Chapter 67

Un Ji-kang’s sobriquet was the Red Ghost. He hated that nickname intensely.

Because that name had been given to him by enemies who despised him.

But the way he looked today was……

Jjae-jae-jaeng!

He looked every bit like the Red Ghost.

Un Ji-kang’s weapon, Red Wing, sliced through the air.

A crimson aura rolled and danced along Red Wing’s trajectory, spreading outward like a wing—true to its name.

Ssaeng!

Un Ji-kang’s stance shot forward in a red line.

Six blades fanned out like a beast’s claws, aiming at Yeon Mujin.

Deadly Zombie Claw, Beast Technique.

It was a secret technique from his poisonous clan—he had crafted it from a certain corpse-technique.

When an attacking beast lunges at you, what does an ordinary person do?

Usually they retreat in fear. The Beast Technique exploited that instinct.

If you step back, you will never escape his blades.

So Yeon Mujin stepped forward instead of retreating.

While Un Ji-kang tried to control the engagement’s space, Yeon Mujin advanced by at most three paces.

That small change in distance decided the impact. Un Ji-kang’s blades grazed Yeon Mujin’s hair, cheek, and shoulder, passing by the narrowest margins.

Yeon Mujin drew a rounded semicircle and sliced his sword upward, aiming for Un Ji-kang’s abdomen and using the charge for force.

Un Ji-kang kicked air and lofted his body, avoiding the blade with a movement so nimble it verged on a trick.

A grappler must be more flexible and more agile than anyone; in that respect, Un Ji-kang could indeed be called the apex of grapplers.

Tak!

Planting his feet, Un Ji-kang slashed at Yeon Mujin’s lower body.

Being able to create movements freer and stranger than a sword—this too is a grappler’s advantage.

Tsutsuts!

Adding rotational force, Red Wing spun like a red wheel.

Yeon Mujin’s counter was equally strange.

He grounded his swordplay, inverted his body upright, and formed a vertical line.

Chaech aechaech aech aechang!

Yeon Mujin’s sword began to spin atop the wheel—an ingenious counter that exploited the opponent’s own technique.

“You!”

Enraged, Un Ji-kang leapt and executed a grappling move.

Yeon Mujin blocked it.

Kkikigiki!

The hair-raising rasp of steel against steel.

Their chaotic duel truly began then.

Un Ji-kang’s grapple rose for Yeon Mujin’s jaw—Yeon Mujin leaned back and evaded.

The opposite grapple aimed for his neck—Yeon Mujin raised his sword and blocked.

Un Ji-kang targeted the groin with his knee—Yeon Mujin stepped back.

Blade against blade, fist against fist, slice against slice—they slid past each other with only a sheet’s thickness between them.

A single mistake would cost a life—this is the art of a hundred strikes!

Even the External Protection Troops and the Golden Claw members, who continued their fierce fight, often had their eyes drawn to the two.

Un Ji-kang’s skill was astonishing, but what truly startled them was Yeon Mujin’s response.

The Golden Claw members marveled at Yeon Mujin matching Un Ji-kang. The External Protection Troops admired the mastery their leader displayed.

“You lot! Wake up! Do you intend to become a burden to the Lord of the unit?!”

Seo Nak-il shouted to the stunned troopers.

He had already seen Yeon Mujin’s skill once at Namsa Lake.

At their commander’s shout, the troopers regained their senses and readied themselves.

Un Ji-kang could not hide his surprise as the exchanges continued.

Yeon Mujin, who parried his fierce assault, seemed precarious at times, yet not a single attack had landed a true blow.

No ordinary wanderer could deflect his onslaught like that. Never.

“You! You’ve been hiding your skill!”

Yeon Mujin struck at Un Ji-kang’s midline and created distance.

“I never hid it. You just didn’t care to notice.”

“What?”

“Have you ever once considered Flying Swallow Manor a rival?”

Un Ji-kang could not answer.

Yeon Mujin scoffed. “Well? Didn’t everything unfold contrary to your expectations—the martial arts contest, Namsa Lake, the matter with the Wang trading union, and even today. Tell me, how many Golden Claw members did you think would die at Flying Swallow Manor today?”

