Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Chapter 4 Hebei Peng Clan (1)
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Hebei Peng Clan.
Peng Clan.
A prestigious family located in Handan, Wu'an, in southern Hebei.
While Peng clan villages and their grand manors could be found across various regions of the Central Plains, in the world of murim, the term "Peng Clan" referred not to many, but solely to this Hebei Peng Clan.
The head was Blade God Peng Il-gang.
Peng Il-gang was known as the strongest warrior across Hebei, Shandong, and Liaodong combined, and in the art of the blade, few in the entire Central Plains could match him.
Leading with the Blade God, the Peng Clan Blade was the very symbol of orthodox Central Plains blade arts.
They had deep ties with the military, producing many renowned figures who rose to martial official positions since the Song Dynasty. Several had contributed to the founding of the Ming Dynasty as well, though they remained as regional officials rather than advancing to high central posts.
Due to their proximity to Beiping and Shuncheon Prefecture, they faced restrictions on openly stockpiling military forces. This intensified after Emperor Yongle announced the capital's relocation to Beiping, stifling the clan's growth.
As a result, there was a widespread perception that, compared to other clans who could freely build their forces in their respective territories, the Peng Clan lagged in military strength. Jianghu folk often called them the tail end of the Six Great Clans.
With the imperial court never tolerating the expansion of private armies near the capital, they couldn't scale up, but their existing warriors became elite. Thus, their main combat unit, the Heaven-Destroying Squad, was evaluated as matching or surpassing the warriors of any other clan.
Among their warriors, the Four Heroes were the most famous.
...Omitted...
The Peng Clan suffered severe decline during the Great Cataclysm, but later, the emergence of a mighty warrior who earned the title of Blade Emperor...
...Omitted...
Draft of Hanbaek Murim Records
Among the Six Great Clans, Hebei Peng Clan.
* * *
Cheonwi recalled the distant past.
The emotions were profound.
This was already his third time in Taiwon Prefecture.
The first time, he had stayed for a long while.
The One Mountain Five Rivers were all still thriving, and the world wasn't as chaotic as this. Back then, the biggest uproar was just the clash between the Great East Depot and the Taihang Merchant Association.
Of course, even that brawl wasn't small by any means.
The entire Taiwon Prefecture was in an uproar.
All sorts of figures and groups sprang up like mushrooms after rain.
Perhaps that was the prelude to the Great Cataclysm. Opinions varied on when this era truly began. To Cheonwi, that day marked it. The day everything started. His memories of it were vivid.
No matter how Cheonwi felt, by today's standards, it hardly qualified as a great upheaval. Cheonwi knew that well. The significance of any event ultimately depended on personal experience.
In truth, the day with the most deaths and injuries lasted just one night. Even with scattered deaths afterward, the chaos didn't linger for days. Unlike now, with massive brawls erupting nationwide. Those were good times. Back then, the three of them were together.
Looking back, it had been fun.
Jumping toward Dongpungneung and Hwangryeo-man felt like yesterday.
After that, it was all frantic escapes, but memories often weather and distort over time.
That's why nostalgia could creep in.
They'd nearly died countless times, moments when he truly thought they were done for.
He never imagined he'd smile recalling those instants of soaring through the air together.
Cheonwi didn't try to suppress the wave of nostalgia.
Sometimes, it was fine to let memories flood in.
Nothing could torment him anymore.
The sun was setting.
The wind had a chill.
It was the season where nights outlasted days.
He slowly made his way to Sahap-ro Street and stopped.
His second visit here had seen many changes from the first.
Jinsung Pavilion was already gone, replaced by Golden Flower Pavilion in its stead.
Taiwon Prefecture then was even more of a mess than before—or than now.
It was the time when all the worries from witnessing the first conflict among the One Mountain Five Rivers had come true. The initial Taiwon incident was dismissed as the "Taiwon Brawl," a one-night affair, but on his second visit, Taiwon Prefecture sat at the epicenter of the Shanxi Upheaval's massive chaos.
Amid the Divine Demon invasion sweeping the nation, the One Mountain Five Rivers' masters had lost their way, adrift like rudderless ships on a vast sea.
Cheonwi had visited the Nameless Pavilion.
To be precise, "visit" was a bit of a stretch.
He'd gone uninvited.
Naturally, he wasn't welcomed.
Some in the jianghu even called that visit a raid.
That time, he wielded the Black-White Sword.
Perhaps because of that, the name Five Lakes Sword gained fame.
Not today. He needed both the Black-White Sword and the Crimson Sword. The three were one. The Unnamed Blade could no longer remain nameless.
It would be called by its proper name. Today was that day.
"He's here!"
"I see him over there!!"
The gathered throng spotted him.
A stir erupted.
Challenge letters to the Invincible Blade had set the world abuzz.
This era differed from the second visit. During the Shanxi Upheaval, murim folk couldn't spectate fights. Heading to a battlefield meant joining the fray. Even murim warriors thought that way; commoners more so. When a fight broke out, they'd barricade doors and tremble. Spectating masters' duels from the streets was impossible then.
The Chivalrous Dragon Society had done great work.
With the Divine Demon War ended, the old romance revived.
Many regions had regained a semblance of peace. Taiwon Prefecture was one such place. Having endured massive battles early, order returned swiftly. A new status quo had settled, and commoners could stroll the markets without fearing for their lives, content with that.
Even as the sky darkened, the streets blazed like midday.
Torches and lanterns lit every corner.
The smell of roasting meat wafted. Excitement lit the faces of those gathered to watch.
