Chapter 187
Chapter 187
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 187
Chapter Title: Beaten to a Pulp
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Head...?"
"Abdomen...?"
"Gas...?"
The crowd, who had been cheering vigorously, froze in place.
In the blink of an eye, what seemed like an accident had everyone standing there with mouths agape.
Ugh...
Ughhh...
Sighs close to groans echoed in place of cheers.
Geon Cheon-hwi, who had been waving his fist in front of the stands, swallowed hard.
The paper scraps clutched in his hand had long since fallen to the floor.
"Who the hell treats a person like laundry..."
And with a club as thick as a thigh, no less.
Watching Jinwoo finally foam at the mouth and collapse after getting pummeled for so long drew involuntary groans from everyone.
His pristine Daoist robe was half-torn to shreds, and the center of his lush hair was now bald.
Seeing the chunks of Jinwoo's hair torn out sent shivers down spines.
"...He's not dead, is he?"
Tak Hyukdong gaped.
The Mount Hua Sect Daoist, trembling violently, was dyed red like the plum blossoms embroidered on his robe.
"I figured I'd be digging a grave for that long-nosed bastard. Hell, I thought he was dancing on a tightrope or something."
Tightrope?
At least a tightrope would've sliced him clean.
But no, they pinned him down so he couldn't even flee and casually beat him like dirty laundry—might as well throw him into a pit of fire.
Jinwoo, jerking like he had malaria every time the club came down, looked downright pitiful.
Namgung Hyeok strode down from the arena platform, heavy steps echoing.
He paid no mind to the stares focused on him.
"Aw, what a mess."
He shook out his hands, and clumps of black hair rained down.
Geon Cheon-hwi's pupils trembled.
'...Crazy. What kind of chicken feathers are those?'
He'd plucked the man's hair out like pulling feathers from a chicken.
The crowd gulped repeatedly.
What was it?
The guy looked different now, somehow.
He'd always seemed like a madman, but after turning Jinwoo into a bloody pulp, he seemed like the real deal.
Namgung Hyeok casually hopped down and plopped into his chair.
Kim Cheomsang, snapping out of his daze, scurried off like a servant on instinct to fetch tea and handed over a bundle of jerky.
Geon Cheon-hwi asked cautiously.
"...Is the Mount Hua Daoist alright?"
Nom nom.
Namgung Hyeok looked up mid-chew.
"Huh?"
"..."
"No idea. Doesn't look dead."
...No, how's his condition?
I didn't ask if he's alive or dead.
Geon Cheon-hwi stared in bewilderment before quietly turning away.
Namgung Hyeok's interest in Jinwoo had clearly fizzled out long ago.
It was like a lion that had finished its hunt, stuffed its belly, and now lounged belly-up for a nap.
Exactly like that—bored, just munching jerky.
'...Better not ask anymore. I'll get hit too.'
Geon Cheon-hwi shrank back.
Namgung Hyeok lightly patted Namgung Ryong's shoulder, who sat beside him.
"Next up?"
"..."
"Come back after you beat him. Got it?"
"..."
"Understood."
"We'll split the finals nice and friendly. Who knows? If you make it up there, bro wins the title, and I snag the Pure Azure Oil."
...Wasn't the Pure Azure Oil the whole reason you came?
Namgung Hyeok nodded firmly.
"Go rip him apart."
"..."
"What? Why're you sitting there?"
"..."
"...Hasn't started yet."
"Oh."
Namgung Hyeok nodded in agreement.
He patted Namgung Ryong's shoulder a few more times and grinned.
"Ah, didn't knock out any teeth."
Should he have just killed him?
The onlookers sighed and shook their heads.
Daoist Juyang's eyes bulged.
'J-Jinwoo! H-Heave! J-Jinwoo...! I-Immeasurable, Immeasurable... mercy. P-Primitive, Primitive...!'
Watching Jinwoo carted off on a stretcher, Daoist Juyang let out a choking gasp.
He'd even taken one of the few Jasodan pills left in the sect...
What kind of ridiculous gap was this?
