Chapter 416 of “Tang Moon Chronicles”

As Jang Il-nam approached Nam-ung, the physician tending to Nam-ung’s wounds stepped back slightly, allowing Jang Il-nam to see where Nam-ung was injured.

“So, it’s his side and right arm,” he thought.

Typically, a wound to the side is more dangerous, but fortunately, the bleeding didn’t seem too severe. The physician had already applied a generous amount of healing salve.

Jang Il-nam asked the physician, “How is he?”

“The injuries are not light,” the physician replied, though he had little more to add.

Physicians are skilled in treating internal imbalances and illnesses, but when it comes to cuts or broken bones, their options are limited. They can only apply salves or ensure bones are properly set.

Jang Il-nam crouched beside Nam-ung, assessing the depth of the wound on his waist.

“Judging by the depth… it seems the organs are unharmed. A stroke of luck.”

The arm, however, was a different story. The right elbow was nearly shattered, and from Jang Il-nam’s experience, such injuries rarely healed completely.

Even if Nam-ung survived, he would never wield a sword again. In fact, it was uncertain if he would even regain full use of his right arm.

Jang Il-nam felt a pang of sympathy for Nam-ung but then reconsidered.

”…No, perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that his right arm was injured.”

In the martial world, those who can wield a sword are not left behind. Nam-ung’s inability to hold a sword might have saved his life.

Suddenly, Jang Il-nam felt a wave of self-loathing. Was it right to consider this a blessing?

Nam-ung, unaware of Jang Il-nam’s inner turmoil, spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

As Nam-ung spoke, more blood seeped from his side, but he continued, suppressing his pain.

“I was arrogant. I thought I could handle it.”

Among those who fled to Dongjeong Lake, Jang Il-nam was the strongest. Yet, Tang Mujin had entrusted the group’s protection to Nam-ung, not Jang Il-nam, who had laid down his sword.

Nam-ung was capable of handling most adversaries, being quite skilled even among the elite warriors.

But Jang Il-nam’s heart was a storm of emotions, primarily two: regret and anger. Anger directed both at the intruders and himself.

Could he absolve himself by claiming he trusted Nam-ung with the group’s safety? Could he dismiss the affairs of the martial world as none of his concern, having left that life behind?

These were convenient excuses, but excuses nonetheless.

Excuses only appear after facing unwanted situations.

Jang Il-nam hadn’t anticipated or desired this situation.

He thought, “I’ve been foolish and too complacent.”

Five years had passed since he laid down his sword and lived at the Tang family estate.

Those years were so blissful, the first time he felt truly at peace, that he had grown complacent.

But now, Jang Il-nam realized that as long as he had power, he couldn’t escape responsibility.

It didn’t matter who Tang Mujin assigned responsibility to. The heaviest burden of responsibility comes from within.

Clenching his jaw so tightly he feared his teeth might shatter, Jang Il-nam asked Nam-ung, “Was it the Demon Sect?”

“Yes.”

“When did it happen?”

The physician answered for Nam-ung, “Just past noon, around the transition from the Hour of the Horse to the Hour of the Sheep.”

Jang Il-nam turned westward to see how far the sun had set.

Judging by the sun’s position, it was only around the Hour of the Rooster. Only two hours had passed.

If he had returned just two hours earlier, he might have prevented this tragedy. Or at least, he wouldn’t be filled with such regret.

He asked the physician, “Were there any other casualties?”

“Nam Dae-hyeop is the only one severely injured. But two blacksmiths who resisted were killed.”

The mention of deaths made his heart sink.

Yet, there was also relief. Considering the appearance of the Demon Sect warriors and Nam-ung’s severe injuries, the number of deaths was surprisingly low.

As he pondered this, Jang Il-nam’s face twisted in anguish.

Shameless, Jang Il-nam. How can you take two lives so lightly? Even if you offered your life in atonement, it wouldn’t bring them back.

And the physician wasn’t finished.

“Also… some people were taken.”

“Who?”

“Madam Dan and Miss Tang Young were spared as they were out sightseeing at Dongjeong Lake. But the Elder, Madam Mok, Miss Iryeong, Miss Haewon, two blacksmiths, and Chief Chu were taken. Chief Chu volunteered to go with them.”

Seven people taken. It was hard to breathe.

