Episode 74. King of the Martial Gamble (Part 1)
I sipped my Dukang wine and watched the martial gamblers around me.
Shameless bastards.
The man who’d asked my origin must not have bet yet. In this world, things like your sect, your weapon, even your accent—all of them counted toward predicting victory. Asking without paying was bad manners.
I ignored the question and downed the rest of my drink. Then a newcomer spoke with the tavern boy and marched straight toward me.
“You’ll have to come outside.”
“Let me finish this first.”
“Drink fast, then get up.”
I lifted the bottle, poured what was left down my throat, and let the wine spill down my chin. The burn in my chest felt good—cleansing. First time back at a martial gambling den in years, and it still had the same filthy charm.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stood. “Let’s go.”
As soon as I followed the man out, I smashed the bottle across the back of his head.
Thud! He dropped like a sack.
The gamblers who had bet on me shouted and clapped, roaring with laughter. I stepped outside into the open yard. The Black Gyeong brothel boss had already arrived, dragging a dozen of his thugs. A crowd had gathered to watch.
I asked, “Bare-handed?”
Black Gyeong turned to his men. They laid their weapons on the ground.
“Yeah,” he said. “Bare-handed.”
He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Half-kill him.”
I grinned and strolled into the center. Without any signal, his men charged all at once.
The first to reach me got a kick in the chest.
Wham! He flew backward like a launched spear, crashing into the spectators and staying down.
I fought without using inner energy. My hand chopped down on a skull. I grabbed an arm and twisted until the joint cracked. My fingers jabbed into another man’s eyes. There was no time to tell who was who—I simply struck whatever came near.
A punch crushed a nose. A spinning kick smashed into another’s jaw. Then one of the fallen grabbed a sword off the ground and charged.
“Heh.”
Bare-handed, huh?
I sidestepped, twisted his wrist backward, and broke it cleanly.
“Aaaagh!”
He stumbled back, clutching the limp limb. The rest closed in, tightening their formation.
Idiots. Strategy doesn’t save fools.
I wasn’t the man I used to be.
I slipped through their punches and kicks like smoke, breaking arms one after another until the fight was over.
Not a speck of dust touched me. I brushed my hands together. “That it?”
The tavern boy looked over the fallen men and nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”
He hurried to set up a table and basket, starting the payout. In a place like this, cheating on a payout meant death, so he worked carefully. The gamblers lined up in order, collecting their winnings in good humor. Most had bet small—just enough to buy another night’s drinks—and everyone was grinning.
“Easy money.”
“Drinks on me tonight.”
As I listened, I glanced at the pile of coins that was my share. I tore off one corner of it with a hand strike.
“Give that to Black Gyeong.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then I took out two silver ingots and handed them to the boy. “You did well.”
His face lit up. “Thank you!”
“Wrap the rest.”
He pulled a cloth from his belt and scooped up the winnings. The bundle grew heavy quickly—most people here bet at least one silver each, so it was a good haul.
Smiling, he said, “You here to make pocket money? We get folks like you sometimes. Where are you from?”
“Pay to ask. One silver.”
He laughed awkwardly. “Just curious. Thanks anyway.”
“With skill like that,” he said, “you could enter the Weapon Duel tournaments.”
“Who’s got the biggest bounty right now?”
“Unbeaten Dong Bang-yeon,” he said. “But to challenge him, you need at least ten thousand taels.”
I chuckled. “That so.”
In my past life, Dong Bang-yeon had been out of my reach. He was the so-called King of Martial Gambling. Even with what I had now—the Muak Lord’s old funds and my new winnings—I didn’t yet have ten thousand taels.
Still, I wasn’t here to rot like the other gamblers. Once I earned enough to face the king, my business here would be finished.
Shouldering the bundle, I headed for the next gambling pit.
Along a stone wall, men sat sharpening their weapons like madmen. This was the Weapon Gambling Den, where contestants clashed weapons until one broke. Whoever’s blade shattered lost.
The weaker ones sat near the entrance. The strongest—those with the sharpest, toughest weapons—waited at the center under an arched wall.
I walked straight toward the middle, where a white-haired gambler sat polishing a blade. His brows weren’t completely white yet, but I recognized him. Around his neck hung the same ivory pendant I remembered.
Qiu Zong-ak, the Weapon Gambling King.
He looked up. “Here to challenge me?”
“Yes.”
“My entry fee’s high. Let’s see what you brought.”
