Episode 227: Jang Il-nam

The disciples of the Blood Rain Guest felt the fierce wind pressure against their cheeks.

Turning their heads in the direction of the wind, they saw a massive hand.

It was unmistakably a human hand, yet it didn’t feel human at all.

The ashen skin tone was strange, and its size, large enough to grasp a human head, was even stranger.

It felt more like the hand of a stone Buddha carved from a giant rock than a human hand.

Thus, the three disciples couldn’t immediately comprehend the situation.

But their instincts were different. Death had stopped just short of their noses. Their legs trembled uncontrollably.

That hand didn’t even need to fully grasp their heads. A mere brush would have been fatal. Their heads would have burst like overripe fruit.

The palm was blocked by a slender sword.

One might worry about the hand’s owner, given the contact between bare skin and sharp steel, but that wasn’t the concern now.

People wondered. How could such a thin blade withstand such a powerful grip?

The disciples of the Blood Rain Guest had never truly considered him their master.

But one thing was certain: the Blood Rain Guest had become their savior.

Everyone held their breath as if by unspoken agreement.

The Blood Rain Guest shouted angrily.

“Brother, what are you doing!”

Those unfamiliar with the Blood Rain Guest felt nothing from his voice.

But the people of the Tang family felt a deep unease.

“The Blood Rain Guest, raising his voice…?”

Sam An-bul sneered.

“You fool. You should have pretended not to see and stayed quiet. Why complicate things by drawing your sword?”

“Complicate? What do you mean?”

“When there’s an easy and simple way, why take the long way around and make things difficult?”

“Are you saying you used your hand for such a trivial reason?”

“If someone dares to climb over their station, they need to be taught a lesson. That’s the way of the martial world.”

This wasn’t just the perspective of Sam An-bul, a warrior of the Demonic Sect.

Almost all martial artists, including those from righteous sects, agreed on one thing.

If someone oversteps their bounds, cutting them down doesn’t invite criticism.

Especially in a situation with so many witnesses.

The Blood Rain Guest strengthened his grip on his sword, shaking off Sam An-bul’s hand.

“A lesson? If it were just that, I wouldn’t have intervened. But that was clearly an attempt to kill!”

“Getting a lesson can sometimes lead to death.”

“Who calls that a lesson?”

“If they die, it’s their own fault. Those guys have lived by the sword, even if their skills are crude. They’re not kids trembling in front of a teacher.”

Martial artists need two skills: intuition and talent.

Those with both become renowned warriors, famous throughout the world.

Those with only intuition may not achieve much but can survive long.

Those with only talent achieve quickly but die young.

And what of those with neither?

Sam An-bul glared at the former disciples of the Blood Rain Guest, his shoulders twice the size of an average head rotating menacingly.

“Step aside. Since you seem to care for your disciples, I’ll just slap them once and let it go.”

“No, you can’t.”

A slap from Sam An-bul would be fatal. Even a skilled martial artist would either have their head crushed or their neck broken.

“They’re my disciples, so I’ll discipline them. I’ll break their limbs if I have to, to fix their rotten minds. Please, just this once, turn a blind eye.”

“Brother Jang, don’t be mistaken. If I had come to you quietly, maybe. But after making such a scene in front of everyone, it’s not something you can overlook alone.”

Sam An-bul continued.

“They’ve committed a grave sin by defying their master and making him bow to others. It’s a betrayal of their teacher and ancestors! And trying to drag someone staying at the Tang family down to their level is another unforgivable crime. As a guest of the Tang family, they must not tarnish its name.”

“You came from the Demonic Sect, didn’t you? The sect that was more lenient to fugitives than anyone.”

“The Demonic Sect was like that. But the Tang family has no reason to be. Besides, even in the Demonic Sect, acting so arrogantly would get you killed.”

As Sam An-bul maintained his firm stance, the Blood Rain Guest let out a deep sigh and pointed his sword at Sam An-bul.

Sam An-bul looked pleased.

“You’ve got some backbone.”

An unexpected compliment. But it didn’t mean he was backing down.

Sam An-bul looked at the three trembling disciples behind the Blood Rain Guest.

“You better pray that the Blood Rain Guest wins.”

Sam An-bul’s right shoulder pulled back with force.

Tang Mu-jin and Namgung Myung quickly reached onto the platform and pulled the three disciples down.

