Episode 173: The Encounter with the Impostor
“Sam An Bul!”
The warriors of the Gongdong Sect hesitated, taking cautious steps backward.
Even though the Sword of the Rising Dragon, Hyun Gong, stood beside them, his reputation paled in comparison to Sam An Bul’s. When people looked at Hyun Gong, they saw potential for the future. But Sam An Bul’s reputation was built solely on his current prowess and infamy, known throughout the martial world.
The warriors of the Gongdong Sect seemed ready to flee at any moment, their retreat evident in their posture.
Yaryul Dalum whispered urgently, “I never expected someone of his caliber to appear… We need to retreat immediately.”
But no response came.
Puzzled, Yaryul Dalum glanced to his side and saw Tang Mujin and his companions huddled together.
‘What are they doing?’
Despite the urgency, curiosity got the better of Yaryul Dalum, and he watched as the four men extended their fists, checking each other’s hand signs. It was a simple game, often used to decide the order of tasks or who would pay for drinks or meals.
“Alright!”
Namgung Myung, the victor of the game, exclaimed with delight, while the other three showed visible disappointment.
Yaryul Dalum, still confused, urged Tang Mujin’s group, “What are you doing? Hurry up…!”
Hong Geolgae stopped him. “No need to worry.”
“But we’re facing Sam An Bul!”
“It’s fine.”
While Hong Geolgae reassured Yaryul Dalum, Namgung Myung, humming a tune, drew his sword and approached the bald man.
Sensing Namgung Myung was no ordinary opponent, the bald man fixed him with a serious gaze.
All eyes naturally turned to Namgung Myung. He pointed at the bald man with his prosthetic arm, which looked remarkably like a human arm, save for its color.
“People say Sam An Bul is the greatest external martial artist in the world. He can block a sword filled with internal energy without leaving a scratch.”
“Ah, so you know of Master Sam An Bul!”
The black-clad men shouted with confidence, but Namgung Myung merely tilted his head slightly and replied, “Of course I do. Let’s see if your skills are as impressive as the old man’s.”
The crowd fell silent, sensing the weight of Namgung Myung’s words.
Namgung Myung stepped forward, raising his sword high. The stance allowed for only one move: a vertical slash. Even someone untrained in swordsmanship might scoff at its simplicity.
And yet, Namgung Myung executed the attack exactly as expected.
It wasn’t particularly fast or slow—a straightforward, vertical slash.
But it was the sword of a once-in-a-generation genius, honed through countless life-and-death battles, unmatched by anyone present.
Though a fake, the bald man was a martial artist who had surpassed the pinnacle, and he quickly realized Namgung Myung’s sword was anything but ordinary.
‘I must avoid it.’
The fake Sam An Bul attempted a simple sidestep, but his instincts screamed at him to stop.
His accumulated experience, intuition, and instincts all shouted that evading wasn’t the path to survival.
A martial artist who has reached a certain level cannot easily ignore their instincts. Those who do often die before reaching that level.
‘I don’t know what attack will follow, but if I dodge, I’m dead.’
Unable to evade the incoming sword, his only option was to make the sword miss him.
The fake Sam An Bul swung his fist, his right arm’s muscles contracting as he gathered internal energy to strike the side of the sword.
Thunk—
Yet Namgung Myung’s sword was inexplicably heavy. It felt like striking a metal stake embedded in rock, not a sword held by a human hand.
This wasn’t merely a matter of brute strength.
Namgung Myung’s sword didn’t fly off but instead twisted slightly, continuing its downward arc. A chunk of flesh was torn from the fake Sam An Bul’s left shoulder, blood spurting forth.
“Ugh…”
Though severely wounded, Namgung Myung’s eyes gleamed with interest.
“You’re quick-witted, aren’t you?”
The fake Sam An Bul immediately understood Namgung Myung’s implication: had he tried to dodge, he would have died.
Namgung Myung raised his sword again. “But your external skills aren’t as sharp as your instincts. Shall we go again?”
As Namgung Myung lifted his sword once more, the fake Sam An Bul gritted his teeth.