It was like a newborn infant fighting a martial artist.
Even after taking the Jasodan and advancing another layer, seeing Jinwoo carried off as bloody pulp left him shocked and speechless.
Silence fell over the VIP seats too...
Heh heh, I thought it'd be different this time. If anything, it's worse.
Elder Baek chuckled.
As Daoist Juyang whipped his glare around, Heo Won piped up from the opposite side.
"What'd I tell you? Just bad luck."
"Yes, indeed. Mount Hua got lucky before."
"This time, they met with misfortune."
Daoist Juyang ground his teeth.
Those damn Daoists were fanning the flames on a burning house...
Elder Baek grinned.
"The old Daoist's cultivation is shallow, so he'd get mad over something like this, but a profound cultivator like Daoist Juyang has mastered the Dao—he wouldn't stoop to that. Right?"
"..."
"Isn't the Dao just something that flows as it will? Heh heh heh, heh heh heh!"
Elder Baek laughed heartily.
"But isn't it fortunate? Imagine how wasteful it'd be if they'd used a Jasodan just to win a match. In Shaolin, they call this 'returning to the road, Amitabha,' don't they?"
"W-What?!"
"Heh heh, no way they'd waste such a precious Jasodan. Right?"
"..."
Daoist Juyang's face flushed red as if it might burst.
His white beard trembled like willow branches.
He couldn't even retort after all the barbs thrown his way.
Elder Baek savored Daoist Juyang's contorted expression.
'Heh heh heh! Seeing that old Juyang buzzard's face like that is pure delight!'
Was it his Daoist training at fault?
After years of being compared to Mount Hua and coming up short, this was immensely satisfying.
Jinwoo's state was horrific, but what did he care?
Mount Hua's long-nosed pig anyway?
If it were another sect or situation, he'd have raised his voice against that ruthless handiwork.
Outrage over insulting the Nine Great Sects, underhanded methods, etc.
But Elder Baek didn't.
Because to him, the scene wasn't ruthless at all.
Simple reason.
It was far more beautiful than Mount Hua strutting into the finals!
Mount Hua and Mount Zhongnan shared a grudge worse than dogs and monkeys.
Elder Baek laughed heartily.
'They reaped what they sowed!'
Sharing the sentiment, the other elders laughed along.
Daoist Juyang bit his lip until it bled, watching them laugh so brazenly.
Elder Baek turned with a smiling face.
"Now only Qingcheng remains."
Elder Qingyun flinched.
He eyed Elder Baek with unease.
"...That's right."
"Qingcheng will represent the Nine Sects. Please uphold our pride without disgrace."
"Heh, heh heh. At this point, we leave it to the heavens. We'll just do our best..."
"Indeed. You're the last of Qingcheng left. Heh heh, heh heh heh!"
"Heh, heh heh! Y-Yes! Heh heh heh!"
Cold sweat beaded on Elder Qingyun's forehead.
His anxious gaze drifted to Hyeonwon in the arena.
'...What if our Qingcheng falls too?'
With Mount Hua's Jinwoo ending up like that, unease flooded him.
The Namgung Clan's momentum felt terrifying anew.
He suddenly regretted bringing Hyeonwon down from the main peak for training.
He trusted Hyeonwon's skills...
'...But winning's a problem too.'
Elder Qingyun's eyes shifted to Namgung Hyeok.
Seeing him lounging with fangs bared and legs crossed, his pupils shook.
'What the hell is that beast... where did he come from?'
In his sixty years, Elder Qingyun had never realized someone could launder another person like that.
The savagery Namgung Hyeok showed while "washing" Jinwoo wasn't that of an upright sect warrior.
No human hand could do that.
It was believable if a real beast had done the thrashing.
Come to think of it, none of his opponents had ended well.
Why had it taken until now to realize?
Elder Qingyun pondered deeply and finally understood.
'...Ah, because it's my turn to get beaten.'
Gulp.
Elder Qingyun exhaled deeply, his cheeks twitching.
Regardless of his growing dread, the tournament pressed on.
