By day, Luoyang was a city caught in a perpetual, breathless rush. Since ancient times, it had been an indispensable center of politics, economy, and culture on the continent. In this era, it stood as the heart of a vast distribution network that encompassed the entire northern inland region. The Grand Canal, flowing from the Yellow River, was one of the primary reasons Luoyang had swelled into a sprawling metropolis of millions, and the volume of goods that flowed in and out of its gates was beyond imagination. It was so vibrant that it was not uncommon to see the foreign faces of Semu merchants[1] who had taken an interest in the riches of the Central Plains.

Yet even in this place, teeming with all manner of exotic goods and merchants of every stripe, one group managed to draw the eyes of all who passed by: Yeon So-hyeon’s party.

“Oh! Is that not a truly beautiful maiden?!” a Semu merchant exclaimed in clumsy local dialect, his eyes fixed on Jeong-ah. The native merchant beside him quickly tugged on his sleeve.

“You fool! Where are you pointing?”

“What is the matter?” the Semu merchant asked, bewildered. The native merchant jutted his chin discreetly toward the man walking behind Jeong-ah.

“Don’t you see the guard? He’s from the Sword Clan of Luoyang.”

The moment the words ‘Sword Clan of Luoyang’ were heard, the Semu merchant snatched his finger back. “…That Sword Clan of Luoyang?”

“Yes, that Sword Clan of Luoyang.”

The merchant’s reaction was only natural. From the first moment a foreigner set foot in the northern inland region, one of the most frequently heard warnings concerned the Sword Clan of Luoyang. Though Jeong-ah was attended by only a single man in a lowly guard’s uniform, for that reason alone, she did not receive a single unwanted advance. For that same reason, a path naturally opened for them wherever they went.

“Hmm. I have some other business to attend to, so I will rejoin you later.”

At Yeon So-hyeon’s words, the Gatekeeper moved to block his path. “What are you talking about? Surely you don’t intend to leave me, your escort, behind?”

Yeon So-hyeon looked at him as if he were spouting nonsense. “Of course I’m leaving you. You just make sure to protect Jeong-ah.”

The Gatekeeper pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. “What kind of ridiculous… Huh? Wait, what?!”

In the brief moment he had closed his eyes in exasperation, Yeon So-hyeon had vanished.

“The Young Master went that way!”

The Gatekeeper shot off in the direction Jeong-ah was pointing.

“Ooh! A martial artist!”

“That’s lightness skill!”

Cries of admiration erupted from the crowd, but he paid them no mind, landing lightly on the roof of a four-story building. He immediately channeled power to his eyes, his gaze sweeping the surroundings, but he could not see so much as a shadow of the Grand Young Master.

“What in the…?”

It was enough to make a ghost weep. He had been constantly circulating his internal energy for the express purpose of escorting him, yet this Grand Young Master had vanished from right under his nose without a single trace. A storm of doubts about the true identity of the man called the Swordless One surged within him, but now was not the time.

Should I report this first?

But where would he even report it? And even if he could, it would undoubtedly become a problem. Considering the clan’s attitude toward the Grand Young Master, it was obvious that he would be the one to bear the primary responsibility.

“Damnation…!”

Muttering a curse, he returned to Jeong-ah’s side in a single bound. “Handmaiden. My apologies, but it seems you will have to see to your business alone. I must find the Grand Young Master as soon as possible…”

Before his words were even finished, Jeong-ah nodded. “I can protect myself, so do not worry. Please, see to the Young Master.”

The Gatekeeper was taken aback by her calm demeanor. “Are you not worried in the slightest?”

Jeong-ah gave a faint smile and shook her head. “For some reason, I cannot imagine any harm ever befalling him.”

“…I suppose you have a point.”

In truth, the Gatekeeper felt much the same. If he had truly believed the Grand Young Master was in danger, he wouldn’t be standing here having a leisurely conversation with her. The moment he had realized he’d completely lost him, he would have fired the emergency signal flare in his robes, regardless of the consequences.

“Nevertheless, I will continue the search.”

“I will see you later, then.”

Before her parting words had even finished, his form vanished. Jeong-ah simply shrugged and continued on her way.

***

In a secluded street in a far corner of Luoyang, the surrounding buildings cast deep, foreboding shadows. It was a back alley that ordinary folk would not dare approach. The old tattooist who had set up shop here was a retiree from the Unorthodox Path, and he was infamous for his cantankerous and foul temper.

Today, however, he was being exceptionally cautious.

Seated comfortably in the chair was a man of truly colossal build. His frame alone was extraordinary, and it was layered with such thick muscle that he looked less like a man and more like a bull sitting in a chair. The finishing touch on his terrifying appearance was the multitude of large and small skull tattoos that covered his massive body. The tattooist was in the process of inking a new skull, but the number of dark skulls already etched into his skin had to be well over a hundred.

But what was even more astonishing was that the man was enjoying a nap while receiving the tattoo. A nap, while his living flesh was being repeatedly pierced by a needle.

