The Sword Elder of Mount Tian
"Jeong."
"Yes, Master."
"Why is it that you wield the sword?"
Yoo Jeong, who had been practicing the Eight Flows of Radiant Splendor, halted his blade and turned to look at his master.
She was perched atop a massive boulder, chewing on a random tree branch. Though she had once been revered throughout the Murim as the legendary Sword Empress, her current posture was indistinguishable from that of a neighborhood thug.
"Master."
"Yes, Jeong?"
"Does that branch taste good?"
"…This isn't about taste. It's about style."
She spoke with a fair amount of confidence, but quickly averted her eyes. The back of her neck flushed red.
"Master, I—"
"Ah, stop. I just… wanted to try it once…"
She finally pulled the branch from her mouth. Even then, she couldn't bring herself to spit it out, choosing instead to carefully set it down on the ground with her hand—a highly memorable sight. She stared at the branch with a face full of lingering regret, then turned a slightly resentful gaze toward Yoo Jeong. Jeong met her eyes without flinching.
His master's face filled his vision. As if aging in reverse, she looked even younger than she did in his childhood memories. Her silver hair looked as though it had been spun from the snow of a sacred mountain, and her blue eyes were as clear as a pristine spring. Aside from the faint wrinkles around her eyes, her flawless face looked slightly fatigued, but that did nothing to diminish her beauty. Yet, to Yoo Jeong, who had a rough estimate of her actual age, such childish behavior was baffling.
Is it because of those heroic tales?
Yoo Jeong had spent his entire life in Muo Valley. Occasionally, he would accompany his master down to the village, but those trips were rare. Whenever he asked why they had to remain secluded in Muo Valley, his master would dodge the question with a sorrowful expression. Seeing that face pained him so much that he eventually stopped pestering her.
Perhaps she felt pity for him. At some point, whenever she returned from the village, her hands would be filled with gifts for him. Everything from sweet pastries to toys meant for children much younger than him. It was a random assortment that showed she didn't quite know what to buy, but her deep affection for him was unmistakable. Among those gifts, what captured Yoo Jeong's interest the most were the heroic tales.
Stories of great heroes who swept through the Murim like a gale, overcoming betrayal and dark conspiracies to become revered champions of justice. Stories of protagonists pursuing their enemies for vengeance, forging new bonds along the way, and ultimately achieving both revenge and love. A world unknown to Yoo Jeong writhed within the scribbled characters of those cheap, poorly bound books.
His master was delighted to see him so thoroughly engrossed. She bought him even more tales and spoke more frequently of her own past travels through the Murim. Even when Yoo Jeong's interest began to wane, she kept bringing them back, eventually becoming more absorbed in them than he was.
"Aren't these stories rather dull compared to your own journeys through the Murim, Master?" Yoo Jeong had asked her that once.
The chronicle of the Sword Empress, who had slain countless demons, saved the common folk, and crossed blades with the greatest heroes of her era. No matter what heroic tale he read, it would pale in comparison to her actual life. Yet, his master had simply shaken her head with a gentle smile.
"Jeong. No one's story in this world is dull. The tale of a simple peasant, the life of a third-class martial artist… each has its own value. And not a single one of those values is anything less than precious."
"As for why I read these… perhaps it is because I admire their stories. The characters in these books achieve the things I never could."
"Do you regret your time in the Murim, Master?"
"Not at all! I have no regrets. Just… a few lingering attachments, perhaps."
Her bitter smile as she traced the contours of an elusive past had burned itself into his memory like a brand.
"To leave no lingering regrets." That was why he had answered her that way.
"…To leave no regrets?"
"Yes. So that when I finally step into the Jianghu one day, I can give it my absolute all. That is why I wield the sword."
"Jeong. No matter how strong a person becomes, it is never easy to leave this world without a single regret."
"I know. But if I face it with that resolve, I can at least minimize them."
At his resolute words, a complex mix of emotions filled his master's eyes. Apology, worry, pity. Because he did not want to see those emotions in her eyes, Yoo Jeong hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
"And if the opportunity arises, I will resolve whatever lingering regrets you have left, Master. As your disciple, it is my duty."
"I see. Thank… you, Jeong."