Of course, the situation wouldn’t have ended with just three casualties.

But one question remained. Why did Chu Sam volunteer to go with the Demon Sect warriors?

Jang Il-nam asked Nam-ung, “How many intruders were there?”

“Five.”

Jang Il-nam understood why Chief Chu Sam volunteered.

“Managing seven hostages with just five intruders would be challenging.”

From the captors’ perspective, more hostages might seem better, as they can exert more influence. But it’s not all advantageous. More hostages mean more complications. Chu Sam sacrificed his safety to buy time.

“Did you see where they went?”

Nam-ung shook his head.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“I see.”

“Master.”

Nam-ung extended his left arm, holding his sword.

He knew how his master had lived and why he had laid down his sword.

But swallowing his shame, Nam-ung offered his sword to Jang Il-nam with his uninjured left arm.

“Master, I’m sorry. And… please.”

In the past five years, Jang Il-nam had only held a sword during practice. He had never thought of using it to harm.

But now was different. If he took this sword, someone would die.

Either him or his opponent.

Yet, Jang Il-nam accepted the sword without hesitation.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.”

With a firm grip on the sword, Jang Il-nam headed outside.

“I am the one who should apologize.”

Jang Il-nam had always lived avoiding people.

Avoiding people doesn’t just mean leaving when they appear.

It means hiding your destination and erasing your traces.

For decades, wandering the martial world, Jang Il-nam had to erase his tracks.

Being adept at erasing his traces meant he knew exactly what traces people left when they moved.

Now, with over ten people, including hostages, he was confident he could track where the Demon Sect warriors had gone.

But as he searched for their trail, he realized he didn’t need sophisticated tracking skills. There were signs of someone dragging their feet lightly.

Many people in the world have difficulty walking. Their footprints differ from those of ordinary people but are consistent.

However, the traces left here were not so regular.

Judging by the stride, every five or six normal steps, there was a drag mark.

“This isn’t from a disability. Someone was deliberately dragging their heel.”

And Jang Il-nam knew who would leave such a trail. Chief Chu Sam.

“He risked his life to leave a sign… He was careful.”

Following the trail left by over ten people and the subtle marks left by Chu Sam, Jang Il-nam moved swiftly, almost as fast as a brisk walk.

His familiarity with the local geography was a significant advantage.

Boys tend to explore every nook and cranny of their village and its surroundings. Jang Il-nam was no exception in his youth.

The trail led to a small forest outside the village.

“Heading southwest out of the village… towards the Sword Reverence Sect?”

It was a place he remembered well.

He had visited it several times in his youth, and it was where his disciples had once suggested establishing their base.

The reason Jang Il-nam and his disciples didn’t settle at the Sword Reverence Sect was simple. The sect members wouldn’t willingly give up their grounds.

Of course, Jang Il-nam’s disciples suggested killing the few sect members and taking over their land and buildings, but Jang Il-nam couldn’t agree to such a proposal.

“But was the Sword Reverence Sect connected to the Demon Sect?”

Jang Il-nam soon arrived at the grounds of the Sword Reverence Sect.

It didn’t take long for Jang Il-nam to understand why the martial artists of the Demonic Cult had chosen this place as their hideout.

The main gate of the Sunggeom Clan was so dilapidated it was on the verge of collapse, and the walls were crumbling in several places, making the place look utterly abandoned. Anyone could see it had been deserted for a long time.

After all, the disappearance of minor martial arts sects was a common occurrence.

Peering through a gap in the broken wall, Jang Il-nam surveyed the interior of the Sunggeom Clan.

The training grounds, neglected for years, were overgrown with weeds as tall as a child, and two buildings stood at a distance on either side of the grounds.

“Two buildings. Which one are they in?”

Quietly parting the overgrown weeds, Jang Il-nam approached the building on the left first.

Instead of rushing inside, he examined the area in front of the door.

”…There are signs of people coming and going.”

On the ground in front of the door, there was a large fan-shaped mark.

Old buildings often have broken hinges. The rusted hinges couldn’t support the door properly, leaving scratches on the ground every time the door opened and closed.

On top of the scratches left by the hinges, there were quite a few footprints.

The hostages were most likely in this building.

