Chapter 513

Xixia in Henan Province, situated along a tributary of the Yangtze, was packed with people again today.

Boats of every size crowded the ferry landing. Merchants stood beside piles of goods, haggling with fire in their eyes.

“Come on, cheap, cheap! Musk that’s good for your virility! Just one silver nyang!”

“I don’t need that crap.”

“You there, lovely Young Lady! Wouldn’t you like a hand mirror?”

“I’m not buying that crap.”

“…What a pair of fucking assholes.”

Every kind of noise rang through the marketplace.

But in the end, the atmosphere of a place depended on the kind of people gathered there. The merchant who stopped a passing young martial artist out of habit had picked the wrong man.

“Sir, you look like a martial hero on your way to Mount Song. Could I interest you in a well-honed wea—ah!”

The merchant broke off with a gasp. The handsome face that had first caught his eye no longer registered.

The moment he saw the three characters embroidered in black thread across the young martial artist’s dark blue silk uniform, along with the dragon pattern, the merchant let out a cry that sounded almost like a moan.

“B-Black Dragon Demon Gate!”

“…!”

Though the cry had not been particularly loud, the four-character name Black Dragon Demon Gate was enough to plunge the bustling thoroughfare into a pit of silence.

“B-Black Dragon Demon Gate?”

“It’s them. The unorthodox bastards making a name for themselves in Gansu.”

“I heard they arrived in Henan late yesterday… Could they be here to join the alliance?”

Silence spread in an instant. Merchants stopped calling out, commoners stopped wandering, and even the armed martial artists traveling in groups halted to look toward the cry.

Under all those eyes, the young man from the Black Dragon Demon Gate smiled at the merchant.

“You have a good eye for a merchant, recognizing our sect’s insignia.”

“Th-that’s…”

“You don’t seem to have much to do with Murim. Are you from Gansu? Or did you pick up a little knowledge from the Third Rate swordsmen who come here as customers?”

He glanced over the merchant’s shoulder at the weapons neatly arranged on the stall and clicked his tongue.

“Nothing but cheap junk. I wouldn’t take any of it for free. Show me your best.”

“Pardon?”

“Ah, I forgot you’re a merchant. Not your best, then. Your most expensive.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

With trembling hands, the merchant pulled out an iron chest he had tucked deep inside the stall and opened it. The young martial artist whistled at the lone sword inside, lying there without even a proper scabbard.

“Hm. This doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

The onlookers, especially the martial artists, found themselves nodding. The sword looked quite old, but its blade gleamed in five brilliant colors, and its edge had lost none of its sharpness.

It could easily be called a famed sword.

The merchant sensed greed in the eyes of several martial artists and drew his shoulders in.

“M-my late father left it to me.”

“Was your late father a martial artist?”

“Th-that’s impossible. Somehow, he came to own the sword, but he only told me to keep it secret from others and preserve it as a family heirloom for generations…”

“No wonder. There must have been plenty of people who wanted a sword like this.”

Too much greed led to bloodshed. Most martial artists would rather take a famed sword by force than pay several hundred silver nyang for it. Threatening someone with a cheap iron sword was far easier than coming up with the silver.

“Your late father must have been quite wise.”

“Y-yes. He was.”

“But it seems you didn’t inherit his wisdom, bringing it out like this.”

“Th-that’s…!”

The merchant could not finish. The young martial artist let out a quiet laugh. He knew exactly what the merchant had swallowed back.

The man facing him belonged to the Black Dragon Demon Gate, an unorthodox faction. With a knife at his throat, the merchant had no time to think things through. Fear that he might lose his head if he tried to pass off another weapon had paralyzed him.

This was a first for the merchant. For the young martial artist, it was familiar.

“I understand. Most people who meet me think and act just as you did.”

The young martial artist looked the merchant up and down. The merchant sat with his mouth shut, like someone who had swallowed his tongue.

“So I’ll save you.”

Suspicion flickered across the merchant’s eyes.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I’ll pay for the sword and take it.”

“Ah!”

The merchant’s face lit up. His heart had already been burning with anxiety. He had brought out the sword because staying alive came first, but now more than a few people had seen it. Once this young man left, wandering martial artists and petty thieves would surely catch the scent and come after him.

If the young man bought it, though, that problem was solved. He would still have to leave the area soon—there would be people after the silver he received—but he could keep his life and take enough money with him to live comfortably elsewhere.

The merchant finished calculating and bowed at once.

“G-Great Hero, if you would do that, I couldn’t ask for anything more!”

“You’re not completely clueless.”

With a quiet laugh, the young martial artist tossed a money pouch from his robes onto the stall.

Clink.

