True Martial Cheongmyeong
Cheongmyeong swung his sword, batting away the blades of the Blood Cult warriors while furrowing his brow slightly. The demonic energy they exuded was bizarre. Sticky like the blood stench that polluted the air, tenacious like dust clinging to the skin. And it was all the stranger because no matter how he looked at them, these were low-ranking Blood Cult fighters emitting it.
Bodies that regenerated no matter how many times they were cut. It inevitably brought to mind records of the Shura Hwan Hon Gong, the demonic art said to have been used by the low-tier warriors of the old world's Ilwolgyo. Having read even a little about the ancient Ilwolgyo proved helpful in moments like this.
Skak.
He dodged a sword aimed at him from a Blood Cult warrior and instead sliced the tendons inside their wrist, forcing them to withdraw temporarily. But that alone wasn't enough.
'The sword isn't sufficient.'
Cheongmyeong calmly deflected the blades pressing in on him from the Blood Cult warriors and shifted into footwork. Two swords rose behind his back, dancing through the air like the fingers of a musician plucking a zither's strings. One remained in his hand while the other two spun like windmills, knocking away the enemies' swords.
Like Jin-un, he hadn't yet achieved true enlightenment, so his Hyeoncheon Mugyeok Singong and Jinmu Samsip Sam Geom remained incomplete. Thus, Cheongmyeong had chosen the Samcheong Mugyeok Geomhye.
A ferocious storm of pure sword energy erupted as the two swords spinning in the air synchronized with the swing of the blade in Cheongmyeong's hand. A terrifying cartwheel that literally pulverized everything in its path plunged toward the Blood Cult warriors.
Parararak. The two swords slammed down from the sky with a terrifying screech, cloaked in clear sword energy as they raced across the ground. Even the Blood Cult warriors recoiled in terror from the momentum.
Cheongmyeong's eyes scattered their formation in an instant, and far off, he spotted a spear flying toward him.
A metallic clang exploded furiously. The spear clashed with Cheongmyeong's sword and spun like flowing water before being flung skyward. It was Wudang's signature soft sword technique—deflecting the opponent's power without meeting it head-on. As the airborne spear shattered into two pieces, a Blood Cult warrior appeared, shouldering no fewer than five spears.
"You're that famous Cheongpung Sword of Wudang, aren't you?"
The man drew the second spear from his arsenal and grinned.
"I'm Jo Mun-bin of the Asura Divine Cult."
The Asura Blood Cult—commonly called the Blood Cult—but the cultists themselves preferred Asura Divine Cult. If Baek Su-gyeong had been there, he'd have muttered something like, These guys are cosplaying as demonic cultists. The silver lining—if there was one—was that Baek Su-gyeong wasn't by Cheongmyeong's side.
"Cheongmyeong."
No need for lengthy talk. They were the enemy. Moreover, these were assailants targeting the imperial princess—and even Baek Su-gyeong himself. What more words were needed for those gunning for Baek Su-gyeong, the greatest pillar shaking the murim right now, and Wudang's supreme benefactor?
No words were necessary. If anything needed saying, his sword would speak.
"They say Wudang's old fogeys treasure you so much! Let's see if that skill lives up to the hype, Cheongpung Sword!"
No further words. The short spear left an afterimage as if stretching instantly, surging straight at Cheongmyeong.
Fast and fierce. A ferocious spear strike perfectly suited to the word "overpowering." Cheongmyeong had no intention of meeting it head-on. Wudang arts were fundamentally rooted in softness. Just as Shaolin techniques were based on stillness conquering motion, Wudang emphasized yielding. That meant excelling at redirecting the enemy's strength.
The spear extended with a metallic click, adding ferocious rotation. Jo Mun-bin pursued Cheongmyeong, who glided backward like clouds on the wind via Jeunjong steps, tracing a savage arc with his spear.
Not the Hyeoljeong Ma-ryeong Gong that low-tier warriors practiced, but the Gonghyeol Ma-gong-based Hyeollyeon Chang. Waves of spear strikes poured down like rain, amplified by the berserk momentum unique to Gonghyeol Ma-gong.
