Chapter 51
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Flame - 3
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Sword Phoenix Yang Chosul could scarcely collect his wits. He never could have imagined this outcome when he'd first descended from Point Star Mountain.
One of the Five Great Clans had mobilized personally to avenge the fallen White Dragon. Four members of the Four Dragons and Five Phoenixes had gathered: Clear Bright Sword, Little Divine Dragon, Fire Cloud Wind Sword, and himself. It was more than enough force to crush a single shady cult.
And yet.
"Aaagh! Save me!"
"It's a demon! Not a man—a demon!"
"Calm down, everyone..."
The central hall had fallen into utter chaos. Yang Chosul was no different. He'd tried everything to regain control of the situation, but even his own words faltered.
Horrible.
It wasn't as if he'd never seen corpses before. How many gruesome scenes had he witnessed on his path to earning the title of Sword Phoenix? Good people stabbed and slashed to death by blades.
But the bodies he'd seen until now had at least retained some semblance of their human form.
"Urk!"
Yang Chosul reflexively circulated his qi. He forced down the rising nausea.
Over there, rolling across the ground, were the "fragments" of the famed Ghost Fist Huangbo Garyun. Half-charred remnants from the Gale Sword, split in two from behind.
Did these so-called Dharma Protector and Divine Maiden have no respect for the dead? Tearing humans apart with bare hands, hacking them to pieces, and tossing them aside like trash—how could anyone normal do such things?
For Yang Chosul, who had refined his arts in the pristine mountain dojo of the Daoist path, this was a tragedy too horrific to behold with open eyes.
"Sword Phoenix, it looks like there are no more survivors here..."
"I rescued as many as I could, but..."
The young swordsmen, scattered at the front gate, had regrouped at the rear.
Even Fire Cloud Wind Sword, clad in Huashan Sect robes, couldn't hide his grim expression. No Plum Blossom Sword Master could remain unmoved before the tragedy unfolding before them.
"What happened?"
Little Divine Dragon arrived a step behind, leading the others. Few among them retained any semblance of sanity. Many wept freely, while others had lost their minds entirely, giggling like idiots.
The young dragon of the Zhuge Clan bit his lip. If he had his way, he'd rush off to aid Peng Xiaoying right now, but someone had to escort these people to safety.
His tireless mind rendered a cold judgment.
"Chosul—no, I'll go. You and Brother Jinmyeong support Brother Peng."
Among the three, Little Divine Dragon had the weakest martial arts. If one had to withdraw, it should be the least capable.
The fastest path to ending this was to aid Peng Xiaoying and finish off the Dharma Protector without delay.
There was no time for bickering over who would stay in a crisis like this. Yang Chosul and Fire Cloud Wind Sword nodded.
Boom. A thunderous roar echoed from afar, born of the Iron Blood Fist King's strike.
How much time has passed?
Peng Xiaoying laboriously leveled his sword. His spent arms trembled faintly.
His dantian screamed in protest. No more inner energy could be drawn forth amid the agony.
How many sword strikes have I blocked?
The enemy was silent. The sword master of Zhulip rarely spoke.
No shouts, no footwork. Even his gaze was as calm as a still lake. And within that calm lurked a single thing.
Pure killing intent.
In the midst of the smoldering ruins, the sword master's eyes flashed red for an instant.
"...!"
Amid the flying ash, a brilliant sword gleam erupted. Peng Xiaoying barely parried; the roar that followed a beat later was deafening. Clang!
A mere blunt-edged bastard sword, yet its speed tore the very air asunder.
Even Peng Clan's famed Five Tiger Broken Gate Sword, renowned for its ferocity, struggled to keep pace.
"Haa... damn it. Haa..."
Profanity slipped from his lips, uncharacteristic for him. His ragged breaths filled him with regret. He should have trained harder.
Now he understood how Nangong Dan had died.
"Hoo, haa!"
He desperately steadied his breathing. Cling! The foe showed no mercy. It disengaged from the locked blades only to strike again. Clang!
The movements were crude. No elegant technique honed by sword arts masters. A vicious blade that relentlessly exploited openings. A weary sword that brooked no lapse in vigilance.
It deviated from the Nine Sects' path of the Dao. It differed from the clans' blades of governance. Even the practical styles of the unorthodox schools couldn't compare.
Desperate flailing to strangle the life from him. Sword strikes that pressed as if failure to kill meant his own death. If it had a name, it was swordsmanship for murder alone.
This was bad.
"Just this sort of swordplay! The Divine Maiden must be worthless too! Ha!"
"..."
Taunts and feigned bravado did nothing to shake him, nor did attempts to rattle his mind and create an opening.
The eyes of Zhulip's sword master held nothing at all.
Is it even human?
Retreating would be wise. It went against a swordsman's pride, but linking up with his comrades for a joint assault was the smarter choice.
Yet Peng Xiaoying couldn't move. His brown eyes flicked to the side. An ordinary wooden floor, seemingly empty.
