Dragon Sword
As a veteran player, Han Yuhyeon’s mind was a walking encyclopedia of every spell and technique in Yeonhwa Seonrok.
A handful of sword arts floated up at once—the ones he had mainlined as a player, the famous ones he had never quite gotten around to, anything that might pair well with the Blood Shadow Nine Nights Sword…
Price: 350 low-grade spirit stones
Price: 265 low-grade spirit stones
Price: 630 low-grade spirit stones
Price: 3 mid-grade spirit stones
“…Hmm.”
Sword arts were scarce among the general catalog of spells, but the sheer scale of the game meant that once you piled them all up, the list was still massive. And a mountain of options meant one thing: decision paralysis.
Blood Lotus Secret Sword would be a natural fit for the Blood Shadow Nine Nights Sword…
Since the sword was a blood-aspected treasure, a blood-related sword art was the correct matchup on paper. Blood-based techniques were niche enough that the price stayed reasonable, too.
Not that Supreme Clarity Sword Intent was bad. It was an all-element sword art that worked with every type of spiritual root, sat comfortably on any blade, and meshed cleanly with the Great Void Primordial Chaos Scripture he already cultivated. He had used those arts as a player; they would become combat-ready the second he bought them. But… walking a road he had already cleared, when so many unexplored paths sat right there, felt just a little sad for a gamer.
“Not this one… not that one either…”
Yuhyeon kept scrolling, muttering under his breath. After nearly half a shichen of staring into the Dream-Eye Blood Scripture, his eyes were starting to burn. The lazy thought Just grab something cheap and swap later was creeping in when—
“Huh?”
He had never seen this one before. Judging purely by the name, it was a sword art meant for the Dragon-human race.
That at least explained the novelty. The odds of rolling a Dragon-human character were so abysmal that even Yuhyeon had barely touched the race. And that was exactly why the Dragon Vein Heart Sword lit up every veteran-player instinct he had. The Dream-Eye Blood Scripture’s price tags never lied—if something cost four hundred low-grade stones, it was worth at least that much.
Before he quite realized it, the bamboo slip of the Dragon Vein Heart Sword was already in his hand. His brain was still screaming that a familiar art would be safer. His heart had already hit “Buy.”
…Is this actually the right call?
Buyer’s remorse arrived late. Too late. No refunds.
With the leftover stones he bought a Beginner’s Sword Codex (which raised swordsmanship) and an Insight Pill (which raised comprehension). The Dragon Vein Heart Sword didn’t look like it demanded some hyper-specialized spiritual root; boosting those two stats should cover the basics.
Yuhyeon returned to his room. If this had still been Baekun Sect lodging he would never have risked it—zero security there. Here, though, they were in a proper So-ui-ju sect; every room came with its own defensive formation. Close the door, press the latch, and the array sealed the chamber. Instant private space.
“Perfect.”
He clapped his hands. The formation included soundproofing, so he could make as much noise as he wanted.
It had been a while since he last learned a new art. He rolled out a mat in the middle of the tidy floor so he could focus. Biyong was, as usual, dead asleep; the little glutton almost never woke up, so interruption was unlikely.
Seated dead-center on the mat, Yuhyeon first pulled out the two stat items: the Beginner’s Sword Codex and the Insight Pill.
He tore the codex down the middle. The two halves flared with light and vanished. Just like that, his swordsmanship stat ticked up by one.
People said you had to swing a sword a million times just to raise the stat once. Looking at it that way, how much time had he just stolen? Any cultivator currently grinding those million swings would foam at the mouth if they saw him.
Having freeloaded the equivalent of fifty million sword swings, Yuhyeon cheerfully chewed and swallowed the Insight Pill as well. One point of comprehension from the pill was worth a thousand hours of reading. Another twenty thousand hours of book-time saved. Only then did he finally unfurl the bamboo slip of the Dragon Vein Heart Sword.
Characters rose from the slip and hung in the darkness.
“……!”
Yuhyeon almost had a heart attack. The speed and density of the floating script made the True Dragon Ascending Heaven-Shocking Art look like a children’s primer. That technique had been easy to enter even with his garbage starting talent; the Dragon Vein Heart Sword was a completely different beast.
He had felt this coming—that was why he had dumped the last of his stones into the pill and codex for a little doping. Even that wasn’t enough.
