Episode 278: Bloodstained
While waiting for the others who had taken a different path through Mount Gireon to return, Dang Mujin and his group hid at the foot of the mountain, keeping a watchful eye on the village for several days.
They couldn’t afford to return to the village where they had met the herbalist to rest, as they needed to be ready to lend their strength the moment the others appeared.
In such a situation, the only way to pass the time without succumbing to boredom was through storytelling.
Unexpectedly, the herbalist revealed a special talent: a knack for storytelling. He could turn mundane tales—like cutting his finger while gathering herbs or a quack herbalist failing to recognize a plant—into vivid and entertaining narratives.
Thanks to this, Dang Mujin’s group and the two children were captivated, hanging on every word whenever the herbalist spoke.
Among the many stories he shared, one in particular caught Dang Mujin’s attention.
“Is it true that the person who improved Geumchangsan to create Geumchangyak is that old woman? Did your master really say that?”
“My master didn’t say it directly. I heard it from someone who visited him.”
Geumchangsan is a powdered medicine. While the ingredients vary, its effects are similar, and it’s not difficult to make. It stops bleeding from cuts or stabs but doesn’t heal the wound.
However, Geumchangyak is on a completely different level. Not only does it stop bleeding like Geumchangsan, but it also heals most wounds, leaving only a scar. It can even prevent infections and decay in severe cases.
Martial artists valued Geumchangyak so highly that they considered it a second life, a testament to its remarkable efficacy.
The fact that the herbalist’s master didn’t tell the story himself wasn’t an issue. Such tales often gain credibility when told by others.
Still, curious, Dang Mujin asked the herbalist, “Who told you this story?”
“What was his name… Ah! It was someone named Lee Chung. He visited Mount Gireon about ten years ago. Or was it fifteen?”
The sudden mention of the name made Dang Mujin tense. Lee Chung was a common name, but few would venture to Mount Gireon to discuss medicine.
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
“He was about my age or a bit older. Quite handsome, but there was something slightly off about him. Still, he didn’t seem like a bad person.”
Dang Mujin felt a sense of satisfaction. Discovering traces of his master in such an unexpected place was a delight. He also became intrigued by the old woman who supposedly created Geumchangyak.
His master never joked about medicine, so the story about the old woman was likely true. Moreover, if she could create such a medicine, it wouldn’t be surprising if she knew how to make other miraculous remedies.
“Does your master know how to make other medicines?”
“I remember him making various things, but people mostly came to him for broken bones rather than medicine.”
The unexpected revelation left Dang Mujin puzzled.
“Broken bones? You mean dislocations?”
“No, no. Many can fix dislocated joints. I’m talking about actual broken bones. My master fixed my leg when I broke it rolling down a hillside.”
The herbalist showed his shin, revealing a small scar amidst the hair, though it was impossible to tell if it was from a fracture.
Physicians are skilled at managing internal energy imbalances but can’t mend broken bones or reattach severed flesh. Yet, the herbalist’s story clearly went beyond the realm of ordinary medicine, though he seemed unaware of its significance.
The herbalist continued, “It’s not like other ailments where you apply or ingest medicine and it magically heals. He manipulated my leg to set the bone, and I had to stay immobile for nearly two months. I was afraid of becoming lame, so I stayed put, but I did suffer from bedsores.”
A broken leg could mean a limp at best or being bedridden at worst. Yet, the herbalist’s gait seemed no different from that of an ordinary person.
“Setting a broken bone… That must have been excruciating. Ah! It must be acupressure. Your master must have known martial arts.”
“No, that’s not it. My master had a peculiar incense. Inhaling it made the pain disappear.”
Each story exceeded the bounds of medicine as Dang Mujin knew it, making his heart race.
At this point, Dang Mujin was more eager than the herbalist himself. What if those rogue martial artists harmed the herbalist’s master?
Yayulran and Yayulhwan seemed uninterested in the medical tales, but Dang Mujin ignored their discontented glances and pressed on with his questions.
“Can you tell me more about your master?”
“I’ll tell you whatever I know. We have plenty of time…”
The more he heard, the more peculiar the old woman seemed. Despite her extraordinary medical skills, she hadn’t left Mount Gireon in decades, having gone blind from experimenting with various medicines on herself.
Even now, she relied on her sense of touch to treat the Double-Pole Hermit.
‘Now I understand why the Double-Pole Hermit came to Mount Gireon. He must have thought she could somehow heal his arm.’
It occurred to him that if the Double-Pole Hermit had brought his severed arm, the old woman might have been able to reattach it. Though that arm had likely become a meal for the beasts of Mount Gongdong by now.
