Chapter 28
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Chapter 28
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Brutal Training Bears Fruit
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The massive group training of the third-generation disciples, all to prepare for the disaster looming on the horizon.
Under the elders' tacit approval and Gwang-il's leadership, those grueling hours paradoxically flew by like arrows loosed from a bow—swift as flowing water.
To the point where the daily screams tearing through the air and the enraged roars echoing from Point Cang Mountain felt almost colorless by comparison.
About two months had passed like that.
Boom!
Bang!
"Damn! It just won't hit, for real!"
"Hmph! Who's one to talk!"
"Just get caught once. Huh? This big brother here will send you straight to an early grave!"
"Puhahaha! With that snail-slow sword of yours? You'd reincarnate faster!"
"What the hell did you just say?!"
Boom!
Bang!
Voices dripping with venom, utterly vicious tones.
Accompanied by a deadly symphony of air-splitting whooshes ripping through the sky.
The masters of this murderous barrage of insults and ferocious strikes—each probing for the other's openings—were none other than Point Cang's innocent third-generation disciples, who had never once set foot outside the sect since joining.
'Good.'
In a mere few dozen days, Gwang-il had successfully transformed his formerly naive junior brothers into savage beasts radiating killing intent.
At least in terms of the fire burning inside them.
How?
'As expected, nothing drives growth like beatings, berating, and torment.'
By hounding them relentlessly, pushing without mercy until their hearts brimmed with venom just to endure.
'Your own will? An unshakable mind, clear as a bright mirror?'
Ha!
All just flowery bullshit.
'No time to spout lucky nonsense and fritter away the days like immortals at play.'
People naturally adapt to their environment.
Why?
Because they don't want to die.
To cling to life by hook or by crook.
'What better motivation could there be?'
He'd seen it countless times back in his Evil Path Alliance days.
Human will and mind? Not worth banking on.
'But the raw urge to survive? That's something else entirely.'
Unless they were suicidal fools dead set on dying.
Even in this vast world, almost no one could steadfastly hold to their pride when death loomed that close.
Especially not green sprouts like these kids?
"Die!"
"You die, you bastard!"
Boom!
Bang!
"Hmm."
Sword strikes so ferocious they barely seemed from the same ragtag bunch two months prior.
The elegant yet explosive arcs ripping through the air with terrifying whooshes—the sight filled Gwang-il with deep satisfaction.
Of course, they were still painfully immature and frail, as one might expect.
'Push them harder, and time will handle the rest.'
Talents varied, so progress would differ in pace and degree.
But force an environment where they trained like their lives depended on it, and he'd drag every last one to first-rate mastery by the deadline.
"Uwaaaak! Why! Why am I the only one getting ganged up onnnn! Whyyy!"
"Hmm."
Perhaps from mingling day and night with his juniors?
Long-buried memories from his past were resurfacing vividly.
Thanks to that, Gwang-il had tailored regimens for those with standout quirks.
For instance.
"Eldest brooo! Why me! Why only me getting triple-teamed, I'm sayiiing!"
Like Gwang-geon over there, teetering on a razor's edge amid three encircling junior brothers.
Gwang-il glanced at the foes lunging like starved predators, then shot back in a flat, brusque tone.
"That's how you improve fastest."
"Ah, ow! What kinda bullshit... Uh, uwaaak!"
His uniform shredded, thin rivulets of blood trickling from wounds everywhere—a dire sight.
Yet with some margin left, Gwang-geon kept yapping.
"If I drop all these bastards for real! I'm skipping tomorrow, got it?! Yeah?!"
"Flip side: you drop, they skip."
"Eeek! Die! Die, you fuckers!"
At the deadpan reply, fury exploded in Gwang-geon's eyes. Like a switch flipped, he rampaged madly, turning defense to offense.
The three juniors, locked in relentless assault, faltered in shock.
'Yeah. That's my rabid dog.'
Gwang-il savored the reversal for a moment.
Then his halted steps drifted toward fresh entertainment.
Some hundred free-for-alls raged across the grand training grounds right now.
But truly noteworthy? Barely a handful.
"Haaat!"
"Iyaaat!"
Full-throated kiais rang hollow—most still mired at second-rate.
'At this rate, one Beast Palace tiger would chew through them.'
Tsk.
No lie: the sluggish pace of most juniors disappointed him.
Still, Gwang-il soothed his rising impatience.
Beyond a few stars, most possessed sadly mediocre gifts.
Harsh truth staring Point Cang in the face.
'Doesn't matter.'
Even rootless unorthodox scum morph into monsters after endless bloodbaths and brushes with death—that's the jianghu for you.
