The Woo Sword Vies for Supremacy
The Red Tide Faction was one of the Seven Great Water Gates, with its base in the upper-to-middle reaches of the Yangtze River.
It had carved out its territory firmly between the Wind Forest Stronghold in the uppermost reaches of the Yangtze and the Heavenly Truth Escort Bureau in the lower-to-middle reaches.
This was the first time even Woo Geom-san had seen a Red Tide Faction Cloud Horse river ferry.
Woo Manor's territory, situated where the lower Yangtze and the Grand Canal intersected, was in an entirely different region.
The Red Tide Faction's origins set it apart from other martial arts sects.
It had formed naturally when fishermen and sailors banded together to protect their rights and safety.
Over time, martial artists joined their ranks, and the faction's power grew—but its roots in seafaring folk never changed.
Because many of its members came from the lowest social classes, others tended to look down on them. But that did not mean the faction was weak enough to be dismissed. No—they were strong.
When the boatmen's characteristic rough temperament and tenacity were combined with martial arts training, the Red Tide Faction became a formidable force that no other power could easily provoke.
At the very least, in the upper-to-middle reaches of the Yangtze, no force existed that could threaten the Red Tide Faction.
Even river pirates dared not attack ships bearing their flag.
Because of that, unless circumstances were extraordinary, vessels operated by the Red Tide Faction did not carry martial artists. Their ordinary crew was confident enough to defend any ship on its own.
Woo Geom-san and Baek Ho-yang bought their tickets and boarded.
Passengers who had boarded earlier sat here and there across the deck.
Among them, a group in particular caught the eye.
"Who are they?"
Woo Geom-san furrowed his brow slightly.
He had already seen them once before.
Baek Ho-yang said.
"The ones we saw on the smithy street."
They were the ones who had brought five carts and purchased over a thousand weapons.
On the deck, several dozen more men who appeared to be their companions were present as well.
Every one of them radiated a lethal aura, and their sharp eyes raked over everyone who boarded.
"Their eyes are savage."
"Every one of them carries killing intent. These are no ordinary martial artists."
At the level Baek Ho-yang had reached, he could gauge a person's caliber from a single glance.
That intense gleam in the eyes, well-developed muscle, and the naturally emanating air of menace were not things any run-of-the-mill martial artist could possess.
Only martial artists who had crossed the border between life and death on multiple occasions could exude that kind of aura so naturally.
Passengers who had boarded without knowing better flinched at the martial artists' forbidding presence and quietly retreated to the far corners.
Curious as they were about the martial artists' identity, no one particularly wanted to be near them.
Woo Geom-san and Baek Ho-yang quietly made their way to the opposite side of the deck.
Baek Ho-yang said.
"Since we are aboard, rest easy until we disembark."
"Yes!"
Woo Geom-san answered and sat down on the deck.
The moment he was seated, he pulled out his needle and thread.
He practiced threading the needle without the slightest concern for the stares of those around him.
Throughout the journey here, he had practiced threading the needle every single day without fail, yet he had never once succeeded.
Even so, Woo Geom-san was not discouraged.
He had not yet succeeded, true, but he could feel his finger movements growing a little smoother with each passing day.
He moistened the tip of the thread, concentrated his mind, and brought it to the needle's eye. But once again, the attempt failed.
The ship was rocking and the wind blowing, whipping the slender thread mercilessly.
Even as the Cloud Horse river ferry, now fully loaded with passengers and cargo, pulled away from the dock, Woo Geom-san kept trying without pause.
The sight of a young man sitting on a ship and trying to thread a needle drew considerable attention. But after watching him fail repeatedly, the onlookers lost interest and returned to their seats.
There was a brief commotion, but Woo Geom-san's concentration did not waver in the least.
Whether people chattered nearby or not, he paid no mind and focused solely on threading the needle.
Baek Ho-yang stayed beside him, keeping watch.
Just then, the door to the cabin opened and a group of men stepped onto the deck.
"Hm!"
Baek Ho-yang's expression turned intrigued at the sight of the man leading them.
The man wore a pitch-black martial arts uniform and a hero's headband bearing a pitch-black plum blossom design. His gaze and bearing were anything but ordinary.