The naive, fresh resolve of her young disciple. Though she knew how grueling that path would be, the Sword Empress smiled. It was a small, slender smile, like a crescent moon. But a crescent moon was more than enough to light up the night sky.
On that day, Yoo Jeong manifested his sword qi for the first time.
"Pant, pant."
Yoo Jeong knew exactly why that memory had suddenly resurfaced.
To leave no regrets… I certainly talked a big game.
A bitter chuckle mixed with a dry cough. The metallic, bitter taste in his mouth suggested he had suffered internal injuries. Even so, he corrected his posture once more and stared at the old man before him.
"I never imagined an old man who ran off without paying for his meal would be this strong."
"Ran off without paying? Ah, indeed. Did I fail to settle the bill back then?"
The old man spoke nonchalantly while adjusting his robes, leaving Yoo Jeong utterly dumbfounded despite the life-or-death battle. It was far too shameless to be considered the relaxed confidence of a master. Yet, the old man spoke as if he genuinely hadn't realized.
"Well, how much did the food cost?"
"Ha. Are you offering to reimburse me now?"
"Indeed. At my age, I cannot have people whispering that I swindled someone. Let's see… Yes, this should do."
Stroking his beard in thought for a moment, the old man shifted his stance. He pointed the tip of his sword downward and stepped back, adopting a purely defensive posture. Before Yoo Jeong could even process this sudden shift from an opponent who had dominated the flow of combat since their very first clash, the old man spoke.
"Ten moves."
As if paying off a forgotten debt, he calmly offered ten exchanges.
"For ten moves, I shall only defend. Come at me."
Yielding ten moves. It was the sheer arrogance of the strong. And the old man had every right to be arrogant. The sword in his hand proved it.
"You say that, yet your sword qi is as oppressive as ever."
"Haha. Against someone of your caliber, yielding ten moves is already paying a hefty price."
A dark, black energy surged from the old man's sword. It was on an entirely different level from the crude sword qi displayed by the ordinary Demonic Cult warriors—a privilege reserved only for the chosen few. The Divine Realm, also known as the Transformation Realm. Facing such an opponent, Yoo Jeong's body was already covered in cuts and lacerations. And this was after only a few exchanges.
The situation is terrible.
The delicate balance Yoo Jeong had managed to maintain through his own martial prowess had shattered instantly upon the old man's arrival. The surviving Demonic Cult warriors had formed a perimeter, trapping him, turning Yoo Jeong from a hunter into a gladiator in an arena.
It's too early to despair.
But battles were not decided by realms alone. His master had taught him that even if the opponent was a master of the Transformation Realm, it was not an absolute guarantee of victory. Therefore, he did not doubt. To bring his master's teachings to life, Yoo Jeong scrutinized his opponent.
Though the old man now exuded a terrifying internal energy and a menacing aura, back at the tavern, he had looked like nothing more than an elderly scholar. Slender arms and fingers. Smooth hands. Even if one underwent Rejuvenation, a lifetime of constant training would always leave its mark.
And he made mistakes unbefitting of his realm.
His sword techniques were seasoned, and the internal energy infused into his blade was immense. Yet, he frequently made subtle errors, such as misjudging the distance. Had it not been for those mistakes, Yoo Jeong's head would have already rolled. The old man was undoubtedly a master, but he had not engaged in real combat or rigorous training for a very long time. That was Yoo Jeong's conclusion.
The problem was what came next. How was he to exploit the old man's weakness? Yoo Jeong's mind raced.
I must make the absolute most of this opportunity.
The promise of ten moves. Yoo Jeong wanted to test the waters first. Since he had doubts about whether the promise would actually be kept, his first strike was exceedingly cautious. Of course, being cautious did not mean he was slow or sluggish.
Yoo Jeong leaped forward like an arrow. Even though he stepped precariously close to the range of the old man's blade, the senior maintained his low stance. For a split second, his eyes locked with the old man's. He did not care for the faint, patronizing smile in those gray, aged eyes, which looked as if he were watching a grandchild play. But it was also an opportunity.
Yes. Keep letting your guard down like that.
