Chapter 652

Rustle.

Sama Pyo knew it wasn’t a passing breeze stirring the thick grass.

The killing intent of dozens of enemies pointed at him like invisible blades.

“You show up uninvited, and when I ask a question, you don’t answer…”

Unwelcome guests didn’t get much worse than this.

He clicked his tongue and let his Black Dragon Saber hang at his side.

“Come out. We can at least talk face-to-face.”

A dozen or so throwing blades came in reply.

Whoosh! Clang!

Sama Pyo knocked them aside with a lightning-fast swing of his saber and turned smoothly on his heel. Saber energy wrapped around the dark blade, then swept through the grass like a gale.

Sh-sh-sh-shk! Slash!

Hundreds of leaves flew apart in pieces. A faint line appeared across the trunk of a massive tree.

Sss, crash!

The giant tree slid to the ground. Sama Pyo vaulted over it and stared at the figures approaching the clearing.

East, west, north, south. Roughly thirty enemies moved slowly into position around the pavilion. Every one of them wore a black mask.

“Hard to get a look at your faces. When you come uninvited, the polite thing would be to take off your masks and apologize… but I doubt you’re going to do that.”

Sama Pyo took stock of the situation calmly.

Masked intruders at this hour of the night, greeting him with throwing blades. Their purpose could hardly have been clearer.

Worse…

Of all times, this had to happen while he was away.

He thought of that Pavilion Master bastard, with a mouth as foul as a Third Rate thug’s and a habit of punching someone whenever the chance arose.

Jin Taekyung.

The man was impossible to predict and forever causing trouble. But in a situation like this, there was no one Sama Pyo would trust more. At only twenty-two, he had already left his mark on Murim—a monster of a man.

But whether by coincidence or fate, Jin Taekyung was currently away. Song Ilseom and Ju Hwaran, who would have been a great help if they had remained, were absent as well. Hyuk Mujin was gone, too—although he might not have been able to match them, he was at least worth one person.

That left Sama Pyo, Taishan—who had gone to bed early—and Namho, an ordinary old man against whom Sama Pyo couldn’t use his full strength.

Against nearly thirty enemies.

No. Their numbers aren’t the problem.

Sama Pyo muttered inwardly and quickly swept his gaze across the surroundings. The killing intent radiating from the enemies slowly tightening around him like a net was not that of some clumsy martial artists.

By Central Plains standards, each of them is somewhere between Supreme First Rate and Peak. Where in Nanman did they come from?

The Central Plains Murim was truly vast, but even among the countless martial artists scattered across it like grains of sand on a beach, Peak masters were not common.

Yet in Nanman, which could not compare to the Central Plains, someone had mobilized thirty warriors of this caliber to launch an attack.

Fortunately, none seemed to be at a particularly high level. Still, their presence was startling—especially because this remote stretch of land belonged to the Inner Palace of the Nanman Beast Palace.

“Who are you?”

Whoosh! Crack!

Instead of an answer, a short spear skimmed past his neck and smashed through the pavilion door.

That was the signal to begin.

Papapat!

Hidden weapons and arrows flew in, blotting out the faint moonlight. Shadows rushed forward like streaks of light.

Sama Pyo’s Black Dragon Saber cut through the wind.

Whiiiiing! Slash!

Powerful saber energy swept the projectiles aside. The instant he broke through the barrage, blades lunged for him from left and right.

Whoosh!

Neither attacker hesitated to strike at his vitals. Their movements were timed perfectly together. An ordinary Peak master would have been badly wounded, if not killed.

But Sama Pyo was no ordinary Peak master.

He was not a young prodigy lacking real combat experience, nor was he as rigid as a Peak master from an orthodox faction.

Above all else, demonic, heterodox arts valued survival.

Click, crunch!

The two Peak masters attacking from either side crumpled like rotten trees.

Their eyes stared wide above their masks. A small arrow, a span long, was buried deep between each man’s brows.

It worked.

There was a simple reason Sama Pyo wore a thin robe instead of a lighter martial uniform in this heat: its full sleeves gave him room to hide weapons.

Twist his wrist to the right angle, and the mechanism fired a loaded arrow. It was simple, but against an enemy who didn’t expect it, few things were deadlier.

“Idiots.”

He pulled the falling bodies toward him and held one in front of himself, the other behind.

Thud-thud-thud!

A fresh volley of hidden weapons struck the men who had been the attackers’ allies moments before, riddling their corpses. From behind his makeshift shields, Sama Pyo aimed his sleeve past the side of one body.

Click, thud!

This time, the enemy knew what to watch for. The arrow struck a forearm instead of the space between the brows he had aimed for.

He had shown them the trick twice. It wouldn’t work again.

Then…

Snap.

Sama Pyo made his decision at once. He released the mechanism hidden in his sleeve and charged, shouting as he went.

“Taishan!”

Sh-sh-sh-shk!

The remaining twenty-seven masked men closed around him like wolves.

Bang!

