Chapter 54

Among the world’s miscellaneous arts, there is one called disguise.

At its beginning, disguise is simply changing clothes.

A deeper disguise alters the face and hair to pose as someone else.

A perfected disguise changes not just appearance but gait, voice, breathing, and habits so thoroughly that one becomes another in the blink of an eye.

In my previous life I knew a person who was a master of disguise.

She was an eighty-year-old hag whose disguises were so incredible that even when twenty members from the Bukgung Family’s covert squad waited outside her door, she could escape pursuit by transforming into someone else with only a cloth bundle and a cane.

How do I know that?

I was one of the twenty members sent to kill her.

That day I realized the profundity of the art of disguise.

When I regressed, I went to learn from her—determined to master disguise so I could impersonate another young master of the Bukgung Family.

After winning a seven-day, seven-night drinking contest, I stole some of the hag’s techniques. I’m a man skilled in the miscellaneous arts, after all.

Though not as deft as she, I can imitate her fairly well.

Her secret boiled down to this.

A person’s impression stems from tiny differences in habit. Change a habit—touching your ear with the left hand instead of the right, dragging your heel into a light step—and a laugh deepens, a face alters, a beard seems to grow, hair falls loose. The more of those small habits you change at once, the more convincing your disguise becomes.

Compared to the hag, I’m no great warrior, but I can divert attention and pass as someone else.

Of course, if someone digs into me properly, even this shallow disguise will be exposed quickly.

So, what I’m trying to say is—

“There is no tenth in the Black Fang Unit. Now, speak. Who exactly are you?”

Exactly like that.

“Of course not. The Black Fang Unit tenth is something I made up.”

Yeon Mujin’s words flustered the two silver members, but their discomposure lasted only a moment; they immediately thrust blades toward his throat.

“Will you confess?”

“Reveal your identity.”

Yeon Mujin met the two men without losing his composure, unfazed by the steel at his skin.

The hag had taught immersion: not mere acting, but total submersion. No liar could maintain such calm unless he believed his lie.

“To be precise, I am soon to become the Black Fang Unit’s tenth.”

“… ?”

“I am the younger sibling of the Black Fang Unit’s leader, Un Cheon-mok.”

“…!”

They were startled.

The Black Fang Unit is a secret organization within the Lonely Claw Troops that takes direct orders from the leader. The leader’s name is never revealed outside. Knowing that name implies a close connection.

“I was originally a warrior based in Hebei. My brother summoned me. He told me to join the Lonely Claw Troops and live among them. Since he knew my skill, it was awkward to accept me as a mere foot soldier, and petitioning the leader directly wasn’t easy. My brother’s scheme was to use the Duel arena open tournament as my entry stage.”

His words were persuasive; his gaze was steady. Above all, that composure—no liar would possess such confidence.

“So this Duel arena match was the Black Fang Unit’s strategy to get me into the leader’s favor.”

Yeon Mujin gently pushed the blade with one finger and added, “Is that explanation sufficient now?”

Baek-seok’s pupils trembled.

If Yeon Mujin’s story was true, everything fit: the performance to be chosen for the tournament, skill that seemed above a mere recruit, the choice of a nonstandard weapon, and the casual name-drop of the Black Fang Unit’s leader.

“Uh, well, then…”

Yeon Mujin pressed him before he could think more.

“But you there.”

“Yes, yes?”

Baek-seok unconsciously used honorific language; the atmosphere somehow demanded it.

“You helped during the last selection of personnel? I remember you well.”

Baek-seok recalled how he’d behaved toward Mujin: —Why was this bastard speaking informally? —He’s crazy. Not picking him. —Are you seriously insane?

“…Gah!”

Yeon Mujin approached and tapped his shoulder. “I’ll be sure to report this to the Black Fang Unit’s leader later.”

Baek-seok’s face drained of color.

“And you lot. The fact that I’m kin to the Black Fang Unit’s leader is a secret. Keep it tightly under wraps. If this story spreads… you know what that means?”

He made a slitting-throat gesture with his thumb. The two members swallowed hard.

“I’ll trust only you two.”

Yeon Mujin tapped them on the shoulders as if he were their superior and walked away.

Even after he vanished, they stood frozen for a long while.

Finally another member smacked Baek-seok’s head and barked, “You idiot! You should’ve identified him properly before calling me. Because of you I nearly got marked too!”

“Who would’ve known? Huh? I’m a victim too, so why are you mad at me!”

They bickered for a while, then—relieved the storm had passed—they went home.

The heat on the second day of the Duel arena was worse than the first.

The Zhuge family, trailing in numbers, scrambled to catch up while the Hwangbo family fought to maintain its lead.

Kwak-kwang!

“Ugh!”

“Hmph. Go suckle your mother’s milk a bit longer.”

“The winner is the Hwangbo family!”

Hwangbo Ryeong, as yesterday, crushed Zhuge’s warrior with overwhelming force.

“Ugh! My arm…!”

“You’ve already had your pressure points sealed.”

“The winner is the Zhuge family!”

Zhuge Kwan subdued Hwangbo’s warrior with elusive movements before anyone realized what happened.

One wins, one loses. Aside from the two Young Family Lords, the matches between the houses’ warriors swung back and forth.

In the end, the Duel arena came down to how many of Solitary Cloud Manor’s remaining warriors one could defeat.

On the second day, the two remaining silver members were also eliminated.

Now only one participant from Solitary Cloud Manor remained. Zhuge and Hwangbo’s numbers were tied.

