"When my master took me in, his killing of my parents was an act both impulsive and meticulously calculated.” The sunset faded, and twilight descended. The room grew dim, so I took out a flint and lit a lamp. The darkness retreated a few steps, but Do Gwang-il's face did not brighten at all. “Even as the sect was collapsing and the disciples fled one by one back to the secular world, I could not do the same."
"With the enemy who killed my parents right before my eyes, I had no choice but to grit my teeth and train in martial arts."
"My master used my hands to achieve his will."
"He killed the ones he wanted dead."
It was that man Mun-hwi's Grand Martial Uncle.
"Did you avenge your parents?” "I did." For a man who had avenged such a deep-seated grudge, Do Gwang-il was impassive. I felt I knew what was in his heart. “It wasn't enough. What do you think revenge is?"
Was there any need to ask such a thing?
“Isn’t it about paying back those who harmed you and your family, with interest?”
It was common sense that if you stopped a hundred people on the street and asked them, all hundred would nod in agreement. All the stories in the market about revenge were about that. The only difference was whether you cut off a head or sliced open a belly to pull out the intestines.
Do Gwang-il shook his head.
“Revenge is not something you take on a person. It is something you take on fate.”
“Is that why you don't take disciples? To take revenge by ending the sect's lineage?" He had certainly said so before.
That it was revenge. “My master wanted the grudge of the Sword Sect to continue even after his death. It was as if he would become a vengeful spirit, clinging to the sect.
The Sword Sect, the Saber Sect, and the Blue Mountain Sect must all disappear for the foolish wraith's lingering resentment to finally be extinguished. And with it, the fate of being the successor of the Sword Sect, a burden placed upon me." Something didn't add up.
“Then there’s no reason for you to have a life-and-death duel with me, is there? The Blue Mountain Sect has already fallen." “This is about closing the doors of a sect with a history of over a hundred years.
Although I entered against my will, it has been forty years since I first held a sword. I cannot accept such an empty ending.” Do Gwang-il placed the sword he had set aside onto the table.
“I mastered the Immortal's Leisurely Ten Thousand Swords, gained enlightenment in the Jade Spring Sword Technique, and delved deeply into the martial arts of the Saber Sect, yet I could never attain the Blue Mountain Art. I tried every method and effort, but it was all in vain. Now, there is only one thing left.”
Do Gwang-il’s cold gaze fixed on me. Like an arrow about to be shot at its target. “A life-and-death duel with a worthy opponent who has inherited the true teachings of the Saber Sect.
That is the end I have prepared for the Blue Mountain Sect.” With those words, Do Gwang-il drained his teacup and stood up. I remained seated, my eyes following him as he left.
The main gate closed, and his presence faded into the distance. In the silence, I stared intently at the center of the table where Do Gwang-il had placed his sword. It was as if an invisible duel invitation lay there, and for a long time, I could not look away.
Do Gwang-il returned the next morning to check on my posture and technique for the latter eighteen forms. After two more days of instruction, he suddenly drew his sword. I thought he was about to start a sparring match, but he unexpectedly took a sword stance and performed a sublime sword technique.
He followed it with a secret art that was as ambiguous yet profound as the latter eighteen forms. "This is the Jade Spring Sword Technique and the Immortal's Leisurely Ten Thousand Swords. Etch them into your eyes.
They too can become your master.”
“Aren’t those the secret arts of the Sword Sect? Is it all right to reveal them so carelessly?" “I know all of the Heavenly Steel Saber Technique. Wouldn't it be fair for you to also know the ultimate arts of the Sword Sect?” Do Gwang-il shouldered the bundle he had set down and put on his bamboo hat. “Winter will be here soon. Where are you headed now?” "Since it is winter, I am heading to a place where my heart can be at ease. I will see you next year.”
Just as he had first appeared, Do Gwang-il vanished abruptly. * The weather was now fully autumn. White frost covered the ground in the mornings and evenings, and the temperature dropped so sharply that sleeping with just a blanket was no longer enough.
When I went to light the brazier, I saw there was no firewood. The storehouse was empty. It was time to start preparing for winter.
First, I needed to stack the storehouse until it was bursting with dry firewood. There were plenty of trees on the back mountain, but swinging an axe was not something just anyone could do. An axe used different muscles from a saber or a sword.
If I underestimated it, I could easily strain my body and get injured. Cutting down trees, carrying them home, splitting them, and letting them dry would take much more than a day or two. While that could also be a form of training, I was currently too busy practicing the Heavenly Steel Saber Technique.