In the next moment, Sam An-bul’s fist slammed into the stone platform.

With a loud crash, stone fragments flew everywhere, and the Blood Rain Guest leaped into the air, nodding his thanks to Tang Mu-jin and Namgung Myung.

He then focused on Sam An-bul’s gaze. The best way to predict an opponent’s next move is to watch their eyes.

Sam An-bul’s gaze quickly scanned the Blood Rain Guest before briefly landing on the three disciples being pulled down from the platform.

At that moment, Sam An-bul’s leg muscles tensed, his thighs bulging. The Blood Rain Guest was alarmed.

‘Even though they took refuge below the platform!’

The Blood Rain Guest immediately moved to shield his disciples.

Like a swift hawk diving in front of a bear.

It wasn’t a response a speed-focused martial artist should show against a strength-focused one. But there was no choice.

The power in Sam An-bul’s arm wasn’t something an ordinary person could withstand.

And this was another attempt to kill. The killing intent was directed at the Blood Rain Guest’s disciples, not him.

‘I can block it head-on. But doing so will break my supporting leg.’

The Blood Rain Guest pondered how to respond, then surrendered to his instincts.

He poured his inner strength into his sword and leaped slightly off the ground, both feet leaving the earth.

Most martial arts assume both feet are firmly planted on the ground.

Thus, the Blood Rain Guest’s response wasn’t part of any martial art, but a purely instinctive and improvised move.

It was extremely risky, but undeniably effective.

“Hup!”

As the fist met the sword, the Blood Rain Guest felt a pain as if his arm would break. The sound of the fist cutting through the air came after the pain. A strange experience.

Sam An-bul’s fist veered slightly to the side, slicing through the air.

And the Blood Rain Guest, having narrowly blocked Sam An-bul’s fist, was flung into the air.

He landed a good seven or eight paces away. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his body wavered and blurred.

In less than a breath, the blurred figure of the Blood Rain Guest reappeared behind Sam An-bul. Among the many gathered at the Tang family, few could follow the Blood Rain Guest’s movement with their eyes.

From behind Sam An-bul, the Blood Rain Guest searched for a weak point. A spot that could end the fight without threatening life.

‘This should do.’

The spot he found was the upper arm of Sam An-bul’s right arm, between the two massive muscles.

The Blood Rain Guest thrust his sword. His aim wasn’t to harm Sam An-bul, so he didn’t use full force.

But he still put considerable strength and inner power into the thrust, knowing how tough Sam An-bul’s skin was.

However, a small problem arose. The Blood Rain Guest’s sword didn’t penetrate even a finger’s width into Sam An-bul’s arm.

He had thought only the skin was tough, but the flesh and muscle beneath were even tougher.

’…Should I have used full force?’

The Blood Rain Guest realized Sam An-bul was watching him.

Beyond Sam An-bul’s massive, twitching, ashen shoulder, his playful eyes and the large scar on his forehead were visible. In the reddish sunset, it felt like three eyes were glaring at him.

Feeling a chill, the Blood Rain Guest pushed off the ground with all his might. But Sam An-bul’s right hand reached for his shin from behind.

‘Danger.’

The Blood Rain Guest quickly moved his legs in the air, reaching out to escape Sam An-bul’s grasp. But Sam An-bul’s hand moved fluidly, brushing aside the Blood Rain Guest’s fingers.

Sam An-bul had mastered one of the few techniques from the Shaolin Temple, the Maitreya’s Three Thousand Solutions.

Caught off guard by the unexpected high-level technique, the Blood Rain Guest couldn’t react properly.

A grip as solid as stone wrapped around the Blood Rain Guest’s ankle.

’…I’m done for.’

The Blood Rain Guest let out a hollow laugh. Indeed, it was foolish not to go all out against someone a step ahead.

Sam An-bul swung his left arm, and the Blood Rain Guest, caught by the leg, flew through the air like a scarecrow.

All he could do was brace himself for the impending impact, drawing upon his inner strength.

Sam An-bul swung his arm violently, slamming the Blood Rain Guest into the platform.

Thud.

A loud crash echoed through the air, causing everyone to flinch as a cloud of dust rose up. The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet.

Tang Mujin shouted in alarm, “What on earth are you doing?”