It landed with a weighty rattle. The merchant opened it and blinked.

“G-Great Hero. This…”

The young man had taken the sword from the chest and was examining it from every angle. He glanced over.

“What is it?”

“I’m afraid you may have the amount wrong.”

“The amount?”

The merchant swallowed hard at the young man’s puzzled look. The sword was a family heirloom, and by its value alone, he ought to receive at least several hundred silver nyang. The sum in the pouch was absurdly small.

“Twenty silver nyang is a little…”

“I disagree.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s plenty. I deducted the price of your life.”

The young man’s voice turned cold. So did the air around him.

The commoners watching with mingled curiosity and fear shuddered. The neighboring merchants who had shared the man’s hardships deliberately looked away.

But not everyone there stayed silent.

“The Black Dragon Demon Gate must have quite a reputation if even some wet-behind-the-ears brat is throwing his weight around like this.”

A rough voice rang out, and the crowd parted. A middle-aged man walked through the gap, baring yellow teeth in a grin at the young martial artist.

“I won’t waste words. Put down that sword and get the hell out of here.”

The young man blinked.

“Were you speaking to me?”

“Ha! Look at this brat. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I heard you perfectly well…”

He looked the middle-aged man up and down before continuing.

“I just never imagined someone like you would dare say it to my face.”

“…Someone like me? Say something like that?”

The middle-aged man stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“Someone like me! Ha! Hahaha! You’re funnier than you look.”

“How strange. No one in Gansu ever told me I had a talent for comedy.”

“Boy, what’s your name?”

“I have no reason to tell you, and no intention of doing so. Be on your way.”

“You don’t look so good. Scared?”

“Not really… I just find talking to someone like you unpleasant.”

“Heh.”

The middle-aged man laughed, but his eyes gleamed ominously. His scarred, heavily muscled arm was about to move when the young martial artist spoke.

“That’s enough, Blood Cudgel.”

“…!”

The middle-aged man jerked at the sound of his sobriquet. The martial artists watching were startled too.

Enough was known about Blood Cudgel Do Sangho that his appearance and the red cudgel at his waist made him fairly easy to recognize. What surprised them was the young man’s attitude.

Here was a brat in the Black Dragon Demon Gate’s uniform, speaking to an accomplished Peak master as though he stood far above him.

Blood Cudgel sensed something was wrong as well.

“You… knew who I was?”

“I’d heard of you. Heard there was a man who’d lick a beggar’s ass for silver.”

“…!”

His polite speech had vanished, replaced by open insult. Blood Cudgel’s eyes widened with rage as the young man went on.

“Now that we’ve met, it seems what I heard was true. How about an offer?”

“An… offer?”

“I’ll give you silver. Lick the top of my foot, and I’ll let you live.”

“H-how dare you!”

Blood Cudgel trembled. He was a Peak master whose martial prowess no one could dismiss. He wanted to rush forward and smash the brat’s head open.

But the name Black Dragon Demon Gate held him back. The young man was so young, yet so calm. Blood Cudgel had a gut feeling that a life-and-death duel with him would not end well.

“…Damn it.”

He lowered the weapon he had half-raised. The young martial artist smiled.

“You must really like silver. Ready to lick the top of my foot?”

“You bastard! Shut your mouth!”

His shout, laden with profound internal energy, struck in every direction. Third Rate martial artists whose skills were still meager groaned and stumbled backward. Terrified commoners screamed.

Through the chaos, Blood Cudgel glared at the young man with bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t know how important you are, but one day you’ll regret what happened here.”

The young martial artist clicked his tongue softly.

“You’re angry. But I think you’d better stop there.”

“I, Blood Cudgel Do Sangho, may forget a favor, but I never forget a grudge! I’ll retreat today, but the next time we meet will be the day of your funeral—”

Thud!

Blood sprayed in every direction.

The young martial artist looked at Blood Cudgel’s corpse, its head crushed, and sighed.

“I was trying to avoid bloodshed if I could. You could have held back a little longer.”

When had he appeared?

An eight-foot-tall man who had crushed Blood Cudgel’s head with a swing of his massive two-section staff answered in a halting voice.

“Dare… insult Young Sect Leader. This subordinate… will not tolerate it.”

“Well, Blood Cudgel should be all right. You could hardly call him orthodox.”

The young martial artist clicked his tongue. Only then did the people grasp what had happened and scatter in every direction, screaming.

“S-someone’s been killed!”

“Aaaah!”

“What the hell…!”

Even the martial artists had frozen at the sudden violence. Just then, the young man spotted something beyond the fleeing crowd.

“See? I knew there’d be trouble.”

A group of monks in yellow kasayas¹ was approaching.

“Shaolin Temple…”