Chapter 16

After the decision was made to send him out into the world.

By order of the sect leader and elders, Jinmu had no choice but to take Cheongu and Cheongsang along.

But he couldn’t simply leave whenever he pleased. He had to bid farewell to his master Myeongjin, then visit each palace to inform his martial uncles and senior brothers.

At Wonhwa Hall, they issued him a replacement robe and cap—old, but thoroughly washed(?).

They were giving him used clothes patched up to look new, and making a damned great show of their generosity.

Still, Wonhwa Hall had agreed to see to Myeongjin’s meals, so that was one less worry about his master.

“Ha ha! To think my junior brother has already grown enough to set out on his first journey! I couldn’t be happier!”

Jinheo approached and clapped him on the shoulder, then surreptitiously slipped a money pouch into the front of his robe.

“I sneaked this out. Buy yourself and your martial nephews something good to eat. Don’t scrimp.”

“Yes.”

He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, but he accepted it gratefully enough. Anything free was good, after all.

His expression impassive, Jinmu opened the pouch.

“Oh, come now. You should open that in private.”

“…”

Ten iron coins.

Seriously? That was it? That was all?

Hey, didn’t you tell me not to scrimp?

When Jinmu stared at him in disbelief, Jinheo laughed heartily.

“Goodness, you must be surprised there’s so much. It’s all right. Surely your senior brother can spare this much for you.”

So much? I’m staring because there’s so little.

Ah… Forget it. Don’t say a word.

You dirt-poor Taoist bastard.

In any case, after leaving Wonhwa Hall, Jinmu’s next stop was Yeongeun Palace.

“…mustn’t… be careful to… and you must never do that. Do you understand?”

“…”

For nearly an hour, he endured a lecture that went on and on without end, repeating the same things over and over. The boredom felt as though it were draining his soul.

Terrifying Myeonggong.

What a talent for saying the same thing a hundred different ways.

And why were there so many things he wasn’t allowed to do?

He answered with a polite “Yes,” but had absolutely no intention of complying.

Wasn’t it human nature to want to do something all the more when told not to?

And another thing.

Why did that bastard keep glaring at him?

Seeing Jinhye staring at him from a distance with blazing eyes, Jinmu screwed up his face and glared back.

You son of a bitch. Lower your eyes. I ought to—

In the old days, he would have started with a beating and gone from there. But he was a Taoist now, and the fellow was his senior brother, so he had no choice but to endure it.

Just give me one excuse, you little bastard.

Jinmu forced himself to calm down. If he held out a little longer, he could escape this godforsaken Taoist sect.

“Have a safe journey.”

“Yes, Martial Uncle.”

Jinmu offered another respectful farewell and left Yeongeun Palace.

Next came Ujin Palace, with its endless list of matters to coordinate and confirm with outside powers…

At Okheo Palace, he was issued a new sword bearing a clearly marked Supreme Ultimate symbol.

At Jeongdong Palace, he received Life-Preserving Pills, wound salve, bandages… and all manner of other supplies for emergencies. Only then did he finally visit Purple Firmament Palace.

He had to formally announce his departure to the sect leader.

It wasn’t as if these palaces were huddled together. They were scattered over dozens of li along the mountain ridges. Why did there have to be so many procedures?

Journey or no journey, he would be exhausted before he even left.

Simplify the damned process, you bastards. He was tired of saying it by now, but there really was a reason this sect was going under.

“Ho ho. That’s quite a load you have.”

“…”

At Myeonghyeon’s words, Jinmu looked at the supplies he had collected on his rounds.

Quite a load indeed.

Couldn’t he just leave it all behind?

“It’s your first journey, so make sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Be careful near water, and don’t go anywhere secluded…”

Ah! Please stop! Stop!

What am I, five years old?

I’ve seen more of the world than any of you bastards who’ve spent your whole lives cooped up on Mount Wudang!

He wanted to scream his head off, but… Just a little longer. He only had to hold out a little longer.