Not a single one.

He had not believed that a single Golden Claw member would die.

Reading his expression, Yeon Mujin said, “You are fated to be taken down by the very Flying Swallow Manor you scorned.”

As if denying that, Un Ji-kang thrust his grapple again.

Deadly Zombie Claw — False Path Cutting Down!

Jjaeng!

But before his grapple could finish, Yeon Mujin’s sword darted out first.

Yeon Mujin’s blade cut the rhythm of the form with precision, as if he knew exactly what attack would follow.

‘Damn!’

Un Ji-kang swore inwardly.

This repetition had been going on for some time.

What sort of ghostly trick was this—this fellow was reading Un Ji-kang’s moves.

Un Ji-kang shouted, “Do you think you’re already victorious because you’ve exchanged a few moves with me? Arrogant because you killed a few Golden Claw members? Golden Claw members can be remade, but you will die here. You have achieved nothing, Captain of the External Protection Troops. Flying Swallow Manor will remain a worthless manor forever, and I will sit upon the Heavenly Seat!”

Yeon Mujin was not shaken. If anyone was unsettled, it was Un Ji-kang.

“Why? Do you have some backing? Do you believe in your corpse technique?”

Un Ji-kang’s motion came to an abrupt halt.

“…What did you say?”

“Do you believe that your corpse art—built over decades by sacrificing hundreds, thousands—can be trusted? That by turning people into jiangshi, by using the Zombie Preserving Qi to bolster internal qi, stacking heaps of corpses, you can ascend to the Heavenly Seat? Is that what you think?”

Originally, that specific jiangshi technique was not about handling corpses. It was a martial art to harden the body as if it were a jiangshi.

But because of the ominous connotation of the name, the murim world shunned it and eventually exterminated the school.

So Un Ji-kang, in pursuit of revenge, researched the true jiangshi art rather than the legit method.

The zombie pill, the poisonous martial art Deadly Zombie Jiangshi, and the corpse-raising jiangshi technique were his hidden trump cards.

No one in the world knew—and no one should ever know.

Yet Yeon Mujin’s revelation did not end there.

“In the end your plan was to turn even the Sixth Young Master into a jiangshi and control him? To cover the famed Bukgung Family with your jiangshi—was that Un family’s revenge?”

“…!”

Un Ji-kang felt goosebumps prickle along his earlobe.

“You are… who, exactly?”

Yeon Mujin laughed, a sound like his vocal cords tearing. “You’re only asking that now?”

Pak!

Yeon Mujin drove his sword point into the ground. Puffs of smoke wafted up where the blade was planted.

“I am a ghost bound to this household.”

An acrid smell brushed past Un Ji-kang’s nostrils.

“Sorcery……”

He thought it was mere sorcery. There was no other way to explain it.

What sword in the world could ignite a cold flame?

But that was not the case.

Un Ji-kang had never heard of sorcery wielded by blades.

A boastful phrase Yeon Mujin had said flashed through his mind: —Do you know the Three Calamity Sword?

Oso-so-so-so.

The goosebumps that had risen along his earlobe crawled down his nape, spine, thighs, and reached his extremities.

The mist Yeon Mujin had caused thickly spread outward.

“What are you doing now? You think you can face me with such parlor tricks?”

“No.”

A fog so thick you couldn’t see in or out.

“The haze is just a diversion. I don’t want to show it yet.”

“…Show what?”

“What do you think.”

Yeon Mujin drew his sword back up from the ground. “A ghost.”

I have no family.

I was born an orphan.

They said the noodle shop owner found and took in the abandoned me.

Until I learned how to count years, all I ever ate was bland noodles without topping.

But what was that man’s name again?

I can’t quite remember.

I have no convictions.

In the world, some wield their swords for righteousness and chivalry.

Some wield them for honor and wealth.

Many swing blades for power and revenge.

But I was none of those.

The sword… I just swung it.

That’s all I learned—what more did you expect?

I have no affiliation.

There were many titles attached before my name.

