one disadvantage in numbers, the martial artists of the Mount Heng Sword Sect refused to retreat.
“Retreat, and all that awaits us is death!”
“Are you going to let those mounted-bandit bastards steal our home?”
“Let’s avenge the martial brothers they killed!”
Slash! Thrust!
“Aaargh!”
“D-don’t push!”
The mounted bandits of the Red Wind Band had fallen into confusion. The effects of the earlier fire attack and the fear that another trap might be waiting held them back.
In stark contrast, the martial artists of the Mount Heng Sword Sect charged at them wild-eyed. The mounted bandits were helpless against their unstoppable momentum and were cut down one after another.
“Don’t run away!”
“Any bastard who retreats dies by my hand!”
The mounted-bandit captains shouted at the top of their lungs, but they were unable to restore order. Instead, they too had to surrender their lives to arrows that seemed to fly out of nowhere.
Thwack!
“Ghk. Gaaah…”
“C-Captain!”
Lee Seowol stood atop the highest watchtower, drawing her bowstring without pause.
Beside her were the five finest archers among the Mount Heng Sword Sect’s martial artists.
Twung! Thud!
Every time a bowstring was drawn, a mounted bandit fell. Captains, or those who appeared to rank even higher, were their highest-priority targets.
One more. One more.
But the battle was going worse than expected.
The martial artists of the Mount Heng Sword Sect had entered the battle with fewer troops from the very beginning. They grew exhausted at an alarming rate, and before long, one or two at a time began losing their lives to stray blades.
The mounted bandits, meanwhile, were gradually recovering from their confusion.
“Get a grip! There aren’t many of these Mount Heng Sword Sect bastards!”
“If we kill these men, victory is ours!”
The martial artists of the Mount Heng Sword Sect had nothing left to lose. They fought desperately, heedless of the odds against them.
“Kill them!”
Slash! Slash! Slash!
But every time one mounted bandit was cut down, two more appeared to fill the gap. When two were cut down, three took their place.
“Gasp, gasp!”
A martial artist of the Mount Heng Sword Sect swung his sword frantically, only to be hacked apart by five or six weapons that sprang at him from every direction.
Slash! Thud-thud-thud!
Neck, chest, abdomen… Martial artists were cut and pierced all over, dying without even having time to scream. Their bodies fell in growing numbers.
The mounted bandits of the Red Wind Band, their momentum rising, continued pressing the attack without pause. Before anyone realized it, half the fortress wall was packed with enemies.
“Haa, haa.”
Twung! Twung! Twung!
Lee Seowol summoned every last bit of strength she had and drew her bowstring. Blood ran from her once-delicate fingers and between her clenched teeth, while her parched mouth reeked of a sickly sweetness.
“There!”
After firing arrows without rest, her position was discovered before long. When about twenty mounted bandits raised their shields and charged toward the watchtower, desperate shouts rang out.
“Sect Leader!”
“You must get away! They’re coming!”
Three shichen had passed since the siege began. Lee Seowol had only practiced archery as a hobby. She was no martial artist, and her Stamina had reached its limit long ago.
But she did not stop. She forced strength into her thin, trembling arms and searched for her next target.
Get away? Where would I go?
She had lived here her entire life. To Lee Seowol, the Mount Heng Sword Sect was both her hometown and something she had to protect until the final moment of her life.
The same was true of the martial artists still making their last stand.
“Stop them!”
“Never let them reach the Sect Leader!”
Their desperate cries were in vain. The fortress walls had already been overrun.
The surviving martial artists of the Mount Heng Sword Sect retreated to the watchtower. But well over a hundred mounted bandits were closing in from every direction.
Eyes gleaming with killing intent and desire shone between the torches held by the advancing enemies.
“You damned bastards dare…”
“I’ll tear every last one of you apart and throw the pieces to the dogs.”
The killing intent of the mounted bandits surrounding the watchtower in a circle stabbed at their skin.
Just as everyone was falling into despair, Lee Seowol suddenly drew her bowstring toward the sky.
Whoooosh.
Trailing a tail of flame, a single fire arrow descended toward the gate shrouded in darkness.
It was a light meant to find one person.
Uncle Cheol.
The Tiger of Mount Heng, Cheol Mubaek.