Fortunately, my pouch was heavy. Last time, on my way back from the black market, I had wiped out a band of robbers and obtained seven horses. The silver taels I received from handing them over to the Underworld Information Clan were still plentiful.
After practicing the saber technique and briefly circulating my energy, I stopped by the Wind River Inn in the afternoon. It was past lunchtime but not yet dinner, so the only person in the inn was the farmer Pung-chil, who always came for a bowl of noodles.
“You’re here?”
Pung-chil greeted me with a bright face.
“Where is the person who always comes with you?”
"Who? You mean Jang-cheok? He went to the next town for day labor. I'm thinking of joining him tomorrow. What's the point of lazing around at home? I have to earn even a single coin."
The harvest was over, and it was too early for barley planting, so he could have taken a rest, but farmers were the type who felt secure only when their hands were busy with something. Even in the dead of winter when the whole world was frozen, they would somehow find work to do.
Seeing his proud smile, it seemed Pung-chil was about to boast about his youngest son again. Since entering the martial academy in another region, Pung Oh-bok had been sending news to his family once a month through travelers. Since they were all illiterate, they couldn't write letters, so messages were passed from mouth to mouth.
Pung Oh-bok, with his sturdy body hardened by farm work and his great passion for martial arts, was said to be receiving the academy master’s special expectation and favor. I thought it would be a similar story today, but I was completely wrong.
“This time, that boy Oh-bok sent money. It's not much, but he says he's already earning his keep. I was so worried about when he would ever grow up, but he's already come this far. Hah, imagine that.”
How could he be handling money already when it had only been a few months since he entered the martial academy? I heard that after his daily training ended, he worked as a waiter from evening until night at a tavern the academy master had introduced him to.
Something felt amiss, but I didn’t want to spoil Pung-chil’s good mood with unnecessary words when he was so happy. There were good people in this world like the owner of the Wind River Inn. Perhaps the master of the Blue Cloud Martial Academy was also a rare, kind-hearted person.
Even though his youngest son sent him money, Pung-chil still ate only a single bowl of noodles.
“It’s a bit late, but once we save up a little more money, I’m thinking of sending my eldest son to the village school. If he can at least learn the Thousand Character Classic, he might not be able to pass the grand civil service exam, but he could probably take one of the minor ones, right? I hear if you pass that, you can work for the authorities and receive a salary. At least he’ll never starve. My younger daughter is also of marrying age, so there are many things to prepare for her wedding. Q…”
Was it that a new source of income opened up a path for him? Pung-chil, who had only ever looked at the ground, was now beginning to dream of his family’s future. The weight on Pung Oh-bok’s shoulders, struggling alone in a foreign land, must be truly heavy.
"By any chance, is there a place in the Western Village to get firewood?"
"Firewood?
There are many places that sell it. Now is the perfect season. Some farmers chop firewood to earn some pocket money.
It’s cheaper to buy from a street stall than from a shop. Just go to the end of the main street here and…” Following Pung-chil’s directions, I saw people selling firewood stacked on stalls here and there.
Even if the wood came from the same mountain and was cut with an axe, not all firewood was the same. The length and thickness varied, and the state of dryness was different for each. There was only one place with firewood that I liked.
The size was just right, and it was bone-dry, as if it had been left in the sun for several days.
“How much for all of this?”
"Where do you live?"
When I told him my location, the young woodcutter made a counter-offer before I could even bargain.
“I’ll give you everything for 100 coins, on the condition that I deliver it to your house.”
It seemed a bit expensive, but there was too much firewood for me to carry alone. It was better to leave it to the woodcutter than to hire a separate porter.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
As I went up to pay him in coins, a strangely sickeningly sweet smell emanated from the man's body.
“Is something wrong?”
“…No.” The woodcutter tied the securely bound bundles of firewood with a rope and hoisted them onto both his shoulders.
I led the way, and the woodcutter followed behind me. Riding on the winter wind blowing from behind, the sickeningly sweet smell continued to tickle my nose. To think I would smell this scent again in the Western Village.
Feeling troubled, I wondered if my nose was deceiving me. No. Once you smell this scent, you can never forget it. No medicinal herb could produce such a foreign fragrance.
Opium.
The smell of burnt opium was that unique. Opium was considered a near-panacea. It could bring down a raging fever, stop a cough, cure diarrhea, and wash away any pain as if it were never there.
Even men screaming from severed limbs would fall silent after taking opium. However, it was terrifyingly addictive. When the effects wore off, one would suffer from horrific withdrawal symptoms.
