Chapter 18
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: One Flash Death
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In stark contrast to Gwan-ho, who was rampaging wildly, unable to conceal his fiery bout of aging, Tong-cheon—designated as the next Sect Leader—responded with dazzling speed and icy composure.
In truth, Gwan-ho had been assigned to lead this group from the outset as little more than Sect Leader Gwan-hae's contingency plan, in preparation for any potential clashes of force.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that, right from the start, the actual task of commanding and directing the group had fallen entirely to Tong-cheon.
Gwan-ho, fully aware of his senior brother's intentions, had been able to hand over full authority to his junior with a clear conscience and rush back to the Sichuan Tang Clan's safehouse.
Trailing behind him as he raced north with the two Second-Generation Disciples toward the safehouse were...
"Let's go!"
"Yes, Senior Brother!"
The Second-Generation Disciples were splitting off into small groups of three or four, heading toward the Iron Sword Gang, the Yun Merchants, and the Beggars' Sect division.
Each group numbered only three or four members.
Still, more than half the men remained rooted in the Iron Sword Street district, as if nailed in place.
"You juniors stay here and stand guard against any possible enemy attacks."
"Yes, Eldest Senior Brother."
This was due to Tong-cheon's deep concern for Iron Sword Street, which—unlike the Iron Sword Gang that had already been massacred, or the Yun Merchants and Beggars' Sect division where combat seemed unlikely—could not yet be deemed completely safe.
"Gwang-il, you come with me to carry out the Sect Leader's orders."
"His orders...?"
Gwang-il, who had been sharply stopped from following Gwan-ho, looked puzzled as he asked back.
He had originally planned to return to the safehouse to check for any agreement documents between the Beast Palace and the Sichuan Tang Clan that the Beggars' Sect might have uncovered.
But his master's intransigence had blocked him cold—no one could move beyond the Sect Leader's direct commands.
Third-Generation Disciples, barring exceptional circumstances, were forbidden by Point Cang's ancient traditions and strict rules from even leaving the sect grounds.
He couldn't defy that, so he could only pout his lips in frustration.
'What am I, a child? This kind of control...'
He grumbled inwardly like that.
But then his master suddenly invoked the Sect Leader's orders, which naturally puzzled him.
However, at the stern tone that followed, Gwang-il couldn't help but let out a hollow chuckle.
"This fool? Forgot already? Don't we need to order the Narrow Tip Swords?"
"Ah!"
'That's...'
He had already stopped by the Yun Merchants earlier and successfully persuaded(?) their leader to donate(?) a thousand Narrow Tip Swords.
'Tch. Should've just bulldozed my way and followed Grand Senior Uncle Gwan-ho anyway?'
It was a moment when his earlier judgment inevitably filled him with regret.
Of course, Tong-cheon, who had been closely watching his disciple's changing expression, could only feel dumbfounded.
"You punk?! When you were singing the praises of Narrow Tip Swords nonstop, where's this half-hearted look coming from?!"
"No, it's not that, Master..."
"No more excuses! Come on, quick! The Sect Leader's orders to you and me are just as vital as anyone else's mission!"
"...Yes."
It wasn't wrong, so Gwang-il swallowed his disappointment and trudged after him.
'Besides, more spare swords are always better.'
Especially Narrow Tip Swords—with their unique shape and characteristics, practicing with wooden replicas wasn't very helpful.
They were specialized solely for pinpoint thrusts, so wooden versions differed vastly from metal ones in weight distribution and many other aspects.
Getting too accustomed to wooden swords could leave one struggling to adapt when wielding a real blade.
'And Narrow Tip Swords wear down at the tip frequently.'
Unlike ordinary swords, where a damaged edge could simply be ground down on a whetstone,
resharpening a worn Narrow Tip Sword's point to a fine taper was no easy task for the average smith.
What needed to be honed needle-sharp could easily end up blunter and duller if mishandled.
This was a secret only Gwang-il knew—a holdover from his past life, when he'd carried multiple spares because even after obtaining the Point Cang Sword, he couldn't gauge its durability.
'Maybe like with the Evil Path Alliance, we should relocate several master smiths to the main sect...'
Narrow Tip Swords wore out at the tip far more than standard Azure Steel Swords.
Inevitable, since they were designed for a single purpose: the pinpoint thrust.
Whether penetrating the target or not, without proper qi reinforcement, damage was a given.
Until reaching the pinnacle realm where qi could be manifested, blades would inevitably break often.
'Master and the senior uncles are mostly at that pinnacle level, so it doesn't bother them...'
The problem was his hyperactive junior brothers.
Not even many had reached first-rate, let alone pinnacle.
How many mishaps would they cause, wrecking their gear in the process?
'Can't just kill them off at every blunder like in the Evil Path Alliance days.'
He had to raise these immature brats to stand against the Beast Palace's savage warriors and spirit beasts.
"Haaah!"
'Hye-jong, you damn...!'
A deep sigh escaped him naturally, along with a barrage of curses at the accursed monk who had hurled him back into the past.
