Mind If I Join?

The place where Moon Ryang had last looked.

Taoists were seated there.

The others moved about as if unaware of their presence.

Only the tavern owner who had served them tea watched them warily.

They looked as if they had melted seamlessly into the space itself.

“Martial Uncle, should we really just let him go?”

The young Taoist spoke, but the middle-aged man who was referred to as Martial Uncle merely sipped his tea.

“He definitely saw us.”

“If his skill is as rumored, it’s not strange that he did.”

The middle-aged Taoist replied without even turning his head.

The young one, frustrated, opened his mouth again.

“Ghost Evil Blade is a master of the unorthodox faction. If he’s really seeking revenge, we must stop him.”

Only then did the middle-aged Taoist’s gaze shift toward him.

“Do the rest of you share his opinion?”

Except for one, two of the Taoists nodded.

The middle-aged man sighed.

“Do you even know what kind of man Ghost Evil Blade is?”

“…”

The young Taoist shut his mouth, and so did the others.

He was one of the Seven Fiends of Shaanxi, yet their silence had another cause.

“They’re grouped together as the Seven Fiends, but Ghost Evil Blade and Iron Tyrant Staff share no real connection.”

They were lumped together simply for belonging to the unorthodox faction.

The older man’s eyes swept over the younger ones.

“And what has he done wrong? You’ve heard his stories on the way here. His methods may be harsh, but his actions have not been unjust.”

He was said to be connected to the Green Forest, yet he’d never turned to banditry himself.

He had even saved common folk more than once.

Judging by his deeds alone, it would not be strange to call him a hero.

And yet, the reason he was called one of the Seven Fiends was—

“He practices heretical arts.”

Ghost Qi emanates from his body.

Even those without martial training could feel its eerie chill.

His cruel hand also contributed to his reputation.

“The Alliance decreed that those who practice heretical arts must be eradicated.”

At those words, the elder Taoist let out a weary sigh.

“Haah… Jin-woon.”

“Yes, Martial Uncle.”

At the quiet call, the Taoist quickly bowed his head.

“Since when did the orders of the Alliance outweigh the teachings of our own sect?”

His tone was gentle, yet firm.

“…My apologies. I misspoke.”

“Remember—martial arts is like a sword. Depending on who wields it, it can harm or protect.”

“Yes.”

The Taoists all bowed their heads, though understanding did not fully show on their faces.

‘Our sect has become too entangled with worldly affairs…’

He could see conflict burning in his disciples’ eyes.

Lamenting that fact, the elder Taoist set aside his cup.

The others straightened their postures at once.

“Why does the Alliance truly fear heretical arts?”

“Because its nature is different.”

“Correct. Unlike orthodox cultivation, which emphasizes the mind, it seeks only results.”

That is why those who practice it grow stronger quickly.

Their sole purpose lies in becoming powerful.

Still, not every warrior of the Unorthodox Sects learns it.

Only a handful of techniques are classified as heretical arts by the Murim Alliance.

“The faster a tower is built, the easier it crumbles.”

The Taoists nodded. That much they already knew.

Heretical arts cultivate faster than orthodox methods.

But its limits are equally clear.

That was why few among the unorthodox faction became absolute masters.

And since temperament follows cultivation, many of them turned eccentric.

“Recall your reactions earlier when the storyteller mentioned Jin-ho.”

“…”

The Taoists fell silent.

Jin-ho—their youngest fellow disciple, slain by Iron Tyrant Staff.

The moment they thought of him, their composure wavered.

One of them had nearly risen in anger.

Had the middle-aged Taoist not stopped him, he would have acted.

“To my eyes, he seems to have cultivated his heart more deeply than you.”

The Taoists flushed.

They knew Moon Ryang was stronger than them.

But the middle-aged Taoist wasn’t speaking of physical strength.

It was about resolve.

In other words, cultivation of the mind.

At Moon Ryang’s level, he would have heard the tavern’s entire conversation.

Those who mocked him as one of the Seven Fiends.

Yet he left without so much as a glance.

Their despise of him just because he was of the unorthodox faction meant they lacked inner discipline.

They could only feel ashamed.

‘Still so young… so immature.’

Then one Taoist tilted his head and spoke.

“Then why did he ask about that man called Battle Wolf?”

Now the others realized he hadn’t asked out of vengeance.

If the rumors were true, their natures were completely incompatible.

“We’ll know soon enough.”

The elder Taoist spoke calmly.

“It’s an order from the Sect Leader himself. We can’t return upon hearing rumors alone.”

The younger Taoists nodded at his words.

They felt the same.

Their fellow disciple and senior brother—

Iron Tyrant Staff had killed Jin-ho. They had to confirm his death with their own eyes.

The middle-aged Taoist stroked his beard, as if recalling something.

“Come to think of it, the Sect Leader of the Righteous Sect’s sixtieth birthday is soon. Since we’re near, stopping by wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yes, Martial Uncle.”

A delegation had already gone to offer congratulations.

But if they came this close and didn’t visit, it would seem discourteous.

The Righteous Sect’s master had ties with the elder.

“We’ll set out early at dawn. Let’s rest for now.”

“Yes, Martial Uncle.”

The Taoists all rose together.

Thanks to that, the remaining patrons finally noticed them.

‘Were people like them here all along?’

They wore robes of white and blue.

It was a rare sight, but not unheard of.