“Now, Cheongu and Cheongsang are going with you, I hear?”

Myeonghyeon looked fondly at Cheongu and Cheongsang, who were prostrated behind Jinmu. Jinmu answered wearily.

“Yes. It seems to have worked out that way.”

“Good. They’re bright boys. They’ll be a help to you.”

“…”

“Well, off you go, then. Remember the importance of your task. Do nothing that might disgrace Wudang’s name.”

“Yes, Sect Leader.”

It was over. At last!

A wave of freedom swept over him. He hurriedly gathered his baggage and was about to leave when Myeonghyeon called him back.

“Jinmu.”

Oh, what now?!

“Be sure to send word once a day.”

He’d had enough…

“Yes, Sect Leader.”

This goddamned Taoist sect.

They really were terrifying bastards.

To think they could leave him this utterly drained just by making him go through the formalities of leaving the mountain…

After emerging from Purple Firmament Palace, Jinmu finally descended Mount Wudang, with Jinheo and Jinso seeing him off and Jinhye’s fierce glare following him.

Only after passing Haegeomji and leaving Wudang’s territory did he begin to feel alive again.

Just being free of the smell of the sect made him feel as though he could fly.

Heh heh heh. How long has it been since I last saw the world?

Jinmu flung down the bundle from his back, spread his arms, and closed his eyes, savoring the wonderfully fresh air of the world outside.

He drew a deep breath. “Ah, that’s good.”

It wasn’t just Jinmu. Cheongu was brimming with excitement, and even the usually expressionless Cheongsang couldn’t hide his delight.

Right, then. Shall we go?

“Cheongu.”

“Yes, Martial Uncle!”

“Pick it up.”

“…”

“My baggage.”

“…Yes.”

Cheongu shifted his own bundle from his back to his front, then shouldered the baggage Jinmu had thrown to the ground.

“Cheongsang.”

“…”

“You should take my sword.”

“A sword must be carried by its owner. To a martial artist, it is as precious as life itself—”

What a hopelessly rigid bastard.

“Want to go back up?”

Faster than light, Cheongsang slung Jinmu’s sword across his back.

“Right, let’s go!”

Their destination: the Cheongyang Merchant Guild in Danjiangkou.

Jinmu, Cheongu, and Cheongsang’s first journey began in high spirits.

---

They had been told that the Cheongyang Merchant Guild was only a little over a hundred li from the foot of Mount Wudang.

Less than half a day’s ride on horseback.

But trouble found them right from the start.

“Hey, you there.”

“…”

“You Taoist bastards. Hand over everything you’ve got.”

A dozen or so burly men blocked their path, spouting a tired line he’d heard far too often.

For a moment, Jinmu simply blinked, unable to make sense of the situation before him.

Leaving aside the line so familiar it had long since grown stale, this was Mount Wudang.

The world might have changed lately and be overflowing with lunatics, but trying to shake down Taoists on Wudang’s own doorstep?

Did they have a death wish?

“Who are you? Surely you recognize Wudang’s robes. How dare you bar our path on Mount Wudang?”

While Jinmu was still unable to hide his bewilderment at this absurd situation, Cheongsang stepped forward with a fierce look in his eyes.

“‘Our path’? Give me a break.”

“…”

“Unpack everything on your backs while I’m still asking nicely. I doubt you’ve got any, but if you’ve squirreled away some money, hand that over too.”

He had no idea why men like these were prowling around Mount Wudang, but one look told him they were back-alley scum who robbed passersby.

Jinmu sighed. “Cheongsang.”

“Yes, Martial Uncle!”

“Clean this up so we can get going. We need to arrive before dark.”

“Understood.”

With a look of quiet confidence, Cheongsang drew his sword.

“Shall I help?”

Cheongu started forward, but Jinmu shook his head.

“They’re just third-rate thugs. You keep holding the bags.”

“…Yesh.”

As Cheongu retreated with a pout, Cheongsang faced off against the rabble.

“Withdraw now, and no one need get hurt.”

