Splaaash.
Sudal sat at the bow of the ship as it cut swiftly through the current, lost in thought. He was a river pirate of the Yangtze River Channel League and Deputy Stronghold Lord of the Water Dragon Stronghold, which held sway over Hubei Province.
Looking back, things have gone pretty well so far.
Sudal had made quite a name for himself in his line of work.
He was deputy lord of a major stronghold with more than five hundred river pirates under its command. And though it had taken him a long time, he had finally reached the Peak level of martial arts.
Simply staying active and in one piece as he approached fifty made him a model of a successful river pirate. But Sudal had achieved more than that.
I’ve saved up a decent amount of money, too.
Few water strongholds had hundreds of fighters.
On top of that, Mu Song, the Ship-Fire Boy who headed the Water Dragon Stronghold, was a shrewd man with powerful backing: he was a direct Disciple of the Alliance Leader of the Yangtze River Channel League. As his deputy, Sudal had made plenty just by picking up the scraps that fell his way.
Of course, a good deal of that wealth had gone to pleasure houses.
Could I buy a decent manor somewhere out in Hubei? Property prices have probably gone up again, though. Fuck. Do they plate the pillars in gold or something?
Sudal stared gloomily at the current, which broke into rough waves around the ship.
I never thought I’d be thinking about stuff like this.
Retirement? Settling down?
A few years ago—not even a few months ago—those soft, mushy words wouldn’t have crossed his mind.
Sudal had always prided himself on being a born sailor and river pirate.
But not anymore. His carefree life as a raider, and his life as a bold man of the water, were both slowly coming to an end.
Even at this very moment.
“Um, Deputy Stronghold Lord?”
At the cautious call from behind him, Sudal squeezed his eyes shut.
I’m fucked.
It wasn’t a guess. He was certain.
Ever since they’d left the wretched land of Yunnan five days ago, the same nightmare had come around again and again.
I thought we might make it through the whole day for once…
The inevitable had arrived.
But Sudal didn’t run. He resolved to face it like a brave river pirate and answered.
“I’m listening. Speak.”
“Well, you see, it’s just…”
“Talk, or get your ass kicked.”
“I’m too old to want a beating, so I’ll talk. It’s just… do we have any beef?”
Sudal turned slowly toward the familiar face of his subordinate.
“Are you that eager to get your ass kicked?”
“Of course not.”
“Then say it again. What meat?”
“I need beef. Specifically, beef marinated in a spicy sauce.”
“Beef. Spicy marinade…”
Sudal trailed off and took a deep breath. Recent experience was teaching him to recover the composure he’d forgotten decades ago.
“You know where we are right now, don’t you?”
His subordinate nodded enthusiastically.
“Of course. We’re aboard the swift ship, the pride of the Water Dragon Stronghold, symbol of the mighty Yangtze River Channel League!”
“And where is that swift ship?”
“We’ve finally left that godforsaken Yunnan behind and are crossing the Yangtze on our way to Sichuan.”
“Then one last question. In the middle of the Yangtze, when it’s been well over a month since we set foot on land, can we get our hands on marinated beef?”
“No.”
“Correct. You’re smarter than you look.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
The subordinate smiled awkwardly at the rare praise, then suddenly turned serious.
“But we have to bring some back.”
“I said we don’t have any.”
“He said to make some if we don’t.”
“Could it be… that bastard?”
His subordinate looked around before answering in a voice kept low with great effort.
“Sure enough, it’s that bastard.”
You could always count on him to be the one.
Neither of them said the name, but they both knew.
At the moment, there was only one lunatic who’d demand spicy marinated beef aboard a ship crossing the Yangtze.
Taishan, the Tiger Giant Child.
Spending thirty years as a river pirate meant seeing all kinds of idiots and morons. But even a seasoned pirate like Sudal had never seen anyone like him.
A build and appetite that barely seemed human. Simple-mindedness that could shock even the most uncultured river pirates.