Someone was inside.
As a young master of his clan, he barely discerned it: faint traces of mechanical ingenuity amid the scorch marks, the invisible corpse of Huangfu Mujin.
And the retainers who had desperately protected something—someone—before losing their lives.
"Come on!"
He couldn't hand the child over to this murderous ghost.
Sching. The bloodied bastard sword gleamed murderously. Peng Xiaoying's gaze fixed on its tip.
When would the next attack come? The enemy's swift blade was always too fast. He counted inwardly. One, two, and—
Shrieeeek!
The blade drew its fastest arc. He hastily swung his sword, but it went wide. Was this the end?
Not yet.
Clang!
"I'll join you!"
"Brother Peng!"
His sword had missed because another blade had intervened.
A characteristically Nine Sects pure steel sword blocked the path, emanating a chill blue edge. With a flick of Fire Cloud Wind Sword's wrist, plum blossoms began to bloom in the air.
The Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Forms dominated the battlefield in a blaze of splendor. At the same time, Yang Chosul's sword thrust toward Bai Hui at blinding speed. Point Star One Cut, Four Sun-Piercing Swords—a piercing technique unrivaled under heaven.
"Uninvited guests have arrived..."
Sching. The bastard sword was sucked back into its sheath in an instant. Against the two incoming strikes, it seemed for a moment like surrender.
But in truth, it was the opposite.
Eyes blinked once. Urging qi raced through him. A little more—he surrendered himself to the madness. He lost his mind to the whispers.
The world dyed red, time froze white.
Ziiiiiing!
A diagonal slash rent space asunder. The reverse-gripped sword leaped from its sheath. Faster than a falling sun. Stronger than the plum blossoms' glory.
"Hah!"
"Haat!"
One hand stopped both swords. So effortlessly blocked, Fire Cloud Wind Sword and Yang Chosul could only fall back momentarily.
Their eyes burned with resolve as they stood firm to protect Peng Xiaoying.
"Where's Min?"
"Little Divine Dragon took the survivors to safety! Don't worry!"
"Good! Take the child to Zhuge Min!"
Peng Xiaoying hurriedly smashed the floor and finally reached for Huangfu Mujin. A young child peeked out, sniffling.
"That child...!"
"He's the last hope of the Huangfu Clan! Chosul! Jinmyeong! Go to Zhuge Min! Leave this to me!"
"Brother Peng, what are you saying?!"
Clang. The enemy's sword momentum intensified. Since the child emerged, Bai Hui's strikes had grown fiercer.
Peng Xiaoying was the leader of the Four Dragons. Yang Chosul and Fire Cloud Wind Sword trusted him implicitly. Yet Yang Chosul couldn't believe his ears.
Rescuing Huangfu Mujin was obvious, but wouldn't the three of them together easily defeat this Dharma Protector?
Why send two away as escorts? Peng Xiaoying, who'd expended so much energy, should have been the one to handle the escort.
"No time to explain! Trust me and go now! Hurry!"
But Peng Xiaoying was stubborn. He urgently drew his own sword.
"Brother Peng's spent so much inner energy—you should go to Little Divine Dragon...!"
"Escort is needed! The Demoness hasn't shown herself! I still have some left in me! The Iron Blood Fist King is here too!"
The massive sword swung ferociously. Thrusting the child toward Yang Chosul like a hot potato, Peng Xiaoying stepped forward.
"The Fist King will crush the Divine Maiden soon! We can hold until then! Trust me, both of you!"
Cling! Even now, Bai Hui's bastard sword sought his throat. The situation was dire.
They'd just joined, unaware of the battle's flow. No time to ask in the emergency.
And their absolute trust in their longtime friend, Clear Bright Sword Peng Xiaoying.
"We'll be right back!"
"Brother Peng, we trust you!"
That trust severed their fates from Peng Xiaoying's. The two swordsmen vanished in an instant with Huangfu Mujin. Peng Xiaoying finally exhaled deeply.
Click. He leveled his sword once more. This time, it didn't waver. The Peng Clan's massive blade snarled toward Bai Hui.
Like a great tiger.
"You lied."
Bai Hui murmured.
A bitter smile tugged at Peng Xiaoying's lips. Iron Blood Fist King—a title that promised certain victory just by hearing it.
He'd believed it himself. Surely the King would crush the Divine Maiden and come to his aid.
But the ceaseless clashes of qi from their duel, the desperate cries echoing out—they told the truth. The advantage was clear.
His instincts had already judged. There was no path to victory on this land today.
Huangfu Clan Head's fall would seal this miserable defeat.
"Why?"
The sword master's cold eyes fixed on Peng Xiaoying.
"Because Peng Xiaoying must be the last one standing."
"I see..."
Self-mocking words, yet his demeanor unshaken. The young hero of North Hebei's Peng Clan now hoped for one thing alone.
To endure until the Fist King fell. For the two he'd sent away to never return.
"How repulsive."
Bai Hui's eyes sank deeper.