Chapter 12. The Chopstick Master

by God of Music · 2026-08-31

The name of the caravan was called Manbo-sangdan.

It was a middle caravan traveling around the Seomseo area, carrying medicinal herbs and textiles on its way to the volcano. The problem was the forest ahead. The scout sent out had not returned, and not a single bird flew in the forest.

"It's an ambush."

The old leader gritted his teeth.

"The Sapa bastards scattered from the valley fight. Recently, three caravans have been robbed only in this area. If they only rob the cargo, that's fortunate, but if they get agitated, they are the kind that will wipe us out."

"Is there no way back?"

When Muhyeon asked, the leader shook his head.

"We would have to take a five-day detour. The herbs would spoil. Moreover, there’s no guarantee that the way back is safe."

Muhyeon calculated for a moment.

The danger in the forest was about twenty. Among them, there were a few that were quite mature. If he were alone, he could just pass through without issue. However, there were over thirty people in the caravan, including family members and porters, many of whom had never held a sword.

The image of a woman from the marketplace came to mind. The vegetables in her basket soaked in blood and scattered everywhere.

"Um, Elder Leader."

"What is it?"

"How much do you pay the porters?"

"...What?"

"It's just that I'm on my way to the volcano, but I've run out of travel money. I can help carry the cargo and go along."

The leader looked at Muhyeon with a bewildered expression. To think someone would talk about wages in this situation. However, labor was labor, and if everyone was going to die anyway, having one more die wouldn’t change anything.

"Two coins a day. The caravan takes no responsibility if you die."

"That's generous."

Mu-hyeon chose the heaviest-looking medicinal box and placed it on his shoulder. Pyodu's eyes narrowed. It was a box that two strong men were carrying together.

At the back of the procession, there was a young porter, around twelve or sixteen years old. His name was Deok-bae. He looked pale, squeezing the straps of his burden, resembling someone who had walked to Nak-ae-gok thirty years ago.

"Are you scared?"

"...Yes. I'm scared. Aren't you, sir?"

"I am scared."

"That's a lie. Your face doesn't look scared at all."

"Being scared and being tense are different things."

Deok-bae had a confused expression. Mu-hyeon added.

"If something happens later, go under the cart, close your eyes tightly, and count to a hundred. By the time you reach a hundred, it will be over."

"How do you know that, sir?"

"I have a long career as a porter."

The procession entered the forest path.

Before entering, Mu-hyeon casually added a word to Pyodu.

"By the way, sir. I'm talking about the person who went out as a scout."

"...That person is probably already wrong."

"Well, keeping someone alive and tying them up is more beneficial for an ambush than killing them. There's no better bait than a scout who doesn't return."

Pyodu turned to Mu-hyeon in surprise. It was not something a porter should say.

"...Where did you learn about military strategy?"

"I play a little bit of Go."

"What does Go have to do with ambushes?"

"The stones used as bait are valuable until they are captured. Once captured, they are just gravel. So, they must still be alive."

The ambush was as expected. When they had gone about half a mile in, trees fell in front and behind them, blocking the path, and remnants of the Sa-pa poured out from the forest. Twenty-three. Mu-hyeon counted precisely while carrying the crate.

"Drop the cargo and get lost! Then I'll spare your lives!"

The one who appeared to be the leader shouted. A skull pattern sewn with red thread was visible on his left sleeve. Mu-hyeon's eyes narrowed. It was a familiar mark. It was the same as what he had seen in the marketplace, on the hem of the Blood Wind Ten Demons' clothing.

'The Blood Wind Ten Demons must have been caught by the shaman that day. Are these remnants? Or…'

The thought could not continue for long. The fighters drew their swords, and a fight broke out.

The fighters were brave, but they were outnumbered. Three were cut down and retreated, and the formation began to crumble. The remnants of the Sa-pa rushed in, cackling, with their carts.

From that point on, strange things began to happen.

The attackers started to fall over.

The one passing between the carts tripped and fell as his foot got caught in a wheel, the one holding a pile of cloth rolled over with the cloth, and the one reaching for the medicine crate hit his chin on the corner of the crate and fell. One hit his own solar plexus with his sword hilt, and he never figured out how that was possible. The one directing from atop a horse suddenly slid off as the horse sat down, and the horse began to graze on the grass by the roadside as if nothing had happened. The two trying to escape collided head-on while running in opposite directions and fell flat on the ground together.

