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“Did you learn it well?”
Yeon Mujin asked Yu Se-gwang.
“Yes!”
“Then stand right there.”
“…What?”
Leaving a stunned Yu Se-gwang behind, Yeon Mujin busied himself fastening something to both forearms.
It was a claw gauntlet — a three-pronged band of metal.
Yeon Mujin strapped the claws onto both hands and assumed a stance while Yu Se-gwang just gaped.
Yeon Mujin called his name. “Se-gwang.”
“Yes? Yes!”
“Is standing still and getting beaten your hobby?”
“Huh?”
Only then did Yu Se-gwang snap to attention and straighten his posture.
Without another word, Yeon Mujin charged and thrust his claws forward.
Sshhh!
Yu Se-gwang prided himself on close combat; he rarely lost at punching range. But against Yeon Mujin’s blistering assault he could only retreat.
Claw weapons were rare in the murim world, and the six blades traced unpredictable arcs, stealing openings with breath-stealing strikes. Forcing a counter through those gaps was no easy task.
The other External Protection Troops members stopped their work and watched the duel with keen interest; none of them were familiar with claw techniques.
“Ho — so it bends like that.”
“There’s no gap in it, is there?”
“Does he come in from there next?”
They muttered and, from Yu Se-gwang’s position, imagined how they’d respond — but it didn’t last long.
After thirty seconds, Yu Se-gwang tumbled off the duel stage.
Yeon Mujin didn’t even glance at him as he said, “Next.”
“…Yes?”
“Next! There are eight able-bodied men here — why are you so slow!”
Yeon Mujin’s gaze swept the External Protection Troops.
He singled out the one who looked easiest to handle first.
“Hey! Dongnyang!”
Yang Gwan-wol scrambled up at the call.
“Get into position.”
Yeon Mujin grabbed him.
“What on earth is this… ugh!”
Clang!
A tingling shock ran through Yang Gwan-wol’s torso.
“This bastard really tried to cut me!”
“What, you punk? This guy against a lord like our great leader?”
Yeon Mujin deliberately pressed the attack, unleashing techniques even more vicious than those he’d used on Yu Se-gwang. He didn’t swing the claws recklessly; his movements flowed like running water.
If their captain could make claw techniques look effortless, then he truly mastered more than just swordsmanship and bare fists. How far did Yeon Mujin’s limits extend?
It was good to have such a strong ally, but the External Protection Troops couldn’t help sighing.
A monster of a man… an all-purpose fighter… a tiresome genius.
Yang Gwan-wol did better than Yu Se-gwang but still collapsed before fifty seconds had passed.
Yeon Mujin barked, “Nex—t!”
Someone muttered, “Se-gwang lasted thirty seconds, Deputy Captain Yang fifty seconds, Deputy Captain Seo only this much…”
“Hey, you jerk! I wasn’t fighting like that!” Seo Nak-il protested, but no one listened. The fact remained — he had been beaten by those techniques.
“Next up!”
A strange pride contest had broken out: who could withstand the captain’s techniques the longest.
The next fighter rushed the duel stage and launched into offense after seeing the previous two only defend and be knocked out.
“Uuuu!”
“Cowardly!”
The others jeered.
But Yeon Mujin’s reaction was different. “That’s a fine method too!”
Standing firm against a pole weapon could be a valid tactic. Still, the attacker did not last long.
Bang!
“Next!”
Yeon Mujin looked down at the sprawled men and said, “Tsk tsk, since I haven’t shown mercy for a while, have your skills actually deteriorated?”
The beaten men gritted their teeth.
“Learn how to deal with claw techniques. I’ll test you every time there’s a spare moment.”
“Why claw techniques all of a sudden?”
“You don’t need to know. Don’t ask — just do it.”
They wouldn’t obey on command alone, so Yeon Mujin set a condition.
“Each duel, I’ll give a bonus of three times the monthly stipend to whoever lasts the longest, and five times the monthly stipend to the first person who defeats me.”
The men were stunned.
Their stipends had already been cut; money was tight. Three times the pay — it was a prize anyone would salivate over.
Their eyes glittered.
“Is that not a lie?” Seo Nak-il, still recovering from defeat, asked. “Does our manor have that kind of money? You’re not just saying this, right?”
“I’ve gotten full permission from the manor lord.”
No matter how much of a scoundrel Yeon Mujin could be, he wouldn’t betray Bukgung Yoon. Only then did the men start to believe him.
“Three times the bonus…!”
“Wait! Then Deputy Captain Yang is more advantaged! He lasted twenty seconds longer than Se-gwang!”
“Hmm, that’s true.”
Yeon Mujin scratched his chin. “Then let’s do it this way: I’ll give the prize to whoever shows the greatest increase in the number of techniques they can withstand compared to today’s record. No complaints, then?”
“No complaints!”
Except for Yang Gwan-wol, no one objected. Seo Nak-il’s face lit with glee — this challenge suited him.
Yeon Mujin noticed the grin and said, “Nak-il, you’ll be recorded as having lasted fifty seconds along with Gwan-wol.”
“No, what kind of rule is that!”
“If you can’t last longer than fifty seconds the next time we fight, I’ll kill you with my own hands.”
“Unfair!”
“If you feel wronged, then win and take the fivefold bonus.”
Defeating Yeon Mujin was inconceivable; the realistic aim was the triple payout.
“Pathetic for a deputy.”
“Take it off, take it off.”
No one sided with Seo Nak-il.
He cried alone where no one could see.
“No complaints, right?”
“Yes!”
The chorus of answers filled the duel stage.
Yeon Mujin nodded in satisfaction.