After weaving through the chaotic Iron Sword Street to place all the Narrow Tip Sword orders as planned,
Gwang-il returned to the main sect first with his master, then holed up in his quarters, using the fatigue from his first real battle and first kill as an excuse.
In truth, it was to wrack his brains for ways to train his juniors.
The mental exhaustion and agony were so intense that it was only natural he'd nearly yanked out clumps of hair in frustration.
"E-Eldest Senior Brother? You okay?"
"Why keep messing with your innocent hair like that? Planning to shave it all off and join Shaolin or something?"
"Hey! You punk, how dare you talk to our sky-high Eldest Senior Brother like...!"
Wak wak wak wak!
"......"
Especially tough for Third-Generation Disciples sharing a single room among four.
'Gwang-jo, Gwang-jung, and Gwang-seok.'
In his past life, he'd desperately longed to see even in dreams these closest junior brothers.
"No! Did I say something wrong?! Why's Second Brother always picking on me?!"
"You idiot! It's because you're so rude to our sky-high Eldest Senior Brother!"
"It's 'cause Eldest Senior Brother's doing weird stuff! I wasn't gonna bring it up, but last year before ascending to the secluded training cave, he was in his room all alone, stroking his own body...!"
Paak!
Thud flop!
"E-Eldest Senior Brother!"
"...Gwang-seok's still beyond saving."
Haaaah!
Gwang-il clocked the back of his junior brother's head, dropping him cold as he babbled nonstop right in front of him, then stared at the ceiling and heaved a profound sigh.
Rooms were assigned strictly by entry order in Point Cang's rigid discipline.
Thus, these three sharing his room were the top of the roughly two hundred Third-Generation Disciples.
'At least they're the best of the bunch.'
True to form, having reached near his own level in the past, they were now solid first-rate experts.
Impressive achievements, even accounting for their prestigious training and youth under thirty.
'But this isn't enough.'
Even after all reaching pinnacle swordsmanship together in his past life, hadn't they crumbled helplessly before the Beast Palace's relentless assault?
"Eldest Senior Brother! Get out of here quick! I'll hold off these damn beasts somehow!"
"G-Gwang-seok!"
"G-Go already! You gonna let Great Point Cang's lineage end here?!"
"......"
Drenched head to toe in blood, one arm gnawed clean off, yet glaring fiercely through the pain and bellowing desperately.
That nightmare from long ago flashed back unbidden; Gwang-il squeezed his eyes shut, a heavy shadow falling over his face.
"E-Eldest Senior Brother?"
"Gwang-seok's nonsense isn't new. Don't take it to heart."
Gwang-jung's anxious expression and Gwang-jo awkwardly defending Gwang-seok beside him.
At those voices—sharply younger than the ones echoing in his ears—Gwang-il's eyelids slowly lifted.
"Ugh?!"
"E-Eldest Senior Brother!"
His pupils, sunken like abyssal depths.
His juniors gulped dryly at the unfamiliar glare they'd never seen before.
"I've decided."
"Pardon?"
"D-Decided what, sir?"
Having finally resolved his heart, Gwang-il clamped his lips tight and exhaled heavily through his nose.
'Teaching Sun-Piercing Sword isn't efficient.'
The supreme sword art of Point Cang: once perfected to ultimate mastery, it could even pierce the sun hanging high in the sky.
The Sun-Piercing Sword was the world's acknowledged fastest strike, self-proclaimed or not.
Though it stood alongside the South Sea Thirty-Six Swords of the Hainan Sect or the Galaxy Meteor Sword of the Liaoning Moyong Clan.
'It's different.'
Gwang-il could swear to it.
The Sun-Piercing Sword transcended those two ultimate arts by a full step in speed.
It was the royal road to ultimate quickness—what any sword scholar could call peerless.
'But that's precisely why it's unfit for juniors at their current level.'
The Sun-Piercing Sword consisted of eight distinct thrusts.
Each so intricate and demanding that even devoting a decade couldn't guarantee mastery.
Even he, the Dark Heaven Emperor of his past life, had only perfected half—four—before innovating his own unique art.
Beyond needing a style tailored to himself, the realistic barrier loomed: a lifetime wouldn't suffice for full mastery.
The First- and Second-Generation elders were already set on their paths, so nothing to be done there.
'But for juniors not yet deep into thrust training, no need to teach such an mismatched, esoteric swordsmanship.'
Eventually, every Point Cang member would learn the founding ancestor's ultimate thrust—it was inevitable.
The question was what foundation to build first.
'Guide the elders to adapt their familiar Sun-Piercing Sword to Narrow Tip Swords, and for the juniors...'
Simpler, clearer—yet utterly practical and ruthless in speed.
'...I'll teach them this Dark Heaven Emperor Gwang-il's One Flash Death.'
The Dark Heaven Emperor's signature technique: devoid of bloodlust honed from live blades, or the vicious cruelty of the unorthodox paths.
Faithful solely to the absolute mandate of severing the enemy's breath in one stroke—the terror that once shook the martial world of his past life.
Gwang-il resolved to pass it to his juniors in this life.
All to coldly, realistically sever the breaths of the Beast Palace's savages and beasts—no need for sun-piercing might there.