Episode 65: The Madman’s Play

Even in the darkness, the figure in black was clearly visible as he drew his dagger.

But tracking the flying daggers with the naked eye was far more challenging than one might imagine, especially since there was more than one.

Ting—

Dang Mujin swung his sword to deflect the incoming daggers. Although the daggers weren’t particularly fast and luck was on his side, he only managed to deflect two out of the three.

A sharp sting flared up on his upper arm. One of the daggers had grazed him.

A tingling sensation quickly spread through his arm, but the pain subsided almost instantly.

Whatever the poison was, it was potent and fast-acting.

Unlike Dang Mujin, who was grazed by a dagger, Gwai easily deflected all three. He even glanced at Dang Mujin with a sly grin.

While relieved that Gwai was unharmed, Dang Mujin found that grin slightly irritating.

The strength in his tingling left arm began to fade.

Yet, Dang Mujin felt oddly satisfied. Acquiring poison was often more troublesome and exhausting than gathering medicinal herbs. And here he was, getting it for free.

He channeled his inner energy to draw the poison into a single point. The feeling in his left arm returned almost immediately.

The figures in black threw their daggers again.

This time, five out of the six daggers were aimed at Gwai. They seemed to think Dang Mujin was incapacitated by the poison.

Gwai skillfully deflected the flying daggers but allowed one to graze his calf, feigning a stumble with an exaggerated expression of surprise. It was a performance worthy of an award.

“You cowards…!”

Gwai shouted, limping dramatically. Yet, the figures in black still didn’t approach.

Instead, they kept their distance, continuing to throw daggers at Gwai and Dang Mujin.

Both of them accumulated a few more minor wounds. The only difference was that Dang Mujin got hit because he couldn’t dodge, while Gwai got hit on purpose.

Once they had exhausted their supply of daggers, the figures finally approached, their demeanor more like hunters than martial artists.

As the figures in black drew their swords, Gwai and Dang Mujin simultaneously lunged forward, executing the same sword technique: Point.

The precise thrusts pierced the hearts of two figures in black. Even if it had been a different technique, Dang Mujin’s execution was on par with Gwai’s.

”!”

Two fell in an instant, yet the remaining figures in black remained silent, their movements stiffening.

“Surprised the poison didn’t work?”

Dang Mujin shouted confidently, launching into his next technique, Sparrow’s Sting. A swift feint followed by a piercing strike to the neck of a figure in black.

With a gurgling sound, the figure collapsed.

Dang Mujin quickly glanced to his side. Gwai had already claimed his second victim.

With the six figures reduced to two, Dan Seol-young, perched in a tree, shouted down.

“To the east! There’s someone watching without joining the fight!”

Despite the bloody battle unfolding below, Dan Seol-young remained calm, fulfilling her role of keeping watch for Dang Mujin and Gwai.

Gwai shouted back in response.

“Excellent!”

Ignoring the two remaining figures, Gwai dashed toward the east, where Dan Seol-young had indicated.

Dang Mujin prepared to face the two figures alone, but unexpectedly, they leaped toward Gwai instead, clearly targeting him.

In a hurry, Dang Mujin picked up a fallen dagger and threw it at the two figures.

The dagger, imbued with the art of Guiding Strike, hit both figures in the back. They stumbled and then collapsed.

Dang Mujin felt an inexplicable sense of futility.

It was far more effective and convenient to take down the figures with a dagger throw, a skill he had practiced in his spare time, rather than using the sword techniques he had diligently trained in. Of course, it helped that their attention was focused on Gwai.

While Dang Mujin collected the poison-laden daggers scattered around, Gwai returned, dragging the body of the hidden figure from the east.

Suddenly, they had seven corpses on their hands, and the air was thick with the smell of blood.

“Couldn’t you have left one alive?”

“They bit down on a poison capsule before we could catch them. Too late to extract the poison.”

The seven attackers had remained silent to the end, which was unsettling in its own way.

Dang Mujin spoke up.

“Should we head back to Jaewon?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

To Dang Mujin, the person who had hired these assassins was obvious: Baek Chuseo or Baek Hyang-a.

But Gwai wasn’t convinced the client was from the Jaewon Baek family. He knew all too well how many people held grudges against him.

Instead of answering Dang Mujin’s suggestion, Gwai stripped the clothes off one of the figures to inspect the body. A butterfly tattoo was etched on the nape of the neck.

Gwai’s brow furrowed deeply, but in the darkness, with his head lowered, neither Dang Mujin nor Dan Seol-young could see his expression.

After a long moment of contemplation, Gwai shook his head.

“Since we’re this far, it’s better to head to Luoyang. Even these guys won’t dare act up in the city.”

“Couldn’t there be more trouble as soon as we leave Luoyang?”

“I’ll handle that. You and Dan Seol-young wait in Luoyang.”

“Can you manage on your own?”

“It might be impossible for a kid like you, but it’s more than enough for me.”

“You’re something else.”

Gwai’s voice brimmed with confidence.

In Dang Mujin’s experience, whenever Gwai spoke with such assurance, things never went awry.

Like a child who trusts their parents implicitly, Dang Mujin had developed an unwavering faith in Gwai over the past few months.

Wasn’t Gwai a master capable of easily subduing other top martial artists?

“How long will it take?”

“Who knows? I’ll return once the job’s done. In the meantime, take your time in Luoyang and broaden your horizons. Both you and Dan Seol-young would be welcomed as guests anywhere.”

