Chapter 3: A Day in the Life of a Second-Year Murim Warrior

It was a fight of three swords against one. Naturally, the three swords seemed to have the advantage. This came from the difference in attitude between the two sides.

An Seong-il was feeling pressured by the numbers and was already looking for an escape route. Meanwhile, the Three Heroes of Qinghe pushed forward with the goal of a swift and decisive victory.

The importance of momentum in battle was clear to see—An Seong-il was busy retreating and deflecting strikes, while the Three Heroes of Qinghe relentlessly attacked.

But after twenty or so exchanges, a thought crossed An Seong-il’s mind. ‘Huh? This isn’t as bad as I expected?’

At the same time, the leader of the Three Heroes, Jo Gaksan, was thinking, ‘Damn, is the gap really this big?!’

The ultimate goal of their formation was four versus one. They were supposed to surround their target from all sides, overwhelming them completely. A perfect formation had long been proven effective.

The Buddhists had their Four Heavenly Kings! The Daoists had their Four Symbols! Thus, fighting three against one was inherently flawed. Especially when that one opponent was at a higher realm than them.

The wall between the late first-rate realm and the early peak realm was higher than expected.

Another ten exchanges passed.

Jo Gaksan exchanged glances with his sworn brothers. A silent conversation born from years of brotherhood. ‘This won’t work. We need to retreat. And grab the youngest while we’re at it.’

Nicknames in Murim often followed simple logic. Reaching the first-rate realm meant one was a proper warrior. But with many first-rate warriors around, one needed to accomplish something impressive to earn a grand title. Otherwise, it was usually a combination of one’s base of operations + notable trait + disposition.

Like the Plague Ghost of Zhenyu—a cruel bastard from Zhenyu.

Or Gale Swordsman of Qinghe—a fast and righteous warrior from Qinghe.

In Jo Gaksan’s case, his specialty was speed—striking like a storm and, if things didn’t work out, retreating just as swiftly! It was a mystical strategy that earned admiration and thus his moniker.

‘He’s not following… Maybe something’s broken?’

‘Third Brother, you take care of him.’

‘Ugh, why me again? Can’t Second Brother—’

‘Ahem! Third Brother, are you… talking back?!’

Unfortunately, they would never hear from their youngest again. The dead do not speak.

Had their youngest been able to cry out, ‘I’m dying, Brothers!’ they might have fought to the death in a furious rage. Perhaps they would have taken down their foe after getting stabbed a few times.

But at this moment, their only thought was to escape.

Jo Gaksan barely deflected An Seong-il’s sword threads before shouting, “Now! Ghost Step Retreat!”

The shout meant nothing. It was simply another part of his brilliant, storm-like retreat.

An Seong-il instinctively paused his attack. He had no idea what ‘Ghost Step Retreat’ meant, but it sounded dangerous.

And so, the infamous Gale Hero of Qinghe lived up to his name.

The three of them disappeared like the wind!

An Seong-il could only blink in bewilderment.

—

​

When A-Qing reached the second floor, she saw three figures sprinting toward her at full speed.

She glanced at the numbers floating above their heads, assessing their karma.

5, 12, 1.

Positive numbers meant good karma.

So, they weren’t evil.

With that, she lost interest.

The three men, on the other hand, flinched at the sight of her.

Her appearance was… unsettling.

A female swordsman, drenched in blood, smiling eerily.

A foreboding aura seemed to squeeze their hearts.

However, A-Qing didn’t bother making eye contact and acknowledge them.

A silent expression in Murim that meant, ‘Let’s mind our own business.’

After the three passed, A-Qing turned her gaze to the top floor of the inn and found her target immediately.

A particularly wicked number hovered above his head.

-677

​

Negative numbers meant evil karma.

And an enormous negative number meant...

That bastard was rotten to the core.

In other words, she was completely justified in killing him.

In fact, killing him would be a public service.

A-Qing’s eyes met An Seong-il’s.

An Seong-il quickly averted his gaze, just as before.

The same nonverbal agreement—‘Let’s mind our own business.’

After all, there was an old saying in Murim:

Beware of children, women, and the elderly.

Of course, the saying didn’t mean those three groups were particularly dangerous.

If you remove children, women, and the elderly from the world, who remains?

Only adult men.

And since people are naturally cautious around adult men, the real message was this:

Beware of everyone. Stay vigilant at all times.

An Seong-il intended to follow this wisdom and avoid conflict.

But A-Qing had business with him.

“Hey, old bastard. Are you that human filth, Plague Ghost of Zhenyu?”

A sudden verbal assault.

An Seong-il’s face went blank.

What… did she just say?

“Yeah, you, old bastard. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I mean, look at your face! If there’s anyone here who looks like a scum bag, it’s gotta be you.”

