A Display of Mastery

The martial arena was in shambles, scarred as if ravaged by a violent tempest. Heavy stone flagstones had been ripped to shreds across the courtyard, and the air hung thick and suffocating with the searing heat of residual zhenqi.

"..."

The Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader narrowed his eyes at Dokgo Jin.

Unexpected. To think he saw through my Whirling Wind Flying Dagger.

Countless martial artists had fallen to that very technique without ever realizing what took their lives.

He may be young, but he is far more seasoned than he appears.

Yet the squad leader was mistaken. In truth, Dokgo Jin possessed surprisingly little real-world combat experience relative to his profound martial prowess. Having spent years cultivating in absolute solitude within the depths of the Death Forest, that was only natural. If he had deflected the Whirling Wind Flying Dagger, it was not due to veteran battlefield instinct, but rather his exquisitely sharp sensory perception.

In the meantime, the distance between them had widened once more, stretching to nearly forty feet. At such a range, throwing daggers held an overwhelming advantage.

I expected him to let his guard down at least a little.

For someone who had accepted the duel out of wounded pride, the squad leader was maneuvering with frigid, calculated precision.

Then again, I never expected this to be easy.

After securing this public duel, Dokgo Jin had carefully considered how to handle his opponent. If he unleashed the full depth of his martial arts, he was confident he could overpower the man without much trouble. But that was out of the question. He could not afford to lose, yet his victory had to look like a narrow escape—or better yet, a stroke of sheer luck.

He had hoped his opponent might underestimate him and slip up, but their brief exchange had proven that avenue closed.

It made sense. Beyond holding the Dragon Tiger Plaque and conquering the Mugeuk Gate, Dokgo Jin had already accumulated a formidable record. Even if his clash against Sihyeolma, the Corpse Blood Demon, while rescuing Grand Elder Yong's granddaughter, Yong Chae-rin, remained a secret, his duel against Neung Wi-gwan—a vice squad leader of Holy Sword Heaven at the Namgung Clan Estate—was common knowledge. That alone proved Dokgo Jin's martial prowess was at least on par with a vice commander. The Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader could not afford to take him lightly.

And so, Dokgo Jin had prepared two distinct strategies.

Following a brief silence, the squad leader flicked his wide sleeve. Three throwing daggers flashed out, carving divergent trajectories through the air. One targeted Dokgo Jin’s throat while the other two aimed for his shoulders—a linked strike. Though fewer in number, they flew far faster and deadlier than before.

Dokgo Jin did not retreat an inch.

The pristine white blade of Jeokmyeol turned pitch-black in an instant, painting dark arcs across empty air. The moment the incoming daggers met Jeokmyeol’s edge, their paths warped as if snared by an invisible lodestone, deflecting forcefully into the earth.

He deflected that too?

The squad leader's hands blurred into motion. Now, not just his sleeves but his entire robe billowed with bizarre vitality. Seven-inch daggers burst forth from every angle, swarming around Dokgo Jin like a hive of enraged hornets. The screech of torn wind drowned out every other sound in the arena, invoking the terrifying grandeur of the Sichuan Tang Clan’s Torrential Rain of Myriad Flowers.

Dokgo Jin's figure blurred into a haze.

Like a phantom slipping through the eye of a needle, his body weaved through the infinitesimal gaps between the intersecting daggers. It was the Nine Nether Trackless. Blades skimmed past his vital points by mere fractions of an inch, yet his expression remained as placid as undisturbed water.

The stray daggers detonated across the stone floor in rapid succession, sending shockwaves rolling through the arena like thunderous surf.

The spectators packing the grounds held their collective breath. Members of the Vermilion Shadow Squad cheered wildly at the brilliant crimson afterimages unleashed by their commander, while the warriors of the Iron Soul Unit swallowed nervously, their eyes glued to the tranquil back of Dokgo Jin as he carved his path through that murderous web of steel.

Every time the dark gleam of Jeokmyeol flared, red-tasseled daggers scattered in all directions with earsplitting metallic shrieks. So immense was the zhenqi infused within each projectile that most of the deflected blades bent sharply at right angles upon impact.