The fighters stood there, dumbfounded with their swords drawn. It was everyone's first time in a fight where the opponents voluntarily diminished.

And amidst all the falling, a porter carrying a crate was passing by.

"W-what! What the hell is going on!"

The leader shouted. Even seeing it with his own eyes, he couldn't understand. The porter seemed to be just dodging here and there while carrying the crate, only choosing to kiss the ground and his mouth with the subordinates passing by.

"That's the one! Hit that porter!"

A few of the subordinates lunged at Mu-hyeon.

Mu-hyeon sighed and put down the crate. It was a precious medicinal herb. If it got damaged, they said it would be deducted from his pay.

Then he took out a pair of chopsticks.

They were a pair of bamboo chopsticks he had gotten while eating soup at an inn. He had left the cooking stick behind and had no knife, so this was all that remained. Remembering the rumor that insisted it was chopsticks, he decided to go along with the rumor since it had come to this.

One chopstick drew a semicircle in the air.

Thud. Tap. Thud.

The sound of blood hitting the ground continued like raindrops, and the few subordinates knelt one after another. Finally, the leader froze with his sword raised. The tip of the chopstick was already at his Adam's apple.

"Let's leave the cargo and have the older brothers retreat."

Mu-hyeon said.

"Then we'll spare your lives. It's just as you said earlier."

The leader swallowed his saliva and dropped his sword.

Even after dropping it, he seemed reluctant and opened his mouth.

"Ha, let me ask just one thing. Why is a skilled person like you acting as a porter?"

"Because I get paid."

"Just to earn two pennies a day?"

"Is two pennies laughable? A bowl of soup costs three pennies. If you stay for two days, you get soup with boiled meat."

The leader didn't know how to accept the fact that he had just been grabbed by a man who bought two and a half bowls of gukbap, so he simply allowed himself to be tied up.

Muhyeon rolled up the left sleeve before tying him up. A red thread skull. Upon closer inspection, the thread was old and frayed.

"Where did you get this pattern?"

"W-what do you mean by 'got'? I just imitated the Blood Wind Ten Ghosts! Everyone knows that name!"

"An imitation, huh."

"I-it's true! How could someone like us, a mere small fry, get under those elders!"

"Where did you learn that imitation? The pattern looks quite accurate."

"W-well, it's just a story that goes around the marketplace. They say if you wear that pattern, the Sa-pa won't touch you. No one wants to fall out of favor with the Blood Wind Ten Ghosts elders."

Elders. It was a world where small fry thieves referred to mass murderers as elders. Muhyeon etched those words into his mind. One old imitation pattern was ruling the bottom of this world just by its name. The owners of that name must have been defeated by the shaman two months ago.

His skill in tying twenty-three with a rope had now become a part of his experience.

After finishing the tying, Muhyeon entered the forest, and shortly after, he came out carrying a man bound with a rope over his shoulder. It was the missing scout. He had brought him back completely untied from being bound to a tree with a bit.

"Y-you're alive!"

The scout rushed over and hugged him. The scout spat out the bit and gasped for breath while pointing at Muhyeon.

"W-who is this… where on earth…."

"I found him tied up, so I picked him up."

"Picked him up, you say, a person."

"I was taught that it's only right to pick up what is lying around."

Only then did Deokbae crawl out from under the cart. He had his eyes tightly shut.

"N-ninety-nine, one hundred! Is it over?"

"It's over."

"...It's true."

Deok-bae began to call Mu-hyeon not 'uncle' but 'master' from that day on. No matter how much Mu-hyeon scolded him seriously, it was useless. The more he tried to stop him, the more humble the master became. Later, he even imitated him while eating, and when Mu-hyeon had rice in his soup, Deok-bae also followed suit, and when Mu-hyeon ate three bowls, Deok-bae ended up eating three bowls as well and got sick. The path to becoming like the master was still long.

The group was in a festive mood.

Pyo-du held Mu-hyeon's hand and did not let go.

"Great hero! No, great swordsman! I don't know who you are, but you are our benefactor!"

"I'm a porter. Two coins a day."

"What a humble statement!"

"Well, I just set the box down for a moment. Could you check if the medicinal herbs are okay? You mentioned it would be deducted from my pay."

Pyo-du laughed heartily but stopped when he saw Mu-hyeon's face. It was serious.

