City of Sword-Wielders - Chapter 85: Sowing Discord (1)
Jang Cheon's internal injuries were far more severe than they appeared on the surface.
It was because he'd recklessly unleashed his sword aura repeatedly to dismantle the Black Spirit Grand Formation. He knew better than anyone that a single second could mean the difference between life and death, leaving him no choice. Especially when the ones at stake were Phone and the four-man team.
Fortunately, the desperation had paid off. If he'd been even a fraction slower, he would have lost them. The very thought was unbearable.
After losing his family, he'd sworn never to open his heart to anyone again.
Relationships were like charcoal, he thought—get too close, and you'd get soot all over you. It was better to keep a step back, letting it warm you like a campfire. That had been his mindset for so long.
He never wanted to feel that indescribable agony and sense of loss again when someone slipped away.
But things hadn't gone as planned.
Even if it meant getting covered head to toe in soot, he found himself drawing closer.
He'd tried desperately to hide those feelings, but on days like this, they inevitably showed. He was that kind of person, which drew him to others like him—people who didn't hesitate to get their hands dirty for the same reasons.
Still... Jang Cheon found all these bonds anything but easy.
Circulating through Jang Cheon's meridians, it swept across his entire body. He examined the interior slowly. Fortunately, no meridians had torn. It was thanks to the first exchange of bones and marrow, which had fortified not just his skin and bones, but his meridians as well.
Even so, several meridians were swollen, sending waves of excruciating pain with every circulation of energy.
Jang Cheon focused on the Sohyeon Ilgi-gong. A master of his caliber could naturally heal his own internal injuries, but treating something this severe required absolute precision—no room for error.
Was it because he'd recognized the gravity of his condition?
The Sohyeon Ilgi-gong felt different from usual. The circulation speed was faster, the flow smoother.
Jang Cheon didn't rush. He started with the most urgent areas, massaging the swelling away with his internal energy. He moved it calmly, meticulously.
This process demanded tremendous concentration and patience. Of course, the skill to control energy with pinpoint precision was essential, as was the judgment to prioritize which meridians to heal first.
This was the first time he'd operated the Sohyeon Ilgi-gong with such intensity.
One by one, he treated every swollen meridian.
Finally, having finished the last one, Jang Cheon opened his eyes. Joy lit up his face.
It wasn't just from healing the injuries. As he completed the final circuit with his pure energy, circling his body once, he'd sensed it—the Sohyeon Ilgi-gong had broken through the 3rd Stage into the 4th Stage.
In the midst of treating his grave wounds, he'd stumbled upon an unexpected boon. It thrilled him more than any other achievement. If luck had been against him, he might have lingered at the 3rd Stage for years. Overcoming this unforeseen crisis had shattered his limits.
As Jang Cheon rose, Phone and the four-man team gathered around. They'd stood guard without relaxing for even a moment during the hours he'd spent healing.
Phone asked, his face full of worry.
"You okay, Boss?"
Jang Cheon smiled.
"I'm fine."
"For real?"
"Yeah."
"You're not just saying that to keep us from worrying?"
"I'm more alive than ever."
It was the truth. He'd crossed the toughest stretch of the Sohyeon Ilgi-gong.
To borrow a metaphor, it was like escaping the clogged city streets of a commute and hitting an open country road where he could really open up. Next up: finding the entrance ramp to the highway.
"What a relief."
Phone's legs gave out, and he sank to the floor.
"Phone!"
The four-man team rushed to him.
Jang Cheon smiled at the sight. He'd hired the four, but Phone was their true boss. He liked their bond.
Suddenly realizing he'd overlooked something, Phone shot to his feet. He exchanged glances with the four, then they lined up before Jang Cheon.
"Thank you for saving us, Boss."
How did they sync up like that? It was as if they'd telepathically counted "one, two, three."
"I'm grateful too. For holding out until I got here."
Jang Cheon's words were sincere.
"Let's clean up and get out."
"Got it."
The four swiftly tidied the place. They replaced the shattered window, erased the sword marks from the walls. In moments like these, Phone Express felt like a fix-it shop, and they were artists. They restored everything to pristine condition.
Finally, Jang Cheon searched Baek Sang-du's rooftop room, hoping for any clue to track him. He photographed the camera's serial number on the windowsill and various items around the room, sending them to Bishop.
> Bishop. Check everything I sent.
> Understood.
As they descended the building, he called Jeong Yeong-gi from the Intelligence Agency.
Down on the first floor, Phone and the four waited.
"Let's go."
"Yes, Boss."
Though Baek Sang-du had escaped, Phone and the team's steps were light. It felt like a second chance at life.