That’s why anyone who touched opium even once would keep seeking it. They would stop eating and sleeping, only smoking opium until they became emaciated wrecks and withered away to death. At first, I had considered using it as an emergency medicine, but after witnessing the final state of an opium addict, I never touched it again.
The woodcutter’s face was fine. His gaze was firm, and he followed me steadily, without wavering, even with a mountain of firewood on his shoulders. It seemed he had only recently started using opium.
Back at my house, I stacked the firewood in the storehouse. The storehouse was larger than it looked, so there was still space left. I ordered more firewood on the spot.
The woodcutter roughly estimated how much more would be needed to fill the storehouse and nodded.
"It will take about seven days, give or take. My mother is unwell, so I can't be away from home for too long."
“Is your mother very sick?”
The woodcutter sighed with a dark expression.
"Her chronic illness is severe, and the physician says there is no hope. As her son, isn’t it my duty to at least ease her pain?"
I thought I finally understood why he could be so nonchalant while reeking of opium. He wasn't using it himself; it was to make his mother's final journey less difficult. Opium was hard to come by and quite expensive.
I wondered if the money from selling firewood would be enough to cover the cost. The firewood was sorted. Now it was time to get dry rations and jerky.
The supplies I brought when I returned home had been slowly eaten away over time. Most people on long journeys would stop at an inn, no matter how shabby, for a meal. Few wanted to eat tasteless and tough dry rations or smelly and chewy jerky.
There were many places to eat in the Western Village. There were inns, taverns, and even brothels. I no longer planned to leave my hometown, but perhaps because I had lived the life of a rootless wandering swordsman for so long, I only felt at ease when my pack was stuffed with dry rations and jerky.
When I didn't feel like going to an inn, there was nothing better for a quick meal. Unfortunately, the Wind River Inn did not handle dry rations and jerky.
“Well, that's because no one asks for them. It’s probably the same at other inns.”
As Gu-sam said, I visited a few other inns, but they all shook their heads for the same reason. The places that had some in stock, the dry rations were so old they were half-eaten by bugs, and the jerky was so dried up and shriveled that I had no desire to put it in my mouth.
Since they didn't sell well, there were no shops that specialized in them. After asking around, my steps led me to the Wandering Swordsmen Inn in an alley on the outskirts of town. The place where Tang Se-yeong, fleeing the pursuit squad, had hired three swordsmen.
As I entered, the one-day-at-a-time martial artists, living as if there were no tomorrow, licked their lips and stared at me with menacing eyes. It was the look of men searching for a fool to swindle.
I was ready to give them a good beating if they tried anything funny, but after sizing me up for a moment, they all turned away and went back to their own business. As expected from an inn mostly filled with martial artists, the Wandering Swordsmen Inn had proper dry rations and jerky.
“We have them in three grades: high, medium, and low. Which would you like to see?”
“Let’s see the medium grade first.”
There was no point in looking at the low grade, which they likely kept for the sole purpose of making people recoil in horror and ask how anyone could eat such a thing. There wasn't much difference between the medium and high-grade dry rations, but the difference in quality for the jerky was significant.
The medium grade was passable, while the high grade had less of a gamy smell, likely due to the use of spices. Since I planned to eat them from time to time while training this winter, I bought a generous four catties each of medium-grade dry rations and high-grade jerky.
“That will be half a tael of silver in total.”
The innkeeper rubbed his palms together with a shrewd smile.
"This is ridiculously expensive.” “That’s because the jerky is high-grade.” “Isn’t the meat used for jerky from the toughest parts of a cow or pig?” “As you can tell from the smell, there's no gamy taste at all, is there? And the texture is so tender."
"That’s all thanks to our inn’s special marinade, a blend of rice wine and expensive spices, that we soak the meat in when making the jerky.” I paid the price and put the oil-paper-wrapped rations and jerky into my bundle. I was about to turn and leave before any trouble could start, but I paused.
A face that didn't belong in the Wandering Swordsmen Inn was looking around the room. He wasn't even wearing a sword on his back or waist. It was the young woodcutter who had sold me firewood yesterday.
As if he had found the person he was looking for, the woodcutter hesitantly approached a table near the back door. He sat down across from a middle-aged man with sharp eyes, looked around, and took out a pouch from his robes. After checking the money, the middle-aged man handed him something wrapped in paper.
The woodcutter checked the contents and nodded. The middle-aged man who had finished the transaction disappeared through the back door. The woodcutter also put the item in his robes and stood up.
As he walked, wary of the gloomy glares from the wandering swordsmen, his eyes met mine. For a moment, he flinched and froze, then pretended not to know me, averted his gaze, and hurriedly left the inn.