Actually, Sudal had once met another lunatic of much the same sort, albeit one considerably smaller.
“Shit. I’d almost forgotten him, and now I’m thinking about that bastard too.”
“Who’re you talking about?”
“That guy.”
“Oh. That guy.”
They both thought of him at the same time.
The young man who looked perfectly normal but seemed possessed by some kind of ghost, stuffing his face with dumplings and sweets whenever he got the chance.
Sudal gazed wistfully back on those days a few months ago, then let out a sigh.
Before Hubei was stained with blood, he’d been living a peaceful, sensible life as a river pirate.
“Still, things were a lot better when he was around. At least he brought his own food.”
“What the hell are you talking about? He’d gobble it all up, then raise hell demanding candied hawthorn skewers.1”
“Oh, really? That’s what happened?”
“I’m telling you. The second he made eye contact with you, he’d start whining for those skewers. That horo bastard was something else.”2
One lunatic demanded beef with the sauce already on it, and another demanded candied hawthorn skewers.1
Sudal shuddered at their cruelty. But then, as now, there was nothing he could do.
The lunatic who wanted beef was a Peak master from the Black Dragon Demon Gate, one of the foremost factions among the unorthodox. He was also the right-hand man of its Young Sect Leader, who was all but certain to inherit the sect. And that little shit he’d mentioned was a far, far bigger figure than even him.
If it’s Cheongpung, the Huashan Divine Dragon, he’s a big shot among big shots.
His backing was insane: the Sword Saint, Mae Jonghak, was his Master, and the Sect Leader of Huashan was his Senior Brother.
In terms of seniority alone, he stood on equal footing with the Sect Leaders of the Nine Sects and One Gang. And according to popular opinion, his talent for martial arts ranked among the top three of all time.
The heavens are cruel. Why give all that to a bastard like him?
As Sudal looked up at the clear sky and lamented his fate—
Crack!
Something broke, followed by a shout like the roar of a beast.
“Beef! Taishan wants beef! Spicy marinade!”
Sudal’s subordinate turned pale.
“This is bad. He’s already at moderate rage.”
“Moderate rage?”
“I’ve watched him for the past five days and worked out the stages. Once he reaches full-blown rage, he’s barely human.”
“Pretty sure he’s been like that from the start…”
“Anyway, give him something, anything! Right now, before he puts a few holes in the swift ship!”
“What?!”
Sudal snapped out of it and told him where he’d hidden his emergency supply of drinking snacks.
“There’s a jar in the corner of my cabin.”
“Beef?”
“No. Salted pork. Top quality.”
“That still won’t be enough, will it?”
“Of course not. With his appetite, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ate the jar too. But what if you went with the Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate?”
“Ah!”
“Go. The fate of this ship is in your hands.”
“That’s our Deputy Stronghold Lord!”
The subordinate gave him a thumbs-up and hurried off. Sudal watched him go with a proud smile and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“That boy…”
But the smile vanished.
Instead of taking their possessions, he was giving them a ride—and he still had to worry about this.
He’d even felt proud of himself for coming up with a decent solution. The misery suddenly welled up in him, and his eyes grew wet.
Is this why I became a river pirate?
A sudden sense of futility weighed on him, but Sudal forced himself to shake his head.
No. He only had to hang on a little longer.
It had already been five days since they left Yunnan. With heaven’s help and a good wind, they might arrive within a day.
Then he could say goodbye to those wretched people…
“Hey, don’t block the way. Move over.”
“Huh?”
Sudal blinked, shaken from his thoughts. An old man who looked stern as hell stood before him, holding a fishing rod.
“You…”
“You?”
“No, Elder…”
“Elder?”
“…What should I call you, then?”
“Just call me Senior. And get that hideous face of yours away from the bow. The Dragon King would turn tail if he came up for some fresh air and saw your mug.”
“Ah, yes. Understood, Senior.”
The old man hadn’t been with them when they sailed from Sichuan toward Yunnan about two months ago.