He forced his mind into absolute focus. But some things simply refuse to work no matter how hard you try. Roughly half the characters slipped past him, unabsorbed, and vanished.
“…Well. Great choice.”
Feeling the incomplete forms of the Dragon Vein Heart Sword settle into his head, Yuhyeon muttered dryly.
A true beginner would have despaired. Yuhyeon did not. If anything, this was good news. High entry difficulty almost always meant a high-tier art. Sure, techniques like the True Dragon Ascending Heaven-Shocking Art existed—easy to start, hell to master—but most premium arts were brutal at both ends.
Entering with low proficiency meant he couldn’t unleash its full power yet, but that wasn’t permanent. Stats would rise; continuous use would grind the proficiency back up. Worst case, he was just starting a few paces behind the starting line.
“Kkyang.”
Biyong’s cry cut in. Yuhyeon thought the little dragon had just woken, but those bright, alert eyes said otherwise—Biyong had probably woken midway through the absorption and simply stayed quiet.
“C’mere, Biyong.”
Feeling fond of the well-behaved beast, Yuhyeon scratched its belly. Once spirit stones weren’t so tight, he really ought to buy those rice-cracker snacks Biyong loved.
“Night walk?”
“Kkyang.”
Any gamer who just unlocked a new skill wanted to test it immediately. Yuhyeon pressed the latch, dropped the formation, and headed for a quiet stretch of forest.
The movements and qi circulation of the Dragon Vein Heart Sword surfaced in his mind—faint, half-formed because the entry had been incomplete, but knowing the rough shape was what mattered.
“Watch this, Biyong.”
With his sole spectator looking on, Yuhyeon began the forms.
“Grrnnngh…”
Mid-motion, Biyong’s face scrunched up and a weird little groan slipped out.
“What? Stomachache? Just go if you need to crap.”
“Kki-aang.”
Biyong shook its head. Not that, then. Yuhyeon tilted his own head and started the form again. Same groan.
“Something wrong with it?”
“Kkiyang. Kkiyang.”
He asked just in case. Biyong nodded vigorously. It wasn’t exactly a telepathic variety-show bit, but the fact that they could half-read each other because they shared bloodlines was still hilarious.
“Ah.”
Then it clicked. This was a sword art created by a dragon—designed for a dragon that had polymorphed into human form. That was why Biyong was acting like a know-it-all critic.
How Biyong actually knew the correct form was a mystery, but a dragon’s sword art meant a dragon’s opinion was worth listening to.
“Alright. I’ll keep going—flag me when it looks wrong.”
“Kkiyang.”
Yuhyeon started over. He hadn’t even finished the first half of the first form before Biyong’s decisive cry rang out.
“Kkiyang, kkiyang.”
“Still wrong?”
“Kkiyang.”
“Again, then.”
Whoosh, whoosh.
“Kkiyang, kkiyang.”
Wrong again. One more time.
“Kkiyang, kkiyang.”
“…….”
Dozens of swings later, he still had not once heard a satisfied sound from Biyong.
“Kkyyaaaaaang……”
Yuhyeon was frustrated, but Biyong sounded even more so—the cry stretched out long and plaintive. If only the little dragon could transform into a human or at least speak proper words… He blamed Biyong for something that was entirely his own shortcoming.
“Okay. Serious mode.”
“Kkiyang!”
Biyong tried to hype him up again at the resolute tone. From Biyong’s perspective, though, the sword work was still trash. The cries eventually stopped, but by then Yuhyeon had learned to read the silence and halt on his own.
“…That one was bad too?”
“Ttii…”
“Ttii?”
A completely new sound. Yuhyeon pricked up his ears.
“…baaah.”
“…….”
He wanted to deny it, but the pitch and force left no room for doubt. That was a swear.
“Ttiiiba, ttiiba, Ttiba!”
As if delivering a finishing blow, Biyong stomped its little feet and spat the curse with improving accuracy. Apparently the frustration had finally boiled over.
And so the very first human word Biyong ever learned was a swear. Truly tragic.
“Yeah… I can’t learn this right now.”
Yuhyeon finally admitted it. In his current state he simply could not execute the Dragon Vein Heart Sword. If the form was this broken, he was clearly missing some condition the art demanded.
It wasn’t the stats—if stats had been the problem he wouldn’t have entered the art at all. Something else was required. He chewed on the thought until a small sound of realization escaped him.
