The ones up front charged, the ones in the middle scattered left and right, and those in the rear began twitching their heads, readying hidden weapons.

I categorized them by weapon rather than as people.

Rather than fighting humans, it felt like I was fending off incoming weapons—three-pronged spears, straight blades, long swords, judges’ pens—so I responded accordingly.

I deflected weapon after weapon, naturally retreating step by step.

Meanwhile, long harpoons, nine-ringed spears, and wolf-tooth clubs whistled through the air toward me. The hidden weapons that missed embedded themselves in the ground or walls.

I was pushed back all the way to the main hall doors. Planting one foot behind me, I kicked them open and retreated outside.

As I stepped into the open air, I found myself unexpectedly appreciating how good it felt. Inside the hall, the foul stench of greedy old men and bastards like Dokgo-saeng had made every breath unpleasant.

Still gripping my sword, I looked around.

Commoners of this strange land had gathered to watch the fight, but they didn’t look particularly excited.

“Ah, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good fight.”

That was the expression on most of their faces.

But when the Black Line Division’s officers appeared, all gripping weapons, the crowd’s eyes finally widened.

In an instant, the officers formed a battle formation, surrounding me.

The Division Master walked out and spoke,

“Officers, he’s skilled. Don’t let your guard down. Captains, don’t interfere recklessly. If anyone dies or is injured, it ends here.”

I looked closely at the officers’ hands. Most of them were missing a few fingers.

Suddenly, something my grandfather used to mumble floated into my mind.

"Gambling bastards ought to have their hands cut off."

He never explained why or who he was talking about. Just a phrase he’d throw out now and then when gambling came up at the inn.

His words echoed in my ears.

***

When the fight resumed, I applied the insight of a cockfight.

If I saw an opening, I stabbed it. If I sensed a trap, I didn’t bite. Honest attacks, I deflected. Deceptive ones, I selectively countered. The officers’ assault only grew more intense.

Suddenly, poison needles came flying toward me.

The number of thrown weapons increased.

So did the screams.

One missed and struck a spectator straight in the neck.

Another man, doused in poison powder, screamed and ran off somewhere. I kept moving, deliberately shifting positions to take in the field from all angles.

Even after twenty of them launched a full-force assault, I held my ground. That’s when their eyes finally began to show signs of unease.

Sensing their shift in morale, I reduced my focus on defense and went on the offensive.

And the moment I switched to attack mode, my mouth opened reflexively.

“A gambler’s hands deserve to be cut off.”

I moved lighter and faster than during defense, grabbed the middle of a charging harpoon with my left hand, and swung my blade, severing the officer’s wrist.

Splurt!

I didn’t have time to savor his pained expression. While dodging a straight blade and a wolf-tooth club, I launched an inner energy attack straight into the eye of the man thrusting at me with a three-pronged spear.

As his head snapped back, I severed the wrist still gripping the spear and moved on.

A judge’s pen swooped in with a sweeping stroke in the shape of “乙,” followed by another thrusting forward in a straight line.

The “乙” stroke was a feint—the straight line was the killing move.

I leapt up and twisted my body, escaping both the illusion and the strike zone. Then, while upside down, I jabbed a vital point on my opponent’s neck using the Monkey’s Neck Technique before landing.

The man with two judge’s pens froze stiff, and his body shielded my back for a moment.

Suddenly, dozens of fishhook-shaped weapons came raining down. Some were aimed at the ground to catch my feet.

I grabbed the frozen man by the nape and spun him around to use him as a shield.

Thwackthwackthwackthwack! The hooks slammed into him. A few bounced off and scattered across the ground.

At that moment, a weapon came crashing down on my shoulder from behind.

I slipped the sword in my right hand under my left armpit and released a burst of inner energy.

Fwsshh! The energy pierced clean through the neck of the man holding the blade.

“Ghhak!”

I scanned the battlefield again.

While the Division Master stood still like a king on a chessboard, five or six officers had already been wounded or killed, and the others continued to fight on.

When would the king move?

I couldn’t tell.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Maybe he intended to wait until the end just to preserve his status.

I flicked the blood from my sword and turned to the man behind me. He was clutching his neck with a bleeding hand, trying to stop the flow.

I kicked him in the gut, knocking him into the path of incoming weapons, and spun around to unleash another long wave of inner energy.

Whooosh!

Three men charging at me with harpoons tried to block the blast but were knocked back all at once. The officers were now low on stamina and internal energy, unable to defend against my energy attacks properly.

Beyond them, I briefly locked eyes with Dokgo-saeng, who stood watching with his arms crossed.

Dokgo-saeng then shifted his gaze to the Division Master, who remained motionless.

“……”

Even as his officers were dying left and right, the Division Master gave no new orders to the other captains.

Is he planning to let them all die just to say it was an internal dispute?

While trying to figure out what the Division Master was thinking, I cut down the remaining officers with little difficulty. When twenty had joined forces, I had to defend heavily—but with half dead or severely wounded, the tide turned sharply in my favor.

I closed the distance, deflected their weapons with a strike or two, and sliced through their wrists. In the end, I had severed every last officer’s hand before turning to face the Division Master.

All around, the screams of the wounded elders echoed together in agony.

***

The Black Line Division Master, who had been watching his officers' defeat closely, finally spoke.

“…You’ve gone through a lot.”

It wasn’t clear if he was addressing me or the officers.

But when I saw his expression, I realized—it was meant for everyone.