His eyes, which seemed capable of piercing through all things, held a formidable power.
In those eyes, Baek Ho-yang read an enormous ambition.
The man glared straight ahead with the kind of gaze that would not be satisfied until it had devoured everything in the world.
The demeanor and bearing of the martial artists following him were equally formidable.
One man in particular stood out from the rest—a martial artist dressed in white. He was a head taller than everyone else, with fists as big as pot lids that left a striking impression. Those massive fists were covered in scars, clear proof of long years of training.
The eyes of the white-clad man were gentle, unlike those of the black-clad man—yet he did not look weak in the slightest.
They headed toward the men who had purchased weapons on the smithy street.
'They must be traveling together.'
No wonder their auras had seemed similar.
Baek Ho-yang soon put them out of mind.
The man in the black plum blossom headband was somewhat concerning, but he had nothing to do with Baek Ho-yang, after all.
A fleeting connection, nothing more.
If he intended to remain active in the martial world, he would naturally have to pay attention. But once he departed with Woo Geom-san, he would never return.
This was his first and last journey through the martial world.
That single journey and its battles had left his mind and body ravaged.
He would never venture into the martial world again for the rest of his days.
'Come to think of it, I am rather frail. I had always believed my mental fortitude was second to none, but that was just arrogance.'
Baek Ho-yang gazed out at the river with a rueful smile.
The Cloud Horse river ferry, fully loaded with passengers and cargo, was already moving along the river.
As he stared blankly at the water, he sensed someone approaching.
He raised his head and saw the men who had just emerged from the cabin.
The man in the black hero's headband and the large man in white.
They offered Baek Ho-yang a clasped hands greeting.
"This junior, Gwak Pung, pays his respects to a senior of the martial world."
"This junior, Ha Baek-jin, pays his respects."
At their sudden greeting, Baek Ho-yang furrowed his brow slightly and spoke.
"Do you know me?"
"I once saw you with Great Master Hye-gong on Mount Taemo."
At the words of Gwak Pung, the man in the black hero's headband, Baek Ho-yang's brow creased.
Mount Taemo was where the Heavenly Mandate Society's stronghold had been.
It was there that the elite of the Nine Great Sects had fought their decisive battle against the Heavenly Mandate Society.
That Gwak Pung had been at Mount Taemo meant he was from one of the Nine Great Sects.
Baek Ho-yang's gaze settled on the black hero's headband wrapped around Gwak Pung's forehead.
More precisely, on the black plum blossom embroidered upon it.
"You are from the Mount Hua Sect?"
"A lay disciple of the Mount Hua Sect."
"If you went to Mount Taemo, you must have been a promising talent within Mount Hua. But why is the plum blossom black? Mount Hua's symbol is the white plum blossom."
"The Mount Hua Sect went into seclusion not long ago."
"Oh dear."
Baek Ho-yang could not help but look pained at Gwak Pung's answer.
The Nine Great Sects had suffered catastrophic losses in the war against the Heavenly Mandate Society.
The future generations who were to lead each sect had been all but annihilated.
Recovering from such damage within a generation or two was impossible. To properly raise new disciples, each sect would need to close its gates for several decades at the very least.
For the survival of their sects, seclusion was an unavoidable choice.
The Mount Hua Sect, Gwak Pung's school, had suffered especially severe losses. The consensus was that they would need to remain in seclusion for at least a hundred years.
Gwak Pung had embroidered the black plum blossom on his headband in mourning for the secluded Mount Hua Sect.
The Mount Hua Sect had not been completely destroyed, but to him, it was as good as dead.
That was how devastating the blow of seclusion had been.
Baek Ho-yang's gaze turned to Ha Baek-jin, the man in white.
"Are you from one of the Nine Great Sects as well?"
"I am a lay disciple of Shaolin. I also received teachings from Master-Uncle Hye-gong."
"Ah, so that is how you recognized me. It is good to meet you. My name is Baek Ho-yang."
Baek Ho-yang revealed his name.
During his participation in the battle against the Heavenly Mandate Society, he had thoroughly concealed his identity. Because of that, even those who had seen his face did not know his true identity or name.
