Chapter 15: Haomen (1)

Gold Plum.

The price of receiving one of the ten greatest treasures in the world, of which only ten exist, was brutal.

The Sword Saint of the Crimson Knight said, “Your talent is one-dimensional, to the point where you have almost no foundation. 

If things stay like this, it’s obvious you’ll collapse the moment you face an enemy stronger than you.”

He then declared that he would forcibly drill into me— through an accelerated process— what martial arts truly mean to the body, what sword techniques are, and what divine techniques entail.

The reason was that my innate talent was at a level worthy of being called the next “Greatest Under Heaven,” and my understanding of martial arts had to match that to avoid shaming him as my master.

And so, the result—

“Kekeke! That’s a good look in your eyes!”

“Wait, no— Gah!”

The sparring (one-sided beating) between Jin Museong and Cheongun continued relentlessly.

“Hoho! A battle between masters ultimately comes down to focus! Victory or defeat depends on which bastard is more stubborn!”

“Guh!”

Cheongun let out a sharp exhale and twisted his entire body.

Swish! The wooden sword grazed over his head, slicing off a few strands of hair.

“If you focus only on swinging the sword, you’ll never know when an opening will appear! The sword is meant to be wielded, not to be wielded by— that’s putting the cart before the horse!”

As the next strike aimed for his collarbone, Cheongun planted both hands on the ground and arched his body backward.

Flipping through the air like an acrobat, he barely avoided the danger— only for another sword shadow to come flying at him.

Cheongun was amazed.

What kind of sword was this? 

The moment he dodged one strike, it came at him from another angle, and when he dodged that, it twisted in ways no human wrist should be capable of.

At a glance, it looked like a crazy old man swinging wildly, but every single trajectory carried the essence of intricate techniques.

And somehow, despite the wooden sword having no sword energy enveloping it, every hit made his muscles scream in agony.

But Cheongun didn’t give up.

Even if he did, the old man wouldn’t stop, and of course, he’d get beaten to a pulp, so he had no choice but to keep moving, even as every muscle in his body shrieked in protest.

Damn old man!

Damn sparring!

He got hit for holding his breath and stiffening his body.

He got hit for treating his elbows as levers of force instead of rudders.

He got hit for lifting his heels and destabilizing his center.

He got hit for not using his waist, making the sword feel heavier.

Hit, and hit again— pummeled without rest.

This hellish training continued for months.

And yet, the reason Cheongun didn’t run away was simple: this was undeniably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Jin Muwon’s one-sided beatings left Cheongun’s mind reeling, but at the same time, they had the strange effect of making him think of nothing but martial arts.

It was almost nostalgic— like the days he spent wandering the streets like a beggar, getting beaten up by all sorts of scum.

Above all, the chance to physically embody profound insights into sword techniques and the fundamentals of martial principles was something that might not come again in a thousand years.

If the disciples of prestigious families had seen this, they would’ve burned with jealousy.

Of course, not everyone looked on with envy.

“Junior Brother Cheong, are you okay?”

“No. Can’t you see the bruises?”

“Hehe, of course you’d be bruised after getting hit like that.”

Sharing the same master ultimately meant becoming family.

It was Namgung Yul, who had gone from calling him “Hero Cheong” to “Junior Brother Cheong”— and cleverly dropped formal speech along the way.

Under the pretext of caring for him, she diligently applied the rare and precious Golden Wound Ointment to Cheongun’s bruised back as he lay sprawled on the ground.

“It really hurts so much.”

“It’s okay. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Yul, did your master also hit you when you were growing up?”

“No? He said you shouldn’t even hit a girl with a leaf, so he never once sparred with me.”

“……”

What the hell.

This damn old man.

Shocked by his master’s unexpected sweetness, Cheongun’s mouth fell wide open.

“Done.”

Namgung Yul gave Cheongun’s firm back one last part.

When she first saw him, he was nothing but a skeleton, barely alive. 

But after spending a few months here, he had gained quite a bit of muscle, becoming more masculine.

“Now go.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t forget about going to the city tomorrow.”

“The city?”

“You asked me to look into a decent money house, remember?”

“Ah.”

A money house was essentially the martial world’s version of a bank.

The reason for seeking out a bank was obvious—to deposit money and issue checks.

Cheongun was currently in a state of extreme psychological unease.

Oddly enough, when he was living as a beggar, he had nothing to lose, so no matter how miserable things were, his mind was at peace. 

But now that he had the Golden Wristlet and even the Golden Plum, his heart was more unsettled than ever.

Let’s not forget.

This was the ancient Central Plains, where the law of the jungle and ruthlessness ran rampant.

To what extent, you ask?

