Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Chapter 4: Hebei Peng Clan (10)
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“Shaolin, was it?”
The Ashen Death Envoy narrowed his eyes as he asked.
Cheon Wi, who had retreated and landed, wanted to let out a sigh of relief.
Instinct is always right.
Especially in battle, it was undoubtedly on his side.
He saw conflict flicker in the Ashen Death Envoy’s eyes.
What a relief. Not just the instinctive martial arts choice, but the greatest relief was that the Ashen Death Envoy’s insight didn’t extend to Shaanxi.
The Udumbara Technique of Mansu Seongbul from Odae Mountain was an unrivaled famed art in Shaanxi.
Why else would they call it the Five Strongest of One Mountain, placing One Mountain before the Five Strongest?
Mansu Seongbul was the best in Shaanxi. Everyone said so.
If the Ashen Death Envoy had been from Shaanxi, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize the Udumbara Technique.
He could tell it was profound Buddhist martial arts, but that was the extent of it. And he associated the Buddhist martial arts not with Odae Mountain, but with Shaolin.
That was understandable. In front of Jinseong Tower, Shaolin hadn’t even thought to hide their presence. Whether the Ashen Death Envoy had been there or not, he couldn’t have been ignorant of such a major event as Shaolin’s appearance.
That first strike had saved Cheon Wi’s life.
Now it was time to use his head again.
“I told you earlier. I’m just a nameless fixer from the back alleys.”
Cheon Wi didn’t immediately admit to being from Shaolin.
He couldn’t just look one step ahead.
Even a back-alley fixer could learn Buddhist-style martial arts.
Pretending to be from Shaolin recklessly could invite suspicion that would be irreversible. Still, he hoped the profundity of the Udumbara Technique would subtly shake the Ashen Death Envoy’s mind.
“Your three-inch tongue is full of lies. That’s not a martial art a back-alley fixer could learn.”
‘That’s it!’
Not quite cause for celebration.
He had only bought a little time, just a moment.
“To navigate the treacherous murim, doesn’t one need at least one trump card?”
“I’ll see how far that trump card takes you.”
The Ashen Death Envoy shook out his sword once more.
This wasn’t a strike meant to kill in one blow like before. That was enough.
He twisted his wrist with superior skill to deflect it. Similar to the first strike.
Cheon Wi focused on the hands. The left hand had the index and middle fingers extended, while the pinky was half-bent. The right hand gripping the sword didn’t fully enclose the hilt. The index finger was straight, and the middle finger was half-relaxed. He had given up the gripping power of two fingers. Cheon Wi recalled the Esoteric Buddhist mudras. Buddhism and Daoism also used mudras and hand seals, but they differed somewhat from the Esoteric Buddhist ones. Buddhism and Daoism mainly used double-hand seals. It was said the more fundamental mudras originated from Esoteric Buddhism, where single-hand seals were also common.
‘It’s not pure martial arts. It’s curse swordsmanship. The death spirit energy coming from the sword isn’t from a demonic sword. Even a street iron sword would produce the same sword art if it had killed enough people.’
He analyzed it out of habit.
At the same time, a countermeasure came to mind.
‘This kind of sword art is inherently weak to divine swords infused with righteous energy or shamanic tools imbued with exorcism spells.’
Unfortunately, Cheon Wi had neither a divine sword nor a shamanic tool.
‘Otherwise, it must be countered with profound Buddhist cultivation deeply attuned to the Dharma or Daoist martial arts from a Daoist warrior versed in exorcism arts.’
That wasn’t sufficient either.
He only had superficial Buddhist martial arts. But he had to deploy it anyway. Among what he could rely on right now, that was the only one, even if just an imitation.
The Death Spirit Sword moved.
It thrust in almost the same manner.
If it had been a completely different technique, he would have been defenseless.
In Cheon Wi’s mind, the Ashen Death Envoy’s movements were disassembled.