A similar exchange followed. Namgung Myung launched his attacks, and the fake Sam An Bul desperately tried to block, sustaining injuries in the process.
The trajectory of Namgung Myung’s sword changed each time, yet they all seemed deceptively simple. Vertical slashes, horizontal cuts, diagonal strikes, thrusts.
The rogue martial artists couldn’t comprehend the exchange. To them, sword attacks were something to be dodged.
They shouted in frustration.
“That bastard’s a fake!”
“Of course he’s a fake. Look at him getting hit over and over like an idiot.”
“I told you before! It’s strange for Sam An Bul to be holed up in a place like this.”
“Even if he’s a fake, this is too much. Idiot! Can’t you dodge even that? What are you saving your brain for?”
“But that guy crushed three people at once last time. Fake or not, he’s definitely skilled…”
Jeers and criticism mixed with half-hearted encouragement. Despite the certainty of his imposture, the fake Sam An Bul was their only hope.
The warriors of the Gongdong Sect were just as baffled by the exchange between Namgung Myung and the fake Sam An Bul.
Only Tang Mujin’s group grasped the significance of the battle, clicking their tongues in disapproval.
“Namgung Myung is being too cruel.”
“He’s toying with him. He should just finish it cleanly.”
Even Hong Geolgae could see the emotions in Namgung Myung’s swordplay.
The speed of his attacks gradually increased, and a subtle killing intent began to seep into his once straightforward strikes.
Namgung Myung shouted with excitement, “Die, Sam An Bul!”
“Ugh!”
“If you crush someone’s arm, shouldn’t you at least apologize?”
“When did I ever!”
Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae fell silent, while Hyun Gong noted Namgung Myung’s words for future use. Such remarks could come in handy someday.
Before long, the fake Sam An Bul was covered in blood.
The fight was essentially over, the only question remaining whether the fake Sam An Bul would live or die. Yaryul Dalum approached Tang Mujin with a request.
“Could you ask Namgung to stop?”
“For what reason?”
“Even if he’s a fake, someone with such external skills is rare. If we take him to the Gongdong Sect, he could be a great asset.”
“No.”
Tang Mujin replied coldly.
Impersonating someone else is a crime that demands a life in return.
In the case of Chu Sam, he was spared because his impersonation aligned with the legacy and intentions of the person he impersonated. The fake Sam An Bul had no such justification. Yaryul Dalum understood this and didn’t ask again.
The one-sided battle continued briefly until Namgung Myung executed a final, decisive strike, deeply cutting the opponent’s upper body. It was an instant kill, leaving no room for doubt.
Namgung Myung flicked the blood from his sword with a satisfied expression and returned to his companions.
“I’ve rid myself of a burden.”
“That wasn’t a burden… Anyway, good job.”
As if on cue, the warriors of the Gongdong Sect charged at the rogue martial artists.
Having lost the will to resist, the rogues were easily captured.
The warriors lined them up, meticulously noting their appearances, martial skills, and physical attributes.
After some time, a decision was made. Of the fourteen rogue martial artists, one with particularly severe crimes was executed on the spot. Two others, though possessing mediocre skills, had promising potential and were taken to join the Gongdong Sect. They would become respectable members of the sect.
The expressions of the surviving rogues were complex.
The two chosen to join the Gongdong Sect looked as if the sky had fallen, yet they also seemed to feel a slight sense of superiority. It wasn’t what they wanted, but being recognized for their potential was rare for a rogue. In their world, acknowledgment was hard to come by.
The remaining eleven wore subtly different expressions. While relieved to be released, they felt a bitter taste at being deemed unworthy.
With two new members, the warriors of the Gongdong Sect changed direction and continued on their way.
Yaryul Dalum approached Tang Mujin’s group to express his gratitude.
“Even if he was a fake, his skills and presence were no ordinary imitation. Thanks to you, we avoided a crisis. Thank you.”
The three, excluding Namgung Myung, quickly offered modest words.
“It was nothing. I’m just embarrassed it took so long to deal with a small fry.”
