The Invincible Commander – Chapter 1

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HwasanSect

[Translator: Chyluck]

[Proofreader: Chyluck]

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Chapter 1

I was bald.

A shiny, hairless dome.

…Damn it all.

It started falling out, strand by strand, and took exactly four years to go completely bald.

I scoured the land for renowned doctors to escape my baldness.

They told me it’d be nearly impossible to cure without undergoing some mythical “bone-shedding transformation.”

They said it was a pipe dream, something unattainable, so I should just give up. But if there’s a way, why cower before even trying?

Hope sparked.

Among countless methods, they said mastering martial arts to transcend human limits could do it.

A monk, who looked wise at a glance, told me this.

He handed me this precious info for a single talisman.

He said keeping it would bring great fortune later, so I tucked it away carefully.

But I soon learned that regular martial arts wouldn’t cut it.

To achieve this “bone-shedding transformation,” I’d need to train under a famous master or become a disciple of a prestigious sect.

Impossible.

As people say, I was an abandoned orphan, a lone wanderer with no one to rely on.

What connections did I have to learn such renowned martial arts?

Someone once said it:
“Skills aren’t passed to those lacking character, nor to those unfit to wield them.”
Utter nonsense.

It’s just a fancy way of saying they keep it all for themselves.

The haves, born into wealthy families, learn it. The privileged, born into powerful clans, master it. That’s what prestigious martial arts were.

Who’s going to teach martial arts to a lowborn nobody with no talent?

Then I stumbled across a martial arts school.

A place that teaches if you pay.

I doubted a shabby place like that would have the kind of martial arts needed for transformation, but doing something was better than nothing.

Despite its rundown look, joining the school cost a hefty sum.

Two taels of silver, to be exact.

I worked like a dog.

Waiter, coachman, porter.

Scraping together every moment, even cutting into sleep, I finally saved enough to enroll at a pretty late age.

Still, being able to chase my dream felt like happiness.

I’d never learned to read, so I just mimicked the movements diligently.

And then I got kicked out after thrashing the instructor.

He kept smacking my head, mocking my baldness.

That’s when I realized I had talent.

I’d barely started learning the Six Harmonies Fist, yet I beat the instructor.

In place of my stolen hair, the heavens gifted me martial prowess.

By thirty, I ruled the back alleys, unstoppable among the so-called “evil sects.”

I earned a notorious reputation.

But why the hell did these bastards call me the “Bald Blade King” instead of just “Blade King”?

And what’s with “Demon Buddha”?

I’m not religious.

I didn’t care for monks.

With hair so precious, who’d willingly choose a shaved head?

Whenever I saw someone mocking my looks, I tore into them, righteous or evil alike, until one day a new title stuck.

“The Enemy of the Martial World.”

Followed by “Bald Blade Venerable.”

Damn them, even when my title changed, they always slapped “Bald” on it.

Achieving transformation was hard enough, but dodging pursuit teams meant I couldn’t even train properly.

No, wait—thinking back, that was my training.

I learned martial arts with my body, not my head.

Fighting daily, teetering on the edge of life and death, my strikes grew sharper, my killing intent thicker.

Then came an offer.

From the Demonic Cult.

They’d heard of my “great renown” and marveled at my “grand achievements,” their lips practically dripping with flattery.

Since I was already the martial world’s enemy, living in the central plains was tough, so I thought, why not?

But the day I joined, the Demonic Cult started hunting me.

The crazy cult leader slung his arm around me, welcoming the “Bald Demon,” so I slapped him across the face.

He chased me, vowing to kill me.

I should’ve torn his mouth off.

Anyway, from that day, I made history as the only person hunted by both righteous and demonic factions.

I didn’t have world-class martial arts, but my skills were top-tier, so they couldn’t catch me easily.

Above all, my cunning and instinct for sensing danger were unmatched.

Whenever trouble loomed, my skin would crawl with goosebumps.

But running got old.

After staining the white sands of Baeksaping red with blood, I decided to go into hiding.

I vanished to a place the world could never find.

But there was one thing I couldn’t give up: hair.

Everyone’s got something they’re obsessed with.

Mine was that.

Just you wait—I’d achieve transformation and let my lush hair flow in the wind.

That’s what I vowed when I met her.

A woman lost in the mountains.

I didn’t save her because she was pretty.

Honest.

It was her warm, beaming smile that caught me.

But she had odd tastes.

She said my baldness was charming.

What a strange woman.

She looked at me—scarred and rough from years of battle—without flinching.

A shift came to my life, forged in the heart of death, around that time.

A person unlike any martial artist I’d known.

Fresh. Fascinating.

Her words, actions, thoughts.

Was it because I was tired of the martial world? The change crept in slowly, like water seeping into paper.

Like thick blood diluting in water.

As time passed, I felt myself aligning with her way of thinking, regretting my past more and more.

As her smile began to look different, I grew cautious around her.

She felt like a small egg in my hand—seemingly sturdy but fragile if squeezed too hard or dropped.

I cherished her, and that’s how it became.

As I grew accustomed to this unfamiliar change, I realized a warm breeze could blow through my heart for the first time.

Was this love?

A feeling I’d never known.

Our love bore fruit.

I was as flustered as she was, but it felt like I’d gained the world.

It was a strange sensation.

I was clumsy with words, but a smile never left my face.

The child in her womb.

Unlike me, abandoned by my parents, this one would grow up differently.

Hair stopped mattering.