The final match of the day pitted Mujin of Solitary Cloud Manor against Hwangbo Seong of the Hwangbo family.

“Young Family Lord, surely young master Seong won’t lose, will he?” a retainer asked.

Hwangbo Ryeong laughed incredulously. “Of course not. Seong is my younger brother. I watched him grow; he won’t lose.”

“But the one who lost to him yesterday was also from the Zhuge family.”

“Hah, don’t compare him to that amateur.”

Hwangbo Ryeong watched his brother in the arena without a shred of doubt.

Everyone expected the youngest to win. Hwangbo Seong himself thought the same; defeat didn’t enter his mind.

A good family, good talent, good brothers—he’d always lived under others’ expectations. Martial arts were sacred to him; he never missed a day of training.

So a challenger swaggering into the arena with a broom slung over his shoulder was no cause for delight.

“Hey.”

“What.”

“Bring a real weapon onto the stage. I want an honest, fair duel.”

“This is my real weapon.”

“I’ve never heard of any martial arts warrior using a broom as a weapon.”

Yeon Mujin answered without batting an eye. “You know? At the western edge of the Central Plains—crossing Sichuan and Qinghai into the Western Regions—you’ll find Westerners. Among them are those with pale or dark skin, curly hair, large frames, and high noses.”

Taken aback by the unexpected tale, Hwangbo Seong asked, puzzled, “So?”

“Shut up and don’t interrupt. Westerners wear long Hu robes, shoes that wrap the shins, and weird hats that look like rolled cloth on the head. Their inner patterns are more ornate than the outer ones—truly bizarre, these Westerners.”

“…What exactly are you trying to say?”

Yeon Mujin said, deadpan, “How vast is your Central Plains? Living at the eastern edge, you’ve likely never seen Westerners. Even if such bizarre people practiced a martial art with brooms as weapons, how would you ever know?”

Hwangbo Seong’s face flushed, caught off guard. To insult another’s technique was a deep shame to a man who revered martial arts.

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t know such a martial art existed.”

“Of course you didn’t. I just made it up.”

“… ?”

“I’ve never seen or heard of a martial art that uses a broom as a weapon. There’s no way such a foolish art exists.”

Hwangbo Seong’s bewilderment shifted into anger. “Are you joking with me right now?”

“Look here, you.”

Yeon Mujin regarded him seriously. “Even if no broom-using martial art exists, it doesn’t diminish my Asura Flight Blood Broom. Can’t you hear the vengeful spirits and mournful wails of those who fell before my broom?”

Startled, Hwangbo Seong swallowed. “It looks like an ordinary broom—it’s not, is it?”

“It is, in fact, an ordinary broom.”

“…What?”

“I was sweeping the yard with this this morning and brought it with me. Where would a broom get a name like that? Are you an idiot?”

Something rose in Hwangbo Seong’s throat. “What on earth are you trying to do to me?”

“Don’t argue about someone else’s weapon. Say such things after you win.”

“…Do as you please.”

Suppressing his anger, Hwangbo Seong drew his sword, thinking, ‘It was my mistake to speak with a madman. I’ll crush him with force and make him understand his arrogance.’ Even before the announcer signaled, his body tensed, ready to spring.

“Duel begins!”

As before, Hwangbo Seong charged first.

It was like when Zhuge Jo-yeon had charged last time, but unlike Jo-yeon—who wasted energy on needless techniques—Seong attacked at full strength from the start.

Kuru-rrung!

From his sword erupted the thunderclap of the Hwangbo family’s Thunder God Sword Technique. He intended to cleave that ridiculous broom in one blow. If in the process his opponent got hurt a bit? So be it.

Yeon Mujin watched calmly, broom in hand.

Kuru-rrung!

A great thunderclap filled the arena. The Hwangbo brat charged like a bear. Goodness, what made him so angry?

Kwak-kwak! Bang!

“Ugh, noisy.”

This is why I hate the Hwangbo people: their martial arts are too loud, as if boasting to the whole neighborhood. They try to overwhelm with noise and momentum—the empty cart rattles loudest.

There are plenty of idiots cowed by noise, but I’m not one of them. Whether thunder roared or the opponent was bear-sized, only one thing could fundamentally kill me: the sword. And I already know the most fearsome sword in the world—the Three Calamities Sword. Compared to its Heavenly Thunder, the Thunder God Sword is nothing but a noisy cart.

The Hwangbo brat charged straight in and brought his sword down—an honest stepping technique, an honest sword path. He sought to overwhelm with force rather than finesse. Such a frontal clash suited Yeon Mujin.

Yeon Mujin gripped the broom reverse-hand and slashed upward from below.

Pasa-sasak!

Indeed, the broom couldn’t withstand the Thunder God Sword Technique; it split to pieces with an acrid smell. Yeon Mujin’s body felt as if it too might be split in two.

But at the last moment, he dropped the broom and, adding power to his forward step, penetrated Hwangbo Seong’s inner line.

It was too late for Seong to sheathe his weapon; he was taken aback.

If he simply sheathed his sword now, victory would be assured. It was such an easy win it felt almost suspicious.

Thud!

Then pain exploded in his abdomen.

Yeon Mujin plunged his fist into Hwangbo Seong’s belly and whispered into his ear, “This is the vengeance of my Asura Flight Blood Broom.”

Overwhelmed by pain beyond expectation, Hwangbo Seong fainted and collapsed forward, uttering one final line with the last of his strength.

“Asura Flight Blood Broom… that’s not a real thing…”