Chapter 13
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Point Cang Regression 13
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It had only been about half a gak.
The time it took for nine Tang Clan men to turn into cold corpses.
Gwang-il's killing sword was exceptionally stealthy and clean in its speed.
Built on the sharp foundation unique to Point Cang, it was a personal sword style honed through countless battles in the evil paths.
To that, it added the insights of the sect founder, the enlightenment gained upon reaching the Flower Realm, and the vast experiences from the righteous-evil great war.
In truth, once he regained his past prowess, there wouldn't be even ten people in the current world whom he couldn't kill with a single sword.
Of course, that was limited to cases where he made thorough preparations in advance and executed a perfect ambush.
'Still, that's a distant prospect for now.'
He might have reached the transcendent peak so easily because of his past achievements.
But breaking through the Flower Realm wall again would require his utmost preparation and effort.
Brute-forcing it in one go only worked up to the transcendent peak.
To ascend to the Flower Realm, he needed a perfect body, enlightenment, and a vast amount of internal energy to match.
He had already squeezed every bit of potential from that single drop of Azure Spirit Oil.
To reach the Flower Realm in the less than nine years left, he'd need to consume a considerable quantity of spirit pills or elixirs in succession.
'The silver lining is that my body's foundation is already perfectly prepared.'
He hadn't even undergone marrow cleansing, yet he'd already expelled all the impure energies from his body.
That alone meant his physical form was fully ready.
Enlightenment went without saying.
So all that remained was to somehow gather precious elixirs and force a rapid rise in his realm.
'The Yun Merchant Leader will play a key role from here on.'
Deep-seated fear of him had already spread to the man's unconscious depths.
Gwan-jong, his own brother, was utterly incapable of dealing with him.
Publicizing it all to Point Cang risked exposing the Iron Sword Gang incident they'd committed themselves, inviting a backlash.
So the Yun Merchant Leader was now in a position where he couldn't defy Gwang-il, just for covering up that one matter.
'He tried to prod me—the one who crushed Elder Gwan-ho—into dragging the Sichuan Tang Clan into the open...'
It was so naively idiotic that a hollow laugh escaped him.
Even if Gwang-il were the green junior disciple he'd expected, stumbling into fortune by sheer luck.
If such a novice suffered at the hands of the Sichuan Tang Clan, would Point Cang just sit idly by?
Separate from punishing the Tang Clan, the Yun Merchant Leader—who lured him into that danger—wouldn't escape responsibility either.
'Gwan-jong has no clue how poorly he's treated in the sect right now. That's why he cooked up that absurd scheme.'
Now, thanks to Gwang-il, that pathetic standing would shrink to the size of a palm.
'First things first, I need to secure the Venom Dragon Captain.'
The bodies he'd dealt with were already stacked in layers inside a warehouse at the corner of the manor.
He'd smashed all the alcohol jars, masking the blood scent with thick liquor fumes. Even the most sensitive poison expert wouldn't easily detect it from afar.
'Otherwise, it'd get quite tiresome.'
Gwang-il was currently perched in a small shadow under the eaves right above the main gate.
Like a cicada clinging flat to a tree, he'd been waiting motionlessly in that deep darkness for over an i gak, solely for the Venom Dragon Captain's return.
This was a Supreme Poison Realm expert, captain of the Sichuan Tang Clan, after all.
A man of that caliber wouldn't slink in through the back door to his own base.
He'd secured a position with over ninety percent odds—the most likely and stable one.
'...Did I come up too early?'
There was a hint of rushing it, sure.
But it was unavoidable.
He had no idea when the target might return.
The last of the ninth man, tortured for answers, only gave a futile "I don't know."
Even under the Evil Spirit Eye, he stuck to that story consistently. The captain had likely left without informing his subordinates.
'These insidious Tang Clan bastards.'
No telling when the target would show, but he had no other options anyway.
'Lurking like this... I really am an assassin now.'
Self-mockingly grumbling inwardly, Gwang-il gathered his presence even tighter, merging with the eaves as one.
He reaffirmed his grim resolve: the moment the Venom Dragon Captain appeared, he'd reduce him to half-death in one strike.
How long had he been hunkered in that shadow under the eaves?
Gwang-il's tightly shut eyelids, still as death, slowly lifted without a sound.
'He's here.'
He'd finally sensed the presence of his long-awaited target.
After clinging on for over half a sichen, this was a golden opportunity.
Judging by the calm aura and leisurely footsteps, the man hadn't noticed the incident here yet.
The initiative was still firmly in Gwang-il's grasp.
'Still, his senses are sharp enough. I need to wait until the angle is perfect.'
