Chapter 693: Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, Opening (4)

By midday the space before the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy’s admissions gate was packed tight with people.

Because it was time to announce those who had passed.

And when at last the shadows grew shortest—at high noon—the closed gate began to open with a SCREEEECH, wood twisting on its hinges.

Out strode a middle-aged martial artist with a confident, long-legged stride!

It was the Academy’s Director, Dagger-Sword Lord Yu Seonyeop.

Mounting the prepared dais, the Dagger-Sword Lord swept his gaze over the four quarters, then released a vast, ringing voice laden with inner force.

“As Director, I am truly moved—and that is thanks to your sincerity in seeking entry to the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy! Thus I, this Yu, speak first not as a senior but as one who dreams of chivalry—my thanks to you all!”

—WAAAA!!!!!

A roar burst forth.

When it died down a moment later, Yu Seonyeop raised his voice again.

“The youths you have cheered—why do these young people beg learning of the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy? To uphold the righteousness of the world, to carry forward a chevalier’s spirit, and to enact justice! You have already witnessed their will; the ardor to uphold the world’s righteousness is so hot it would melt iron, and the resolve to practice chivalry stands so high that any mountain on earth would bow its head in shame!”

—WAAAA!!

“Therefore, as a senior of the Orthodox-faction martial world, and as a representative charged to guide these officials of the Academy onto the right path, I promise here to fulfill that heavy responsibility! And so (abridged) ... congratulations on your admission!”

—WAAAA!!!!!!

“However, this is only the beginning—”

—WAAAA...

At spring’s tail end—now beneath sunlight blazing full and hot—everyone’s backs had grown damp with sweat before Yu Seonyeop’s grand oration, at last! finally! brought out its main point.

“As my heart would have it, I would embrace all who sought learning and walk the right road together; but there are limits to what has been prepared, and so we cannot hold all. Those who do not pass should not think there is any fault—merely that fortune did not favor you.”

He drew a deep breath.

“However!!”

At that thunderbolt-loud volume, even those wilting under the scorch regrouped their attention and opened their ears.

“I announce here that next year’s opening of the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy has been decided!”

We’re doing it one more year!

And those who failed this time—next year you’ll get a generous bonus, so don’t be too discouraged.

At that, —WAAAA!!!—another great cheer swept the grounds.

Sightseers were delighted that such a spectacle would be held again next year, and examinees tense before the announcement felt a great relief—because there would be another chance.

Then Martial Alliance staffers strode out and began pasting broadsides onto the wall.

They bore countless names—in other words, the list of those who had passed.

Yang Chil, his face rigid with nerves, scanned the broadsides posted on the wall.

The seniors of the Blue River Six Chivalrous had told him there was no way he wouldn’t be on it—guaranteed to pass.

But there are no absolutes in this world; Yang Chil’s heart hammered rough and hard as he hunted for his name.

And then—

“Kid brother! Congratulations!” “Told you there was nothing to worry about!” “Hey punk, when you come out a master, don’t you dare pretend you don’t know your sworn brothers!”

Right beside him, his friend Matasa was being crushed, smacked, and shaken as he received his sworn brothers’ rough congratulations.

Yang Chil tore his eyes off the wall to offer his own congratulations—when the Blue River Six’s youngest, Matasa, saw him and jabbed a finger furiously at one panel.

“Brother Yang! Brother Yang! Look there!”

......

Eomchang—So Eumjo

Eomchang—Jang Bihu

Jogeong—Yang Chil

......

“Ah.”

Yang Chil gaped, blank.

What could he say—no thought came; more exactly, he couldn’t think anything at all.

Then—SMACK!

A hard hand to the back snapped Yang Chil to himself.

“Haha, what a fine day. You can’t leave out cups on a day like this. Since my little brothers have met good fortune, I’ll have to shake my purse clean today. Ah, consider it a kind of bribe—take good care of our youngest, will you.”

It was Blue-River Gale Chivalrous Jo Gaksan.

And so the six plus one, faces bright as day, bustled off to drink straight from today noon to tomorrow noon.

Left behind stood one young man who wasn’t looking at the broadsides at all, but glaring as if to kill someone else.

Follow his stare, and another young man stood there, fists trembling up before his shoulders, expressing his joy.

He’d even gone so far as to change his surname to mark the pass—at last fully freed from that accursed household.

Jang Bihu was savoring the joy when, pricked by a sharp gaze, he turned his head and met So Eumjo’s furious face square on.

Startled, Jang Bihu wiped his smile away, pointed once at the broadside with an awkward look, offered a clasp-fist salute, and quietly slipped off.

So Eumjo tracked the retreating back of Jang Bihu—who had slunk away—and then found his own name where the man had pointed.

Perhaps they’d grouped names by home district. He was happy, and yet he could not feel purely happy.

He let out a long sigh, then turned his body to push into the crowd. Or tried to—but THUD.

He slammed shoulders hard with someone.

So Eumjo offered the clasp-fist first.

“My apologies.”

“Apologize? Ha. Now even some guttersnipe dares to get on my level? Unbelievable.”

Both had been careless; it wasn’t any one person’s fault.

So Eumjo felt a flash of anger—but he wasn’t so witless as to cause a scene at a time like this.

He had held himself back even upon seeing an enemy; would he fail to hold back before this petty villain?

Besides, So Eumjo also knew this petty villain was a fairly strong martial artist—the fellow named Mandarlo who’d made a bit of a face at the exams.

