Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Chapter 3: The Showdown (10)
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The number of coffins was nine.
Hwang Ryeoman frowned as he surveyed the upright coffins. He lifted his head upward. His sharp eyes carried the question of what this nonsense was. Dongpungneung on the rooftop raised his hand once more.
The two sturdy men in front opened the lid of the central coffin. Inside lay the corpse of a Taehaeng Clan warrior who had lost his life in the previous bloodbath at Jinsung Pavilion. The body had been meticulously embalmed. He was even dressed in a cleanly prepared Taehaeng Clan uniform. It looked as though he had passed peacefully rather than dying by the blade.
"You recognize the face, don't you?"
Dongpungneung asked in a voice that boomed like thunder.
Hwang Ryeoman's eyes filled with rage. The relationship between Taehaeng Clan Leader Hwang Ryeoman and his subordinates was not merely one of lord and vassal—it was closer to that of master and disciple. There was no way he wouldn't recognize one of his own.
"And what about this one?"
Dongpungneung raised his hand for the last time. The two sturdy men opened the lid of the coffin beside it. A glint flashed in Hwang Ryeoman's eyes.
"Who is this? Who?"
Hwang Ryeoman spoke for the first time. His low voice rang clearly in the ears of everyone present. It was a display of his profound inner energy.
"One of your own men."
Dongpungneung replied.
Hwang Ryeoman looked up at Dongpungneung, then back at the open coffin.
It was a face he had never seen before. Though dressed in Taehaeng Clan garb, it was someone he had no knowledge of. This was impossible. The Taehaeng Clan did not accept just anyone as a member. Hwang Ryeoman himself personally evaluated their character and integrity, accepting only those he deemed worthy. Not even the lowliest foot soldier could escape his discerning eye.
"Quite intriguing. Every coffin lined up here contains someone dressed in Taehaeng Clan uniforms. Think about what that means—you're no fool."
Hwang Ryeoman's eyes twitched faintly.
Two.
That was the number of casualties he had been informed of. Just two? No—even two was too many for Hwang Ryeoman. They were subordinates he cherished like blood kin. Yet here stood nine coffins. And those inside were said to be wearing Taehaeng Clan uniforms.
Impossible.
But he had no desire to press Dongpungneung. The man might enjoy stirring trouble, but he wasn't the type to spout nonsense before such an assembly of heroes. Nor was he one to dress random corpses from Jinsung Pavilion in Taehaeng Clan uniforms and stuff them into coffins as some petty trick.
In the end, there was only one way to resolve this.
Hwang Ryeoman strode forward and stomped the ground.
Thud!
He shot straight up, kicking off the tiles of Jinsung Pavilion's second floor and leaping onto the rooftop where Dongpungneung waited, arriving in an instant.
"Ooooh!"
"As expected of the Army Marching Sword!"
It was light as a feather. A lightness skill that drew involuntary admiration. He faced Dongpungneung.
"Our brothers they are not."
"I know."
The sunset illuminated the two men. In the deepening shadows of the dusk, the pair who had forged their own paths exchanged burning gazes.
Hwang Ryeoman spoke again in a solemn voice. There was no inner energy infused—just loud enough for Dongpungneung alone to hear.
"A strange young man came and told me. The true culprit behind our feud is someone else."
"So I heard."
"Then these coffins..."
"Are the proof."
"Imposters in Taehaeng Clan uniforms attacked you."
"Seems that way."
"Ah-jeong was full of loyalty. I thought he acted on his own."
"The warrior you cherished."
"Given the situation, it seems even Ah-jeong was involved... But I don't want to believe that's true."
"They're the ones who pitted the two of us from Yishan Wugang against each other. Nothing they scheme would surprise me."
"Ha ha. To think the Army Marching Sword has been..."
"And me? I've been dancing to someone else's tune all this time."
"It's a disgrace. This Hwang no longer wishes to be deceived."
"Exactly my thoughts."
Without a word, they naturally drew their blade and sword.
Dongpungneung's double-edged sword hummed and trembled, infused with deep inner energy. His blackish-blue robe fluttered like a banner, casting a shadow.
Opposing it was the Army Marching Sword's famed weapon: a jeweled Gentleman's Sword.
It possessed a splendor unfit for the name "Gentleman." Holding it aloft with both hands as if in formal salute, the Army Marching Sword spoke.
"My name is Hwang Ryeoman, courtesy name Heunggeom. I left Hong Mountain to lead the Taehaeng Clan my master founded, pursuing the sword's path my entire life. Just as the world has called us sworn enemies since some point, the name of Great Unity Hall's Tongcheon Blade has lodged in my heart like fate, never to leave. At last, the day has come to cross blades—truly fortunate. Behold the sword arts I have honed, without regret."
"Truly the Army Marching Sword. You even speak with flair. Unfortunately, I lack your eloquence. My name is merely Dongpungneung. If you're so curious about my blade work, it's the honor of three lifetimes. Now, taste the Tongcheon Blade."
Dongpungneung aimed his double-edged sword. Hwang Ryeoman drew his from the scabbard and held it vertically aloft.
Merely standing in ready stance stole one's breath. Even the heroes watching from below fell silent. The clash of auras was terrifying.
"Here we go...?"
Oho said, sounding delighted.
Cheonwi's expression was anything but. He turned and spoke curtly.
"Prepare, Soyul. It's our turn."
"Yes!"