From within the dust, Sam Anbul muttered, “He’s not dead.”

Tang Mujin rushed through the settling dust and leapt onto the platform to check on Hyulwugak. The man lay unconscious, limp and unresponsive.

Carefully, Tang Mujin turned Hyulwugak over, checking his head, neck, and back. There were no signs of broken bones.

He checked his breathing next. It was steady enough, and his pulse was strong.

A sigh of relief escaped him. It seemed Sam Anbul had skillfully knocked him out without causing serious harm.

Sam Anbul murmured to himself, “I wonder if anyone will do this for me when I’m old and frail.”

“Are you looking for someone to beat you up, sir?” Tang Mujin retorted.

“You don’t understand,” Sam Anbul replied.

“Oh, I understand well enough. I know why you did it, but it was excessive.”

“If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.”

The dust settled quickly, and all eyes turned to the unconscious Hyulwugak and the unruffled Sam Anbul.

Sam Anbul casually wiped a small cut on his right arm with his left hand, flicking away the blood with a snap of his fingers. Then, as if nothing had happened, he rubbed his chin with his large hand.

In a calm voice, he said, “There was a minor disagreement, unintentionally.”

The crowd replayed the scene in their minds. It hadn’t been a long exchange, but it was shockingly intense and high-level. The most astonishing part was how quickly it had all happened—barely a few breaths’ time.

Sam Anbul, with a hint of nonchalance, added, “Just a trivial spat, nothing to dwell on.”

A sharp-eyed man named Hyun Gong called out from the crowd, “What about Hyulwugak’s disciples?”

Sam Anbul paused, contemplating, then said, “Perhaps I was too harsh. They’re the students of my soft-hearted brother, after all. It might be right to accept them, though the decision should be made by Tang or Eryong, not me.”

He glanced at Tang Mujin, and the crowd’s attention shifted to him. The infamous Sam Anbul was seeking the young man’s approval.

The people realized anew that the true master of this powerful family, filled with martial artists of unparalleled skill, was neither Sam Anbul, Hyulwugak, nor Hwayeon Shinni. It was Tang Mujin.

Tang Mujin nodded in agreement. “I give my permission. Gather your things and come to the Tang household. There should be rooms available in the residences of Hyulwugak and Sam Anbul.”

The crowd’s gaze returned to Hyulwugak, the naive warrior who had faced Sam Anbul to protect his foolish disciples.

Then they looked at Hyulwugak’s three disciples, who were cowering in fear, their eyes darting nervously.

One of them, a shaggy-haired man, hesitated before speaking. “Our belongings are a bit far away… We’ll gather them and return by tomorrow.”

“Do as you must,” Tang Mujin replied, feigning ignorance. But he knew they would never return to the Tang household. No one in their right mind would choose to live under the same roof as someone who disapproved of them.

Their promise to return was merely an excuse to escape.

At Tang Mujin’s signal, Hyun Gong dashed to the kitchen and returned with a brass basin filled with cold water.

Tang Mujin splashed the icy water onto Hyulwugak’s face, and he awoke, bewildered, sitting up.

Tang Mujin spoke with a voice full of inner strength, “Things have taken an odd turn, but we must continue. If anyone has objections to Hyulwugak settling his past, speak now.”

Most who had challenged him had already done so, and those who hadn’t were wise enough not to step forward now.

The crowd watched the platform in silence. Tang Mujin smiled gently.

“With all of you here as witnesses, the name Hyulwugak will no longer be a topic of conversation.”

At his gesture, a procession of people entered the Tang household, carrying an abundance of food and fine wine.

“Drink to your heart’s content and celebrate this day,” Tang Mujin announced.

A resounding cheer erupted from the crowd, their voices echoing like a thunderous wave. The cheers were directed at Hyulwugak.

Hyulwugak stood frozen, caught in the unfamiliar atmosphere. Yet, it felt like a moment that called for action. He looked around.

But all he saw was the brass basin filled with water.

Caught up in the moment, Hyulwugak lifted the basin high above his head. The brass gleamed in the setting sun like a giant gold nugget.

He tipped it over, letting the icy water cascade down from his head, drenching him completely.

The water washed away his past, his infamy, and any lingering grudges, real or imagined.

The crowd’s cheers swelled around him.

An old man, Jang Il-nam, grinned widely.