Now, five days into their voyage back, Sudal still didn’t know exactly who he was. But looking at him, the old man somehow gave off the air of a master.
Especially…
That forehead.
The old man’s forehead was black as if it had been painted, and swollen to twice the size of anyone else’s. Sudal couldn’t take his eyes off it.
I’ve heard of external arts like that.
Sudal quickly moved away from the bow and studied him before speaking cautiously.
If he could get on the good side of a mysterious old master who’d been living in seclusion in Nanman and obtain the formula for a martial art, what better fortuitous encounter could there be?
“Um, so…”
“Don’t talk to me. I’m concentrating.”
“Yes, sir.”
Silence fell at once.
Just as Sudal was watching for a chance to speak, the old man sitting at the bow with his fishing line cast suddenly shouted.
“Enough! You brat!”
“Me?”
“Do you know what kind of person I hate most in this world?”
“W-what kind?”
“A man who never finishes what he’s saying!”
“But, Senior, you’re the one who—”
“Shut that crafty mouth of yours and finish what you were going to say. I’m going out of my mind wondering.”
Sudal stared at the old man, who already looked like he was out of his mind.
I thought I’d finally escaped the Fire King, and now there’s another crazy old man!
The Fire King, Jeok Cheongang, had already left for Sichuan ahead of them on another swift ship.
Sudal had foolishly thought he could breathe easy again. Swallowing his misery, he spoke.
“I was wondering if you’d learned Iron Head Technique.”
“Iron Head Technique?”
“Yes. As far as this junior knows, masters who’ve trained Iron Head Technique to its limits have black foreheads and can even break steel…”
“Hm. I don’t know where you heard that, but you know your stuff. That’s right. Iron Head Technique has different levels and forms, but once you reach Great Completion, you can easily block even Sword Energy.”
“Ooh! Then could you be the famous Great Hero Ironblood Elder?”
The old man scoffed.
“Great Hero? What nonsense. That Ironblood Elder is the lowest of the low. One of the scum of the Murim who absolutely must be hunted down and killed. Though he might already be dead. He spent the entire Great Faction War pretending to sit on the sidelines, while he was up to all kinds of dirty business behind the scenes.”
“Oh. So you aren’t Great Hero Ironblood Elder. I mean, that scum.”
“Obviously not. Are you picking a fight with this old man?”
“Absolutely not. Then, if you don’t mind, who are you?”
“Me?”
The old man puffed out his chest.
“My name is Namho.”
“Ah! Namho?”
“That’s right. I’m the Namho.”
Namho smiled fondly as he thought back on his youth. Sudal wondered.
Who the hell is Namho?
Perhaps he was an old master from the previous generation. Sudal couldn’t recall ever hearing the name.
Then the old man spoke again, and Sudal, who’d been unsure, couldn’t help but jump in shock.
“I killed dozens of fiends during the Great Faction War.”
“Dozens!”
“That’s not all. A thousand orthodox martial artists owe their lives to me, and twice that many members of the Demonic Cult died because of me.”
“Wow! A thousand, then another two thousand! A hero born of the Great Faction War!”
“The Nine Sects and One Gang? The Five Great Families? They’re strong, very strong. But charging in and swinging a blade isn’t the only thing that matters. What matters is victory in battle!”
“Wow! Victory!”
“When I was young, whenever I sent out a messenger pigeon, the great sects everyone had heard of would move, huh? And sometimes the Three Saints and Ten Kings would rush right out!”
“Wow! The Three Saints! The Ten Kings! You must be the Martial God at the very least!”
“And that man was me, Namho!”
“Wooo! Long live! Long live! Long live our Senior!”
Sudal threw both arms up and shouted along. Then something struck him as odd, and he blinked.
“Um, what did you say just now?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Er, I thought I heard you say you sent out a messenger pigeon.”
“Yeah. I did. From the rear.”
“…?”
“Is that a problem?”
Sudal stared at Namho, who remained completely unashamed. After a brief silence, he parted his lips.