Most only tilted their heads and looked away.

But a few widened their eyes at the swords hanging from their waists.

Those rustic-looking iron swords.

Even the tassels tied to the hilts were blue like their robes.

A single symbol was engraved upon each scabbard.

A swirl of black and white.

The Taiji.

Many wore Taoist robes.

And many carried swords.

But only one sect bore the Taiji mark on their blades.

Revere Shaolin in the North, Honor Wudang in the South.

If Shaolin stood in the north, then Wudang stood in the south.

They were disciples of Wudang—the foremost Taoist and sword sect under Heaven.

Drip. Drip-drop.

Falling raindrops snuffed out the embers that had been rising.

Yet the stench of blood only thickened.

Bodies lay bleeding on the ground.

The villagers stared at their attackers with terror-stricken faces.

The leader of the wanderers frowned.

Some of the dead were his own men.

“Guess the guards weren’t completely useless, huh?”

Clicking his tongue, the wanderer glared to the side.

A middle-aged man stood before the villagers as if to protect them.

More precisely, he stood to protect the young girl among them.

His face was set in stone.

Two of his comrades had died fighting these men, and he himself was wounded.

There were four wanderers remaining.

Each looked formidable.

“You bastards think you’ll get away with this?”

At the glare and the words thrown at him, the wanderer let out a dry chuckle.

“No one will be left to see it anyway. Of course we’ll get away clean.”

His words meant that he would kill every soul present.

As the middle-aged man’s face twisted, the wanderer tapped his sword hilt as if remembering something.

“No, no—one will live.”

He wrenched his blade from the earth and pointed.

At the sword’s tip stood a young girl.

She was afraid, but her eyes did not look away.

At that unwavering look, the wanderer let out an impressed “Oh.”

“Seeing that she had brought guards with her must mean that she’s from a wealthy family, so we’ll take her for ransom. Of course, that’s after we have a little fun first.”

“Since when were you into that, brother?”

The other wanderers clicked their tongues and snickered.

“You dare…”

Rage trembled across the middle-aged man’s face, but there was nothing he could do.

“…My lady. Run while I hold them off.”

“No. If I run alone, they’ll catch me.”

Saying so, she drew a small dagger from her sleeve.

Plain, yet finely made.

It was not a weapon meant for battle.

The girl forced a bright smile at his worried look.

“I should’ve trained harder in martial arts, like my brother said.”

“My lady…”

The middle-aged man steeled himself and stared forward again.

‘Even if I die—I must protect her.’

She hadn’t drawn the dagger only to fight.

If the man fell and all hope was gone, she meant to take her own life.

That must not be allowed to happen.

Nor was he the only one moved by her resolve.

The trembling villagers raised their farm tools.

Those without tools reached for anything on the ground.

“Heh. Look at them.”

The wanderer stared as if it were ridiculous.

Hoes with dull edges and pickaxes?

Stones?

“Do you take us for gutter-scum bandits?”

The others laughed, equally amused.

They were men who had truly learned the sword.

Even deserters dragged into the army were a cut above bandits.

Some bandit bands did train in martial arts, but not in backwaters like this.

“If that’s what they want, let’s kill them properly.”

“Agreed. This is much more fun than chopping meat.”

“Be careful of that one. He’s not entirely green. And—”

“I know. Handle the goods carefully. I’ll make sure she can’t kill herself.”

Their manner made it clear this wasn’t their first time.

One of them stepped forward.

“Then let’s have some fun.”

“That game—mind if I join?”

“…!”

The sudden voice froze their faces.

They turned and saw a massive boulder sitting atop the dead ashes.

Koong!

Ash and dust belatedly billowed out in all directions.

Twitch.

The boulder slowly rose.

Even as that hulking mass moved, the world around stayed eerily quiet.

His cold, flashing eyes called lightning to mind.

For a heartbeat, the wanderers mistook him for a beast.

Such was the aura pouring off him, which was unlike any ordinary martial artist.

The giant finished rising and exhaled.

Steam rose as if he’d been holding his breath.

“Caref—”

The leader began to speak, but Gyo-ha was faster.

CRUNCH!

His fist crashed into the skull of the wanderer beside him.

It was too fast to react.

But the others moved instantly.

“Formation! Encircle him!”

The remaining three spread out and ringed Gyo-ha.

They moved with the speed of men used to real fights.

But the brute didn’t look at them.

His gaze swept the corpses strewn about.

Screee.

A metallic squeal came from Gyo-ha’s clenched fist.

The wanderers studied him with cold eyes.

Their comrade’s death didn’t matter. They hadn’t been close anyway.

What mattered was the enemy before them.

His solar plexus was bare of any special guard.

His stance looked clumsy.

So why was the pressure crushing?

At that moment, the brute took a step.

‘He’s coming.’

Judging by that last blow, reacting after he moved would be too late.

One wandered backpedaled.

A late punch shredded the air.

WHOOOM.

At the heavy sound, cold sweat beaded his brow.

The brute’s body had already turned—preparing a second strike.

But he wasn’t alone here.

Two blades darted for the brute’s back.

Twitch.

Mid-strike, he twisted and slipped the thrusts.

The wanderers’ eyes flashed.

‘He’s not used to coordinated assaults.’

For all that monstrous strength, he lacked experience against many foes.

Their faces settled into cool focus.

In their eyes, the certainty of victory began to rise.