Facing the old man head-on, Yoo Jeong's movements suddenly shifted. Internal energy flooded into the Taechung acupoint on his big toe. Using his left foot as an axis, he executed a sharp, sudden change of direction. Pushing off the ground with explosive force, he channeled the momentum from his left foot through his entire body, keeping his torso oriented toward the old man. The sword qi erupting from Yoo Jeong's blade condensed into fine threads, wrapping around the steel once more. The swung blade sliced through the dim twilight.
"Sword threads!"
But the old man seemed to have anticipated this. He immediately tracked Yoo Jeong's movement and parried the blow.
Boom! A deafening roar, completely unbefitting of clashing swords, reverberated through the air.
It was a sword thread, often referred to as an incomplete sword gang. However, a head-on collision was still too much to bear; the shockwave traveling up from his fingertips rattled his internal organs. If this dragged on, the sword thread would fail to withstand the sword gang, and his weapon would shatter. Yet, even as he swallowed the blood welling up in his throat, Yoo Jeong did not retreat.
If it's Cheonru, it will hold.
They said a master who had reached the pinnacle was not bound by their weapon. No, that only applied when facing amateurs. When fighting an opponent of equal caliber, the one with the superior weapon naturally held the advantage. Furthermore, a divine sword like Cheonru was more than capable of temporarily bridging the gap in their realms.
Yoo Jeong did not pull back his sword, but instead poured his internal energy into it, pressing down with even greater force.
"…What in the world are you doing?"
The old man asked, sounding bewildered, but Yoo Jeong had no breath to spare for words. Gathering every ounce of his strength, he twisted his blade violently. Cheonru, which had been pressing down from above, suddenly swept upward from below, forcing the old man's sword back.
"Ha!"
With a sharp shout, he deflected the old man's sword. The old man's chest was instantly exposed, and Yoo Jeong did not miss the opening. However, the distance was too close to pull back and swing his sword again. Without a moment's hesitation, Yoo Jeong let go of his blade. Before Cheonru could even hit the ground—
His left palm struck the old man's chest, and the heel of his right hand drove upward into his chin. Clenching his right hand into a fist in an instant, he swung it like a hammer, planting it squarely into the old man's temple. Then, refusing to let him go, his fingers splayed like a hawk's talons and snatched the old man's collar.
"Hah!"
The old man struggled to break free, but Yoo Jeong's grip remained ironclad. A knee strike followed. His left knee drove into the old man's flank, and with his body already airborne, Yoo Jeong unleashed his kicking technique. Strolling Immortal Kicks. It was a hand-to-hand combat technique of his lineage that he had demonstrated before. Blood splattered from the old man's mouth.
"Ugh."
Not yet.
Though he was landing a barrage of strikes in the blink of an eye, the old man's qi cultivation was formidable. Body-Protecting Sword Qi. It was a defensive art that could only be deployed by a master of the Transformation Realm—one who had cleared the Governor and Conception Vessels, achieved the harmony of Heaven and Earth, and possessed an endless flow of natural energy. The rebounding force radiating from it was so intense that Yoo Jeong's own body throbbed with pain from his own successful strikes. But he could not let go of the momentum he had seized. More than half of the promised ten moves had already passed, and the old man was trying to back away to create space to retaliate.
He wouldn't let him. The moment his feet touched the ground, Yoo Jeong lunged forward like a charging bull. An application of the Iron Mountain Lean. Normally, one would ram with the shoulder or back, but Yoo Jeong simply leaned his body in, almost as if a grandchild were throwing himself into his grandfather's embrace. Before the old man could recover his sword stance and retreat to safety, Yoo Jeong latched onto him like a leech once more. Finally, irritation and bewilderment flickered in the old man's eyes. But only for a moment.
Thud! Twisting his waist, Yoo Jeong drove a fist packed with the full weight of his body into the old man's abdomen. Any ordinary martial artist would have suffered severe internal injuries from this short-range inch-force strike, but it was blocked by the opponent's rebounding sword qi.
It doesn't matter.
Since Yoo Jeong's true specialty lay in the sword, he needed to use a sword technique for a decisive blow. This sequence of attacks was meant to shatter his opponent's balance. No matter how dense the Body-Protecting Sword Qi was, a release of force at this proximity was bound to shake him. He had discarded his sword voluntarily to gain an advantage. But that did not mean he could not execute a sword technique. Extending the index and middle fingers of his right hand to form a sword hand, he swung it as if it were a blade. The Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven. An arrogant name that boasted of binding the heavens with a mere three strikes. Yet, a divine technique of the Heavenly Sword lineage possessing that exact level of power—the ultimate sword of his sect—unfolded from Yoo Jeong's fingertips.
