Chapter 46
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Potter
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The fastest to respond was Song Seol-ryeong.
With her characteristic beast-like instinct, she sensed that the incoming breath was the precursor to a roar and recognized that its power was far from ordinary.
Song Seol-ryeong didn't grasp this rationally; she simply reacted on pure instinct, like a spinal reflex.
This was the right answer.
“Krraaaaaargh!!!”
“Uwaaaaaah!!!”
Roar met roar. She mimicked the technique she had once seen and heard from her sect's elders.
A clear, azure howl burst forth to counter the massive tidal wave of the roar crashing down upon them.
Dao Sect Azure Dragon Roar.
Compared to the renowned Buddhist Lion's Roar, its demon-subduing properties were somewhat lacking, but the resonance infused with a pure Dao Heart was specialized in cleansing the listener's mind.
Reproducing a Wudang secret art she had glimpsed only in passing, triggered merely by a threat to her life.
It was truly remarkable talent—neutralizing the black tiger's roar with near-perfect execution.
“-Ugh!?”
But the right answer didn't always guarantee success. Even the most appropriate response could be crushed by overwhelming power.
Even though nearly half—close to seventy percent—of its momentum had been neutralized, the muscles of those who heard the roar stiffened, and fear gripped their hearts.
“Haap!”
The first to shake it off was Zhuge Hansang, the highest in realm among them.
Not a secret technique, but he infused his inner power into a shout, regaining control of his body before charging at the oncoming black tiger.
Of course, he had witnessed the black tiger's prowess firsthand; clashing head-on in strength was suicide.
Thus, Zhuge Hansang moved as if hurling himself at the leaping black tiger, then circulated his Suction Palm to stick his soles to the ground and crouched low.
In that crouched stance, he slid under the tiger's belly like receiving a sandbag, then shoved with both hands to flip it over.
“Kraaaaaap!!”
Thrown in the direction of its leap, the actual impact shouldn't have been much, yet the burden Zhuge Hansang felt was no joke.
“Kuuh…!”
If he hadn't undergone the horrific training regimen taught by So-hyang, he might not have endured.
A mere few days of training, yet the rapid cycles of destruction and recovery had brought noticeable gains in his physical abilities.
And yet, it was still like this.
The forcefully hurled black tiger twisted its body mid-air, landed swiftly on all fours, and corrected its stance.
“What?”
Controlling its massive frame as lightly as a stray cat was one thing, but its judgment bordered on madness.
There were limits to cunning—even this bordered on precise reactions honed by profound martial arts.
What kind of monster was this?
Cold sweat trickled from his brow, chills racing down his spine.
“Haha…!”
Suppressing the surging fear and anxiety, he forced a chuckle to laugh it off.
“Is that thing really something we can beat with our strength…?”
“Hahaha! Since So-hyang lady said so, what choice do we have but to believe…!”
Leaving the brief exchange behind, a figure suddenly dashed forward.
“Warrior Kang…!?”
Kang Pyo struck the black tiger's flank with his sheathed sword brimming with inner power, without drawing it.
His scabbard thus became a club packed with the profundity of external force projection.
At the moment of impact, it resounded like striking a massive drum.
“Krraang!”
The black tiger uttered a startled cry.
This unremarkable old male had bypassed its razor-sharp wild senses and spiritual instincts in an instant to land a hit.
For it pierced the hide and tough muscles—which only suffered scratches from qi-infused metal—and shocked its internals.
Not overwhelmingly impressive, but undoubtedly an effective strike.
Though it hadn't been careless before, now it had personally felt a genuine threat.
“Grrr….”
“Warrior Kang! That was amazing! But why hit with the scabbard instead of drawing your sword?”
“Ah, there was an order not to draw it…”
To be precise, right after the black tiger's ambush, amid encouragement to give it their all, a sound transmission had arrived from So-hyang, who had hidden herself.
[Warrior Kang, it's better not to draw your sword just yet? You probably sense it yourself, but I'm mentioning it just in case.]
As So-hyang said, Kang Pyo himself had instinctively known he shouldn't draw his sword.
The inner power accumulated, his martial realm, his sword comprehension, the efforts built upon mediocre talent... truthfully, calling them "built" was questionable.
More apt to liken them to fine sand—unable even to stack like bricks for height, not even a stone pagoda along a mountain path.
