Chapter 28

Once a person attained a high level of martial arts proficiency, most poisons became ineffective. While one may not have been completely immune to all toxins, they could withstand several non-lethal poisons without any adverse effects.

The situation defied all logic.

Baek Ho-cheol was a man of immense physical fortitude, a master who had tempered both his internal techniques and his external martial arts—favoring the overwhelming power of the heavy sword.

The idea that a man of his caliber could be laid low by a mere paralyzing powder was preposterous.

“It smells as though mandrake was mixed with several other agents,” Nan Wi-jeong murmured, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the fallen bandits. “The real question is who administered it, and how. Regardless, we don’t have time to stand around gawking. Everyone, snap to it!”

Nan Wi-jeong clapped his hands sharply, drawing the scattered attention of the group back to the task at hand.

“We are in the Qinling Mountains, a place where strange and miraculous things are known to happen,” he announced, his voice carrying a practiced charisma. “It seems a passing divine beast or a hidden eccentric has seen fit to grant us their protection. Let us be deeply grateful and focus on our duties! This is a rare opportunity; we cannot afford to be idle if these thugs begin to wake.”

His words acted like a splash of cold water.

The warriors sheathed their blades, while the porters nodded, their faces reflecting a mix of dazed relief and newfound purpose. Nan Wi-jeong continued with crisp, efficient commands.

“Warriors, split into two groups. One half will maintain a perimeter watch; the other will secure these men with proper restraints. Porters, gather as many of the discarded weapons as you can carry. Once we reach Angang, the proceeds from selling that scrap iron will be yours to spend on a well-earned rest!”

The bandits’ weapons were crude and ill-maintained, but they were still made of iron. Six pounds of scrap metal was worth a considerable amount of copper cash—enough to fund a night of luxury for a common laborer.

At the mention of such a windfall, the gloom on the porters’ faces vanished, replaced by eager smiles.

With the caravan moving in a flurry of productive activity, the aftermath was cleared with surprising speed. Having coordinated the cleanup with remarkable tact, Nan Wi-jeong turned his attention to Guyang Seon.

“Great Hero Gu, you have my deepest thanks. It was your courageous stand that prevented us from suffering a total catastrophe.”

“Ah… pardon?” Guyang Seon blinked, his mind still reeling from the sudden turn of events. He shook his head vigorously. “No, no. I did absolutely nothing. I was… useless.”

He spoke with genuine shame. To his own eyes, he had been nothing but an indecisive fool, tossed about by the whims of a superior opponent. But Nan Wi-jeong merely bowed his head with unwavering respect.

“We are but a humble merchant guild from Sichuan, yet we shall never forget this ‘assistance’ from Mount Hua. Thank you once again for protecting my people.”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t—” Guyang Seon started, his face reddening with awkwardness. He quickly changed the subject to escape the praise. “Shouldn’t we secure that bandit leader as well? If he regains his senses, he’ll likely break through ordinary restraints. What is your plan for him?”

“It so happens that among our recently purchased supplies, we have wire-woven cord and a potent energy-dispersing poison,” Nan Wi-jeong replied. “However, even that may not be sufficient. I would ask you, Great Hero, to seal his pressure points across his upper body—leaving his legs free. We cannot very well carry a man of his size over the mountains.”

A silk-trading guild purchased iron-wire cord and energy-dispersing poison?

A flicker of doubt crossed Guyang Seon’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it, figuring a direct affiliate of the Tang Clan might carry such specialized gear. He wasn’t the type to overanalyze or poke into the secrets of others.

Taking the iron rope and a small vial from Nan Wi-jeong, Guyang Seon retrieved his discarded sword and trudged toward the paralyzed Baek Ho-cheol. Watching him go, Nan Wi-jeong turned away, his expression unreadable.

While those who had been fighting Ho-cheol might not have noticed where the master’s final gaze had landed, Nan Wi-jeong—observing from a safe distance—had seen it clearly. He knew exactly who that Peak-level master had been staring at with eyes filled with such visceral, unadulterated terror.

***

[Master, was this your doing?]

The voice reached Cho Yoon’s mind via Voice Transmission, a private inquiry meant only for his ears.

Cho Yoon stole a glance downward. Cheon-oh was looking up at him, his obsidian eyes shimmering with an unidentifiable light—perhaps admiration, perhaps a burgeoning sense of pride.

“…”

Unable to find a suitable answer to that expectant gaze, Cho Yoon simply patted the boy’s head before turning his attention to the siblings huddling behind him.

“Sa-yeong, Sa-hyeon. Are you hurt?”

“We’re fine, Master,” Sa-yeong replied, her voice remarkably steady.

“Yes… we’re okay,” Sa-hyeon added.

The two children moved off to help with the cleanup, leaving Cho Yoon standing in a state of quiet bewilderment.

How are they so… calm? Is it just incredible mental fortitude?

There had been no fatalities and no major injuries among their group, but it had still been a raw, violent skirmish. The air had been thick with the screams of the wounded and the palpable killing intent of the bandits.

It should have been their first experience with such brutality, yet the children showed no signs of shock or trauma. He could understand it from Cheon-oh, given his nature, but for Sa-yeong and Sa-hyeon to be so unfazed was unsettling.