They could only speculate that anyone personally invited by the highly esteemed Great Master Hye-gong must be a figure of extraordinary stature.
Both Gwak Pung and Ha Baek-jin had participated in the war against the Heavenly Mandate Society and distinguished themselves greatly. But the sector in which they had fought was far removed from where the Society Leader had been, so they had not witnessed Baek Ho-yang in combat. Thus, they knew neither his true identity nor his martial prowess.
"Shaolin must have gone into seclusion as well?"
"Yes. They have entered an indefinite seclusion."
"A regrettable thing."
"What can be done? They fought for the greater good and met that fate. If anything, it should be thought of with honor."
When the Nine Great Sects went into seclusion, those left adrift were lay disciples like Gwak Pung and Ha Baek-jin.
The Nine Great Sects had produced countless lay disciples, and those disciples had put down deep roots throughout the martial world.
Those who had already established themselves would face no difficulties, but for lay disciples in uncertain positions like Gwak Pung and Ha Baek-jin, the road ahead was nothing but treacherous.
Baek Ho-yang asked Gwak Pung.
"Then are all those men with you also lay disciples of the Nine Sects?"
"Most of them are. With no way to make a living on our own, we banded together under my lead and have been doing escort work."
"Escort work?"
"Yes. Guarding trading companies on long journeys. Right now, we are protecting the Silver River Trading Company."
The Silver River Trading Company was a very large merchant house that dealt in a wide variety of goods. Chief among them were weapons.
They bought cheap, high-quality weapons and resold them at a premium for great profit.
Pursuing profit to the utmost extreme, they chose to hire outside hands to protect their shipments rather than maintain their own escort force.
It was far less expensive that way.
"That must be a hard life."
"Even so, there is much to learn. Working with the Silver River Trading Company has taught me a great deal about how the world works."
"Has it?"
"When I was training in martial arts at the Mount Hua Sect, I assumed that strong martial arts alone would guarantee a comfortable life. But the world is not so simple. Without gold and power to back them up, an individual's martial prowess is utterly useless."
Gwak Pung's eyes flashed with a fierce light.
When the Mount Hua Sect had been intact, he had feared nothing and no one.
The title of Mount Hua disciple alone had been enough for everyone to treat him with respect. He had assumed nothing but a path of flowers lay before him.
But once the sturdy backing of the Mount Hua Sect vanished, he came to understand.
That the world was neither so beautiful nor so forgiving.
The only reason he had been treated well was the single fact that he was a disciple of the Mount Hua Sect.
In a short time, he had been cheated and betrayed more than once.
Some of those who had stabbed him in the back were even fellow disciples from the same sect.
After that, Gwak Pung lost his faith in people.
In his eyes, people were nothing but monsters blinded by desire. He found them so revolting he could hardly stand it.
Most of those who had gathered around him had gone through similar experiences.
Having heard the full story, Baek Ho-yang said carefully.
"Even if the world is like that, I hope you will not hate all people. There are many good people in this world, too."
"Most of the good ones seem to live hard lives."
"Hmm."
"Forgive me. I let my emotions get the better of me and was discourteous."
"Not at all."
Baek Ho-yang shook his head at Gwak Pung's apology.
Just then, Ha Baek-jin, who had been standing beside Gwak Pung, changed the subject.
"Might that young brother over there be a member of your party as well?"
He was indicating Woo Geom-san, who was still wrestling with needle and thread.
Baek Ho-yang nodded.
"He is my grandson."
"I see. But why is he struggling with a needle like that?"
"He suffered a severe injury to his hand and is in the midst of rehabilitation."
"Ah, I see."
Only then did Ha Baek-jin nod in understanding.
As a martial artist himself, he could grasp the purpose behind Woo Geom-san's odd behavior.
Baek Ho-yang lightly tapped Woo Geom-san's shoulder and said.
"Geom-san, set the sewing aside for now and greet these men. They are all disciples of the Nine Great Sects."
"I was so absorbed in what I was doing that I was late to greet you. My name is Woo Geom-san."
"Good to meet you, young brother. I am Ha Baek-jin."
"Gwak Pung."
Unlike Ha Baek-jin, who greeted him warmly, Gwak Pung's gaze was as cold as ice.