“Ha. Count yourself lucky. If not for where we are right now, I’d just—”

Mandarlo growled, then SPAT and walked toward the broadsides.

......

Poseong—Jang Sam

Jianyang—Mandarlo

......

“Hmph.”

Mandarlo’s reaction was simple.

He’d expected it.

Unless the Martial Alliance’s examiners’ eyes were dog’s eyes, how would they refuse a young master like him with such accomplishments.

He checked just in case—but he’d never once doubted his own passing.

“Senior, why is my junior’s name not here? Might there be some mistake? I truly believe I did excellently on all the exams,”

An examinee pleading with the posting guard caught Mandarlo’s eye.

“Senior”? Please. Under the Martial Alliance—the largest band among those big bandit mobs called the martial world—this lowly blade-hand who does scut work dares merit “senior”?

To the lowborn, a Martial Alliance officer might look like a great elder; in truth they’re just bandits who fear no national law.

But lowborn are like that.

Mandarlo snickered and left the spot.

The Martial Alliance officer, however, could not leave; he had to guard the broadsides against possible defacement.

Thus the officer spoke gently to the polite examinee clutching at him.

“Alas—if admission were decided by nothing but the height of one’s skill, that would not accord with the Academy’s policy of setting justice broadly. We chose across many realms of attainment and the places were few; next year, you will surely pass. Endure one year and apply yourself.”

“I—no. Thank you. Haa...”

Dan Jo could not press further and withdrew.

“Kyaa! Chae, sir! You passed! Here!”

“Hey! You—don’t sneak a hug—off, now! Sir, look, I passed too!”

“Haha, congratulations. I see Miss Jong has also passed. How fortunate that we all enter together.”

Catching sight of a young man with two women on his arms soured Dan Jo’s mood further.

He was already twisting inside from showing manners to these wretched Central Plains folk, and there he was carrying on—wasn’t that Chae Seong-ha.

If it were up to him he’d silence their mouths so they couldn’t even squeak, butcher them all.

Crush them all and toss them into the gutter.

But! But the mission, the Church’s great cause, comes first...

Truth be told, at Dan Jo’s level it was beyond him; but at least he had the right to imagine doing it. It was only a thought inside.

Dan Jo held it in and rejoined his team.

“Anyone pass?”

“I passed.” “Me too.” “Me! Chief! I did it!”

Three voices answered.

Three of nine including Dan Jo—only three.

What’s more—

“Mm...”

Dan Jo groaned.

Why did it have to be these ones who passed.

Two rookies. And why, of all people, Half-Tub.

Half-Tub—his nickname became his alias.

It’s a nickname with two meanings: usually it’s the sense of an eater with a great appetite who happily puts away anything.

But when spoken with contempt it means a parasite who eats like a locust compared to his ability.

Half-Tub was the latter.

Stupid, dull, and faint-hearted—called a “member” only to be used as a pack animal.

So even the rookies had long looked down on him; in the trade they say he’d been “eaten.”

For both rookies this was their first outing into the rivers and lakes—they couldn’t tell heaven from earth yet—and for a delicate infiltration mission their only veteran was Half-Tub?

Suddenly, Dan Jo’s heart lurched down.

Had the Martial Alliance rats sensed something?

How could they pick out exactly one deadweight and two rookies out of the nine to pass.

But Dan Jo shook his head at once.

It was nonsense.

If the Martial Alliance had known, they wouldn’t have let them take an entrance exam—they’d have seized them already and put them to torture.

That very Martial Alliance cur had just offered him a vapid consolation, not even knowing his identity.

So either they were just unlucky.

Or the Central Plains folk with their pitch-black hearts had cherry-picked only those who looked easy to handle—ah, of course they did.

Dan Jo let out a long sigh.

With the Ma Hee calamity having enraged the Demon King, he couldn’t very well claim the mission was hard and withdraw.

So—one way or another, they would have to carry it out.

Pressure from above and incompetence below—

It was the sorrow of a middle manager.

And elsewhere—

“All three passed? Excellent.”

The plan to insert Unorthodox Alliance men into the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy and plant moles inside the Orthodox-faction martial world had been in preparation since the Orthodox tournament the year before last.

The Academy opening?

Then of course you plant agents.

In truth, it wasn’t anything new.

The Unorthodox Alliance and the Martial Alliance were both desperate to plant moles; both sides knew, in fact, that among the hired help there were a few obvious plants.

But this opportunity was different.

If they made a good showing at the Academy, they might get into the Martial Alliance’s combat office; and—as the advertising promised—if they could forge close ties with precious late-blooming talents, what greater triumph.

But then?

Why keep spying?

So these were specially prepared personnel.

By special we mean not the Unorthodox Alliance’s usual way—violence and threats to bind them hard—but, for once, bestowing favor to bind their hearts.

After much difficulty, they had gathered three.

In truth many had been favored, but after multiple temptations to shake them and test them, only these three held faith to the end and kept their oath.

Only—their loyalty aside—their skill level wasn’t particularly high.

If they’d been any good at the martial arts, they’d already have made names and shown faces; to fool the Martial Alliance, there was no help for it.

Thus they’d worried about failure—but lo and behold, three out of three had passed, a clean sweep.

How could you not smile.

Oh Sanmyeong, captain of the Unorthodox Alliance’s combat unit, the Secret Unit, smiled in satisfaction.