The squad leader continuously backed away, maintaining distance as he poured forth a relentless stream of hidden weapons. Dokgo Jin, parrying with Jeokmyeol while executing the elusive footwork of Nine Nether Trackless, inexorably ate away at the gap between them. It was a duel strung as taut as a drawn bowstring. The slightest misstep by either man would spell instant, catastrophic defeat.

Yet neither faltered. Neither Dokgo Jin nor the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader made a single error; neither was clumsy enough to belong on such a stage if they were prone to foolish mistakes.

The ring of steel as Jeokmyeol struck down the daggers grew increasingly ferocious. It was neither because the sword strikes had grown heavier nor because the daggers flew faster. It meant the distance between them was closing.

Beads of cold sweat formed along the squad leader’s brow.

Persistent bastard...!

Masters of throwing daggers and hidden weaponry were invariably gifted in lightness arts, as controlling the distance was a matter of life and death. Yet, step by relentless step, Dokgo Jin was drawing nearer. As the distance shrank, several daggers grazed Dokgo Jin's flesh, drawing beads of crimson, but they were nothing more than shallow scratches.

He can still parry this cleanly from such close range?

It was an absurd display of precision and agility.

Thirty feet.

Twenty feet.

Ten feet.

Finally, the gap narrowed to barely ten feet. By then, only a third of the squad leader's arsenal remained tucked away in his robes, while Dokgo Jin had stepped cleanly within striking distance of a single thrust from Jeokmyeol.

Cornered, the squad leader played his final, decisive hand.

"Haaaaap!"

A roaring battle cry shook the arena as a single dagger rocketed into the air.

It was not a mere whistle of parted air. The dagger itself generated a resonant, atmospheric shockwave, vibrating with feral intensity. Its tip shivered thousands of times a second as it hurtled forward, making its true trajectory utterly impossible to discern. Just looking at it gave one the illusion that their very vision was shattering.

It was the crowning achievement of the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader's martial path.

Well, Dragon Tiger Plaque Master? Can you withstand this?

He cared nothing for whether it crippled his opponent. This was the Northern Heavenly Alliance, where martial supremacy reigned supreme. Bloodshed was routine in formal duels, and death by miscalculation was an accepted consequence of the blade.

"..."

Facing the Sky-Shaking Killing Dagger, Dokgo Jin’s eyes sank into profound depths. Showing no attachment to the distance he had painstakingly closed, he glided backward, thrusting forth Jeokmyeol, its blade now coated in an even denser, impenetrable darkness.

And then—

The tip of Jeokmyeol in Dokgo Jin's grip began to vibrate with violent fury, resonating through the surrounding air. The frequency was identical to the squad leader's Sky-Shaking Killing Dagger.

Disbelief seized the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader's face.

What?!

Unbelievably, Dokgo Jin had replicated the esoteric vibrational principle of the Sky-Shaking Killing Dagger using nothing but swordplay.

In midair, the pitch-black rift and the crimson afterimage collided head-on.

A deafening blast shook the arena to its foundations. The ground caved inward, and the shattered fragments of the dagger exploded in all directions. So immense was the shockwave of unleashed zhenqi that even spectators lingering near the distant edges staggered on their feet.

"...!"

Bursting through the hail of flying shrapnel, Jeokmyeol did not slow down. Riding the sheer momentum that had pulverized the dagger, the pitch-black blade thrust straight toward the squad leader’s chest.

Ngh!

Stunned by the destruction of his ultimate technique, the squad leader hastily propelled himself backward, spraying daggers in panic. But stripped of composure, his throws lacked their former precision.

With nothing more than slight tilts of his head and twists of his torso, Dokgo Jin let the incoming steel whistle past him by a hair's breadth. Even as he evaded, Jeokmyeol’s reach closed the distance.

Damn it! If it's come to this...!

Eight daggers ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled the squad leader's hands, four between the fingers of each palm.

I'll show you why they call me the Eight-Faced Spirit Hand!

The instant he channeled zhenqi into the blades—

Jeokmyeol’s speed surged exponentially.

"...!"

The Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader froze where he stood.

The frigid, inky blade hovered motionless, barely a breath from his Adam's apple. The icy chill radiating from the sword's Ink Flame Qi felt as though it were penetrating straight into the depths of his meridians.