He’d been a bit annoyed having to indulge in duels, but there was no choice — it was all for the future.
Bukgung Yoon wore a red silk skirt pulled up to her chest and a purple vest. Neat and elegant, she checked her reflection in the mirror several times.
“Manor Lord, I am ready.”
“Yes.”
A lavish carriage waited outside the lord’s chamber — a conveyance sent from the Bukgung Family’s main house, the Glorious Flower Manor.
Today was the semi-annual family meal.
It wasn’t a warm, cozy gathering. If it were, they wouldn’t force attendance twice a year. Bukgung Yoon thought of the meeting as politics dressed up as a meal.
Her brothers were desperate to please their father, who pitted them against each other to tally who measured up.
Eight people attended: Bukgung Cheon, their father; the six older brothers; and Bukgung Yoon. No outsiders — no merchants or guards — were allowed to sit.
Bukgung Yoon climbed into the carriage alone, without a single guard.
She stared out the window with a cool expression. It was the first time she’d gone out without escort in a while. Yeon Mujin had always been at her side — on errands, in manor affairs, when money ran out, whenever trouble flared.
He stepped forward with that customary cocky expression as if it were natural.
He’s strange, she thought.
Judging by his slick, sly manner, he was someone you couldn’t trust, yet at critical moments he performed flawlessly. He handled the messengers’ affair and the Wang family trading union matters alike.
He proved his worth by skill, action, and results.
How could one not trust him?
Bukgung Yoon recalled what Yeon Mujin had told her:
—Trust no one’s words, including mine. Thoroughly suspect everyone around you. Trust no one except yourself, miss. Do not give your heart to people. To become the family lord of the Bukgung Family, you must do so.
By that standard, I’m already out, she thought, and let out a small snort of laughter. The heaviness she’d felt lifted.
The carriage arrived at the Supreme Harmony Hall of the Glorious Flower Manor, where Bukgung Cheon resided and consulted with his lieutenants on the manor’s affairs.
At the long table sat, one by one, the heads who oversaw the Bukgung Family’s estates.
When Bukgung Yoon entered, six pairs of eyes turned to her — some angry, some smiling, some indifferent. They were her blood relatives.
“Yoon has arrived.”
“Finally?”
“You’re late.”
Bukgung Yoon took the seat arranged at the end of the long table — always her place, hidden by her brothers.
“Yoon, all your brothers are here waiting — what face do you have coming last? If you’re the youngest, act like it and hurry up.”
The sneer came from the Sixth Duke, Bukgung Bi-beom.
“Bi-beom, stop bothering Yoon. Flying Swallow Manor is the dullest, so it’s natural she arrives last.”
“If it’s the farthest, you should have left earlier. For the youngest, anyway.”
“Didn’t you all take the carriage Father sent? You couldn’t have come earlier.”
Fifth brother Bukgung Mok-min, feet propped on the table, bobbed and said.
“Stop picking at something so ridiculous. If you feel wronged about waiting, be the last to come next time. Try arriving later than Father.”
Bukgung Bi-beom shot irritated eyes at Bukgung Mok-min.
The fifth and sixth brothers were always squabbling. Usually Bi-beom got the short end while Mok-min tormented him.
Even if the sixth brother acted like a tyrant, in front of the fifth he was a mouse to a cat.
While Bukgung Bi-beom’s Solitary Cloud Manor influence was limited to the Shandong region, Bukgung Mok-min controlled the underworld across the entire Kangtong region. If the Sixth Young Master was a salamander, the Fifth Young Master was a dragon-serpent — an imoogi living in Taiho.
“Both of you, stop. Stop the pointless power struggle that brings no money.”
Fourth Young Master Bukgung Yun-ram spoke, fanning himself with a gold-woven fan.
“Whenever he opens his mouth it’s that money, money, money chant. I’m sick of hearing it.”
The fourth brother was a wealthy magnate operating mainly around Sichuan and Gansu. With a word from him, trade from the Western Regions could be blocked or supplies controlled. People often called him the Hidden Golden Dragon of Sichuan for his dominance of trade routes.
“Yoon.”
“…Yes, Brother Yeong-no.”
Bukgung Yoon, who had been watching her brothers, answered calmly when her second brother spoke. Bukgung Yeong-no usually showed her no interest; he was a martial-arts fanatic, and she avoided his world.
“I heard your manor has been noisy recently?”
“What are you asking about?”
“Did the Bukgung Family Guard who went to your manor not kill the Guard Chief there?”
The other brothers leaned in at Bukgung Yeong-no’s question.
He smiled coldly, stroked his chin, and asked, “That guy was a wanderer, right? How was his martial art? Strong? Weak? Was his opponent lousy? Was he stronger than me?”
“Who could be compared to Brother Yeong-no in martial skill?” Bukgung Yoon avoided his gaze and answered haltingly.
That version of Yeong-no was dangerous. Avoidance was the best policy. If a martial artist had extraordinary or unique skills, he’d spare no means to seize them and learn everything.
Bukgung Yeong-no was a madman — a martial-arts maniac whose danger stemmed from being the family’s second young master.
“Yoon, answer properly. Since the last Bukgung Guard Tournament he’s been catching my eye. What martial art did he use? A sword? A blade? A spear? A polearm? Maybe a blunt weapon or fists? I think he used his fists. What do wanderers usually use? I haven’t seen many.”
Once martial arts became the topic, Bukgung Yeong-no was relentless. Bukgung Yoon shut her mouth and hoped his interest would pass.
Then someone stepped forward and diverted him.
“Enough.”
It was the eldest young master of the Bukgung Family.
Bukgung Kang-geon.
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