“As guests?”

“Yes.”

Luoyang in Henan Province, along with Chang’an in Shaanxi Province, is one of the largest cities in the central plains.

Luoyang is teeming with people. There are many doctors and patients, blacksmiths, and even more martial artists. Almost every renowned martial sect in the central plains has a presence in Luoyang. Even the Martial Alliance has established itself there.

Medicine, metallurgy, martial arts—there’s no better place to hone these skills than Luoyang, according to Gwai.

“You could join any notable family or sect. You could go to the Luoyang branch of the Huashan Sect or rely on the Sama family. Or you could stay at an inn and showcase your talents. But don’t go to the Luoyang branches of the Wudang or Mount Song sects.”

“Why not those two?”

“Wudang doesn’t accept women, which would be troublesome, and the Mount Song branch has an old building infested with bugs.”

Dang Mujin and Dan Seol-young nodded at the practical reasons.

No one wants to wake up to find a centipede crawling nearby.

Gwai then pulled out a book from his robe and handed it to Dang Mujin. It was a medical text he had written while they were repairing the wooden dummy at the Shaolin Temple.

“Of course, I’m not telling you to just laze around. Learn everything in this book by the time I return.”

“Piece of cake.”

Dang Mujin replied confidently, and Gwai continued with a satisfied expression.

“And just so you know, I might take care of some personal matters before returning to Luoyang.”

“What kind of matters?”

“Personal matters. If I’m delayed, leave Luoyang and head to Huizhou in Gansu Province. There, you’ll find an unusually large walnut tree. I’ll hide two medical texts under it. Learn those as well, and you’ll be able to call yourself the best doctor in the central plains.”

The thought of becoming the best doctor filled Dang Mujin with excitement. What a beautiful prospect. And knowing Gwai, it wasn’t just empty talk.

Yet, at the same time, something about Gwai’s words seemed off to Dang Mujin.

From the way he handed over the book to the way he spoke of the distant future, it felt like a farewell.

Even though there was no one around who shouldn’t overhear, Dang Mujin found himself lowering his voice.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Gwai responded with an incredulous look.

“Do you think I’m your nanny? There are plenty of things I’ve put off dealing with since we left Sichuan.”

“Just make sure you finish quickly and come back.”

“Anyone would think I’m leaving right now. I’ll rest a bit before I go.”

“Sure, do as you please.”

“Don’t wake up and cry because I’m gone.”

“I hear a decoction of rhubarb and mirabilite is good for patients who talk nonsense.”

The group moved the seven bodies far away and lay down to rest.

The scent of blood lingered faintly in the air, but soon it was overpowered by the smell of grass.

The three of them chatted idly under the stars, exchanging small talk about this and that.

Their conversation was lighthearted. They discussed the culinary skills of an inn they had visited a few days ago, the things they wanted to do once they returned to Sichuan, and the amusing habits of a woman from their neighborhood.

It was Dan Seol-young’s voice that faded first, followed by Tang Mu-jin’s. Finally, Gwi-ui fell silent as well.

After a long pause, Gwi-ui sat up amidst the loud chorus of insects.

He recalled the butterfly tattoo he had seen earlier—a mark of the Salmak.

The Salmak were on a different level compared to the small-time Black Wolf Clan they had encountered recently.

Their infamy was such that even the most reckless young warriors wouldn’t dare provoke them.

The Salmak were large, cunning, and organized, always ensuring they had non-combat personnel in place. Although they had only sent minor operatives this time, they had plenty of skilled assassins at their disposal.

“Will the Salmak come after us again?”

He wasn’t sure. There had been times in the past when the Salmak had tested Gwi-ui and then retreated.

But there was no guarantee they would back off this time.

Gwi-ui was uneasy about that possibility.

To leave behind a successor free from the tangled web of his own grudges, Gwi-ui had refrained from forming a master-disciple bond with Tang Mu-jin.

Allowing a vendetta to form between the Salmak and Tang Mu-jin now would be unthinkable.

Tang Mu-jin had to survive and fulfill Gwi-ui’s dreams.

“At least it seems the Salmak aren’t targeting those two,” he thought with relief.

Gwi-ui touched the spot where he had been lying. He felt a faint warmth and a subtle poison emanating from it, an unintended byproduct of his condition.

It was a sign that his body was nearing its limits. The reckless cultivation of poison from his youth, without the aid of proper elixirs, was taking its toll.

At best, he had three years left.

Not a long time.

But more than enough to finish what he needed to do.

Gwi-ui quietly rose to his feet. He gazed at Tang Mu-jin and Dan Seol-young for a long time, reminiscing.

He thought of the young doctor he met in a remote village in Sichuan.

He remembered the old beggar and the young beggar he encountered in Jueul Village.

He recalled the rainy streets of Chongqing, the fool who had stolen Tang Mu-jin’s sword, and the wooden dummies of the Shaolin Temple.

And he remembered Manryeokseung, who had anxiously asked if he had done the deed.

Gwi-ui smiled.

Yes, my old friend. The time has come to do what I have postponed.

The past few months have been quite enjoyable.

Not since my wife and daughter died of illness thirty years ago have I felt such joy.

But just as sorrow and pain have their end, so too must joy.

Gwi-ui quietly left the scene.

At the tail end of autumn, a madman’s game of make-believe came to an end.