Jang Il-nam pressed his ear against the wall of the building and held his breath.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

In the silence, he could hear the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

After a moment of waiting, he heard the low voices of two people inside. Neither voice was familiar to him.

“At least two strangers. One older, one relatively young.”

Though he couldn’t understand their conversation, he gleaned one piece of information.

”…Yes, Ho-beop-nim.”

The older man referred to the younger one as “Ho-beop,” indicating that this person was likely the leader among the Demonic Cult’s martial artists here.

Jang Il-nam continued to listen.

Soon, he heard the whimpering of a young girl, and his ears perked up.

“That’s Iryeong’s voice.”

His heart pounded wildly.

Before Tang Iryeong’s whimpering had even subsided, another familiar voice reached his ears.

“Iryeong, come here.”

It was Mok Wan-ah’s voice, clear and steady, though tinged with an unhidden anxiety. She was trying to maintain her usual calmness, likely to keep her daughter from sensing her fear.

Then, another girl’s voice whined.

“That must be Haewon’s voice.”

The fortunate thing was that neither Tang Iryeong nor Tang Haewon’s voices carried any hint of fear or terror. They just sounded a bit restless and bored.

“It seems nothing terrible has happened yet. At least nothing unsavory has occurred in front of Iryeong and Haewon.”

Could it be that the others were safe as well?

He felt it was likely. If they intended to harm them, they wouldn’t have bothered taking them hostage just two hours ago.

“No, it’s not the time to be optimistic.”

Someone might have been harmed away from the children’s eyes. He was particularly worried about Choo Sam, the head of the medical division.

If there was a sharp and experienced member among the Demonic Cult’s martial artists, they might have noticed the traces Choo Sam left while moving.

The urge to rush into the building and rescue the hostages was overwhelming. But Jang Il-nam knew that would be the most foolish course of action.

“Stay calm, think rationally, and proceed cautiously.”

With a bit of relief, Jang Il-nam slowly retreated and headed toward the building on the opposite side of the training grounds, the one on the right when viewed from the main gate.

He examined the area in front of this building’s door as well. There were signs of the door being opened and closed here too.

Rushing inside would likely cause a commotion and lead to trouble, especially since the old door would make noise.

So, like a small animal, Jang Il-nam quietly leaped onto the roof, pressed his ear against it, and held his breath.

“Two… no, three presences.”

Two men and one woman.

All three voices were unfamiliar.

“They must all be martial artists of the Demonic Cult. It would be nice if someone opened the door for me.”

As he pondered how to handle the situation naturally, Jang Il-nam came up with a suitable plan.

Focusing his inner energy into his right hand, he began tapping the edge of the roof with his fingers.

Lightly, rhythmically, but as quickly as possible.

Tap, tatatatat-

Tap, tatatatatat-

Jang Il-nam mimicked the sound of a woodpecker tapping on wood.

Though a bit slower than a real woodpecker, it wasn’t suspiciously so.

Woodpeckers tend to stay in one spot for hours once they start tapping, and the sound can be quite irritating. People often come out with sticks or tap on the roof to drive them away.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before there was a response.

Thud, thud.

Too lazy to come outside, someone inside tapped on the roof.

Jang Il-nam didn’t stop, continuing to tap the roof’s edge at a steady pace.

Before long, the sound of the door scraping the ground was heard, and it opened.

Creak—

A gruff voice muttered a curse as a man stepped out.

“Damn it…”

The man leaped onto the roof to chase away the woodpecker. For a martial artist of his caliber, jumping onto the roof was a simple task.

But as soon as the roof came into view, he found himself face-to-face with a middle-aged man kneeling with one knee, gripping the hilt of a sword. It was Jang Il-nam.

A supreme martial artist already prepared to draw his sword. The outcome was inevitable.

With a flash of the blade, the man’s head was severed. Instant death, no question about it.

Yet even in death, the man had a task to fulfill. Jang Il-nam pulled the headless body onto the roof.

Inside the house, a middle-aged female martial artist caught the scent of blood.

”…Do you smell blood?”

“I don’t know. I can’t really tell.”

“It’s faint, but it’s there.”

The direction of the scent was odd. How could the smell of blood come from above?

Following her instincts, the woman looked up. A single droplet of liquid was forming on the dim ceiling.

The man beside her followed her gaze and spotted the droplet.