Disciples under mighty Point Cang's tutelage? Inferior? Impossible.
'Heaven's talent chains on you lot? I'll snap 'em myself.'
Point Cang's eldest disciple Gwang-il might falter.
But Evil Path Alliance Leader Dark Heaven Emperor Gwang-il? Piece of cake.
'Only hitch: the ticking clock.'
His regression had shattered Sichuan Tang Clan's plot, rerouted Yun Merchants, even turned Beggars' Sect's division into early allies.
History veered perfectly off past life's rails from the jump.
'Won't all be sunshine.'
He'd braced for worldly twists long ago.
'Dark variables incoming.'
Sichuan Tang Clan wouldn't sit idle, nor Beast Palace nursing Central Plains ambitions.
Plot blown wide open day one—they'd counter, obviously.
Tang Clan worried him plenty.
But Beast Palace's next play? Far graver.
'Hye-jong said the other Western Outer Evil Palaces stormed Central Plains in unison.'
North Sea Ice Palace.
Potala Palace.
South Sea Sun Palace.
And Southern Barbarian Beast Palace.
Encircling from north, west, east, and south—their overwhelming push devoured over half of Central Plains overnight.
'Some pact or deal bound those mongrels.'
How else explain such flawless sync across vast distances?
'Suppressing Beast Palace alone won't cut it.'
Sichuan martial world—Sichuan Tang Clan, Qingcheng, Ami at the fore—had to hold Potala Palace.
Central Plains' north, Qinghai through Gansu, Shaanxi, Shanxi? Block North Sea Ice Palace.
And then.
'Damn it.'
South Sea Sun Palace, bulking up on Hainan Island even now.
Southern unorthodox sects had to unite against them.
Question: did those endless infighters have the grit or chops?
'Guangxi, Guangdong above Hainan fall to island scum? Distant Zhejiang, Fujian won't budge.'
Likely just jeer like idiots.
Unorthodox nature: rotten to the core.
'Not just our sect on the line.'
Those fools? Past-life heroes who'd bled with him against the orthodox.
Watch them flop to pointless deaths? Not on his watch.
'Gonna get busier by the day.'
Bloody grind to reclaim past might, molding these scrubs into real swordsmen.
Block Beast Palace first, then rally old Jiangnan subordinates.
'Hye-jong, you rip-worthy prick...!'
He alone shouldering half the Western Outer Evil Palaces.
Murim Alliance Leader Hye-jong foresee this? No chance he missed it.
"Keuhuhu! Fine. Bring it."
Yet no resentment for the one who'd hurled him back in time.
If anything, a flicker of gratitude for the golden opportunity.
'Western Outer Evil Palaces—and your vile orthodox hides too—I'll smash you all. Dark Heaven Emperor Gwang-il!'
Roar!
Blazing aura erupted like flames.
No mere words—his coiled will solidified, misting outward.
"Uh, uwaak?!"
"Eldest brother!"
"What now?!"
Uwaaaak!
Waaaak!
The juniors, locked in deathmatches, bolted in blind panic.
And right then.
"...?"
The already chaotic training grounds plunged deeper into pandemonium—until one outsider silenced it all.
"Young hero! Gwang-il young hero!"
"Hm."
A shout yanking Gwang-il from his evil grin and visions of a rosy(?) future.
"Big trouble! Emergency—Flying Swallow!"
The source: Beggars' Sect proxy Division Leader Noh An-gae.
Just two days prior, Noh An-gae had visited Point Cang for the monthly report.
His frantic return? An emergency too dire to ignore.
"...Certain?"
"Th-tha..."
Gulp!
Killing intent rocketed skyward, monstrous.
Noh An-gae flinched, lips quivering—Gwang-il pressed, voice icy.
"Certain? I asked."
"Ab-absolutely! Our beggars are pounding pavement, sweating rivers!"
Bellowing against the flesh-carving pressure, he soon sagged, waving wearily.
"Ease off this cursed killing intent! Damn. How's a famed orthodox sect like Point Cang birthing such savagery...!"
"...Hoo."
Gwang-il swallowed seething rage amid the tremors and gripes.
Aura reined in.
"Beast Palace scum rooted firm across Yun-nam already? That's what you said?"
"Yes."
"These goddamn...!"
No vague spies—this dwarfed expectations.
Infiltrators woven into daily life, masquerading locals—downplay that?
Prelude work no longer Tang Clan's monopoly.
Gwang-il's fists crushed white.
Then a voice stabbed like a needle—one he couldn't ignore.
"Proxy division's got their base too. Big one."
"...Where."
Sword hilt clenched unconsciously.
Aura surged tidal, primed to erupt on ancient foes.
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