“Then, Senior, do you have a title?”
“No.”
“Your martial arts…?”
“Why would I learn something like that?”
“…?”
“Being a martial artist is dangerous as hell, and hard work. When you’re young, you show off and get stabbed to death. When you’re old, your body’s a wreck.”
“…!”
“Look at you. You’re trembling right now. You’re getting old, your martial arts are mediocre, and your body’s starting to give out. Might be a stroke, so if you’re interested, come along. I’m on my way to see a famous physician.”
About half of what Namho said was true.
Sudal had already lost it. But he wasn’t trembling from a stroke—he was trembling with rage.
He held on to his last thread of reason long enough to ask one final question.
“T-then what about that Iron Head Technique you mentioned?”
“I said I knew about it. I never said I’d learned it.”
“But if you haven’t even learned Iron Head Technique, why is your forehead so—”
“I got stung by a bee.”
“…!”
“Some beastly bastard disturbed a Black Gold Bee hive because he wanted the honey, and I nearly died for it. We somehow managed to draw out the venom, but this swelling just won’t go down.”
Namho gently rubbed his black, swollen forehead. Sudal felt dizzy, as though he’d been stung by a bee himself.
What kind of fucked-up situation is this…?
Two months.
A whole two months. He’d left merchant ships laden with wealth and grain behind and, under what was practically a threat, been dragged from his home base in Hubei to Sichuan, then all the way to Yunnan.
And it still wasn’t over.
The waiting had gone on forever. He’d stopped in Guangxi for a chance to make some pocket money, only to be caught by the Fire King, Jeok Cheongang—who was known as the Blood Monk—and dragged along.
It was easy to call it two months, but being trapped on a ship with the ugliest, most uneducated people in the world had made those two months feel like two years.
All I have to do is take them to Sichuan, then I can go back to Hubei. And this is how things are going right to the end.
One beast of a man spent all day shoving whatever he could into his mouth. Now Sudal had been fooled by a powerless old man he’d never met before and insulted for his trouble.
That wasn’t all. The rest of them were just as crazy.
Hyuk Mujin—whom he’d met enough times to recognize—was going around preaching some religion called the Earth Mother Goddess to his subordinates. Song Ilseom and Sama Pyo, who’d looked like they disliked each other from the start, had dueled on deck and half destroyed the mast.
And Ju Hwaran, one of the Ten Dragons and Phoenixes and the most beautiful woman in Sichuan?
Two months ago, when they’d set out for Nanman, she’d looked like a fairy. Now she spent her days coming out onto the deck to watch everyone.
And whenever she heard even the slightest sound somewhere, she’d prick up her ears and mutter as though she wanted everyone to hear.
Oh. The Pavilion Master still needs to rest. Does that barrel really have to be moved right now?
Oh. That rope scraping is so loud. Should I just cut every rope so the Pavilion Master can be comfortable?
Oh. Why’s he gulping down water like that? Couldn’t he go without drinking and slowly dry up instead?
Oh. The waves are so rough. What if the Pavilion Master suffers qi deviation while circulating his qi because of all the noise? You’re river pirates, aren’t you? Can’t you do something about a single wave?
What was he, the Dragon King? How was he supposed to calm a raging river?
He’d put up with enough. For five days, he’d seen everything he never wanted to see and heard everything he never wanted to hear.
That’s it. I’ve got nowhere left to retreat. I’m settling this today.
Overcome with fury, Sudal drew the broad-bladed saber tucked into his waistband.
Or, he tried to.
Until a familiar voice sounded behind him.
“Whew. I feel so much better after getting a good rest. Hey, mister, how far have we come?”
Sudal turned slowly. Jin Taekyung had shown himself for the first time in five whole days. Sudal raised his eyes to him and answered with a grin.
“Hehe. We’ll be there soon.”
That night, the swift ship arrived in Sichuan, and Sudal decided to retire.
Comments
Comments need a network connection.