Namho had finally fallen asleep after a long stretch of tossing and turning. The instant he opened his eyes, one thought came to him.

What fucking bastard is this?

Growing old came with no end of indignities. One of the cruelest was how little sleep he got at night.

And now someone had dared to disturb what sleep this eighty-year-old could manage. His joints creaked as he sat up.

If that gluttonous bastard Taishan woke me up because he was eating a midnight snack… this time, I absolutely will not let it slide.

He had spent fifty years in the Hidden Shadow Pavilion, whatever anyone might think to look at him. After everything he had sacrificed during the Great Faction War, the Thousand-Faced Fox might overlook it just this once if Namho wrote to Henan and had Taishan declared an enemy of Murim.

Would he believe me if I said the bastard worked for Dark Heaven?

The thought vanished when he heard the commotion outside.

“Taishan!”

Sh-sh-sh-shk! Clang!

Cha-cha-cha-chang!

Namho stared down at the clearing through the window. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was seeing things.

He wasn’t. An enemy’s Sword Energy, dodged by Sama Pyo, swept past Namho’s window.

Slash! Crash!

At last, he understood.

An ambush!

A planned one, too. They had struck while that madman—no, while Jin Taekyung—was away.

What the hell is going on? Who would…?

Being woken up no longer bothered him. In a moment, he might lose his head instead of his sleep.

Sama Pyo was fighting better than Namho had expected, but he couldn’t hold out against so many enemies forever.

And then—

Papapat!

When Namho spotted several masked men approaching the pavilion while leaving Sama Pyo behind, he no longer had even a moment to hesitate.

“Gah!”

Namho bolted from his room with a speed that belied his eighty years. He raced down the corridor and flung open the door at its end.

Bang!

“Ambush! We’re under attack! Your lord is outside—!”

Taishan, the room’s occupant, answered with a mighty roar.

“Grrrrrrrk. Hooooooonk!”

“You damn bastard!”

“Guh-hoooooonk!”

Namho couldn’t believe it.

He can sleep through this? Is he even human?

Parts of the pavilion were breaking apart. The clash of weapons was loud enough to be heard in Henan. Yet here Taishan lay inside it, snoring.

“You! Wake up this instant!”

Thud! Thud-thud!

With a soul-rending cry, Namho’s fist—its strength diminished by the passing years—slammed into Taishan’s jaw.

As though heaven had been moved by his efforts, Taishan finally stirred.

“Mmm. Taishan…”

“Yes! Get up! Hurry!”

“Mmmm. Don’t like mosquitoes. Go away…”

“You son of a bitch!”

It came out almost as a wail.

Tears were gathering in Namho’s eyes when a dark shadow fell across the floor in the moonlight streaming through the open window.

“…”

He froze.

Slowly, he turned his head. Three masked men had slipped into the pavilion.

Those… those bastards.

They moved like ghosts. Their weapons flashed white in the moonlight, and Namho’s eighty-odd years rushed before his eyes.

Then he realized there was one way to wake Taishan.

“Taishan! You bastard!”

Sss.

The masked men raised their weapons as Namho shouted. Thinking of death, Namho squeezed his eyes shut and continued yelling.

“They’re going to eat all your meat!”

In the next instant—

“No! Taishan’s meat!”

Taishan’s eyes flew open as if by magic. He thrust a fist toward the masked men.

Wham! Krrrra-boom!

Hoo. Hah.

Sama Pyo fought to steady his breathing.

Blood soaked his upper body. The masked men watching him now had a trace of fear in their eyes.

He had fought more fiercely and brutally than they had imagined, with hidden weapons and poisons concealed all over his body and martial arts honed for one purpose: killing.

More frightening still, he showed no fear of death.

“Come on, any of you. I swear I’ll give everything I have to kill you.”

He charged them, panting, covered in blood. One by one, masked men fell beneath his hands.

Twenty bodies lay scattered across the ground. Seven of them belonged to Peak masters who would have been recognized anywhere in the Central Plains.

What a monster.

The same thought struck the masked men at once.

“No! Taishan’s meat!”

Crack! Krrrra-boom!

A real monster burst out of the collapsing pavilion.

Eight cheok¹ tall, with an enormous frame. And…

“Taishan’s meat! Where’s the meat?”

A madness that seemed to belong to another world.

Gulp.

What the hell is that?

As the masked men swallowed hard, a small old man poked his head out from behind the giant and pointed at them.

“See those men?”

“Taishan sees them!”

“I saw everything earlier, and those bastards ate all your meat.”

“Taishaaaaaan! Cannot forgive them!”

What meat? What were they supposed to have stolen and eaten?

The bewildered masked men faltered. Sama Pyo bared his bloodstained teeth in a grin.

But he wasn’t looking at Taishan. He was looking at the hill above the clearing—or, rather, at someone ambling down it.

“I had a feeling this might happen even while I was away for a little while.”

Step. Step.

Jin Taekyung approached at an easy pace and asked Sama Pyo, “Are those your friends?”

Sama Pyo burst out laughing and shook his head.