Is it because they’re ‘Wuxia world kids’? Or have they seen this before? I remember they were caught in a martial arts fight back at the inn when I first found them… I was so worried they’d be scarred, but I suppose if they’re fine, it’s for the best.

Regardless of the reason, children often carried secrets their guardians never fully grasped. As long as it wasn’t anything truly malevolent, Cho Yoon decided it was better to let them be.

As he moved to help with the caravan’s recovery, Nan Wi-jeong approached him.

“Cho Guyang Seon-hyungnim, are you alright? And the children?”

“We are all unharmed,” Cho Yoon replied. “Your escort warriors proved themselves to be quite capable.”

“They are talents I have personally cultivated over the last twenty years. I could not afford to lose such men in a place like this.”

It was a strange phrasing, but Cho Yoon merely watched the warriors efficiently binding the bandits before asking a pointed question. “What do you intend to do with the bandit leader?”

“We have secured him. Fortunately, we have high-quality energy-dispersing poison and iron-wire cord on hand.”

“Will you be handing him over to the authorities in Angang?”

“No.”

Nan Wi-jeong’s noble features twisted into a smile—one that looked more like a jagged crack than an expression of joy. The darkness of his true intent was briefly, Starkly visible. But by the time Cho Yoon looked again, the merchant’s expression was once more a mask of polite professionalism.

“He harmed the people of Sichuan. He will face his judgment in Sichuan.”

“Bringing a man like that over two mountain ranges will be difficult,” Cho Yoon noted.

“We only need the leader. As for the others, we will leave them bound here and release them once we are clear. It took us half a day to reach this height; if they scramble down the mountain with enough effort, they may find help.”

It was a cold, efficient calculation. Cho Yoon could only imagine the sight of a group of bandits trying to navigate a mountain path with their arms bound behind their backs.

With their preparations complete, Nan Wi-jeong returned to the vanguard to organize the formation. The caravan began to move again, the frantic energy of the battle settling into a somber, determined march.

And in the midst of it all, Baek Ho-cheol, being dragged along in a daze, finally opened his eyes.

***

As a pillar of the unorthodox world, Baek Ho-cheol, the King of the Green Forests, was legendary for his external martial arts. Rumor had it he had once slain a lightning tiger—a mystical beast—with his bare hands. Most blades and spears could not even scratch his skin.

Even with his internal energy scattered by poison, the decades of effort he had poured into every muscle fiber had not vanished.

A master of the Peak realm specializing in external arts could usually handle a dozen grown men with raw physical strength alone.

Yet, Baek Ho-cheol was currently marching forward on his own two feet, his arms and wrists bound tight, acting as a submissive prisoner.

It wasn’t the five warriors guarding him that kept him in line. The thing that had turned the feral king into a gentle lamb was a voice whispering directly into his ear.

[Do not look back needlessly. Do not speak a single word.]

The voice, heard only by him, was smooth and tranquil—a sharp, terrifying contrast to the blood-chilling warning it delivered. Ho-cheol clenched his bound fists and swallowed hard.

[Do not attempt a futile resistance. Simply walk.]

If it had been a mere master of poison, he wouldn’t be trembling like this. Ho-cheol took immense pride in his indestructible physique. But now, he was utterly paralyzed by fear.

I don’t understand.

He didn’t know how he had been poisoned, or even what the toxin was. He simply could not fathom it. He had been laid low like a common insect by a substance he couldn’t identify, delivered through a path he couldn’t trace.

He suspected it might have been a powder carried on that strange wind, or perhaps smoke from a burnt herb, but even that defied his understanding of the world. There was no such thing as a powder that didn’t irritate the nose or a smoke that lacked a scent.

And as long as he remained ignorant of how he had been compromised, he dared not rebel against a master who could poison him from a distance without effort.

He felt the suspicious gaze of the Mount Hua brat behind him. The boy seemed bewildered that Ho-cheol, a man who should have been raging and struggling, was walking so peacefully.

If not for that cowardly bastard and his poison, I would have slaughtered this entire caravan by now.

It was a humiliating absurdity. The King of the Green Forests, sovereign of seventy-two forts, was being led like a dog by a pack of lowly merchant guards. He couldn’t stomach the arrogance of the brat who had been at his mercy moments ago, nor could he accept the indignity of being forced to walk rather than ride in a carriage or on horseback.

What would the people say when he entered Angang in chains? And then there was Sichuan! The Daba Mountains he would have to cross to reach it were home to…!

With every step, the shame pierced his heart like a dagger. To a man of his pride, this level of disgrace was a command to bite his tongue and die.

However…

This will be over soon.

Ho-cheol bared his yellowed teeth in a silent, predatory grin. In the shadow of the march, no one noticed his expression.

It’s actually for the best if I’m forced to stay silent. And they won’t be able to hand me over like this.

He only needed to endure for a little while longer. If he stayed still, those who were desperate to extract him would find a way to act.

The sun, once high in the sky, began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the earth. The treacherous mountain path gradually widened and leveled out.

Far below, at the end of the descending trail, the lights of a city began to twinkle in the gathering dusk.

It was the outskirts of Angang.