Chapter 36
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: The Disciples' Resolve
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The ripple effect brought about by Gwang-il's stern warning was truly tremendous.
“Eek!”
“Huff!”
Bam!
Bam-bam-bam!
It had been exactly a month and change since their first group battle.
By now, they could climb Changrang Peak with their eyes closed. On one particularly treacherous mid-slope, Point Cang's third-generation disciples relentlessly unleashed a barrage of sword strikes into the air—even as they charged upward without pause.
It was only natural.
“Damn it!”
“Don't shout! Save your strength!”
“Eek! Hu, huuu...”
A group of over a hundred was ascending Changrang Peak alongside the rising sun.
They were none other than yesterday's losers.
To catch up to their rivals down below, who were diligently practicing their swordsmanship, they had no choice but to train this desperately.
At the forefront was the astonishing sight of Gwang-jo, Gwang-jung, and Gwang-seok—now more accustomed to being called by numbers like "Number One" than their own names.
“That despicable Gwang-geon...!”
“...Save your breath. Don't we need to repay yesterday's humiliation this afternoon?”
“Damn it! I get it, so cut the nagging, senior brother.”
Even after gentle coaxing, Gwang-seok couldn't hide his simmering rage.
Gwang-jo, catching sight of his junior brother's state, finally let out a frustrated sigh he could no longer hold back.
'What on earth is Eldest Senior Brother planning for later...!'
The past month had been hellish moments that even Gwang-jo's combined decade-plus in Point Cang couldn't rival—truly historic in their intensity.
Early mornings meant sprinting to the peak of Changrang Peak until they dropped. Afterward, they had to clash fiercely with fellow disciples over rice bowls, gripping sharpened Narrow Tip Swords in deadly duels.
Yes, those were fights.
'Who could call that pathetic spectacle a spar?!'
Group spars pitting eight against eight.
Just recalling what the juniors now secretly dubbed "survival battles"—a mad free-for-all—made his chest tighten with despair.
Hadn't he himself suffered a brutal defeat to Gwang-geon's group yesterday, and now here he was, desperately racing toward the peak?
'If that bastard hadn't used such dirty tricks!'
This marked the sixth time.
As a second-generation disciple overseeing some two hundred juniors, he'd faced humiliating defeats in these group spars against them.
And those six losses? Three each to Gwang-geon's crew and Gwang-sik's.
At least losing to Gwang-sik's group didn't sting with injustice.
By now, they knew all too well.
That seemingly mild-mannered, kind-hearted guy turned into a terrifying demon the moment he skipped a meal.
Setting aside their rivals' vicious habit of deliberately starving Gwang-sik—pure skill had prevailed, leaving no lingering regrets.
But.
'Gwang-geon, you scum...!'
Grind!
This wretched Gwang-geon was a different breed entirely.
From the start, he'd targeted only the youngest juniors, knocking them out one by one. Then, leveraging numerical superiority, he'd relentlessly overwhelmed them.
They'd fallen for the same ploy three times already, helplessly.
'A disciple of mighty Point Cang!'
Truth be told, his skill was now on par with Gwang-jo's.
Yet he methodically wore them down with ruthless precision!
And the moment he spotted an opening, he went berserk like a madman. It was hard to believe they shared the same sect and arts.
'The juniors say he's been receiving separate lessons from Eldest Senior Brother late at night lately...'
From morning till evening, every third-generation disciple sought personal or group instruction from Eldest Senior Brother.
Not a single day skipped.
This was a separate regimen from climbing Changrang Peak or bloody group battles—a vital lifeline.
Especially those post-battle pointers tailored to each individual—precious time they couldn't skip if they wanted to survive tomorrow.
But digesting and internalizing them daily was grueling, leaving no room for extra lessons. Harsh reality.
'And yet, he's the only one seeking Eldest Senior Brother out for more at night?'
Was Gwang-geon that passionate about martial arts?
Thinking back, before Eldest Senior Brother's fortunate encounter, he'd been just another unremarkable junior...
Eldest Senior Brother's words echoed: "Come find me anytime for instruction."
Just then, Gwang-seok's sly voice dropped another boulder on Gwang-jo's mind.
“Second Brother. Word is, that Gwang-geon's been learning something extra from Eldest Senior Brother every night. Shouldn't we do more too?”
“Hm.”
“G-Gwang-seok! I'm already exhausted as it is!”
Unlike the pensive Gwang-jo, Gwang-jung openly showed his reluctance.