“Ah.”
The idea arrived fully formed. The Dragon Vein Heart Sword was obviously a sword art for dragons. The only reason Yuhyeon counted as a Dragon-human was the True Dragon Ascending Heaven-Shocking Art. And of its four forms, he had only mastered the second—Rising Scales Shatter Mountain.
If completing all four forms was what made someone a true Dragon-human, then he was still only half-baked. That would explain why the sword art refused to manifest properly.
Unfortunately the next two forms—Dragon Form True Qi and Flying Dragon Startles Heaven—were still complete blanks. He needed a clue. Any clue.
“Nngh…”
He sat down and started dredging up every scrap of knowledge from the thousands of hours he had poured into Yeonhwa Seonrok. Somewhere in that ocean of data there had to be something useful for this exact situation.
“Oh. Right.”
The search paid off almost immediately. If you wanted knowledge of Dragon-human arts, who better to ask than a Dragon-human? Maybe his long-neglected Luck stat was finally doing something; by pure good fortune, So-ui-ju had a famous Dragon-human NPC.
“Your scales look rough. Did you sleep at all?”
“Yes.”
As always, Baekri-wan’s eyes were sharp. She had clocked the sleepless night immediately. He had spent the entire night mentally drilling the Dragon Vein Heart Sword; sleep had never stood a chance.
“Sect Master, are we heading straight back to Baekun Sect now?”
Jeong Cheon-o asked. Their business at Wonhu Sect was finished—the cultivation-sect gathering, the spell-and-formation tournament, the banquet, all done. Some groups had left before dawn; the once-bustling grounds already felt half-empty.
“What do the three of you want? Still curious about So-ui-ju?”
Un Song-byeok looked over the little knot of inner disciples that included Yuhyeon. Im Su-weol and Jeong Cheon-o hesitated. Yuhyeon did not.
“This disciple has business near the capital of Yu-guk. If the Sect Master permits, I will go quickly and return.”
He had not forgotten the Longevity Lock that Old Man Dang had asked him to deliver. He was also genuinely curious how the classic Sichuan Tang Clan of wuxia stories had been implemented in the Yeonhwa Seonrok setting.
Of course that was only half the reason. The more important half was tracking down that Dragon-human NPC. The guy was a notorious wanderer, so finding him would be a pain… but still.
“Near the capital of Yu-guk… that is the same side as the market we already visited. Should not be particularly dangerous.”
“Yes.”
Baekri-wan raised a hand a fraction.
“I also have a place I need to stop near there.”
“Elder Baek as well?”
“Yes. With two of us, danger should not be an issue.”
Un Song-byeok looked from Yuhyeon to Baekri-wan and back, then nodded.
“Knowing you will move together is reassuring. Finish your business and return to Baekun Sect.”
Thankfully he neither insisted on tagging along nor forbade the trip. Exactly the free rein Yuhyeon had wanted.
“Thank you for understanding, Sect Master.”
“Understanding? Yuhyeon, you are a treasure of this sect. Take care of yourself.”
Un Song-byeok clapped Yuhyeon’s shoulder with a solemn face. Yuhyeon almost flinched the moment the hand approached, then held still through sheer superhuman willpower.
The concern looked so genuine—exactly the picture of a sect master fretting over a prized disciple—that Yuhyeon briefly wondered whether he was being too paranoid.
“Well then. The rest of us will head back to Baekun Sect first.”
Everyone except Baekri-wan and Yuhyeon climbed onto the flying vessel. Yuhyeon watched until the craft became a speck and vanished.
“Shall we go?”
Only after confirming they were gone did he turn. Baekri-wan had already been watching him the entire time; the sudden eye contact made him jump.
“Whoa. Why are you staring like that? By now this face should have stopped being interesting.”
“What were you thinking just now?”
The question came out of nowhere. Yuhyeon could only dodge.
“Whether I should take a dump before we board the vessel or not.”
“Nice try.”
He had deliberately gone for crude, yet Baekri-wan didn’t so much as blink as she unfurled her own flying vessel. Feeling thoroughly seen-through was somehow more embarrassing than the lie itself.
“Let’s go.”
Baekri-wan’s voice was calm. Their destination: Seong-do, capital of Yu-guk—the city that, in the language of the Central Plains, would have been called Chengdu of Sichuan.