A couple of days later, Dang Mujin felt a strange sensation.
A discomfort like a small rake scratching deep within his chest.
Ignoring such instincts often led to losing one’s head, so martial artists never took them lightly.
Thus, Dang Mujin racked his brain to identify the source of this unease.
And finally, he realized the reason.
Today, the Double-Pole Hermit seemed displeased with the way the herbalist’s master was treating him.
‘Why?’
Why would a patient be hostile toward a physician?
There was no reason. Physicians lived to earn the gratitude of others, especially those as skilled as the old woman.
But Dang Mujin shook his head.
‘No, the situation might be different.’
He cleared his mind and reconsidered from the beginning, as calmly as possible.
Was the Double-Pole Hermit an ordinary patient?
No. The Double-Pole Hermit was a skilled martial artist, but also one who had lost an arm.
The greater his skills had been, the greater his sense of loss.
The Double-Pole Hermit had entered Mount Gireon with a fragile heart, placing great hope in the old woman.
When those self-imposed hopes were betrayed.
But when the risk of losing his life to infection was gone.
How would the Double-Pole Hermit react?
‘This isn’t good.’
Dang Mujin organized his thoughts and looked at the old woman and the Double-Pole Hermit.
The old woman completed her treatment, relying on her sense of touch as she had for the past few days. The two exchanged a few words, their lips moving briefly.
Then the Double-Pole Hermit stood up and picked up his spear with his right hand.
So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Martial artists treated their weapons as extensions of themselves and never left them behind.
But the way he held it was different.
The Double-Pole Hermit gripped the lower part of the spear shaft, as one would when using it as a weapon, rather than holding it near the blade like a walking stick.
The blind old woman couldn’t see how he held the spear, and the herbalist didn’t understand the significance of the grip.
But the herbalist felt a similar instinct to Dang Mujin. Both stood up simultaneously.
“Master!”
The herbalist, seemingly forgetting the situation, shouted loudly and dashed toward the village.
Dang Mujin was in the same predicament. No, he was even more desperate than the herbalist. The depth and breadth of the herbalist’s master’s medical knowledge were unfathomable.
Some of it might have been passed down to Dang Mujin through his master, but it was only a fraction of the whole.
Moreover, that was the medical knowledge from over a decade ago. In the past ten years, how much more had the old woman achieved?
‘No!’
But Dang Mujin and the herbalist’s hopes were not to be.
The distance between them and the village was too great, while the distance between the old woman and the Double-Pole Hermit was too short.
The Double-Pole Hermit swung his spear with indifference, stabbing the old woman squarely in the chest. For a moment, Dang Mujin felt as if the world had stopped, a chilling sensation washing over him.
If he had been the one stabbed, he could have remained calm. But with the herbalist’s master facing death, only one thought remained in his mind.
Someone like her shouldn’t die so meaninglessly.
“Is she dead? Did she really die? No, maybe if we’re lucky, the spear missed her heart.”
“Perhaps it just looked like it pierced her heart because of the angle. Besides, you know how skilled that old woman is with medicine. No one would kill a healer like her without thinking.”
Despite these hopeful thoughts, Damujin couldn’t stop cursing under his breath. His heart clung to the hope that the old woman might survive, but his mind was convinced otherwise.
The herbalist’s cries grew louder, and naturally, the martial artists staying in the village heard them too.
Damujin’s group, stationed at the foot of the mountain, locked eyes with the martial artists from the village.
Just before the old woman was struck by the spear, Jinhae was sitting cross-legged, reflecting on the martial arts of the Cheongseong sect. The cryptic insights shared by Yeongheoja were still a mystery to him, and the techniques of Cheongseong floated in his mind, ungraspable.
Then, the herbalist’s shout pierced the air, sending a shiver down Jinhae’s spine and snapping his eyes open. They were supposed to be lying low, waiting for the right moment. Such a loud noise was the last thing they needed.
If anyone was to make a noise, it should have been Damujin’s group, announcing the discovery of martial artists from Cheongseong, Jongnam, or Jeomchang sects. But the voice and its message were unexpected, signaling that things had gone awry.
Jinhae scanned his surroundings. He saw Damujin and the herbalist rushing out. Hong Geolgae and Namgung Myeong sprang to their feet, ready to follow.
“Where are you going?” Jinhae shouted urgently.
“Run!” Namgung Myeong replied tersely. But Jinhae couldn’t understand his reasoning.
“If you go now, you’ll die! Didn’t we say the Ghost King is likely in that village?”
“Are you only going to fight battles you can win?”
“It’s not about winning or losing! This is a fight where we stand to lose everything!”