Of course, even his timid nature evaporated under Gwang-seok's low, pressing tone.
“Ha! So you're just gonna take it lying down, senior brother? You know we haven't beaten Gwang-geon or Gwang-sik's gangs once?”
“G-Gangs?! We're fellow sect brothers...!”
“Oh please, senior brother, ever the softie? We got our asses kicked yesterday, and now we're sprinting like fools at dawn.”
“Th-That's...!”
Gwang-jung ground his teeth, face flushed with bottled fury.
Yet he didn't argue further—clearly sympathizing inwardly.
After silently listening to his juniors' exchange, Gwang-jo's face hardened with resolve. He murmured secretively, voice low.
“Tonight. Let's ask Eldest Senior Brother for some private time.”
“Exactly! Now that we're stuck with the youngest kids, we'll forever be Gwang-geon's fodder unless we step up...!”
“Sl-Sleep?! When do we sleep then...!”
“Sleep when you're dead and can rest forever! You wanna keep getting humiliated by those lower juniors?!”
“Ah, aaah!”
Gwang-seok beamed triumphantly, while Gwang-jung's face soured instantly.
Gwang-jo let their voices flow in one ear and out the other. Once down from Changrang Peak, he immediately sought Gwang-il to request extra instruction.
Gwang-il, inwardly anticipating his close aides' arrival, suppressed a rising smile.
“Very well. My personal training is pressing, but I'll make time. All of you, follow me at sunset hour.”
He gazed warmly at his self-motivated juniors.
Time passed. Luck favored them in today's draw, securing a group battle victory.
Composing body and mind for the coming lesson, the three trailed silently behind Gwang-il to a remote corner of Point Cang's grounds.
They arrived at a rugged patch of bare dirt—no azure flagstones, not even a single stone slab.
Wondering why skip the proper training grounds for this, Gwang-jo glanced around. But his senior brother's soft voice, carried on the night breeze, swiftly captured his attention.
“You all know the peculiarities of the Narrow Tip Sword by now.”
“While common dual-edged swords in the jianghu prioritize slashing...”
“...our Point Cang's signature Narrow Tip Sword focuses solely on thrusting to a single point.”
“Thus, among martial principles, we prioritize speed above all.”
“Unlike sword arts that flow from one strike into a chain, our swift sword demands killing with a single blow.”
“No room for mercy. That frail mindset could lead to irreversible ruin.”
A light discourse on sword theory before his lined-up juniors on the rough dirt.
Basic tenets even third-generation disciples grasped.
Yet delivered by the peerless genius Gwang-il, their focus sharpened intensely.
“Also, when wielding swift sword with Narrow Tip, always beware collision with the target.”
“...?”
“Unlike swordsmen who carry whetstones to hone edges, our Point Cang blades can't be restored once dulled by our own power.”
“But senior brother, how can clashes be avoided in swordplay?”
Gwang-jo interjected, baffled. Gwang-il smiled faintly and countered.
“In all your spars and group battles, have your swords ever clashed?”
“Ah...! B-But that's because we all honed only our thrusts.”
Two swift swordsmen clashing tips was unlikely anyway.
Regardless, such collisions would damage both sides severely.
Thus, despite desperate real-combat spars, no blades had ever met.
Though bodies inevitably bore deep gashes instead.
“Exactly.”
“Pardon?”
And this was the core lesson Gwang-il aimed to impart.
“Do the same against jianghu foes. Thrust your swift sword with intent to sever life in one go.”
“...!”
“Why clash weapons in prolonged struggles? End their life first—that's it.”
Such radical words no longer shocked.
So Gwang-jo pivoted to practicality.
“But that's for supreme masters like you, senior brother. At our level, against peers...”
“Perhaps now. To fully bloom as sect swordsmen, mastering Sun-Piercing Sword is essential.”
“That's what I'm saying...!”
“But not necessarily.”
“...Pardon?”
The conversation felt off-kilter, mismatched.
Gwang-jo grew curious about his senior brother's evasive intent.
And right then.
Gwang-il finally laid the groundwork for true One Flash Death transmission, long awaited.
“Does killing mere people require grand Sun-Piercing techniques?”
“?!”
“I'm not belittling Sun-Piercing. Just discussing something more fundamental.”
A heartfelt truth he'd withheld from all juniors till now.
The Dark Heaven Emperor's genuine profound art—secretly shared first with the thirsting Gwang-geon—now extended to these three, who'd toiled unknowingly in preparation.
