As time passed, rumors of an impending large-scale conflict among the martial artists spread like wildfire through the streets of Kaifeng. An unsettling chill seemed to permeate the city’s bustling markets.
An elderly physician approached Tang Mujin with a proposition.
“Master Tang, when the bloodshed among the martial artists begins, could I be of any assistance?”
Tang Mujin regarded the old physician thoughtfully. This man, likely indifferent to the affairs of both the righteous and the unorthodox sects, had only one reason for offering his help: to support Tang Mujin.
The physician’s offer seemed reasonable. His medical skills would undoubtedly be beneficial.
However, Tang Mujin firmly declined.
“While your help would be valuable, it’s not the right choice. Please, return home.”
“Be honest with me. With over a hundred martial artists gathered in Kaifeng, how do you plan to handle this alone?”
“I’m concerned for your safety, sir. You understand the risks.”
”···.”
“If you’re satisfied with your medical achievements, retreat to a place far from this turmoil. If not, seek further knowledge at the Tang family estate. But do not remain in Kaifeng. That’s my sincere wish.”
The old physician sighed softly and turned away.
Most people untrained in martial arts remain untouched by the conflicts of the martial world.
Yet, physicians are one of the few who face danger without wielding martial skills.
The profession of a physician is built on a simple premise: if there’s a patient before you, you must treat them.
Some physicians seek wealth or fame, but even they do not abandon a dying patient. Medicine is a humane art, and thus, physicians are respected.
However, when bloodshed looms, the narrative changes.
Those who threaten physicians wield a logic as straightforward as the physicians’ own: “You saved my enemy, so you must pay with your life.”
Unfortunately, this isn’t just an idle threat. Many physicians have lost their lives to such reasoning.
Ironically, when physicians are most needed, their actions are questioned.
Interestingly, the other group threatened in martial conflicts are blacksmiths. The logic is similar: “Your sword killed my comrade, so you must atone with your life.”
Tang Mujin found this situation rather ironic. After all, he was both a martial artist and a physician, though not a blacksmith.
It seemed fate whispered that no matter which path he chose, he couldn’t escape a life stained with blood.
“Even if I hadn’t met the old master, I would have been entangled in the martial world.”
Encountering the eccentric Yi Chong at twenty was likely a chance bestowed by the heavens, the least painful way to become involved in the martial world.
Thus, Tang Mujin never regretted leaving Chengdu with the eccentric master.
Watching the retreating figures of the physicians, Tang Mujin looked up at the sky. The moon, more than half obscured, had grown thin.
He fiddled with the letter tucked in his sleeve.
[By the next new moon, the warriors of the Namgung Clan will arrive in Kaifeng.]
He envisioned the Namgung warriors rushing to Kaifeng, alongside the righteous warriors from Anhui Province.
But the unorthodox warriors would also be approaching Kaifeng.
Would the Namgung warriors arrive first?
It was uncertain. Tang Mujin rose and vanished into the night.
A few days later, Hwahwa Nogae, who had volunteered for reconnaissance, returned with news.
“The unorthodox warriors are approaching.”
Faces darkened. The Namgung Clan and Anhui warriors had yet to arrive. As feared, the unorthodox warriors were the first to reach Kaifeng.
There was little to be done.
The righteous martial artists prepared to meet the unorthodox warriors outside the city, ensuring ordinary people wouldn’t be caught in the conflict.
Among the righteous was Seolhwa, a strategic choice given the possibility of encountering Baekhyang-a among the enemy ranks.
Namgung Myung climbed a walnut tree to its highest point, spotting the approaching unorthodox warriors in the distance.
“There must be over a hundred of them.”
“Quite a number.”
This wasn’t a war between nations with tens of thousands clashing, but the intensity would rival such battles. Among the two hundred warriors, not one was untrained in martial arts.
Moreover, there would be no second-rate or third-rate fighters. Such individuals wouldn’t withstand a single move from a master. This battle wouldn’t be resolved by sheer numbers.
Hong Geolgae shouted to Namgung Myung.
“The new moon is tomorrow night. When is the Namgung Clan arriving?”
“How should I know? But they should be here soon. It’s about time, given the distance.”
“Are they trying to make a grand entrance at the last possible moment, like some kind of protagonist?”