They both stared silently upward. The droplet fell with a soft plop.

Their eyes followed the droplet as it hit the floor, leaving a dark red stain.

It was a puzzling situation. Why would blood be dripping from the roof? Had the woodpecker been crushed or squeezed?

When they looked up again, they realized a middle-aged man they had never seen before was standing beside them. It had happened without them sensing a thing.

Startled, the two martial artists reached for their swords, but the middle-aged man’s left hand clamped over the woman’s mouth, slamming her against the wall.

As her head hit the wall, the man’s right arm blurred, and a white flash appeared at the woman’s throat.

For a martial artist of her caliber, it was a pitifully quick end.

The sole surviving man shouted in terror.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jang Il-nam.”

He hadn’t asked for a name, nor did he know who Jang Il-nam was.

Before he could think of a second question, Jang Il-nam swung his sword horizontally. The martial artist, surprised by his own speed, managed to draw his sword and block the attack.

And then he realized.

The power behind the middle-aged man’s sword wasn’t extraordinary. His inner energy wasn’t overwhelming, nor was his swordplay innovative.

“I can survive this!”

But Jang Il-nam’s true aim wasn’t the sword.

His left fist, with the thumb extended, swung upward, piercing the soft flesh beneath the man’s chin.

Jang Il-nam’s thumb drove through the man’s jaw, severing the root of his tongue and tearing into the soft tissue behind the roof of his mouth.

Though his thumb stopped there, the energy coursing through it surged into the man’s head, turning his brain to mush.

In his final moments, the man thought it was a technique he’d never seen before.

And Jang Il-nam felt the same.

He had never imagined or practiced such an attack.

But practice wasn’t necessary. Jang Il-nam always knew the most efficient way to kill.

The only difference was that he had never acted on it before. This time, he did.

Huffing, Jang Il-nam looked at the bodies of the man and woman who had died without a chance to scream. His hands trembled.

Hundreds had tried to kill Jang Il-nam, but he had only killed six people in his life.

The five who had relentlessly pursued him, driven by vengeance against his master, were particularly ruthless and persistent.

Yet, he had never truly wanted to kill anyone. Circumstances had forced his hand. He killed to survive.

And now, Jang Il-nam had claimed three more lives, bringing the total to nine.

In essence, the circumstances that pushed him to kill remained unchanged.

But today, the people he killed were different from the previous six.

For the first time, Jang Il-nam took lives driven by pure malice and hostility.

He exhaled deeply, trying to calm his trembling heart.

He knew that if he acted carelessly now, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Jang Il-nam moved towards the building on the left side of the training ground.

Two more targets remained.

Leaning against the wall, Jo Eul-hyeon frowned.

The guy who had gone out for a quick bathroom break hadn’t returned, even after a considerable amount of time.

‘What on earth is he doing…?’

They had hostages to manage and needed to return to the main house. Yet, no one was stepping up to prepare meals for over ten people, including the hostages.

‘Are they trying to dump the meal prep on me because I’m young? No, they wouldn’t dare if they were in their right minds.’

Just then, the sound of two children whining reached his ears.

Jo Eul-hyeon wasn’t particularly fond of kids, and the noise only added to his irritation as he got up.

Three had gone into the adjacent building, and one had vanished under the pretense of a bathroom break. All four were infuriatingly absent.

Determined to give them a piece of his mind, Jo Eul-hyeon stepped outside.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the ground.

And there, standing amidst the weeds with the sunset at his back, was a man.

The scent of blood clung to him.

In his left hand, he held a limp body, unmistakably the one who had gone missing earlier.

“Who are you?” Jo Eul-hyeon demanded.

“Jang Il-nam,” the man replied, releasing the body, which hit the ground with a dull thud.

Jo Eul-hyeon muttered the name under his breath.

Jang Il-nam. Yes, he had heard of him.

“The Blood Rain Wanderer,” he murmured.

Jang Il-nam looked exactly as Jo Eul-hyeon had imagined from the stories—a man who brought a storm of blood wherever he went.

The only difference was that he wasn’t wearing the traditional hat Jo Eul-hyeon had pictured.

With the sunset behind him, Jang Il-nam walked steadily towards Jo Eul-hyeon, reintroducing himself.

“No, it’s Jang Il-nam.”