“Hmphm.”

After a small, deliberate cough, the old tattooist put down his needle and held up a metal mirror to his client’s face. “Is it to your liking?”

The man, who had been relaxing with a hot towel over his face, lifted it slightly to peer at the mirror. The fierce glint in his eyes was like burning coal, and the hand that held the towel was a mass of scars and calluses.

“Good. Next.” He covered his face again and leaned back deeply into the chair. “Yes, I will continue.”

Sighing in relief, the tattooist began to prepare for the next skull. Meanwhile, the man, enjoying the comfortable chair, the hot towel, and the warmth from the brazier, began to doze off again. The tattooist clicked his tongue inwardly. As he thought, these martial artists were truly a different breed of human.

Just as the tattooist picked up his needle again— “—!” Someone silently clamped a hand over his mouth from behind. The tattooist reflexively tried to resist, but the sight of a gleaming blade at his throat made him raise both hands to signal his surrender. Another man appeared and pressed a finger to his lips. He was not large, but lean, the muscles on his exposed arms grotesquely defined, and his eyes were as sharp as daggers.

‘Assassins…!’

Reading the situation instantly from their actions and appearance, the old tattooist, a veteran of the Unorthodox Path himself, decided to cooperate meekly. He nodded slowly and allowed the assassin holding him to lead him backward. As he retreated, two more assassins entered through the doorway. With blades held in their teeth, they paid him no mind, their steps utterly silent as they advanced into the small shop.

“…”

In an instant, the number of people in the cramped shop had more than doubled, yet they made no sound, gave off no presence. Their target was clear. Two of the assassins took up positions to strike the bull-like man, their raised blades gleaming with a cold, blue light.

“—!”

There was not even a battle cry. The two blades flashed toward his vital points in perfect unison.

CRACK!

The tattooist, watching the scene, could not believe his eyes. The man, who had been sound asleep, had caught both descending blades with his bare hands.

“Heok…!”

Before the tattooist could even gasp, the two assassins who had attacked the man were sent flying into opposite walls. The one on the left had his ribcage caved in; the one on the right, his jaw pulverized. They were killed instantly. And the giant, who was now on his feet, was so tall his head nearly brushed the ceiling. In his outstretched hands, he still held the two swords. Blood dripped from his clenched fists, running down his forearms and spattering onto the floor.

“Hehehehe.”

A deep, guttural laugh fitting his immense size filled the room. “You can hide your presence, you can hide your killing intent, but you cannot hide the sharp edge of a blade.”

The man looked down at the remaining assassins with eyes roiling with killing intent. “…Kill him!”

The last two assassins charged from the front. “Heh.”

With a short sneer, the giant spun the blades in his hands, gripping them properly. It seemed like a mere flourish, but by the time the motion was complete, the assassins’ swords were already inches from his nose.

But—

The blades in the giant’s hands flashed.

One sword pierced an assassin’s stomach and burst out through his mouth. The other drove into the second assassin’s shoulder and exited through his opposite side. The assassins’ blades had been upon him, yet he, who had moved later, was unscathed, while they collapsed to the floor in pieces. He had moved later, but he was faster. He had moved only his arms, but he was stronger.

“This is the difference between a martial artist and insects like you. Do you understand?”

The giant casually tossed the swords aside and dragged a toppled chair over to sit. Then, covered in blood and viscera, he spoke to the frozen old tattooist. “Hey, I’m going to need you to add four more skulls.”

“Y-Yes! Yes!”

The tattooist scrambled to his feet and, with trembling hands, began to prepare his tools again.

“Well now, looks like you’ve been busy, little brother.”

A head poked into the shop. It was a man nearly identical in size and appearance to the one in the chair. The only difference was the placement of their scars and tattoos.

“Yo, brother. You came. Had a little fun while you were gone.”

“Good work. That aside…” He scratched his messy beard. “In the end, we couldn’t find that mask artisan. The guys who went to grab him are gone too.”

The man in the chair snorted. “Told you not to trust those outsourced bastards.”

The man outside smacked his lips. “Still, our boys took care of the artisan’s family, right?”

The man in the chair shrugged. “From what I heard, they were only supposed to rough them up, but they accidentally killed them all.”

“Hah. Those hot-blooded punks.”

“Our Black Bone Faction boys do tend to be a bit hot-blooded. We’re a bit like that too, eh? Hehe.”

The man standing outside shook his head and spoke. “But there’s something that’s bothering me. I heard a strange story from the boys in charge of that area.”

“What is it?”

The man frowned, as if he found it strange himself. “They’re saying that the mask artisan’s shop is open for business as usual.”

The man who had been lounging in the chair shot to his feet. “What? It wasn’t that artisan bastard?”

“Nah, the boys said it wasn’t him.”

“Then who?”

“Well, it’s probably…” The man tried to recall what he had been told. “…they said it was some pale-faced, scholar-looking punk.”