“If I’d known it would take this long, I would have stepped in. If we end up sleeping in the dew of the fields because of the delay, I’ll give him a good scolding.”
”…There’s no need for that.”
“No, it’s best to correct bad habits before they worsen.”
Yaryul Dalum’s gaze softened as he looked at Dang Mujin and his companions. It was rare to find young martial artists who were both skilled and humble.
He also took an interest in Lee Gyu, who was carrying the group’s luggage.
“By the way, is that person at the back part of your group?”
“Well, sort of. We picked him up as a guide in this area. He’s got some debts to pay.”
“In that case, would it be alright to bring him to Gongdong Sect? He seems a bit older, but carrying all that weight without faltering suggests he has some potential.”
“That would be great. Please, take him.”
Lee Gyu, who had been eavesdropping, looked devastated. But he had no choice in the matter.
His steps slowed as he trailed behind the group.
The group arrived at Gongdong Sect’s Hwangolgak.
Contrary to the usual expectation that a sect would be surrounded by a village, Hwangolgak stood alone, with no village or forest nearby. It was just a series of imposing buildings and walls rising from the endless plains.
The walls surrounding Hwangolgak were at least twice as high and sturdy as those of other sects, and the area was vast, more like a fortress than a mere sect outpost.
Inside the walls, countless people were training in orderly rows.
Despite being forcibly brought here from the unorthodox sects, their expressions were surprisingly bright. It wasn’t happiness, but rather a look of determination and ambition.
One thing was clear: they didn’t have the usual gloomy and sullen expressions typical of unorthodox martial artists.
“The atmosphere is better than I expected,” Hyun Gong remarked.
Yaryul Dalum puffed out his chest with pride.
“As a martial artist of Gongdong Sect and a member of Hwangolgak, I am proud of this atmosphere.”
Dang Mujin and his companions didn’t respond, but Yaryul Dalum knew they were listening intently.
He continued, “Other sects boast about their prestige and the prowess of their masters. But Gongdong Sect prides itself on guiding those from the dark paths into the light. People say Shaolin is the greatest sect in the central plains, but I believe Gongdong Sect is the true righteous path.”
“Still, life at Hwangolgak can’t be easy,” Dang Mujin commented.
Yaryul Dalum laughed, his eyes twinkling. “True. Not many from the main sect want to come to Hwangolgak.”
“Not everyone shares the same pride, it seems.”
“It’s not surprising. When someone who has learned crude unorthodox martial arts or dangerous dark arts encounters the well-structured martial arts of Gongdong Sect, it’s only natural to develop a desire for more.”
Dang Mujin nodded. Even as a mere physician, he had found it hard to resist the allure of martial arts once he dabbled in them out of curiosity.
How much more captivating must it be for someone already dedicated to martial arts to encounter something far superior?
“So, are the martial artists at Hwangolgak here by rotation or selection?” Dang Mujin asked.
Yaryul Dalum shook his head, his pride evident. “They are all volunteers. People who have set aside their ambitions for higher realms and honor, gathered here for a greater purpose. I am proud of the people at Hwangolgak.”
With a gesture from Yaryul Dalum, one of the Gongdong Sect martial artists ran over to the training group and brought back a small man with a rat-like mustache.
Dang Mujin and his companions recognized him immediately. It was Yong Ilseon, the informant mentioned by Dang Hang Samgwang.
“Is this Yong Ilseon?” Dang Mujin asked.
“Yes, it is.”
Yong Ilseon looked at them, puzzled by the situation.
Yaryul Dalum spoke to him, “Yong, these people have some questions for you.”
“Looking for someone, I suppose. What do you want to know?” Yong Ilseon asked.
Dang Mujin got straight to the point. “Do you know where the Neunggwang Sword is?”
Expecting a simple yes or no, they were surprised by Yong Ilseon’s unexpected response.
“Which of the two Neunggwang Swords are you looking for?”
Dang Mujin frowned. “There was a fake Three-Eyed Buddha in the north. Is there a fake Neunggwang Sword too?”
Yong Ilseon waved his hand, chuckling. “No, no. They say there are two real Neunggwang Swords. An old one and a young one.”