“Hurt? What a load of shit. You should’ve handed over your baggage and money and fucked off.”

The shifty-looking man at the front pulled a dagger from inside his clothes, holding it in a reverse grip.

As though that were the signal, the dozen-odd burly men drew their own weapons with vicious looks and fanned out around Cheongsang.

Yes. That was more like it.

So far, it was all painfully familiar.

Wherever you went, thugs behaved in exactly the same way, as though they’d all learned from the same master.

“Tsk! How dare you commit such lawless acts on Mount Wudang!”

“Hah! A sect that’s going under? Like we give a damn!”

Feet pounded the ground.

The man in front darted forward, closing the distance as he lunged at Cheongsang.

The dagger in his reverse grip slashed sideways toward Cheongsang’s face.

Whoosh.

Cheongsang leaned back slightly and took a step away. The keen blade swept past his face.

The man immediately spun, sending his rear foot straight at him.

The transition from dagger strike to kick was clean, but it was still a thug’s handiwork, nothing remarkable.

Without moving his feet, Cheongsang angled his already arched torso to one side and thrust the tip of his scabbard forward.

Tap!

The scabbard lightly pressed the Middle Bend Point behind the man’s knee.

“Aaargh!”

The man collapsed with a scream of pain.

The sight of such a pathetic thug was enough to make him sigh.

What made these fools think they could bar a Wudang Taoist’s path?

Jinmu shook his head. They weren’t even worth dealing with.

“You bastard! What are you all doing? Get him!”

With one man down, the others began rushing him en masse.

Again, everything was proceeding as expected.

Usually, in a situation like this, Cheongsang would soon have them all on the ground without even drawing his sword, begging for their lives and pleading that they were sorry.

The Cheong generation. Wudang’s second-generation disciples.

They might be the youngest generation within Wudang, but they were martial artists who had already endured nearly ten years of grueling training.

That alone was enough to make short work of an instructor at a martial arts school in some small county.

Even Cheongu, the least skilled of the Cheong generation, could release formless qi.

And Cheongsang?

Sword Infusion—the ability to imbue a sword with internal energy.

He had reached the stage immediately below sword qi.

Moreover, since his recent defeat by Cheongu, he had received a few pointers from Jinmu.

It hadn’t been long, but his deeper understanding of the techniques in his sword art had already made him far stronger.

Ten third-rate neighborhood thugs should never have been able to take him down.

Crack! Thud! Smack!

As if to prove the point, the sound of a scabbard striking flesh rang out without pause from the tangled melee.

In moments, two men struck in their acupoints were already sprawled on the ground, crying out in pain.

Just in case, Jinmu studied the attackers fighting Cheongsang more closely.

Oh? Look at these fellows.

Two.

Among the attackers were two men whose movements stood out.

They were very comfortable with their blades. Quite experienced, too.

Far stronger than any ordinary neighborhood thug.

But even working together, they still fell a little short of Cheongsang.

Tsk, tsk. You two don’t have what it takes…

It was enough to make him sigh…

“Urgh!”

Just then, an unexpected groan rang out.

Huh? That was Cheongsang.

Wounded just below the shoulder, Cheongsang retreated a couple of steps.

“Senior Brother!”

Cheongu started forward in alarm, but Jinmu caught him.

Despite his clearly superior skill, Cheongsang had been caught by a stray blade.

The problem was his lack of experience.

He had spent his time cooped up on a mountain, training himself half to death in martial arts.

It had probably never occurred to him.

Fighting through a set exchange of moves was different from a real fight.

There was no fixed pattern or form to these men’s attacks.

They concealed their skill amid the messy assault and waited for their chance.

Until Cheongsang grew used to their inept attacks and made a mistake.

It was the sort of mistake newcomers to the martial world made all the time.

Unless the gap in skill was so overwhelming that it left no room for surprises, even a fairly accomplished expert could fall to a third-rate fighter’s dagger in this world.

He had the skill, but his lack of experience was working against him.

Tsk, tsk…