And... over these past few days, Kang Pyo realized that even such sandy efforts held meaning.
The sword discussions shared with So-hyang were, metaphorically, water.
Useless for erecting a tower on their own, merely trickling away.
But pour water on sand, and it becomes clay, does it not?
Now, Kang Pyo was akin to a potter shaping that clay.
The process of solidifying his enlightenment could be likened to drying the roughly formed earthenware.
He instinctively knew that forcing out immature enlightenment would yield poor results.
“...And besides, my blade likely wouldn't pierce that hide anyway. The internal heavy hand method is the proper counter, so it worked out well.”
“Indeed, I understand!”
Zhuge Hansang grasped it immediately and switched the nature of the inner power in his hands and feet.
He favored external hard fist arts that shattered foes with powerful impacts, but as one versed in martial combat, he was proficient in internal soft arts as well.
“Ugh, I'm not great with internal martial arts…”
Arts that targeted internals—Wudang boasted peerless techniques befitting their reputation—but as a secular disciple, Song Seol-ryeong lacked proficiency.
She had no chance to model them; her training focused mainly on inspector duties.
“-Then, like this…!”
Better to pour more inner power into her sword qi, honing it razor-sharp, than resort to clumsy palm strikes.
Not solid enough for gang qi coating, but enough to inflict scratches.
The momentum was shifting.
Overwhelming pressure, threatening power—yet victory now seemed possible.
So-hyang sat demurely atop a tree slightly removed from the campsite, watching them.
“Hoo, more capable than I thought.”
This assessment applied equally to the black tiger and the three warriors.
First, the black tiger: divine strength matching its elephant-like bulk, vast accumulated spiritual power—truly extraordinary.
Even more striking was its intelligence. Less beastly cunning than profound wisdom.
Even the faint traces of martial arts glimpsed elevated its practical combat power beyond mere raw might.
In warrior terms, teetering just shy of transcendent peak realm.
Its power rivaled transcendent peak, yet as a beast, wielding it efficiently proved challenging despite keen intellect.
A rare spirit beast even in the vast Central Plains—formidable for two early peak and one mid-peak experts.
Yet the battle unfolded most entertainingly.
A pleased smile graced So-hyang's face as she turned to address someone.
“...So please, hold off on intervening for now?”
Not to the building-sized tiger or the struggling trio—but toward somewhere in the forest depths.
The three were recipients of opportunities rare even for ordinary warriors.
Their innate affinities were highly favorable against beasts.
Song Seol-ryeong had largely neutralized the roar by recreating Azure Dragon Roar.
Her animalistic instincts let her predict the black tiger's movements with ease.
Normally, one guarded against deceptive feints that fooled instinct—but against a beast, no such worry.
“I see it all, you dung cat!”
Fierce, swift paws? Riding her instinct's alarms, she reacted a step ahead to evade handily.
Zhuge Hansang fared similarly.
Array martial arts enabled instant reactions to any foe within range; Zhuge clansmen ranked among the jianghu's evasion elites.
“Hyupcha!”
With exceptional flexibility and strength twisting his body to its limits, he slipped free like a loach.
Victory wasn't assured by evasion alone, but Kang Pyo served as the wedge.
For unavoidable strikes, his vibrating scabbard deflected trajectories; eye signals conveyed silent commands.
No words needed—they read intents from created openings, seized gaps, chaining attacks seamlessly.
Deadlocked yet thoughts whirled madly, peak prowess dominating the battlefield.
“Krahahaha! I'm Zhuge scion, yet you command better than me!?”
“-Save your breath!”
Bloodshot eyes blazed in trance-like ultimate focus.
And the sword's vibrations grew fiercer.
Peak realm warriors transcended rote techniques, forging personal paths.
Song Seol-ryeong's animal instincts exemplified it.
Zhuge Hansang's Formless Chain did too.
Completing that path yielded one's signature ultimate technique...
The transcendent realm.
Yet Kang Pyo had never grasped his own path.
Peak achieved, yet his swordplay unchanged from first-rate.
Not even second-rate.
Third-rate, truly.
Merely refined, less shaky—no true personal evolution.
Now, certainty dawned.
This fiercely trembling sword resonance marked his path's direction.
Like a motif etched atop clay—his personality, life: script, image, symbol.