I realized the little things were far more important.

I laughed even at the tiny sprouts poking up from our small garden.

I let go of my obsession.

And, like a lie, enlightenment came.

I knew it was the moment of transformation I’d dreamed of my whole life.

A woman who loved me, a child, and transformation.

Everything was perfect.

The tickling sensation of hair growing back felt so good that day, with all my senses open, defenseless.

Then her dagger plunged into my dantian.

The goosebumps that always warned of danger didn’t come.

I was defenseless in that moment of enlightenment, but also because I trusted her completely.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my enemy.”

“Enemy?”

“Seo Jinjung. My father.”

“Ah…”

It came back to me.

There was someone with that name among those I’d killed.

Not a big deal, so the memory’s fuzzy.

Some guy, from some region, some sect, some warrior.

Just… some nobody, probably.

So, I was her sworn enemy, one she could never forgive.

It must’ve been tough.

Loving someone like me.

But why?

Her eyes didn’t hold venom but a sadness tinged with love and hate.

I’m the one dying, accepting it humbly, so why do you look sadder?

Why are you crying?

Why are your tightly pressed lips trembling so?

You got the revenge you wanted—smile brightly.

But even her crying wasn’t ugly.

I didn’t resent her.

I was a martial artist, always prepared for death.

I knew the karma I’d built would come back to me someday.

“Hyang…”

“I-I… I…”

Her voice trembled as much as the hand gripping the dagger.

She seemed to want to explain, but it didn’t matter.

Even if her smiles, our life together, were a lie, it didn’t matter.

I was always sincere.

“Smile.”

“…”

“You’re prettier when you smile.”

As I gave her a wide smile, her tear-soaked eyes trembled, and her sobs turned to wails.

That’s not what I meant.

I was always grateful.

She showed me I could be a better person and made me try.

My inner energy scattered.

Blood kept pouring from my mouth.

Yet I smiled.

As moments of my life flashed before me like a lantern reel, I realized.

Hair was never the point.

Maybe it was an excuse.

Maybe it was revenge against the parents who abandoned me, or rage against a world that taught me disdain and contempt for my appearance and status.

Maybe that’s why I fought so fiercely.

“I’m sorry for making you cry. If we’d met under better circumstances… If there’s a next life, if we’re bound by good fate, I’ll live for you.”

Stroking her cheek, I mumbled with my last strength.

I knew it was impossible, but that’s how I felt.

And so, I closed my eyes, like falling asleep.

“Ugh…”

My stomach hurt like hell.

Feeling pain meant I wasn’t dead yet.

Damn, how is my life this stubborn?

If forgiveness was death, I was ready to accept even that.

“Hey! You’re awake?”

But then came a raspy old voice.

Why?

No, who?

In my hideout, it was just her and me.

No one would come.

Did she forgive me?

A flicker of hope sparked.

Maybe she couldn’t bear to watch me die and called a doctor?

Even if it was a lie, was there a shred of pity or love for me?

Amid the pain, I slowly opened my eyes with that faint hope.

“A miracle, I tell you, a miracle.”

Of course.

Her dagger had struck my dantian dead-on. My inner energy was gone, and I’d accepted death.

How could someone who’d given up on life survive?

“I really thought you were a goner. Thought I’d be preparing a corpse!”

White clothes.

A doctor.

White beard, wrinkled forehead.

An old man.

And he was staring right at me.

“This is divine intervention, pure divine intervention.”

Divine intervention.

I knew the term.

I never had a chance to study, nor cared to, but I wasn’t stupid.

The heavens and gods helping… that’s how lucky I was.

Then—

“How’s he doing?”

A haggard-looking woman entered the shabby clinic.

“Ah…”

For a moment, I was speechless, like I’d lost my voice.

My body felt paralyzed.

A tremor shook me, like I’d been ambushed.

Seeing her face, something hot surged within me.

Sohyang.

I wanted to call her name, but couldn’t, and tears rolled down my cheeks.

But something was off.

Questions flooded my mind.

Was she always this thin?

Why were her clothes so tattered?

Even in hiding, I’d gone out to buy her the prettiest clothes.

As doubts arose, I studied her more closely.

Her once-lush, glossy black hair was dry and brittle.

Wrinkles marred her once-smooth face, her cheeks sunken and gaunt. Her youthful smile now carried a mature elegance.

What?

Why did Sohyang look like she’d been hit full-on by time?

Then, flustered, she blinked her lovely eyes at the doctor.

“Why’s he crying?”

“Ha! He’s probably thrilled to be alive. You saved a life, my lady.”

“I see. Thank you for your hard work. I’ll cover the treatment costs.”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

Sohyang gave a faint smile as the doctor waved off her offer.

What the hell?

As questions piled up, a boy suddenly popped out from behind her.

His eyes sparkled like stars, but he was as scrawny as I’d been, wandering the streets as a vagrant.

Why did he seem familiar?

Then it hit me.

His features were as beautiful as Sohyang’s, but his eyes were like looking at my own reflection in water.

That kid’s damn handsome…

My thoughts screeched to a halt, and my eyes widened, darting between Sohyang and the boy.

No way.

Sohyang, suddenly aged, and a kid who looked like me.

A thunderclap roared in my head.

Memories flooded in.

Not mine, but someone else’s.

Yet at the end of a long, vivid story flashing like a lantern reel, there was Sohyang, and the child was right in front of me.

And I was a wanderer, abandoned by my parents in childhood, drifting from place to place.