Chapter 53

Those who use the surname Zhuge in the murim world are odd folk.

They claim descent from the strategist Zhuge Gong-myeong and act in ways that clash with murim conventions.

They master qin, chess, calligraphy, painting; propriety and inquiry into principles; divination and astrology; and mechanisms and formations, and they proudly call themselves the pretentious title “Shingi Zhuge.”

The reason these eccentric Zhuge folk—who pursue things unlike ordinary murim warriors—remain affiliated with prestigious orthodox sects comes down to two tricks the clan prides itself on.

One is the Light-Body Technique; the other is the Acupoint-Control Hand Technique.

In those two arts, the Zhuge family is unrivaled in the Central Plains murim world.

So most famous Zhuge warriors don’t use swords.

They hate staining themselves with blood and consider it a virtue to subdue opponents cleanly—true oddballs.

Skilled Zhuge men typically wield blunted weapons: fans or brush-shaped arms called Brush Pen. The proud among them shun wired fans in favor of elegant folding fans or feather fans made from bird plumes.

So a Zhuge wielding a short sword like that guy?

Need I say more?

It means he’s a novice without any real skill, no question.

There are truly many madmen in the murim world. The Zhuge folk are one of them—crazy enough to study how to kill with fans and brushes.

But still.

It’s best to avoid lunatics, that’s for sure.

And I’ve always hated those who are only half-crazy but pretend to be the real thing.

If you’re a Zhuge, go all the way and truly be mad. Don’t be pathetic—what’s with that short sword, seriously.

You’ve picked the wrong target today.

“Duel start!”

At the announcer’s shout, Zhuge Jo-yeon moved first.

Zhuge Kwan, watching, frowned.

Taking the initiative in a duel is usually the move of an amateur. Provoked by Mujin, Zhuge Jo-yeon had forgotten that etiquette and struck first.

For the Zhuge house, it was an embarrassing lapse.

“I’ll finish this in one blow!”

Zhuge Jo-yeon launched the clan’s proud Heavenly Mechanism’s Bewildering Step.

What Zhuge Kwan had shown earlier had been plain; Jo-yeon’s display was dazzling.

On the duel arena, he seemed like multiple people—his form vanishing and reappearing at distant points, then appearing close enough to strike. The footwork was uncanny, ghostlike.

“Wow!”

The crowd murmured at the spectacle.

“Look! This is the Zhuge family’s footwork!”

Zhuge Jo-yeon only shrugged and intensified his steps. He hoped to crush his opponent’s spirit with this alone before exchanging more moves.

He wasn’t merely interested in winning; he wanted a perfect victory.

He spotted Mujin standing there with a stupid expression.

“Hmph! Looks like he’s out of his mind.”

East, south, north.

Zhuge Jo-yeon planted illusions in three directions and stabbed his short sword toward Mujin’s rear, convinced this decisive strike would end the duel.

But—

“?!”

Without turning his head, Mujin spun his broom and deflected the short sword.

He moved so naturally that Jo-yeon didn’t even realize his attack had been parried. By the time he registered it, the broom’s tip probed his solar plexus.

From parry to thrust, the motion flowed as one choreographed sequence—so seamless the crowd couldn’t fully grasp what had happened. Perhaps only Zhuge Kwan and Hwangbo Ryeong noticed.

Zhuge Kwan suddenly stopped fanning. Hwangbo Ryeong, too, doubted what he’d seen.

‘So, um… if he had been holding a proper weapon in that hand, wouldn’t it have ended just now?’

Zhuge Jo-yeon felt a dull pain in his chest and stumbled back a couple of paces.

“……??”

He understood what had happened, but his pride couldn’t accept it.

‘He blocked this? How? That I was hit? How?’

The Zhuge family’s pride wouldn’t allow him to admit he’d taken such a blow.

In the end he could only spit out, “You’re a lucky bastard.”

“Luck? There’s hardly anyone as unlucky as me in the world.”

“I won’t go easy this time, so try and block it well.”

Mujin scoffed.

“Bullshit.”

Zhuge Jo-yeon resumed his footwork, this time more flamboyant and expansive.

Zhuge Kwan and Hwangbo Ryeong tried to dismiss the exchange as a fluke.

‘It’s just a coincidence.’

‘It must be a coincidence.’

Common sense insisted this wasn’t some farce—could a Zhuge family’s warrior really be bested by a fool wielding only a straw broom?

Look at the dazzling footwork that should overwhelm such a thing: multiple Jo-yeons circling the opponent from every angle. The crowd’s murmurs rose louder.

But for Zhuge Jo-yeon, panic rose.

“Damn it! What the hell kind of trick is this!”

No matter how he pushed the Heavenly Mechanism’s Bewildering Step, the same scene repeated—the broom’s tip always met him, as if his movement were read to the letter. Every direction he turned, there was the broom.

It felt like a swamp he could never escape.

If that had been a blade tip, he’d be dead.

‘Could it be that it’s being read? Heavenly Mechanism’s Bewildering Step?’

He couldn’t escape Mujin’s outstretched broom. Bewilderment bred impatience, and impatience broke his composure.

“Don’t panic. It’s just a broom! Not even a weapon! Even if you get hit, you won’t die!” he muttered.

He changed strategy. Instead of relying on footwork, he’d force a slugfest. A straw broom couldn’t match his short sword.

Zhuge Jo-yeon’s blade, infused with the subtlety of his acupoint-control technique, aimed for two of Mujin’s vital points. If one was blocked, the other would be exposed. A broom couldn’t stop both.