On the drive back, Phone blasted a triumphant march to express his joy. The grand, exhilarating music fueled Phone Express as it picked up speed.
At the same time, Baek Sang-du was focused on recovering his internal injuries.
Though his method was the worst possible.
"Ughhh."
He gripped a woman's throat, absorbing her vital energy.
Red energy poured from her body. Among the vials on the vanity, a red one lay open.
Thud.
The woman crumpled, mummified and dead.
This woman, who met her end screaming in the rundown motel, had worked at a pleasure house. Baek Sang-du targeted such women because they were less likely to cause issues later. If a working girl vanished, the establishment hushed it up—late reports, or none at all.
Baek Sang-du placed his hand on his bone sword.
The death energy lingering in the blade flowed into him, easing his expression slightly.
For now, he needed to hide and heal.
He'd thought they wouldn't track him so easily, yet they'd reached his rooftop room. Move carelessly, and Jang Cheon would catch and kill him.
He no longer needed to ask about Jang Cheon. Dismantling the Black Spirit Grand Formation in that brief time proved it: capture meant death.
Ri Han's advice to steer clear had been spot-on.
At his current level, he couldn't beat Jang Cheon. The only path to victory was achieving great completion in the Immortal Spirit Art.
"You bastard! Just you wait!"
He needed a way—and fast.
Just then, the TV aired news about Dae Jeong San Jang. Murim channels had looped it all day.
Staring at the screen, Baek Sang-du spat angrily.
"You and me both, acting like idiots."
Queen came to Jang Cheon's residence. They'd usually met only on the rooftop of the residence, but this time she came straight to his room. Worry overrode any concern for prying eyes.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Phone called. I heard everything that happened."
Phone, who used to get shy even talking to her on the phone, had called her directly. That's how much he worried about—and felt sorry toward—Jang Cheon.
"Sit for a second."
"I said I'm fine."
"Just a moment."
Queen grabbed Jang Cheon's hand and made him sit.
She placed her palm on his back.
A strand of soft internal energy flowed into Jang Cheon's body. It circled once along his meridians before she pulled back in surprise.
"You really seem okay?"
"Told you."
"Your meridians feel more vibrant and healthy than before. What happened?"
"Healing the injuries pushed my technique up a level."
"Ah! Congratulations!"
Queen rejoiced genuinely. She was the strongest martial artist around Jang Cheon and the one most passionate about it.
"You're always advancing, while I'm stuck in place."
"Go with the natural flow."
"Can I?"
"It's not 'can'—you must. At your level."
"Got it."
Queen accepted the advice readily.
This was another change. Her obsession with martial arts had been to grow closer to Jang Cheon. Lately, though, their bond had deepened—not from power gains, but from her efforts to change. That courage to suggest a city date had been key.
Queen realized: grand gestures didn't always alter fate. Sometimes, the tiniest ones did.
"We need to catch Baek Sang-du soon."
"Right. Cornered, who knows what he'll do."
"You be careful too. He might target people around me."
"I will. I'll protect Lee Yeon."
"Thanks."
His simple "thanks," treating her like any good person, warmed her more than distancing her from Lee Yeon would have.
The next morning, dozens of reporters swarmed the entrance to the Korea Murim Alliance.
A car pulled up. Camera flashes erupted.
Out stepped U Myeong-hwan, lord of Dae Jeong San Jang.
He couldn't withstand the relentless public backlash any longer. Dae Jeong San Jang had countless disciples, many secular ones in business.
They operated under the sect's name, but the nonstop criticism crippled their ventures.
With internal dissent mounting, U Myeong-hwan had yielded to the summons.
Reporters mobbed him with questions.
"One word on this summons, please!"
U Myeong-hwan raised a hand to quiet them. Staring straight into the cameras as if innocent, he declared confidently.
"I have no involvement in this incident. I came without my legal team precisely because I'm innocent. I'll prove my innocence and expose this summons as political maneuvering."
He pushed through the barrage of questions and entered.
In the Alliance Lord's office, Cheon Myeong-jin and Bi Ryong Dae leader Joo Won watched the live feed of U Myeong-hwan's arrival.
"We end him this time."
U Myeong-hwan had sent his master Baek Sang-du to kill him. Their feud had transcended politics—they were in it to the death.
"An Bae-su was a blade U Myeong-hwan should've discarded. He couldn't, and now it'll stab him back."
The summons' crux: successfully driving a wedge between U Myeong-hwan and An Bae-su. They'd need numerical superiority, momentum, and luck—like stepping onto the duel arena. Cheon Myeong-jin declared with rising spirit.
"Let's begin."