The procession safely reached the bustling market that evening. The leader of the group rushed out barefoot to express his gratitude, and Mu-hyeon negotiated for a bowl of soup and a room for one night, along with the two coins owed for the porter. Instead, he added one request.

"Please hand over those twenty-three to the authorities, but kindly speak of them as first-time offenders, except for the leader. Most of them are defeated soldiers who have flowed down from the valley. They are wielding swords because they have nowhere else to go."

"...The great hero is truly a strange person."

"I hear that often."

The dinner table was shared with Pyo-du. It was a forced arrangement set by the leader of the group. Pyo-du offered alcohol, but when Mu-hyeon declined, he drank alone and started to share stories that were not even asked for.

"You said you were going towards the volcano."

"Yes."

"The volcano... it's no joke. I've gone back and forth a few times, and every time I see it, my heart breaks. The mountain gate is burned, and the guesthouse has become a shelter for the injured. Half of the disciples in the area have died, and most of the people who were mobilized for labor and service have not returned. They say that the great volcano has no one to guard it, and these days, there are even rumors of hiring outsiders for the job."

Mu-hyeon suppressed the strength in his hand gripping the cup.

"...Did so many people really die?"

"Not just many. The list of missing persons is as thick as a book. There are many homes that haven't even found the bodies, and in the villages below the volcano, the wailing hasn't stopped yet."

A home that hasn't found a body. Mu-hyeon knew one such home. A home with a twelve-year-old child. He was swallowing water instead of alcohol, and his throat felt constricted.

That night, the lower floor of the inn was noisy, and when he looked down, he saw the guests passing around cups and recounting tales of the day.

"Well, with just one chopstick! Clink clink! All twenty-three of them!"

"I saw it clearly with these two eyes! That gentleman is the very cliff traveler from the rumors!"

"What cliff traveler, you fool. Such a gentleman should have a nickname."

"A nickname? Since he uses chopsticks... how about 'Chopstick Hero'?"

"Hey, what kind of name is that? It sounds vulgar. It reminds me of a pickled fish vendor."

"Then let's attach the character for hero to it, 'Chopstick Hero'!"

"That's too long. Let's shorten it to 'Chopstick Immortal'!"

"I heard that in the first village, he used a fire poker. Then how about 'Fire Hero'? A fire poker is something that handles fire."

"The firecracker is confused with Huashan."

"Then how about this? The King of All Armies! Anything that can be held in hand can be used as a weapon!"

"Using a shovel and chopsticks to represent all armies is too much."

"Then... the Kitchen Hero?"

"If the elder hears that, it will be a big problem."

Mu-hyeon covered himself with the blanket.

Chopsticks. Chopstick. The chopstick hero. Either way, it was terrible. The name of the martial arts he had learned for thirty years was solidifying into chopsticks. If Ok-heo-nomo heard it, a cane would fly, and if Hyeonhwa-jin heard it, he would retract the sword training.

'I must leave this town before a nickname is attached.'

Mu-hyeon made a firm resolution and fell asleep.

He left the next morning. However, he could not leave quietly. The head of the merchant group came to see him off at the entrance of the market, the merchants lined up to bow, and a crowd of onlookers gathered.

Deok-bae followed him for half a mile after passing the entrance.

"Master. Can't you take me with you?"

"I'm not your master."

"Then uncle. I also want to learn martial arts. I want to be like you, no, like uncle."

Mu-hyeon stopped walking and looked down at the boy. The story of a twelve-year-old who wanted to become a gatekeeper like his brother came to mind, and he hesitated for a moment.

"Deok-bae."

"Yes."

"What you did yesterday, counting to a hundred under the cart, that was good."

"...What does that mean? It was hiding."

"Knowing when to breathe is half of it. The other half is knowing when to step forward. When the time comes to step forward, the body will naturally do so. Just like I did yesterday."

"Then when do I step forward?"

"First, build the strength to carry the burden. A person who cannot carry the burden cannot wield a sword."

Deok-bae turned back with a face that seemed to understand but not quite. Mu-hyeon, while looking at his back, suddenly pondered the words that had come out of his own mouth. A person who cannot carry the burden cannot wield a sword. It would have sounded like a joke to Wang Cheol-san, but somehow, it mixed with the habits of his four masters. Teaching seemed to take on a shape as one received it.

Those one hundred will pass the story on to a thousand by evening.

They say the chopstick master went towards the volcano.