During the past righteous-evil great war, on the Guizhou front, he'd experienced Sichuan Tang Clan members firsthand.
The Supreme Poison Realm was equivalent to transcendent peak for martial artists.
Those poison experts had absurdly keen senses.
Especially smell and touch—surpassing even beasts.
They'd abandoned sneak attacks on the Tang side altogether. That said it all.
With those bitter memories vivid, Gwang-il allowed no carelessness until the matter was settled.
Especially now: capturing the Venom Dragon Captain here or failing.
And whether alive or as a corpse—the outcomes would differ vastly.
'Come on. I'll cleanly sever just one arm for you.'
His current realm hovered around the target's level, so Gwang-il couldn't fully shake the rising tension.
The old Evil Path Alliance Lord, Dark Heaven Emperor Gwang-il, might have scoffed.
But as Point Cang's third-generation disciple who'd just absorbed the sect founder's fortune, he coldly assessed his odds at fifty percent.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"......"
The Venom Dragon Captain's footsteps, approaching within three jang, suddenly halted there.
'...At this distance? No, impossible.'
Gwang-il's eyes widened, suspecting exposure, but he quickly regained composure and calmed his pounding heart.
Hadn't he splashed poison liquor on himself when smashing the jars?
The alcohol might have evaporated, but faint traces of that acrid scent lingered.
Poison users who built tolerance by consuming toxins—their liquor had to reek fiercely.
"...These fools couldn't wait and dared to?!"
The low, gritted growl that followed gave Gwang-il a spark of certainty.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud!
"You've all gotten too lax in the head. Time to tighten the reins pro—"
Displeasure bubbling up, his steps quickened markedly.
As the self-mutter of disciplining his men reached its end...
'Now!'
Gwang-il, sword hilt pressed to his navel, shot downward like lightning.
Splurt!
"Gaaargh!"
In less than a blink—a mere instant—a gruesome bloodbath unfolded.
Squelch!
The Venom Dragon Captain's right arm, struck by the lethal qualification, severed cleanly from the shoulder, flopping amid the pooling blood.
Gwang-il's full power, unleashed with utmost focus at his current level.
"W-Who the hell are you?! How dare you...!"
Tatata!
Despite losing an arm out of nowhere, his left hand madly sealed the shoulder wound's acupoints.
Clumsily plugging such a massive stump would bring horrific aftereffects later.
"I asked who you are! Do you know who I am and pull this shit...!"
Stagger!
Having lost a massive volume of blood suddenly, he reeled with no sharp recourse against this bolt from the blue.
If he couldn't fell the masked assailant before him, his sole life would end vainly in this remote corner of Yun'nan.
Then, something caught his eye...
"N-Narrow Tip Sword?! You... could it be...!"
The world teemed with martial groups like sand on the shore.
Yet none were known to use the Narrow Tip Sword.
It was a weapon hyper-specialized in one lethal trait, its poor versatility a fatal flaw.
Why use a sword so likely to doom you on a failed first strike?
Its rarity also made affiliation easy to pinpoint—a critical drawback.
No sect or master, righteous or evil, was publicly known for it. Proof enough.
"How are you here?!"
Even an experienced Venom Dragon Captain's knowledge came solely from what Gwan-jong had passed on recently from the Yun Merchants—the sum of his life on the Narrow Tip Sword.
Paradoxically, that's why he instantly grasped the intruder's identity now.
A transcendent peak expert using the Narrow Tip Sword, ambushing him—a Supreme Poison Realm master—into this grave wound in one blow.
"A disciple of the so-called upright Point Cang Sword Sect committing daylight banditry like this—what insolence!"
Thus, figuring he had nothing to lose, he spat defiance first.
Meanwhile, his dangling left sleeve covertly readied a reversal gambit.
A fine response.
Losing an arm yet maintaining composure and boldness to this degree.
Of course.
"Where's this viper bastard playing games?"
Stab!
"Kyaaargh!"
To someone who'd dealt with Sichuan Tang Clan to the point of shuddering disgust, it was laughably pathetic.
The tide had turned sharply, true.
But his past trials were too profound for careless ease.
"Stay put. Unless you want your left arm gone too, living out your days like a dog with your head in a food bowl."
"G-Guhhh!"
Gwang-il's second lightning sword pierced the left shoulder.
He tapped his mask with his left hand, chuckling slyly.
"Behave from now on. I could spread rumors you hooked up with Beast Palace scum, turning you into a public enemy of the martial world."
"?!"
His face froze, forgetting the agony in both shoulders.
Gwang-il's eyes, fixed on that panicked, confused visage, glinted coldly now and then.