“That guy, right?”

At the very back of the stands, a middle-aged man lounging in a fine chair spoke.

He wore a patch over one eye.

He was the owner of this arena and the head of the One-Eyed Sect.

“He does fight well, I’ll grant him that.”

A subordinate behind him spoke up.

“The loss is big, but if this bout ends well, we can recoup it.”

He meant the three tigers.

At that, the man nodded.

“How’s he doing?”

“By ‘he’… do you mean Iron Tyrant Staff?”

At his cautious reply, the man frowned.

“Who else would I mean?”

The subordinate glanced around, uneasy.

Iron Tyrant Staff was not a name to toss around lightly.

He was a true master famed over in Shaanxi.

Not at all like those rural drifters.

“So far he’s following orders.”

“He’d better. Think how much money we’ve stuffed down his throat.”

The subordinate sighed inwardly at the bluntness. But the steward knew well, too.

The fact that for all his talk, the middle-aged man would act like a meek lamb in front of Iron Tyrant Staff.

“Some are suspicious, but his identity hasn’t been exposed yet.”

No sooner had he said it than a man strode into the arena.

It was a hulking brute.

The Fierce-Wolf Young Master was no small fry, but he didn’t match this man’s bulk.

He bore the laughable title “Grassy Mountain Wanderer.”

Grassy Mountain Wanderer shot a glare toward where the one-eyed man sat, displeased.

The man grinned and waved back, all friendliness.

Grassy Mountain Wanderer snorted and looked away.

Only then did the smile drain from the middle-aged man’s face.

“Look at that temper of his. As if anyone would doubt he’s from the Unorthodox lot.”

“…Sir, he might hear you.”

At that, the middle-aged man clapped his mouth shut.

It was said that Murim masters could hear voices five kilometers away.

But Grassy Mountain Wanderer was already eyeing his next opponent.

“Tch.”

The middle-aged man, patting his chest in relief, jerked his chin at his man.

“Tell him he can fight as he likes from now on.”

“Yes.”

The bets were set. Displaying his true skill wouldn’t hurt now.

They’d been hiding his true abilities to bump the odds.

The middle-aged man watched Grassy Mountain Wanderer fighting,

but someone else snagged in his thoughts.

“He can win… right?”

“Sir?”

The subordinate blinked. It was not because he hadn’t heard what he had said.

It was because he couldn’t understand the question.

Grassy Mountain Wanderer’s very presence was practically cheating.

He wasn’t someone who should have been mingling with the wanderers here. His victory was a given.

Yet the middle-aged man kept scowling, as if something was still rubbing him wrong.

And then—

“Hey. We have some Crane Spirit Grass left from before, don’t we?”

“Sir?! You aren’t thinking of using it on Iron Tyrant Staff?”

The startled subordinate shot him a dubious look.

The middle-aged man’s face twisted.

“Why would I waste that on him? Do you think I’m trying to tank our business?”

There was no guarantee it would even kill him.

Men of that level rarely moved to money’s tune.

‘Unless it’s a special case like this one.’

They’d been lucky.

At his retort, the subordinate let out a silent sigh of relief.

Thankfully, it wouldn’t come to betraying the middle-aged man.

“The guy who took down the tigers—slip it into his meal.”

“You mean the Fierce-Wolf Young Master? He’s badly hurt—do we really need to…?”

“Tsks.”

The middle-aged man scowled; the subordinate flinched and bowed.

The one-eyed man’s temper rivaled any unorthodox master’s.

“R-right away.”

The subordinate hurried off.

Watching him go, he turned back.

“…Can’t shake the feeling about him.”

A bad premonition.

He’d survived by never ignoring such instincts.

The one-eyed man, Lee Mun-cheol, propped his chin, staring at the finished match.

---

Resting in the waiting room, Gyo-ha felt a familiar presence and stood.

Outside the window, Noh-sam peeked his head in.

“Uncle?!”

Startled, Gyo-ha scampered to the window.

“What are you doing here?”

“I slipped in. Quietly.”

Even as he spoke, Noh-sam kept glancing around.

Gyo-ha let out a wow of admiration.

“How?”

These Black-Path people seldom had even third-rate martial artists, but plenty of them had learned martial arts.

For the untrained Noh-sam to sneak in wasn’t easy.

At the question, Noh-sam answered, a bit bashful.

“Just a small knack. More importantly, we’ve got trouble.”

“Huh?”

Gyo-ha blinked; Noh-sam carefully continued.

“A master has entered this tournament under a false name.”

“Oh.”

Gyo-ha’s eyes lit; Noh-sam sighed, as expected.

“This isn’t good news. They say he’s an unorthodox master. The One-Eyed Sect—ah, that’s the Black-Path gang running this place—brought him in themselves.”

Noh-sam gripped the window frame, stung.

“The winner’s been picked from the start.”

Gyo-ha, however, wondered about something else.

“How do you know?”

“Ah, I worked as a server here for a bit and picked things up.”

“A server?”

“Yeah. I’ve done it before.”

He said it like it was nothing.

Few jobs gathered info as easily as inn or tavern staff.