Once the quivering enlightenment solidified and the clay dried, upon drawing his sword anew...!
Kang Pyo's sword thrummed thunderously, as if vowing to roar after years of silence; a smile lit his face.
For the tightly bound scabbard felt distinctly loosening.
“Krraaaaaang!!”
The black tiger's assaults missed the trio; their strikes pummeled it.
Tough hide blocked major damage, but accumulation mounted—ignorable no longer.
In a world ruled by nature-assimilating spirit beasts, why remained hairless monkeys atop all creation?
Language-forged martial history, mutual cooperation—simply, the smartest.
Moreover, the tiger's movements grew familiar; attacks intensified.
“Kr, kraang! Grrruk!”
Wolf pack assaults burdensome as a cub paled; the black tiger had never faced such refined violence.
It had slain lithe humans aplenty—yet mere numbers turning the tide this harshly?
Flustered yet eyes calmly sought openings.
Not born mountain lord; underdog scraps were familiar.
“Eeeek…!”
As expected, the youngest female exposed a gap—greed for one extra strike when fleeing.
“-Lady!”
Tiger eyes gleamed coldly; it twisted to pulverize her position whole.
“Grrr….”
But a failure.
The old male reached out, seized her garb, yanked her aside. Tiger fangs clove only air.
“Th, thank you…”
“Stay sharp! Move with caution!”
Momentum's thrill tempted the young female's excitement, yet the old male's command restored her cool.
“Krraaaaaang!!”
Composure finally shattered; fury dawned in the black tiger's eyes.
The old male. That was the issue.
Qi unremarkable in magnitude, strength middling, movements unagile.
Yet grating. Infuriating.
Powered paws inexplicably slipped; bite or claw attempts always met awkward counters.
That puny stick stung at first—now struck spots throbbed.
Keen intellect judged: continuance yielded no advantage. A wildcard was needed.
“Grrgrrrrr…”
And the black tiger possessed such means.
Momentum gained, yet the fight dragged. Fundamental size disparity too vast.
“No way—how can it be this tough!?”
Sweat poured like rain on the trio's faces. Inner power remained ample, but fatigue was another beast.
“Hoo, huuk!”
That cunning beast would seize any linkage lapse to maul.
Zero lapses allowed—immense mental strain.
“Kr, grrrk…”
Thankfully, the black tiger fared no better.
Accumulated shocks disordered its breath; movements slowed.
Tedious exchanges persisted, reversal absent, end in sight.
Precedent forbade complacency, yet the visible toll allowed slight reassurance.
Not drastic... just a hint of slack.
The moment the black tiger awaited.
Body wrenched sharply, forepaw reared. Target: the utmost irritant.
“Warrior Kang!”
“No worries!”
Reading the abrupt assault's prelude, the old male thrust his stick as before.
Yes, the old male lacks the others' nimbleness. Plans to deflect my paw oddly again.
But this strike differs.
“-What.”
Cartwheel-sized feline pawpad brimmed unnatural qi.
Not muscular force—but pitch-black inner power drawn from within.
“A tech—technique?”
A mere beast wielding human martial arts—concentration shattered; the paw closed in.
Ah.
Fast. Leagues faster. Power in another dimension.
Impossible to block, impossible to deflect.
Air shoved aside warped space-like.
In death's maw, his sword quivered unprecedentedly, roaring—but futile.
Egg hurled at boulder. No need to test; breakage certain.
Raw or boiled—same fate.
In the eternized instant, Kang Pyo sensed death clearer than ever.
No life lantern flickered.
Only regret welled.
Decades' scraped sands finally purposed—yet crushed before clay set.
Utterly regrettable. Disappointing.
Kang Pyo, Kang Pyo! Millennium fortune grasped, yet still so lacking!
Ahh, my apologies.
To the lady reaching out in horror.
To the caravan lord who trusted and entrusted his daughter.
To the master who taught this lacking disciple with zeal.
Above all, to So-hyang, who unearthed meaning in this fool's lifelong toil...
Profound guilt alone.
In a realm of gems, gold, steel—a roadside smooth pebble's mortal dirge.
Yet his curtain had not fallen.
For between tiger paw and crown, a bamboo speared down.
-Kwaaaaaang!!!
A cataclysmic boom to shake mountains and rend distant skies.