Namgung Myeong retorted, “Seems like you still don’t want to become a true martial artist.”
That again. A question with no clear answer, just more riddles.
“Are you just spouting nonsense again?”
Namgung Myeong seemed uninterested in further persuasion. He probably knew how foolish this was.
Just then, someone approached from behind. It was Hyeongong, who placed a hand on Jinhae’s shoulder.
“Are you going to be an arrow too afraid to leave the bowstring, fearing it might break?”
It was a stirring, profound statement that moved Jinhae’s heart. Almost instinctively, he took a step forward. Perhaps it was a man’s instinct.
One step was all it took. Like a boulder starting to roll from a small tremor at the mountain’s peak, Jinhae’s legs began to move faster, despite knowing it was a reckless act.
Namgung Myeong, who was ahead, glanced back. A smile, unfitting for the situation, played on his lips and eyes.
Namgung Myeong’s voice echoed in Jinhae’s mind. His hesitant steps quickened, and soon he was sprinting at full speed.
Ahead, Namgung Myeong grabbed the herbalist by the scruff and tossed him aside. The herbalist flew and landed near the children, a clear message in his actions.
Despite his excitement, the herbalist cradled the two children, Yaryulran and Yaryulhwan, who looked bewildered, not understanding the situation.
The herbalist, burdened with guilt for ruining the plan, headed towards the village, knowing the children should remain oblivious until everything was over.
Jinhae’s temples throbbed with a fierce pulse, as if his heart had relocated to his head. Though swept up in the moment, he was acutely aware that something was terribly wrong.
Damujin’s group hadn’t been idle these past days. They had a plan.
The best course was to hold out until reinforcements arrived, but they also needed a strategy for an unexpected fight. They planned to use Damujin’s poison and hidden weapons to gain an advantage, maintaining a safe distance while retreating and fighting. That was the optimal response.
Yet here they were, rushing towards the village, their plans in disarray.
There was one small relief: Damujin seemed to regain his senses and stopped at a reasonable distance, likely thanks to his friends.
The martial artists in the village, weapons drawn, stared at Damujin’s group.
So far, they counted nine, including the Twin Spears Elder. Fortunately, some seemed less skilled, which was a small mercy.
‘Four at the peak, four first-rate? Or is it five at the peak?’ Jinhae pondered, just as blood spurted from the necks of two martial artists who seemed to be at the peak.
One’s head was completely severed, and the other’s throat was deeply cut. Both were as good as dead.
Hope blossomed in Jinhae’s chest.
‘We have a chance!’
With Hong Geolgae and Namgung Myeong holding off the Twin Spears Elder, who wielded two spears, Damujin’s group could easily handle the elder with just one spear.
That left the remaining fighters evenly matched or at a disadvantage.
If Damujin and Jinhae combined their efforts, they could handle the remaining first-rate and peak martial artists.
Jinhae deliberately pushed thoughts of the Ghost King aside.
If the Ghost King appeared, they had no chance. But without him, victory was within reach.
He focused on the best-case scenario and gave it his all.
Just as he reached this conclusion, blood spurted again from two more necks among the enemy.
‘When did that happen?’
He saw Damujin retrieving two chakrams.
Damujin’s chakrams were truly extraordinary weapons. To take down four before even engaging properly—was this even possible?
Jinhae felt a chill mixed with a strange exhilaration.
Damujin’s prowess was terrifying, yet incredibly reassuring. To fight alongside such an ally was a privilege.
Just as Hong Geolgae had done before, Jinhae stopped beside Damujin, intending to protect him.
Damujin spoke, “Don’t stay by my side.”
“Someone might target you, Master Damujin!”
“They won’t get close, so don’t worry.”
There was no need to ask why. Jinhae sensed the complex mix of poison surrounding Damujin.
Using poison to keep enemies at bay and chakrams to strike from a distance—a simple yet unparalleled strategy.
Jinhae looked ahead. Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae were attacking the Twin Spears Elder, who was now on the defensive, wielding a single spear to fend off their attacks.
Even with one spear, the elder managed to hold his ground against two attackers. Truly a master at the peak.
Lingering too long might lead to poisoning. Jinhae moved away from Damujin, charging towards the Twin Spears Elder, intent on breaking the delicate balance and subduing him first.
As he neared the elder, a sense of foreboding washed over him.
Turning his head, he saw the Ghost King, smiling broadly.
In that instant, all hope vanished. His heart sank.
The Ghost King spoke, “It’s good to see you again. Ready to receive my gift?”
With a grotesquely large hand, the Ghost King unleashed the Mijong Dae Suin.