Hong Geolgae grumbled, but his voice held more anticipation than complaint.
Even if it was at the last moment, he hoped the Namgung warriors would arrive in time.
Namgung Myung chuckled.
“A protagonist, huh? That suits the Namgung Clan well.”
He leapt down from the tree.
With only a day left until the new moon, the night was dimly lit.
The righteous and unorthodox warriors faced each other from a considerable distance.
In the darkness, they could barely make out each other’s forms, but their heightened senses allowed them to detect each other’s presence.
The distance was too great to start a fight immediately.
Manryeokseung expressed his disappointment.
“It seems the Namgung Clan’s support won’t arrive in time. This will be a tough battle.”
Tang Mujin, standing beside him, spoke.
“We’re fine for today. I can buy us a day.”
“Buy us time? How?”
Manryeokseung asked, though it was more of a tacit approval for Tang Mujin to proceed with his plan.
“I have a plan. They’ll likely fall for it.”
Tang Mujin walked forward, gauging the distance to the unorthodox warriors positioned on a distant hill.
“About two hundred jang.”
He checked the wind.
Not bad. As long as it wasn’t blowing against him, it would suffice.
Standing still, Tang Mujin took a deep breath and exhaled.
A faint scent mingled with his breath. An invisible cloud of poison drifted toward the unorthodox warriors.
Tang Mujin continued to measure the distance in his mind.
Fifty jang.
One hundred jang.
One hundred thirty jang.
The others couldn’t tell what Tang Mujin was doing, but sweat beaded on his forehead.
Sending poison over a hundred jang without wind, relying solely on internal energy, was a feat the old Tang Mujin could never have achieved.
He almost wished others could recognize his skill.
One hundred fifty jang.
One hundred seventy jang.
Finally, one hundred eighty jang.
‘This is the limit.’
Exhaustion washed over Tang Mujin, and his head spun. The protective layer around the poison dissipated.
Simultaneously, the fragrant poison, Chujeonghihyang, spread around.
The unorthodox warriors reacted swiftly.
“Poison! Hold your breath!”
They stopped breathing as soon as they detected the scent.
This was possible because Gwangyeomra had anticipated a poison attack.
However, there was one thing Gwangyeomra hadn’t foreseen.
A panicked warrior shouted.
“Holding your breath doesn’t help! It’s seeping through the skin!”
Chujeonghihyang wasn’t limited to entering through the nose or mouth.
It was one of the few poisons Tang Mujin possessed that could penetrate the skin.
The unorthodox warriors were alarmed. How could they avoid such a poison?
But their panic was short-lived.
“···It’s nothing.”
“Yeah, is it even poison?”
True to its unassuming name, Chujeonghihyang merely induced a slight euphoria, akin to mild intoxication.
It didn’t disrupt internal energy flow or threaten lives.
Nor did it burrow into organs or bones, so it was clear to all that it wasn’t a lethal poison.
Yet Gwangyeomra remained cautious.
“It might be a slow-acting poison. Don’t let your guard down. Fall back, detoxify, and then move again.”
Gwangyeomra’s calm response was strategic.
He believed it was the righteous warriors who needed to rush, not them, so there was no need to hurry.
The unorthodox warriors retreated about a hundred jang.
They had been on a low hill with thorny trees, but now they descended to the base.
No matter how skilled Tang Mujin was, he couldn’t send poison that far, especially with the hill as a barrier.
Seeing the unorthodox warriors retreat, Tang Mujin informed Manryeokseung.
“It worked. Even if they move quickly, they won’t approach until tomorrow night. We should rest for now.”
“···You used poison?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t lethal, it seems. Detoxifying should take half a day at most. I doubt we have until tomorrow night.”
“Care to wager? I bet they won’t approach until sunset.”
“···No, I won’t take that bet.”
Manryeokseung wasn’t a fool, and he trusted Dang Mujin, so he couldn’t accept the wager.
The martial artists of the Sapa sect sat cross-legged, each trying to expel the lingering effects of the Chujeonghui incense through meditation and breathing exercises.
But the incense was stubborn. Its mild effects belied a sticky, persistent toxicity that mingled with their internal energy, a hallmark of Chujeonghui.
Though it mixed with their energy, it caused no immediate symptoms. This remained true until the sun rose high in the sky.