The left foot advances on the right, with the left hand to the rear—an unusual start to the sword strike. The center wasn’t the right hand holding the sword, but the rear left hand. First, the left hand’s mudra concentrated the energy. The elbow snapped to connect the left hand mudra’s curse power to the shoulder blade, sending it from left to right along the spine to the shoulder well acupoint. Then to the right side. The curse power and energy were pushed to the right hand’s mudra. Death spirit energy billowed from the Death Spirit Sword.
He deployed the Udumbara Technique.
Even excluding the curse swordsmanship, the Ashen Death Envoy was an immense master. The flow of curse power and energy was fluid and free, so even knowing the movement pattern, Cheon Wi’s skill couldn’t sever its key points.
He extended the Precious Mirror Palm while thrusting forward his chest, already impaled by the sword, and twisted.
Craaang!
The Precious Mirror Palm was one thing, but offering his chest was a response even the Ashen Death Envoy hadn’t anticipated. And it wasn’t just exposing flesh. He aligned the blade embedded in his chest with the tip of the Death Spirit Sword.
The precision bordered on the divine.
The blade that had pierced from back to chest snapped off and flew away. At the same time, the Death Spirit Sword’s vengeful death spirit energy burrowed into Cheon Wi’s body. Even formidable inner power experts momentarily lost their strength upon being struck by the Death Spirit Sword’s curse spirit energy. Not Cheon Wi. Instead, his movements quickened. He targeted the right hand mudra of the Precious Mirror Palm.
“You bastard!!”
The Non-Sword Alliance Sword Venerable, Ashen Death Envoy, had his sword tip repelled by a mere fledgling with shallow inner power.
Twice now.
The first strike was closer to him stopping himself, but this one was purely Cheon Wi forcing it to a halt. Anger settled on the Ashen Death Envoy’s face.
“And you still claim to be a back-alley fixer?”
This question was practically praise.
In that interval, he took one more step back.
Now, if he jumped, he could truly hurl himself below Sapsun Cliff. Even a master greater than the Ashen Death Envoy couldn’t stop the fall itself.
The Ashen Death Envoy knew that too.
“You denied any connection to Shaolin. Therefore, I’ve merely killed one warrior from the markets of Taiyuan Prefecture.”
The Ashen Death Envoy seemed reluctant to form a direct grudge with Shaolin. He opened his mouth, raising his voice as if for someone to hear.
Who wouldn’t?
But he couldn’t backtrack now and claim to be from Shaolin.
From the start, this wasn’t an opponent he could stall with wordplay.
The Ashen Death Envoy harbored genuine killing intent.
He had spoken of three swords, and he would keep his word.
The Ashen Death Envoy truly unleashed his inner power.
His gray robe fluttered upward without a breath of wind.
The left and right hand mudras switched. The Death Spirit Sword spewed demonic energy in streams.
‘I’m dead. This is it.’
This was a true master.
Even the surrounding trees seemed to rustle. The occasional night bird cries and insect sounds vanished. He had never witnessed an elder entering life-and-death combat, but he wasn’t confident even they could emit this level of presence.
He could have laughed.
No, a smile formed involuntarily.
Seeing his smile, the Ashen Death Envoy didn’t grow angrier. He thrust his sword straight out.
No point in Mansu Seongbul’s signature techniques.
He simply hurled his body toward Sapsun Gorge with all his might.
Screeech! Slash! Spurt!
A wind of blood blew through the gorge air.
He didn’t even feel the pain.
The Ashen Death Envoy, having unleashed his sword in earnest, was beyond being caught off guard.
He wasn’t even a match.
Death spirit energy enveloped his entire body. Vengeful soul energy surged toward his heart. This curse swordsmanship had a clear target: severing the heart meridian. Any ordinary master would have had their heart stop in an instant.
Yet Cheon Wi’s body refused to allow it. He didn’t know the mechanism, but the death spirit energy couldn’t torment him from the start. The Ashen Death Envoy, a master of his caliber, couldn’t fail to notice, but Cheon Wi could only hope he attributed it to Buddhist cultivation and moved on. Since he had unleashed his sword in earnest, he must think there was no resistance this time.