He was the Mount Heng Sword Sect’s final hope.
That was when a man walked out beneath the light revealed by the fire arrow.
Clomp. Clomp.
“I suppose it’s a little late to say this now…”
Lee Seowol had heard that voice only once, but she could never forget it, not even in her dreams.
Unable to bring herself to look at him, she closed her eyes.
Pung Yang beamed at her.
“You’ll have to marry me.”
The hunter Cheol Mubaek had become the Tiger of Mount Heng because of a fortuitous encounter.
While tracking a wolf on a mountainside in the vast Mount Heng range, he fell into a hidden cave between the cliffs. There, he discovered a martial arts manual and an elixir left behind by a reclusive master.
I’m going back. I’m going back alive, no matter what!
Cheol Mubaek learned martial arts to survive. When the fasting pills in the hidden cave ran out, he tore up grass growing between the cliffs or caught bats to eat as he trained.
After no less than three years, he climbed the cliff with his bare hands and returned to the village.
What awaited him was his home in ruins—and the deaths of his wife and child.
Had it been two months or so since we last heard from you? That bastard Hwang, who’d always had his eye on your wife…
By the time Cheol Mubaek came to his senses, he had already beaten the village’s great landowner and all his servants to death.
After avenging his family, Cheol Mubaek returned to the hidden cave and resumed his martial arts training. It was a whip he used against himself, and atonement for his family.
How much time had passed like that?
Before he knew it, Cheol Mubaek was being called the Tiger of Mount Heng.
But…
“Huff. Even a tiger would cry.”
Cheol Mubaek panted harshly. His once-brilliant eyes were clouded as if by dark clouds, and his beard was drenched in blood.
I have to hurry. I have to stop that bastard…
But all he had left was his will. With all four limbs broken, his body had already slipped beyond his control. He had displayed martial arts worthy of the title Tiger of Mount Heng, yet he still could not defeat Pung Yang.
How in the world did that bastard…?
The result seemed obvious. Pung Yang had only just entered the Peak realm, barely capable of creating blade qi, while Cheol Mubaek was a Peak master who had reached a mature realm stage.
Pung Yang had been as precarious as a candle in the wind. Then he had suddenly changed after pulling an unidentified wooden case from inside his robes.
The red pill. Yes, that was definitely it.
Cheol Mubaek had made a mistake by retreating because he thought it might be a hidden weapon. After Pung Yang gulped down the pill, he was no longer the mere leader of a mounted-bandit group Cheol Mubaek had known.
How can a human being become that strong?
Cheol Mubaek’s eyes trembled as he recalled Pung Yang’s movements.
The gap between them was so vast that it seemed impossible to win, even if they fought ten or a hundred more times. Pung Yang had overturned the battle in an instant, broken all four of Cheol Mubaek’s limbs, inflicted massive internal injuries, and then left.
I’ll let you live for now. I’ve decided I want the formula for your martial art as a wedding gift.
Cheol Mubaek’s eyes reddened as he recalled Pung Yang’s parting words.
The Shura Annihilating Fist was a martial art passed down to a single successor and never taught to outsiders.
He would choose suicide rather than hand it over to Pung Yang, but Lee Seowol—whom he cherished like a daughter and a granddaughter—troubled him.
What on earth am I supposed to do?
Cheol Mubaek was staring at the sky with a heavy heart when it happened.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The sound of hooves in the distance drew closer and closer before stopping abruptly at his feet.
Beneath the brilliantly shining moon, four pairs of eyes looked down at him.
“Doesn’t the Red Wind Band have a retirement age? Why is an old geezer still out here playing bandit?”
“Young Master Jin, that’s Great Hero Cheol Mubaek, the Tiger of Mount Heng.”
“Gah! I’m sorry. Hey, Mujin. Hurry up and apologize. What are you waiting for?”
“You’re the one who made the mistake, Captain. Why should I…?”
Smack!
“Grandpa—no, Sir. Are you all right?”
Instead of answering, Cheol Mubaek stared intently at the young man’s chest.
A single character was embroidered on his navy martial robe.
進.
“Taiyuan… the Jin Family?”
“Oh, you recognize it?”
The young man, Jin Taekyung, grinned.
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