An Seong-il’s face turned bright red.

He had just been insulted by a girl young enough to be his granddaughter.

“You little brat! How dare you—”

“What? Brat? Did you just insult me? You dare talk to me like that? I can’t let this slide. This is clearly a life-or-death duel now.”

Despite her words, she was grinning ear to ear.

A-Qing unsheathed her Moonlight Sword.

“This crazy wench…! Hrk.”

An Seong-il hastily shut his mouth.

Sword threads shimmered along the edge of A-Qing’s blade.

A phenomenon caused by an excess of sword aura—a sign of peak-level mastery. In the Murim, they called it Sword Threads.

This meant she had reached the late peak realm.

The gap in skill was overwhelming.

Cold sweat ran down An Seong-il’s back.

Death loomed before him.

“Crazy? You just insulted me again, didn’t you? How offensive. Ugh, I’m so angry.”

“N-No, that’s not what I meant…”

“I can tolerate insults to my family, but I cannot tolerate insults to myself! No more words! Die!”

Her steps were light and playful, but before he could even take a breath, her sword was already closing in.

A strike that split into three paths.

An Seong-il’s mind burned at full capacity.

Which were real, and which were feints?

There was no time to hesitate.

Life or death.

As he gambled his life, a chilling realization struck him.

‘They’re all real!’

All three were real sword strikes, not feints.

In the face of imminent death, his survival instincts sharpened.

This heightened state, known as upper danjeon resonance, allowed warriors to perceive the subtlest dangers.

He parried the thrust aimed at his heart and twisted his body desperately.

Cold steel grazed his shoulder and waist.

Just one exchange, yet he was already wounded twice.

The gap between them was hopeless.

This wasn’t just a difference in realm.

Her sword art itself was superior.

And considering she was barely past twenty, her background had to be unimaginable.

In short—losing meant death. Winning also meant death.

There was only one answer.

He could not fight. This was an unwinnable battle.

“Wait! Great Warrior! This is a misunderstanding! A misunderstanding!”

“Misunderstanding? I heard you loud and clear! You insulted me! Pay for this insult with your life!”

“N-No, no! That’s not it! Great Warrior, please, just a moment!”

“Great Warrior? Do I look that old to you?”

“N-No, Young Hero! Just a moment!”

“Young Hero? A mere early peak realm dares—!”

“Lady Warrior! Please, Lady Warrior! Just listen!”

“Lady Warrior? Why separate warriors by gender? Stop your sexism!”

Her sword came at him again.

Three strikes. Four. Five.

He had lost the will to fight back.

All he could do was beg for his life.

Twenty more exchanges passed.

Surviving this long was already a miracle.

Suddenly, her attack stopped.

“Fine. Since you keep insisting it’s a misunderstanding, I’ll say my piece.”

“Yes, Great Warrior— I mean, Young Hero— I mean…”

“I had just ordered an expensive meal and was about to enjoy it, you know? It was a rare, joyous occasion for me. A historic moment in my life.”

“Ah… I’m sorry for causing a disturbance…”

“No, do you think I kill people just because they’re noisy? That’s not it. It’s just… something suddenly fell from the ceiling.”

A-Qing turned her head.

An Seong-il followed her gaze.

A gaping hole was visible in the floor.

Sweat poured down his back.

So that was why she was covered in blood…

“Alright. Now you understand why you have to die, right?”

“P-Please spare me!”

“Hmm. What should I do?”

A-Qing feigned contemplation before speaking again.

“First, give me money. My meal was ruined, my clothes are ruined.”

“I-I’ll give it to you!”

“Tsk, how annoying.”

“Huh? Huh?”

“Again! Give me money!”

“I-I’ll give it to you!”

“Never mind!”

An Seong-il panicked.

What was she trying to do?

Was she just toying with him?

Ah.

An Seong-il’s eyes dulled with despair.

The only reason he was still alive was because, even when her sword struck, it had always left his vital spots untouched.

She had been toying with him the entire time.

Like a cat playing with a mouse.

A-Qing grinned with an empty smile.

“I’ve been caught by a true executioner…”

“Oh? You noticed?”

A-Qing’s smile deepened.

“You should’ve lived a good life. This is karma. My Moonlight Sword only drinks the blood of the wicked.”

A-Qing raised her blade.

Sensing his end, An Seong-il roared.

“You think you’ll get away with this?! Fine! I admit I’m evil! But are you any different?! I’ll be waiting for you in hell!”

“Hell? Please. My good karma is off the charts.”

An Seong-il’s world spun.

He saw his own crumbling body in his last moments.

As he died, he had one final thought.

How could a sword coming from the front decapitate him from behind…?