The firm reply came from a sharp-featured youth, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. In his hand was a brush pen. Pache Yeokmu—starting now, Cheonwi would dissect the weaknesses of Dongpungneung's Tongcheon Blade and Hwang Ryeoman's Army Marching Sword. Cheonwi had a heavenly talent for spotting martial arts flaws, but that talent didn't guarantee infinite memory. He could etch them into his mind now, but they would fade with time. Soyul's role was crucial. He transcribed every word Cheonwi uttered verbatim—a prodigy in shorthand.
"Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes."
Their mutual stare bred impatience.
As the tension of all onlookers peaked...
The two launched themselves at each other.
Craaaang!
The first clash roared like an explosion.
Crack! Crraaack!
Astonishing power. The mere shockwave shattered roof tiles, kicking up dust.
Clang! Craaang!
Dongpungneung moved with nimbleness belying his massive frame. Leaping into the air, he brought his double-edged sword down with force enough to cleave Jinsung Pavilion in two.
Boom! Crraaack!
Hwang Ryeoman below met it head-on squarely. He parried the monstrous downward Tongcheon Blade strike fearlessly with his sword bending gracefully. The tiles beneath his feet shattered and flew.
"You block that outright?"
A smile crept onto Dongpungneung's lips.
He had poured thousands of jin of force into the blow. Hwang Ryeoman's sword had merely bent at the impact before snapping back straight, shoving the Tongcheon Blade aside.
A worthy rival.
They were equals as two of Yishan Wugang, and indeed their inner energies matched. Considering the nature of swords, he might even possess deeper reserves.
"Left side. Left is open. The form is Overstepping Heaven—gap between Overstepping Heaven and One-Foot Half-Slash on the left mid-low, three cun below the ribs."
Cheonwi called out.
Soyul's hand moved with incredible speed, filling a page in moments.
Kwaaaang!
The renewed fight erupted in a frenzy of exchanges.
Over a dozen clashes in an instant, fifty before eyes could follow.
"Got it. Right side. Eyes can't track. Blind spot on the outer lower thigh right leg. Attacking there reveals a secondary flaw."
The rooftop tiles shattered mercilessly, cascading down.
A single blade and a single sword clashing, yet the power was immense. Far from tiring as time dragged, both seemed to grow stronger.
Boom! Crash!
The spectators below flinched back. Some collapsed, bloodied by flying tile shards.
"Their inner energies are even. Hwang Ryeoman might have a slight edge. His is grounded in the Six Harmonies; Dongpungneung's in Yin-Yang—no, Four Images Force. In inner energy balance, Dongpungneung is weaker. The Tongcheon Blade lacks harmony in its nature. Excellent for rapid training, but falls short in ultimate refinement. It's showing now—weaknesses mainly from the lower body. Unstable stance. Yet matching skill means one thing: Dongpungneung's martial talent is superior."
The sun had set; night had fallen.
Torches lit amid the sea of people. The ignorant masses gaped. Even seasoned jianghu experts, who had witnessed countless fights, rarely saw peak masters clash like this in a lifetime.
Scree! Claaang!
Slicing the pitch-black night, their blade and sword collided like gods in legend.
"Hwang Ryeoman's no slouch. The Army Marching Sword is solid. Honest paths overall, but clever moves interspersed. There—just above shoulder height by half cun, drop one chi to slash mid-level, then another chi-half to thrust low. That Three Linked Rings brims with ingenuity. Worth learning—mark it for extraction."
"Understood."
Several sheets were already filled with inked brush strokes.
Stars rose in the sky, night blanketed the earth.
Though the sky darkened, the brush never faltered. No light, yet no smudges—proof of Soyul's skill beyond mere shorthand.
Starlight fell upon the duo's flurry as the brush recorded.
The two masters' forms crossed in midair.
Thud.
They landed at opposite ends of the roof, creating distance.
The roof was little more than bare beams now. The thick rafters groaned as if about to collapse.
In a flash, they closed in, thrusting blade and sword.
Speeds near invisible. But Cheonwi saw all. His lips moved rapidly.
"Dongpungneung. Left half-step, after Upper Triple Blade into Coiling Cloud Sword, struck at Zhangmen acupoint. Unstable landing. Unrelated to footing—internal injury, not technique flaw. No need to record."
"Erasing it."
Soyul swiftly inked over the words.
"Wait..."
Cheonwi frowned slightly.
He saw Dongpungneung and Hwang Ryeoman use the rebound to leap apart.
And they did not rush back in.
The mood had shifted.
Had they clashed enough?
Their stares were ominous. The piercing intensity reached even here.
"That..."
Oho groaned first.
Cheonwi gritted his teeth.
"We need to see more...!"
His tone grew urgent. He shot to his feet. Seol and Hyang's eyes filled with tension, uncomprehending. Seol asked.
"What's wrong? What is it?"
"The showdown."
Oho answered curtly, chewing the words.
"The showdown?"
Hyang echoed. Oho ignored her, turning to Cheonwi with raised brows.
"Looks like they're going for the finish. What now?"
"What else?"
Cheonwi replied.
Oho glanced toward Jinsung Pavilion.
Dongpungneung grinned broadly. A faint smile curved Hwang Ryeoman's lips.
The situation had flipped.
Murmurs rose among the packed crowd below.
Even the commoners sensed it.
The atmosphere had changed.
Something big was coming. A flashy clash to end it all.
The fierce battle neared its climax.
Obvious to any watcher.
"The agreement..."
"Will be broken."
"Broken?"
"Battle lust blinded them."
Understandable.
They were warriors.
But understanding didn't untangle the mess.
Untangling—or preventing it—was their task.
"No choice. We intervene directly."
Cheonwi decided.