I set my bundle on the plank table. He peered inside, then lifted it slightly with one hand. His expression didn’t change—same blank mask as ever.
“A straight one-on-one trade, then?”
“Fine by me.”
I added the gold and silver from my belt pouch. His eyes flickered faintly.
“Risking quite a bit, aren’t you?”
The other gamblers nearby turned to watch; few had seen that much money in one place. I said calmly, “If you’re scared, step back. I just want to sit in the winner’s seat for once. Hard to believe the so-called Weapon King’s shaking already.”
His gaze sharpened. “Don’t recognize your face. You’re no orthodox sect man. No great clan either.”
He glanced around. “Anyone know this fellow? I’ll pay a gold piece.”
“Never seen him!” came the chorus.
I smiled. “No one here knows me.”
“Why’s that?”
“First time here.”
He folded his arms, studying me. “You know the rules?”
“Explain.”
“One attack, one defense. If your weapon breaks before you finish, you lose. If it’s a tie, repeat. You can raise the stakes mid-fight. But if you injure your opponent, everyone here gets a stab at you. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He gestured to the rack. “Place your weapon.”
“No need. I’ll hold it.”
“That’s not how—”
“Old man,” I cut in, “don’t take me for a fool. I’ve done my homework. Don’t try your usual tricks. I’m new, not stupid.”
He smiled faintly—a dangerous sign in a gambler.
“Holding your weapon during a clash can hurt you,” he said. “I’m only concerned for your safety. Life’s worth more than gold.”
I drew Heukmyo-ah—the Black Cat Blade—and leveled it at him. “Save the sermon. You attack first.”
The duel went as usual: defender held steady while the attacker struck. If nothing broke, they switched roles. But though it looked like a contest of steel, it was really one of inner strength.
Qiu Zong-ak had ruled this arena for years not just because his sword was sharp, but because his internal energy was solid. In my previous life, I’d never beaten him.
He sighed and went to his weapon rack. Normally he’d choose his blade carefully—but this time, he drew the far-right sword without hesitation.
“I’ll face you with the Dark Heaven Sword,” he said. “Hold tight. If it flies, bystanders might die. Ready?”
I tightened my grip. “Ready.”
He clicked his tongue. “Insolent brat.”
I grinned. Timing was everything here; most fools lost when their rhythm broke during talk. I wouldn’t make that mistake.
He swung first, aiming to strike the flat of my blade. I twisted my wrist.
Thung! His sword bounced off.
“Your turn,” he said grimly, resetting his stance. He held his sword out, fingers brushing the ivory at his neck.
I reminded him, “Injury means everyone here stabs you, remember?”
“I know.”
“Then be careful.”
“What are you—”
Before he finished, I struck. My inner energy surged, shifting from the Wooden Realm to the Fiery Realm. As he twisted his wrist, I mirrored the motion.
Clang!
The Dark Heaven Sword snapped in half.
At that same instant, he flicked the ivory pendant from his neck—a Hidden Bullet Technique. The ivory shard shot toward my throat. I countered with a Flicking Qi of my own, deflecting it, and drove my blade straight into his chest.
Thuk!
Blood sprayed as I pulled the blade free. I hadn’t struck deep.
I looked down at him, clutching his chest. “A sneak attack? You senile bastard.”
He gasped, “Spa—”
I grabbed his face and hurled him to the floor. Thud! He rolled and lay still.
I opened his cash chest and began taking out gold bars. “Well? Rules are rules. Who struck first?”
The others watched in silence as I tossed gold into my sack.
“Pathetic,” I muttered. “Bunch of cowards.”
Still breathing, Qiu Zong-ak begged for help, promising money, land—anything. The other gamblers hesitated. Then one man stood, drew his sword, and stabbed Qiu in the leg.
“Rules are rules,” I said, watching. “Follow them.”
The rest rose, each taking a turn plunging their weapon into the fallen king’s body.
Thuk. Thuk. Thuk. Thuk. Thuk…
His screams faded away.
I stuffed the last of the gold into my bag, clapped the dust from my hands, and smirked. “Pleasure playing with you, you gambling addicts.”
As I stepped over the corpse, a few men glared, killing intent flaring. I stopped and turned back.
“Want to die?”
Their auras vanished. They returned to their seats. I chuckled. “Good. That’s how proper gamblers behave. Useless idiots.”
Anyway, I now had enough funds to challenge the true King of Martial Gambling.