There were even sects that openly made a living by thievery, boldly displaying their names.

In fact, there was even someone who earned the nickname “Shadowless Divine Thief” solely for their stealing skills, securing a place among the Hundred Great Masters.

To ease this anxiety, he needed to convert the Golden Plum into cash and turn all his assets into checks as soon as possible.

So, Namgung Yul’s words to Cheongun just now were an immense act of consideration for him.

As much as Cheongun loved money, his emotions became equally honest when it came to financial matters.

The corners of his lips curved up, and his eyes formed crescents.

“Thank you.”

“……”

“Then, I’ll take my leave.”

Cheongun left for the evening sparring session.

And as she watched his retreating figure, Namgung Yul suddenly lowered her head.

The tips of her ears were burning red.

****

The next morning, Cheongun and Namgung Yul left Jang Won as soon as they woke up.

The distance from Cheongsungsan to Seongdo was roughly 80 li.

Even with steady use of light-foot techniques, it would take at least half a day to cover.

Naturally, along the way, their stomachs would growl and their legs would tire, forcing them to take breaks.

Even the mighty Mt. Geumgang must bow to hunger.

Before tackling any great task, one must first fill their stomach.

And so, they stopped by the Gyeonghwa Banjeom, a roadside inn.

Jing-a-ling.

It was a little early for lunch when a young man and a woman stepped into the inn.

They were Cheongun and Namgung Yul, heading toward Seongdo.

Perhaps because of the early hour, there were no other customers inside.

The two casually took their seats, and a rat-faced waiter approached, snickering as he carried a water jug.

The waiter’s eyes darted back and forth as he sized them up from the corner of his gaze.

The sword sheaths at their waists.

Their neat martial attire.

The man looked particularly ill-tempered, but both had strikingly handsome features.

And above all, their well-trained physiques.

‘Martial artists!’

Having made his judgment, the waiter raised his voice cheerfully.

“Hehe, welcome! Every dish at our Gyeonghwa Banjeom is so delicious you wouldn’t notice if one of you dropped dead while eating! What can I get for you?”

The waiter knew how to judge people.

Why? Even in modern society, treatment varies based on appearance.

The Central Plains were no different. 

No— anywhere people live is the same.

Martial artists usually had money, and big spenders were the best customers.

Namgung Yul placed the order in place of Cheongun.

“Fried chicken! Steamed lamb buns! Sliced beef! Two bowls of wall wine!”

The waiter loudly repeated the order before slipping away to the kitchen.

Soon after, the table was laden with food.

Greasy fried chicken, steaming buns, chewy sliced beef, and thick wall wine—

It was an excessive amount for just two people.

But Cheongun didn’t care.

He was the owner of the Golden Yuan Treasure, after all.

This level of spending was nothing to him.

“Hehe, enjoy your meal!”

The waiter chuckled before subtly retreating to a corner.

From there, he quietly observed Cheongun as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Outwardly, Gyeonghwa Banjeom appeared to be an ordinary roadside inn.

But in truth, it was a black inn— a front for the Haomen, an organization that also took assassination contracts.

What kind of sect was Haomen?

The characters “Ha” meaning “low” and “O” meaning “filthy” said it all.

It was a gathering of the dregs of society, banding together to pool what little strength they had.

Their defining trait? Numbers.

There were far more non-martial artists than martial artists.

Non-martial artists were far less conspicuous than martial artists.

They scurried across the Central Plains, gathering and trading all kinds of information.

Like a swarm of rats.

If the orthodox sects had the Gaebang, the unorthodox sects had Haomen.

As the Central Plains’ top intelligence network, they held considerable influence even among the unorthodox factions.

Recently, they had received a contract.

The clients? The Black Forest Sect and the Blood Edge Pavilion.

Cheongun had killed five warriors from the Black Forest Sect and interfered with the mission of warriors from the Blood Edge Pavilion.

A bounty notice declared that anyone who brought back his head would receive a hefty reward.

The inn servant Jeomsoi hurriedly checked the description.

Black hair, rude way of speaking, somewhere between a boy and a woman, nasty eating habits, and a face that looked like trouble…

…Could it be?

“Excuse me, young sir.”

“What?”

“May I ask your name?”

“Why do you want my name?”

“Hehe, it’s customary to record the names of first-time guests. If you just tell me your name, I’ll serve you our best rice wine in the house.”

“Cheongun.”

“……”

The inn servant Jeomsoi held his breath.

Then, casting a glance around the inn from corner to corner—

He slowly lowered the hand he’d been holding up.

“!!!”

Whoosh—!

Masked men who had been hiding all around suddenly sprang out at once, aiming the tips of their swords at Cheongun.