A suffocating hush descended over the thousands of spectators, as if a bucket of freezing water had been dumped over the entire grounds. Jaws hung slack. All eyes remained fixed upon the two figures standing at the center of the arena.

Dokgo Jin met the squad leader's gaze.

"I believe this is my victory."

"...!"

The daggers clutched in the squad leader's trembling fingers spilled uselessly onto the pavers, clattering against the shattered stone. A self-deprecating smile touched his lips as his head sank.

"I have lost."

Only then did Dokgo Jin lower his weapon. Sheathing Jeokmyeol with a sharp click, he brought his fists together in a respectful salute.

"It was a fine match."

As if they had merely been waiting for the word, a thunderous roar erupted from the crowd, shaking the Thousand Armies Martial Arena to its rafters.

"Incredible! The Dragon Tiger Plaque Master... he actually won!"

"Unbelievable! Did a squad leader just lose to an ordinary grunt?"

"Hey, he's no ordinary grunt anymore! He's the commander of the Mad Tiger Squad!"

"He was a regular member of the Iron Soul Unit until just a few days ago! Considering that, this is astonishing!"

"Still, treating the Dragon Tiger Plaque Master like a common foot soldier was foolish to begin with. Didn't he just conquer the notorious Mugeuk Gate? Either way, he's proven he has every right to command his own squad."

"The Mad Tiger Squad, huh? Now that's something to look forward to."

"Tough luck for the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader. He lost massive face today."

"It really is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a shame. He didn't even get to unleash the signature technique that earned him the title 'Eight-Faced Spirit Hand.'"

"Right. Had he pulled that off, the outcome might have been completely reversed."

Amid the clamoring, ecstatic crowd stood Mok Woo-jeon and Tang Pung-yeong. Flushed with excitement, Mok Woo-jeon grabbed Tang Pung-yeong by the shoulders and shook him back and forth.

"Brother Tang, did you see that?! Our squad leader... our squad leader actually won!"

"I have eyes. Let go of me."

"He really is extraordinary! In all my life, I've never seen swordplay so exquisite and swift!"

Tang Pung-yeong ignored him, his sharp gaze fixed intently upon Dokgo Jin as the youth walked slowly across the arena.

I thought the odds were in his favor, but to resolve it this cleanly...

Although Tang Pung-yeong had provoked the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader into coming here, he had remained half in doubt regarding the duel's outcome.

If my deductions were correct, he would win without trouble. If not, he would fall.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Had Dokgo Jin lost, Tang Pung-yeong had planned to return to the Vermilion Shadow Squad without looking back.

As expected, he is concealing his true depth.

Tang Pung-yeong had suspected as much ever since witnessing Dokgo Jin crush Neung Wi-gwan with a heavy sword.

First a heavy sword, then swift swordplay, and now deceptive, transformative sword forms?

Anyone who only watched this match would conclude Dokgo Jin was simply an expert in subtle, shifting swordplay. They would believe the Vermilion Shadow Squad Leader had merely fallen victim to a disadvantageous matchup before he could display his true power. Yet Tang Pung-yeong, having witnessed Dokgo Jin's other battles, knew better.

Unless one's mastery of the sword has reached the pinnacle, one cannot wield such vastly different styles with such effortless freedom.

A faint smile touched Tang Pung-yeong's lips.

I don't know why he insists on hiding his strength... but it seems I've ended up under quite a dependable commander.

While he was lost in thought, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Mok Woo-jeon stepped boldly into the open.

"Did everyone see that?!" Mok Woo-jeon bellowed across the arena. "That man right there is the commander of the newly established Mad Tiger Squad! We begin recruiting members this very evening, so anyone interested, come find Mok Woo-jeon at the Guest House Hall!"

Tang Pung-yeong chuckled under his breath.

"Not a complete fool after all."

It was a well-timed recruitment announcement. A wry smile tugged at the corner of Tang Pung-yeong's mouth.

Then again... does he have any idea what he's just brought upon himself?

He could already envision Mok Woo-jeon flailing helplessly before a tidal wave of eager applicants.