He was confident of victory.

That confidence lasted until a broom struck his forehead.

Smack!

“Ugh!”

The sting disrupted his attack. Although he retreated, a flying broom swept across his face; dust from the straw filled his mouth and he coughed, eyes stinging.

Blinded, he failed to notice the next strike descending on the crown of his head.

Smack!

One blow made him bow his head.

Smack!

A second forced him to clutch his skull.

Smack!

By the third strike he crouched.

Mujin, indifferent, gripped his broom and kept striking.

But the assault was different from a duel—it was merciless.

“Pathetic bastard. Just go out and die. Die.”

Mujin beat him without mercy.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

The broom fell on Zhuge Jo-yeon again and again.

“Your footwork’s terrible.”

Whack!

“Your skill’s crap too.”

Whack!

“All bluster in the head.”

Whack! Whack!

“The name Zhuge is wasted on you. Just take the beating.”

“Argh! Stop! Sto—!”

Mujin didn’t stop until Zhuge Jo-yeon’s white robe had dulled to an ashen gray.

Beaten to a pulp, Jo-yeon slumped and lay prostrate on the duel arena—pitiful.

Even after Mujin ceased, a cold silence hung over the stage for a long time.

Not only the Zhuge and Hwangbo families, but members of Solitary Cloud Manor couldn’t make sense of what had happened.

“Uh, well, so…”

“Wh-who won?”

“No, rather than ‘won’…”

That beating had looked less like a duel and more like a dog whipped on a scorching day. Can it even be called combat? Even the harshest training at Solitary Cloud Manor would have been kinder.

Because this wasn’t merely physical punishment—it was social death.

How could the author raise his face in public now?

After a long silence, the announcer regained his composure and declared, “T-the winner is Mujin of Solitary Cloud Manor!”

Yet no applause or cheers followed. No one had expected Mujin. He casually slung the bloodstained broom over his shoulder and descended from the arena.

It was the moment the first crack formed in Un Ji-kang’s plan for the friendly duel matches.

“Hahahahaha!”

Hwangbo Ryeong poured fine liquor into his cup and laughed.

A banquet followed the first day of the duel festival. It was meant to ease tension, but the mood that night was sharply divided.

Five versus four.

Those numbers marked the remaining warriors for the Hwangbo house and the Zhuge house.

Solitary Cloud Manor had planned to eliminate all guest combatants on the first day and make it five versus five. After all, the guests’ skill seemed insufficient against sect warriors.

But an unexpected upset occurred—one extremely humiliating for the Zhuge family.

As Zhuge Kwan’s brow tightened, Hwangbo Ryeong’s grin widened.

“Hey, young mackerel, why the long face? Smile a little, won’t you? Smile. Hahaha!”

“I’ll mind my own expression, thanks.”

“Wow, the Zhuge family’s strength has really dropped. At this rate the master of Sunny Breeze and Green Field seems decided, doesn’t it?”

Gnash!

Zhuge Kwan ground his molars audibly.

“It’s not over yet. The first day was just a taste.”

“Which house’s warrior got beaten like a dog on the first day?”

“He just wasn’t in good shape.”

“Judging by how he moved his footwork, it didn’t seem that way. Wasn’t it the Zhuge side that rushed in like an undergrown pup?”

Bang!

Zhuge Kwan slammed his cup down.

“…Boar, did you just compare the Zhuge family to a dog?”

Hwangbo Ryeong grinned and took a step back.

Normally he would’ve never yielded, but seeing the Zhuge family’s humiliation had softened him.

“I was only speaking figuratively, you know. Did that offend you? My apologies. Hahaha!”

It sounded like an apology, but there was no remorse.

Zhuge Kwan drained his cup and rose.

Hwangbo Ryeong asked, “Where are you going?”

“I’m tired; I’ll go in first.”

“What, already? Tut tut. Superiors must build stamina. You’re so weak, young seabird, that your subordinates are like that too, aren’t they?”

“……”

“Hahaha. That was a joke. Go on and head in.”

Zhuge Kwan left the banquet hall without looking back.

Behind him, the Zhuge family’s warriors filed out like a receding tide. The vast hall suddenly felt lonely.

Hwangbo Ryeong refilled his cup and murmured, “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

Gulp gulp. Ahh—.

“The Sunny Breeze and Green Field belong to the Hwangbo house.”

Maybe it was his mood, but the night sky seemed unusually clear, and that pleased him.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Solitary Cloud Manor, something else was happening.

Baek Seok, a silver member of the Lonely Claw Troops, stood with his hands behind his back and glared at the guest combatant before him.

Darkness cloaked the surroundings and the mood was somber.

Baek Seok was one of the silver guest fighters who had participated in the duels.

Beside him stood another silver guest who had joined this duel alongside him.

And standing before them was Mujin, the day’s talk of the duel festival.

Baek Seok asked, “Who are you?”

“……”

“Answer me.”

Mujin still held the bloodstained broom.

A guest combatant who used a broom as a weapon—Baek Seok had never heard of such a thing.

“Answer.”

“I am Mujin of the Black Fang Unit Tenth—”

“No.”

Another silver member cut him off.

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“What nonsense are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“I once served with the Black Fang Unit briefly. But I’ve never seen someone like you.”

“Well, if duties didn’t overlap, you might not know…”

“No. That’s impossible. Because Black Fang Unit doesn’t have a ‘tenth.’”

The two silver members quietly drew their weapons.

Baek Seok asked again, “Now then, tell us. Who on earth are you?”