Old memories flooded back. In hindsight, every name carried weight. Each had penned countless tales through the Great Cataclysm. Some lived, some died, but all had once walked this land together. Every memory was precious.
"Ooooooh!"
The first time, almost no one knew him.
Only his own crew did.
The second time was a bit different, but few recognized him by face alone.
Not now.
Cheonwi was fairly well-known these days.
Still, compared to his opponent today, he wasn't as famous.
His foe was called the Invincible Blade.
Many dubbed him this era's supreme swordsman under heaven.
Even regional champion warriors couldn't withstand a single strike from him.
It wasn't just any single strike.
His first move differed from others'.
Few had seen beyond the first to the second. Those who drew out his second earned nationwide fame—and died with it.
Even renowned Central Plains luminaries couldn't endure his second strike. None survived.
They said his third had rarely even been unleashed.
Those aiming to surpass the supreme fell to ashes before the third form.
Even sect leaders spoke of his "three-strike limit."
It wasn't empty gossip from thrill-seekers. He was simply that strong.
The three forms were mere distinctions of shape. Victory hinged not on the number of techniques, but their depth. His blade art's depth was like an endless abyss.
But jianghu folk didn't care about depth.
They chased visible spectacles. First-strike defeats, third-strike dooms, famed masters crumpling one after another. That mattered. Analyzing arts was secondary.
Weak or strong, no exceptions.
He had won them all.
Undefeated to date, nearly all who crossed blades with him died.
Only four survived, they said.
Since he emerged in the jianghu, that was the count of those who clashed blades and lived.
Of those four, only one was known by name.
That one had once been counted among the supreme swordsmen under heaven. Right after withstanding the first strike, he conceded defeat—and lived. That sole survivor elevated the Invincible Blade's fame sky-high.
The other three? Unknown.
The Invincible Blade was a killing blade.
Once the edge touched, it ended.
Thus, jianghu folk cheered—and worried—over this promising young challenger's arrival.
Cheonwi's name was no light matter anymore.
Several were called symbols of the new era.
Murim generally listed ten such figures, dubbed the Ten Benefactors.
One of them teetered on death's edge.
No wonder attention focused.
Only a scant few, citing his past feats, bet on Cheonwi's survival.
Cheonwi had thrown himself into the era's most brutal battlefields during the Great Cataclysm.
Even in the Maleng Bloodbath—deemed the cataclysm's worst, where elders of the Nine Sects and Six Clans shed bloody tears—he returned alive. Seventy-two righteous warriors, including junior experts from each sect, were deployed; seventy-one perished, Cheonwi alone surviving. Only he knew who lurked at the bloodbath's heart.
Truth be told, Cheonwi didn't care who it was.
Battlefields smelled the same anywhere.
He always came back alive.
A tiny few wagered on that.
The rest expected his defeat and death.
The Invincible Blade, eyeing supremacy, dealt death impartially to all.
His showings at Gunsan Great Bloodbath and Wu'an Lakeside Defense weren't enough. He hadn't revealed his true face at Gunsan, and Wu'an's feats were merely regional acclaim in Hebei—shared among three besides. Thus, jianghu folk didn't fully know him yet. Even if they did, the heavy names he'd felled weighed too much.
It didn't matter.
Cheonwi ignored murim's gaze.
Underestimation was like a lifelong companion.
He preferred it that way.
Being expected to win still felt unfamiliar.
Facing the Invincible Blade had nothing to do with fame. It was just something to finish.
Bathing in the throng's stares, Cheonwi crossed Sahap-ro.
Looking around, masters abounded like old times.
Shaolin reps, Huashan too. Even North Wind Group's banners, absent before—replacing Wudang. The Nine Sects were watching. No real need, but still.
He walked farther.
Felt supportive gazes. Some shouted for victory. No clue why. He hadn't done much right since then. If they knew his deeds, they wouldn't. He wasn't a symbol of righteous murim. Couldn't be. A demonic lord of the evil paths suited him better. A grand one at that. Danmun's voice echoed clearly in his ear.
"It's the Invincible Blade!"
Someone shouted.
There, far off—he approached.
The aura from the opposite side was truly menacing. No, "menacing" was too simplistic. Words failed. His third encounter, yet still alien.
Cheonwi steadied his mind. Not easy.
"Waaaaah!"
Cheers roared like battle cries.
Countless backed the Invincible Blade.
They'd etched the law of the strong devouring the weak into murim as desired. Right and evil now blurred; no clear good or bad.
The Golden Flower Pavilion, gutted to its frame in the Shanxi Upheaval, now gleamed restored as a splendid pleasure house. The owner wanted no more losses. Instead, four pillars rose in the open lot before it, forming a spacious arena.
Another sign of the changed world.
Blood flowed daily on this Sahap-ro during the upheaval. Now, commoners fled no bloodbaths but joyfully watched duels.
Thud.
The arena stairs, hastily built, felt sturdy.
As he climbed, a familiar face appeared.
The Chivalrous Dragon Society's Sword-Drawing Pavilion Leader, they called him. Something off. The guy who'd normally make a huge fuss greeting him just glared wide-eyed.
A sudden sense of déjà vu hit.
Like old times—something might happen.
Cheonwi pondered things he hadn't before.
His duel with the Invincible Blade was inevitable for him, but not for some in the jianghu.
Likely so.
Scale aside, denying its ripples matched the Great East Depot-Taihang clash in essence would be hard.
Someone would win.
Someone would lose.
Then, much would change.
Cheonwi closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
He was the seer.
To glimpse the future, he beheld the past.
Time reconstructed within his pupils.
* * *