As the sun reached its zenith, Gwangyeomra allowed himself to relax a little.
They had spent the night meditating and resting, so they were in peak condition for a fight. In fact, now was the best time for it.
“Prepare your weapons.”
“Yes.”
Just as the Sapa warriors were about to move, a breeze swept down the hill.
Unbeknownst to them, this wind carried the pollen of the thorny Jogeokja tree, unlike any breeze before.
The sun had dried the dew from the Jogeokja flowers, releasing the pollen into the air.
“Ugh!”
The moment they inhaled the pollen, the Sapa warriors began to retch uncontrollably. Gwangyeomra was no exception.
While Chujeonghui incense wasn’t lethal, when mixed with the pollen of the Jogeokja tree, it caused severe nausea and vomiting.
Martial arts begin with breath control, and in the face of such nausea, maintaining steady breathing was nearly impossible.
If a fight broke out now, it would be disastrous. Gwangyeomra quickly ordered a retreat.
“Ugh, fall back, further back!”
He led the retching warriors far away.
The retching continued for quite some time.
As Dang Mujin had predicted, it was only after a full day and another deep night that the Sapa warriors reappeared.
Manryeokseung felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing his judgment had been correct.
Dang Mujin, Manryeokseung, and Hwahwano narrowed their eyes, observing the Sapa warriors.
Though it was a dark, moonless night, their eyes had adjusted enough to make out the figures.
And they noticed something fortunate.
“It seems Gwangyeomra is the only one who looks like a top-tier master. I’m not mistaken, am I?”
“I see the same.”
The number of high-level martial artists on their side was greater.
But the worst-case scenario hadn’t occurred. The orthodox warriors’ biggest fear was a top-tier master from the demonic sect sneaking in.
Each person was lost in thought.
‘Of course, a guardian shouldn’t leave the leader’s side.’
‘They’re probably using the Sapa warriors as bait to weaken us. It’s a reasonable strategy for Gwangyeomra.’
‘That Gwangyeomra, if things go south, he’ll definitely try to escape. We must catch him.’
Dang Mujin fiddled with his flying rings, feeling a thrill in his chest.
On this moonless night, who could dodge a flying ring thrown from the shadows?
‘Perhaps it won’t be Hong Geolgae or Manryeokseung who takes Gwangyeomra’s head, but me.’
The brief standoff ended, and the battle began. The two groups of warriors charged down the gentle hill towards each other.
Hong Geolgae and Manryeokseung went straight for Gwangyeomra. Two top-tier masters from their side against one from the enemy.
Even though the Sapa had more high-level fighters, the two’s choice seemed foolish at first glance, but it was a strategy made possible by Dang Mujin’s presence.
‘A chaotic battle in the dark. This is my element.’
Under these conditions, Dang Mujin was confident he could perform beyond a top-tier master.
With each throw of his flying rings, two enemies would clutch their throats and fall.
Dang Mujin flicked his wrists, and the rings slipped from his sleeves onto his fingers.
He spun the rings lightly, scanning for a target, and spotted a Sapa warrior clashing swords with Hyeongong.
Whether the opponent was first-rate or top-tier didn’t matter. They wouldn’t evade a flying ring in the dark.
With a swift motion, Dang Mujin sent the rings flying. Each ring altered its path, grazing the enemy’s neck.
Like a farmer cutting rice stalks with a sickle, the enemy’s necks were severed with ease.
It felt almost too easy to take lives this way.
Catching the returning rings, he threw them again.
And again, two at a time. Dang Mujin methodically claimed lives without haste.
After taking eight lives, a whisper from an unfamiliar old man reached his ear.
“So you’re the famed Yirong? If anyone asks who sent you to the afterlife, tell them it was Muyounggaek.”
A chill ran down his spine.
To approach so silently and closely, this was no ordinary martial artist.
‘A top-tier master?’
He couldn’t be sure yet. And he might never know before he died.
His mistake was assuming Gwangyeomra was the only threat among the many enemies.
In a split second, Dang Mujin’s mind raced for a way out.
But no solution came to mind. Once caught from behind, it was over.
Determined to struggle even in death, Dang Mujin tensed his body, when a familiar voice spoke from over the old man’s shoulder.
“In that case, tell them you’re Namgungmyeong.”