“Gahk!”
So he made the sound of breath catching.
As he fell through the air, he clutched his chest with his left hand.
His right hand was gone.
The falling Cheon Wi turned his head. Not by will, but his body twisted midair, turning it naturally.
He finally confirmed with his own eyes the identity of the strike he hadn’t felt, the spray of blood, and the sensation of a part of his body vanishing entirely.
His severed arm, from the shoulder down, reflected in his falling eyes.
His arm was plummeting downward alongside him.
The Ashen Death Envoy watched the falling Cheon Wi.
He had aimed to bisect the torso, but the instantaneous reaction exceeded expectations. The bastard had dodged well. Only the arm was severed. Still, death was nearly certain.
He had properly driven death spirit energy into the heart. There was a definite sensation at his fingertips.
He saw him clutching his chest as he fell.
For a body eroded by death spirit energy to plunge from this height into water—no martial artist could survive.
That was right.
But the Ashen Death Envoy considered the slightest possibility.
The reaction to the death spirit energy had been odd from the beginning. Even those who claimed to have cultivated divine arts usually took considerable damage from the Death Spirit Sword’s vengeful soul energy.
The bastard hadn’t slowed at all. As if completely unaffected. Considering how shallow his inner power seemed, it was even stranger.
So in the end, he poured it on heavily. Not quite Death Spirits Covering the Skies, but enough death spirit energy to instantly kill even a highly skilled warrior.
No matter how thick the Buddhist defensive barrier, it would crumble before greater power.
Arm severed, inner power infiltrated, plus that much death spirit invasion—no one could survive. Yet his mood wasn’t cleared. To infuse the Death Spirit Sword with vengeful death spirits required stabbing the heart and deploying the curse binding art. Perhaps because he couldn’t do that. Recalling the sly face that smirked as if determined to live despite knowing death loomed made his mind deeply unsettled.
‘I’ll go down and finish him.’
The Ashen Death Envoy inherently disliked troublesome labor. He stood at the cliff edge, gauging the height.
Splash!
Only then did the sound of a person hitting the water rise from below.
Focusing his sight, he could see foam and blood spreading on the surface.
No matter how sheer the cliff, it wasn’t a major obstacle for him. The issue was when the bastard who plunged into those depths would resurface.
There was another problem.
The approaching presences that had annoyed him since earlier had finally arrived here.
He turned his body.
Two men were walking out from the forest.
A one-eyed monk covered in sword scars on his face, and a young monk whose face was pallid with illness.
The Death Spirit Sword hummed and resonated.
It often resonated like this. When facing a high monk of profound Buddhist power or a Daoist properly versed in exorcism curses.
But this wasn’t a reaction to Buddhist arts. It was to killing intent.
“Ten Kills Murder Squad.”
The Ashen Death Envoy said.
The scarred monk appeared much older. But the younger, sickly monk replied.
“Some call us that.”
“Was that bastard Shaolin too?”
The Ashen Death Envoy pointed to the rear cliff and asked.
“Who do you mean?”
The sickly monk asked in return.
The Ashen Death Envoy couldn’t read truth from falsehood in his words. Was he pretending to be ignorant, or did he truly not know? He couldn’t distinguish. He seemed like the same sort as the one he had just dropped, at first glance. However, from his experience killing countless people, the Ashen Death Envoy knew first impressions weren’t everything. This one was different from that one. He seemed clever, but even more so a man close to violence.
“No intention of answering, huh. If you want to fight, come. The sword is already drawn.”
No more words, no questions.
Sinister yet refreshingly direct. A gleam flashed in the monk’s eyes.
“Shall I open the precepts of killing?”
He glanced back and asked.
“It’s the Sa Lord’s share.”
The one-eyed monk replied in a heavy voice like a general’s.