But none of them were truly mine.

At best a lackey of someone, a warrior for someone, a henchman for someone.

For countless moments I never once felt I belonged anywhere.

A man without family, without conviction, without affiliation. That’s who I am.

Do you know what the murim world calls such a person?

I was once called a ghost.

Yeon Mujin charged.

It was the exact opposite of the defensive posture from moments before.

In a grappler-versus-swordsman fight, the grappler closes the distance while the swordsman keeps it.

Yet Yeon Mujin, as if mocking that common sense, barreled straight in.

Un Ji-kang lowered his stance and his eyes flashed.

There’s no easier opponent than one who has lost composure in a fight.

‘This is my victory!’

He thrust his grapple into Yeon Mujin’s trajectory and prepared to attack from the other side.

But then.

Chwa-aak!

He felt a flesh-cutting pain in his left hand he hadn’t expected.

That madman had narrowed the distance regardless of his own flesh being torn!

Un Ji-kang was taken aback. Had the fellow gone mad?

Yeon Mujin’s blood-soaked clothing flapped as he raised his sword.

The Three Calamities Sword Technique — Heavenly Thunder.

A blade gleaming brightly within the mist.

He sensed it instinctively. That sword was dangerous.

He blocked a strike that fell like six blades stacked together.

Kwaa-ang!

A shock followed as if Mount Tai had fallen on his head.

The sword rose. The sword fell.

A swift sword so quick it seemed the intermediate motion had been omitted.

Un Ji-kang’s Red Wing screamed.

The blow from stopping the Heavenly Thunder made his head swim and a metallic taste of blood rose at his clenched molars.

Un Ji-kang wielded his grapple—evade, or block.

If you’re a warrior—or at least someone who values life—you must choose one.

But that fellow did not.

Chwa-aak!

Yeon Mujin’s chest split in an H-shaped wound. Blood gushed and drenched Un Ji-kang’s face.

Through it all, Yeon Mujin held his sword without hesitation.

The Three Calamities Sword Technique — Raging Wind.

‘Danger!’

A fierce alarm echoed in Un Ji-kang’s mind.

But the opening Yeon Mujin had created by exposing his chest—there was no way to avoid it.

He had no choice but to raise Red Wing again and defend.

Jjae-jae-jae-jae-jae-jaeng!

A barrage of thudding sounds followed as if bars of iron struck blades.

Can six blades stop the wind?

The answer was impossible.

Un Ji-kang’s front stained the same color.

Now he too looked unmistakably like the Red Ghost.

Un Ji-kang felt his mind stagger and reel.

Suffering wounds like this? From nothing but a wanderer?

But the blade in front of him was more pressing than his thoughts.

Whether his opponent was a wanderer or whatever else, he had to win.

No—he had to survive.

To do that, he had to kill this fellow.

Un Ji-kang thrust his grapple.

With every reach, with every attack……

No matter how clumsy the strikes and counters, each one wounded Yeon Mujin.

A human who feels pain would scream. If he couldn’t scream, he’d at least flinch; if he couldn’t even do that, he’d have to step back.

But that damned lunatic did none of those things!

Un Ji-kang swung his grapple. Yeon Mujin swung his sword.

A fight that must cut and must rend.

More than half of them were drenched in red.

Now truly it was a fight of ghosts.

“Aaaaaaah!”

Unable to bear it, Un Ji-kang screamed—or was it a cry filled with malice?

His Red Wing assumed a color faithful to its name: pure red.

Front, back, even the bursting sounds—all were red.

Chwa-ak!

After another cut, Un Ji-kang shook his head.

Something tacky ran down his eyelids, obscuring his vision.

Shaking off the blood droplets, the view he lifted his head to see was……

‘…Smiling?’

There was a blood-smeared ghost. A ghost so thrilled by the fight it could hardly contain itself.

That ghost who poured all its strength into dying and killing.

Un Ji-kang’s pupils trembled.

He raised Red Wing to block, but couldn’t prevent losing a single step backward.

While he did not notice, a single emotion blossomed in his heart.

It was fear—fear of the ghost.