Then footsteps approached from afar.

Noh-sam spoke fast with urgency on his face.

“I know telling you won’t make you quit, young master. But if anything goes wrong, forfeit at once. Understood?”

At his earnest stare, Gyo-ha nodded.

Only then did Noh-sam retreat from the window, relieved.

Gyo-ha craned out, but Noh-sam was gone.

And then—

Knock, knock.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Pulling back from the window, Gyo-ha looked to the door.

A Black-Path man stood there, sweating bullets.

Gyo-ha cocked his head at the familiar face.

And then it came to him.

“Oh—it’s you from before!”

The one who’d barked at him to move along the moment he entered the tunnel.

The man jolted with a squeak and bowed.

“I—I failed to recognize you and was rude.”

“It’s fine. Is that my meal?”

Gyo-ha eyed the tray as he asked.

“Y-yes.”

Stammering, he set it down.

“It’s very different from before.”

They’d brought food after his matches before,

but it had been two dumplings and watered-down meat soup.

This time even the plates were different.

There was even a gourd of liquor.

At his remark, the man flinched and nodded.

“B-benefits for main-event contestants. It’s absolutely not! Not special treatment just for you, great hero!”

“Ah. Okay.”

He bugged his eyes as if to prove it; Gyo-ha nodded, bemused.

“Th-then, enjoy your meal!”

He all but fled the room.

“Weird guy.”

Turning from the door, Gyo-ha eyed the food.

He didn’t know the names, but the dishes were fancy and appetizing.

Sniff, sniff.

He sniffed, then tilted his head.

“There’s a strange smell mixed in.”

A scent he’d never eaten before.

But he let it pass and brought the food to his mouth.

There was an odd taste here and there, but it wasn’t bad.

Then the gourd caught his eye.

With a pop, the cap came off and a fruity aroma rose.

Gyo-ha tipped it straight down his throat.

And then—

“Ugh.”

He twisted his entire face into a grimace.

“What does Master even like about this stuff.”

He shook his head—then smacked his lips at a feeling on his tongue.

“This too… is it spoiled?”

Being that this wasn’t a proper eatery, spoiled food wouldn’t be surprising.

He didn’t care much.

He’d eaten spoiled food often as a beggar when he was a child.

If that could kill him, he’d have died long ago.

That was life on the street.

Then footsteps approached again.

“Great hero, your bout begins soon.”

“Ooh!”

He sprang up and strode out light-footed.

Some time after he left,

someone eased the door open.

It was the Black-Path man who’d brought the food.

He checked the empty dishes and the half-left liquor, then slipped out.

---

The semifinals.

But contrary to Gyo-ha’s hopes, it ended in a whimper.

The wanderer laying on the floor.

His hands were empty.

More precisely, he wasn’t holding anything, but iron was fitted across the back of his hand.

It was the same at his elbows and knees as well.

He was someone who used fist techniques.

But grappling with Gyo-ha, he’d been knocked out before he could do anything.

“…I was trying to go easy.”

His body had moved on reflex.

Gyo-ha looked down at him, glum, then turned away.

Heading for the waiting room, he sensed something wrong.

He stopped, bounced in place.

He even swung his arms.

He looked silly enough that the crowd laughed.

Ignoring them, he tested his body and frowned.

“My body feels a bit heavy?”

Did he lose too much blood last night?

He tilted his head and started walking again.

Just then, beyond the bars, a man came walking up.

Shaggy-bearded, and massive.

A huge club hung at his waist.

Unusually, the head of the club was bristled with spikes.

It was called a wolf-tooth club.

It’s more a soldier’s weapon than a martial artist’s.

He glanced at the wanderer being carried out, then at Gyo-ha, and spoke.

“You’re my next opponent?”

Gyo-ha was able to tell who Noh-sam was talking about.

It was this man.

His aura alone set him apart from all the rest.

“There’s no need to head back. Since it’ll be over fast.”

With that, he strode to the center of the arena.

“Grassy Mountain Wanderer enters first! Unlike before, he’s brought a weapon! Looks like he’s come fully prepared for the semifinals! And here comes his opponent!”

No.

One look in his eyes told Gyo-ha—this wasn’t preparation.

He was bored.

Sure enough, Grassy Mountain Wanderer watched his opponent enter with a bored face.

The gaze of a man upon an ant.

Before the signal even fell, he spoke.

“Here I come.”

Upon saying that, he raised his club.

And he swung for the man’s head.

“…!”

His foe yanked out a sword.

But it wasn’t something a sword could stop.

Thud!

The blade shattered, and blood sprayed.

The headless body toppled slowly.

Silence blanketed the stands. Even the blood-cheerers held their breath, watching him.

He flicked blood from the club and looked to Gyo-ha.

“Next.”

The word sent a chill up Gyo-ha’s spine.

Shiver.

It was a feeling he hadn’t felt even against the tigers.

“Aw, man… but I promised Uncle.”

Gyo-ha scratched his nape. He wasn’t sure of himself now.

Pins and needles ran through his hands and feet.

And he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from rising.