* * *
Namgung Ryong sat cross-legged, gazing at the arena.
'...Azure Clouds Setting Sun Sword.'
Imagining a sunset fading through azure clouds, he vaguely grasped Hyeonwon's realm.
The height he'd chased but never quite reached—Hyeonwon had already scaled it.
One step.
Just one step forward, and he might step into that realm he'd sensed.
But it was no easy feat.
That single step was like the gulf between a wooden sword and a live blade.
'Emperor Sword Form...'
He visualized the Emperor Sword Form and Azure Clouds Setting Sun Sword in his mind. Dozens, hundreds of times.
Comparing his current Emperor Sword Form to Hyeonwon's Azure Clouds Setting Sun Sword, over and over.
Drip.
"..."
Namgung Ryong stared blankly at the blood trickling from his nose.
"Hey, why're you so pathetic? The Sword King wasn't like this."
Namgung Hyeok handed him a cloth to plug his nose.
Sniff.
Drip.
"Damn, nosebleed from both sides."
Namgung Hyeok rolled another cloth and plugged the other nostril too.
Crack.
Namgung Ryong's head lolled to one side.
Namgung Hyeok sighed and straightened his brother's head.
Kim Cheomsang asked with a panicked face.
"A-Are you alright?"
"Went to the medicine hall already—why's this happening?"
"Why ask me...?"
"Hey, First Young Master, you taking the meds right?"
"You gave them to me just now."
"Then why?"
...You'd know, young master.
Kim Cheomsang mumbled and slyly turned away.
Namgung Hyeok clicked his tongue.
"So frail like this—how you gonna beat that Qingcheng pig nose?"
Shake shake.
"What?! Still? I gave you that enlightenment. Absorb even a bit, and you could flip this tournament solo!"
"..."
"What? Spit it out."
"Just brute force, apparently. He says he doesn't get it..."
"What? Brute force only? BRUTE FORCE ONLY?!"
Hearing Kim Cheomsang's translation, Namgung Hyeok glared at Namgung Ryong, eyes bulging.
Namgung Ryong sweated profusely, his head tilting the other way before Namgung Hyeok grabbed it.
Namgung Hyeok said lowly.
"Listen up, bro."
"..."
"This is a spar. Not real combat."
"..."
"A few whacks from wooden swords won't kill you. Got it?"
"..."
"Endure like you're offering up an arm. Get hit once, prepare to land two. It's not like real battle where a broken arm stops you swinging."
...Not sure about that.
"To beat a strong foe, that's the resolve you need."
Namgung Ryong nodded slowly.
"Good. Go blow off some steam. Won't fly teeth this time, you're forgiven."
"...Can't make 'em fly."
"You..."
Namgung Ryong spun around quickly and headed for the arena where Hyeonwon stood.
Step step.
Hyeonwon looked up at Namgung Ryong ascending the platform.
Pale cheeks, hollow eyes, disheveled hair—it showed how brutally Namgung Hyeok had drilled him during the break.
Just the bloodshot eyes screamed he wasn't in good shape.
Hyeonwon asked.
"Are you alright, Dao brother?"
"..."
Namgung Ryong glanced at Namgung Hyeok growling from behind, then nodded.
Hyeonwon smiled faintly.
"I've always wanted to experience the Namgung Clan's swordsmanship. As a Daoist cooped up in the mountains, it's only now I meet it. Please guide me well."
Bow.
Hyeonwon politely cupped his hands toward the bowing Namgung Ryong.
"I am Hyeonwon, second-generation disciple of Mount Qingcheng Sect."
"Namgung Ryong. Eldest young master of the Namgung Clan."
Greetings exchanged, Hyeonwon drew his wooden sword with a serious expression, facing Namgung Ryong.
Namgung Ryong channeled his Heavenly Thunder Divine Art, narrowing his eyes slightly.
The air flow around them shifted, a solemn aura blanketing the arena.
"Namgung Ryong of the Namgung Clan! Hyeonwon of Mount Qingcheng Sect! Let the spar begin!"
With the resounding declaration, their auras exploded outward.