Back in school, we never had sword-fighting classes or dueling lessons.


    In combat between humans, only guns mattered—everything else was meaningless.


    Even Instructor Jang Ki-young, who had his head stuck in romantic ideals, used to say, "If you''re going to swing a sword, you might as well carry another handgun."


    And he was right.


    I had rarely used melee weapons against humans in real combat.


    Blades were only ever tools—used when overwhelming an enemy who couldn’t resist.


    So this Chinese Hunter wasn’t some refined swordsman either.


    Their training didn’t even last a year.


    They were nothing more than academy hunters—shoved through a fast-track survival program and thrown onto the battlefield.


    Maybe this guy was an exception—a bit more seasoned than the rest, trained just enough to swing a fancy polearm.


    But it didn’t matter.


    “...”


    The man with the Qinglong Yanyue Dao spoke again.


    The translator relayed, “Why don’t you have the Golden Fleece?”


    I scoffed and locked eyes with Bai Tou.


    “Do you wear all your medals everywhere you go?”


    The translator repeated my words.


    Bai Tou laughed loudly.


    One of those exaggerated laughs straight out of a cheap martial arts film.


    Then, he started walking toward me, spinning the Qinglong Dao in his hand.


    More Chinese words.


    The translator spoke.


    “Bai Tou Hunter says he won’t kill you.”


    “Oh? Is that so?”


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