With short sabers gripped in both hands, the Division Master charged at me, unleashing a slashing wind shaped like the character "乄."

I countered the incoming gusts with slashes of my own, canceling them out, and deflected the sabers as he reached me, his attacks roaring like a tempest.

The sheer force of his assault showed why he could treat his officers like servants. As I deflected his sabers, I thought to myself:

This old man must’ve been just as much of a bastard in his youth as Dokgo-saeng.

After more than twenty strikes, the blade I’d taken from Dokgo-saeng was starting to chip away.

In terms of lifespan, the sword was even older than the Division Master.

His sabers, despite their crude appearance, were solid—like the muscle of a young warrior.

Mid-duel, my aged blade finally snapped.

In that instant, I pushed off the ground with my right foot and glided low into the air, retreating.

The Division Master shouted a warning to those nearby.

“Anyone who gives Yi Zaha another weapon…”

Before he could finish, I extended both arms wide and used the Absorbing Star Technique. With a whirl of air and sound, two weapons flew into my hands.

A wolf-tooth club in my right.

A judge’s pen in my left.

I tilted my head.

This combo… seriously?

Should’ve looked first before pulling them in.

I’ve never even heard of someone wielding both a judge’s pen and a wolf-tooth club. The combination lacked grace, lacked power—it was awkward, ridiculous. Humans make mistakes. Whatever, fuck it.

The Division Master didn’t give me time to switch weapons—he charged again.

Even with all my experience, I’d never fought with this bizarre combo. But there wasn’t time to be picky.

My opponent was a seasoned warrior in his sixties.

Ordinary sixty-year-olds suffer joint pain, chronic illness, bad eyesight, weak backs, fading virility. But in Jianghu, a sixty-year-old martial artist, even with aches and pains, has deeply refined internal energy.

Each time my club met his sabers, sparks flew.

The judge’s pen, which looked like a kitchen knife, was blocked every time.

All things considered, the Division Master fought well.

It felt like Dokgo-saeng with forty more years of sword training.

He wielded both blades with precision, his footwork smooth, his offense and defense perfectly balanced. He didn’t fall for childish feints, and even in the thick of combat, he fought with boldness and dignity.

Whatever kind of lunatic he might be, in battle, he was king of the Black Line Division. And when I countered him with techniques I hadn’t used on his officers, even he seemed caught off guard.

As we clashed, I silenced all unnecessary thoughts. Focused everything on the fight. All background noise faded.

“…!”

I could hear his footsteps, the rustle of his robes, the sound of steel, and even our breaths.

When I heard the sound of his breathing, I remembered the smoke from Dokgo-saeng’s Forget-Sorrow Herb—and I realized this old bastard had a lung condition too. I could hear the phlegm bubbling in his chest.

I deliberately eased off for a few exchanges and stepped back.

Sure enough, out of habit, the Division Master hacked up a mouthful of phlegm.

Ptuh!

Before the yellow wad even hit the ground, I hurled the judge’s pen.

Clang!

As it collided with one of his sabers, I launched into the air, closing the gap. Channeling my energy into the wolf-tooth club, I brought it down with a furious swing.

Sensing something unusual, the Division Master crossed his sabers to block it.

KWAANG!

In the deafening blast…

I summoned the fallen judge’s pen back to me using the Absorbing Star Technique. As it flew toward me, I twisted my wrist and used torque to whip it forward. The direction shifted, and the force increased.

Thunk!

“Urgh!”

Where did it land?

Only after swinging the wolf-tooth club again did I see it—embedded right in the Division Master’s chest.

As he staggered back, I pressed forward, bringing the club down in repeated vertical strikes.

I kept his hands and feet busy so he couldn’t pull the pen from his chest. After three desperate blocks, the Division Master finally lost his grip on both sabers and collapsed onto his rear.

He must’ve overexerted himself, drawing on his internal energy while wounded. His meridians had turned against him.

Blood gushed from his mouth.

I walked up, club in hand, and looked down at him.

“Can’t get up, Master?”

The Division Master gave a weary nod and spoke in a commanding tone,

“…Stop.”

How long had he played king to still use that tone now?

“I’m not your slave. Mind your words.”

I correct people’s tone—even when they’re dying. That’s just who I am.

He grinned, showing bloodied teeth.

“If you let my men treat me, I’ll appoint you the next Division Master. You won’t lose anything. You’ll gain all of Black Line Division.”

His voice was weak, barely audible—but that’s what he meant.

I didn’t accept.

“I refuse.”

“Refuse? …They’re all fools. Without orders, they’re lost. Take them in. Use them.”

So this was the worldview of someone who lived with slaves. Thinking he might die soon, I asked his final words.

“Say something before you die.”

The Division Master raised his head and addressed his people.

“You fools… you’ve done well.”

As he let out a strange, metallic laugh, I brought the club down on his skull.

THUD!

“Still mouthing off to the end.”

Then, on behalf of the slaves who were sold for money, I slammed it down again.

Then I thought of the brain-dead gamblers who lost their family’s money, borrowed money, friends’ money, every last coin—including the old lady’s next door. And I brought the club down again.

Even so, I bet you ate well, slept warm, lived in comfort—so I brought the club down again.

Blood and chunks of flesh sprayed across my face. The man ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ was already dead, but I didn’t feel like one more swing would add to my sins. I put my feelings into the next strike.

This time, the club crashed into the ground with a thunderous boom.

KWAANG!

Bloodied and breathless, I looked around at the Black Line Division.

“……”