First Form: Clouds Disperse with a Single Sweep
An energy so immense it made his fingertips tremble gathered at his hand, which he then slashed diagonally. The old man's face paled with sheer shock at a level of power completely different from anything before.
Slash—Boom!
A violent collision of raw energy. The aftershocks were immense. Stone slabs shattered into flying debris, and a thick cloud of dust blanketed the area.
"…Impressive. Though it wasn't quite the method I anticipated."
Slide. The old man, who had been pushed back, swept his sleeve, clearing the dust as if a gale had blown through. It was a masterful application of internal energy befitting a master of the Transformation Realm.
"Had you been holding a sword, that would have been truly dangerous. What technique was that?"
The front of the old man's robes was torn wide open, and blood trickled down a diagonal wound across his chest. Yet, Yoo Jeong knew. The wound was merely skin-deep.
"Three Swords of Cleaving Heaven. First Form: Clouds Disperse with a Single Sweep."
"Cleaving Heaven… Arrogant, yet a fitting name."
"What is your name?"
At the calm question, the old man sheathed his sword, clasped his hands in a polite martial greeting, and spoke.
"I am..."
An old man who loved the sword. The martial artists of Mount Tian called him the Sword Elder out of respect.
"Yu Eul-cheon."
And the rest of the world called him with terror: the Sword Demon.
"…I have no idea who that is."
But Yoo Jeong, whose experience in the Jianghu was practically nonexistent, had no way of knowing that name. Still, he realized one thing with absolute certainty. His opponent was monstrously strong.
"You're ridiculously strong."
As he muttered those words under his breath, a sword wound running in the opposite direction of the old man's slashed across his own chest. Blood erupted from the gash.
"Ten moves haven't even passed yet… You damn old geezer."
His strength failing him, Yoo Jeong collapsed, his body sprawling limply onto the ground.
"…."
The old man, the Sword Demon, looked down at his fallen opponent with a complicated expression. He had promised ten moves, yet he had nearly faced disaster due to the youth's unpredictable tactics.
He clearly possessed the body of an exceptional swordsman.
To think he would discard his sword and charge in for close-quarters combat. Even the battle-hardened old man had been caught off guard. Indeed, with his aging bones, it was difficult to keep up with such frantic close-range brawling, no matter how much internal energy he circulated. In particular, the final technique executed with a sword hand had made the Sword Demon feel a genuine threat to his life for the first time in ages.
Has it been ten years since the Great Immortal Taeeul of Kunlun?
Though he had focused on raising disciples for many years, the Sword Demon was still the Sword Demon. A martial artist who had wielded the sword since before this youth was even born. To have pushed such a man back, even for a moment, made the boy a martial genius worthy of being called a monster. He wanted nothing more than to take him back to Mount Tian.
I am sorry. For that child's sake, I cannot afford to die here. I shall carry this dishonor to my grave.
But he had a mission. A duty he had to survive and fulfill, even if it meant discarding his honor. With a grim expression, the Sword Demon bowed slightly toward Yoo Jeong once more. It was a small apology.
"Elder. Shall I take his head?"
A subordinate quietly approached from behind and asked, but the Sword Demon shook his head.
"I will finish this myself. It is the least I can do out of respect."
Approaching the youth who lay as still as death, the Sword Demon circulated his internal energy. He intended to use his ultimate technique to take the boy's head, granting him a warrior's end.
But just then—
"Stop right there—!!!"
An elderly woman's voice rang out like thunder.
Everyone's eyes snapped toward the source, and shock rippled through them. Standing atop the eastern pavilion was an old woman. Her face was incredibly familiar.
"The divine physician you seek is right here, you demonic lackeys of Mount Tian!"
Seeing the old woman turn and flee after shouting those words, the flustered Demonic Cult warriors looked to the Sword Demon for orders.
"Pursue her."
"Understood!"
The seven surviving warriors immediately gave chase in the direction the old woman had fled. And when the Sword Demon turned back to strike down the young master—
"…!"
Yoo Jeong was nowhere to be found.