He didn't panic. Cheongmyeong's sword carved a circle through the air, filled instantly by the two swords descending from the sky. The twisting force from the two overlapping circles—Jeonsa Gyeong.
Jo Mun-bin's spear halted, unable to advance against the silken strands of force, then bounced back. Frowning at the recoil that threatened to tear his grip, he snarled.
"Using three swords?"
Cheongmyeong didn't answer. Grating. The scraping of steel on steel echoed as the two hovering swords flew horizontally like birds.
A chilling whoosh that seemed to shave the air. Jo Mun-bin swiftly stepped and swung his spear to deflect them. Flying swords without infused energy were no trouble to swat away.
"Let's see how long you can keep that up, Cheongpung Sword!"
Thud. Jo Mun-bin kicked off the ground. The seemingly sluggish motion brought him right in front of Cheongmyeong in an instant.
Shweeeek! A ferocious spear barrage hurtled toward him. Cheongmyeong slid back with Jeunjong, calmly swinging to redirect the incoming force.
'A powerhouse.'
The enemy's aura was heavy but not overwhelming. Just thick and sticky. The signature pressure of Blood Cult demonic arts. Even as the demonic energy squeezed like it would erode his mind, Cheongmyeong remained composed. Common wisdom held that Taoist and Buddhist heart methods resisted demonic extremes, hard to invade. It was true.
A deep breath drew clear energy rising from his dantian, racing through his body like flames to drive out the rain-like demonic qi enveloping him. His vision cleared. The synergy of Okheo Singong with Ssangryeong Mugyeok Jin-gi.
"Ha!"
Like urging a horse, he shouted. Seeing Jo Mun-bin's spear slashing diagonally through the air, Cheongmyeong switched hands on his sword. The blade moved from left to right, his left hand naturally rising above.
Grating. An uncanny sound erupted, impossible for bare hand meeting spear shaft. Simultaneously, a crack split Jo Mun-bin's forehead.
'Grabbed the spear barehanded?'
Seizing a spear laced with Jeonsa Gyeong with bare hands was madness. It would shred the grip. Even protected by inner energy, there were limits. But grabbing the spear didn't leave Jo Mun-bin defenseless. He released it naturally and unleashed a palm strike at Cheongmyeong's momentarily paused chest.
The Gwan-eum Blood Palm, infused with Gonghyeol Ma-gong, shot forth ferociously.
"Kuh!"
Cheongmyeong raised his arm to block, but he was shoved back. Even through his energy-protected arm, the blow pierced to rattle his organs. A trickle of blood escaped his lips. Internal injury.
Direct hit from Tu-gyeong, striking internals via Myeongjung Susu method. Jo Mun-bin laughed.
"Heh, the Avalokitesvara Palm crafted by those Mingwang Society bastards, blended with our cult's demonic art into Gwan-eum Blood Palm. Even with inner energy protection, hard to block organ damage, right?"
He wielded a spear, but hadn't neglected other arts. The Blood Cult's goal: proselytizing the Central Plains. Spreading the grace of the Blood God, Asura, awaiting the Blood Heaven World. Even death in the process was sacrifice for the new era—no hesitation in throwing their bodies. Plus, drinking blood and siphoning qi made them hard to kill.
How tricky could foes be?
"Cheongpung Sword, your head is mine!!"
As Cheongmyeong swallowed blood, Jo Mun-bin's spear tip bore down.
His internals shook, qi disrupted. Not carelessness. Just hadn't expected the enemy to steal and refine even Mingwang Society arts.
Cheongmyeong blamed his own folly. This was all because he was lacking.
'The enemy is Blood Cult.'
He twisted his neck to evade, but the grazing force scratched his nape, blood spraying into the air. Jo Mun-bin naturally retracted the spear, the trace blood sucked into his veins.
Licking his lips like savoring a delicacy, he smirked.
"Taoist blood isn't the tastiest, but it's nutrient-rich. That's why our cult loves you Taoists and those Shaolin meatheads the most."
Heh. Confident in his advantage, Jo Mun-bin's movements grew more leisurely. The Blood Cult's signature Tamhyeol Bobeop. Like a beast circling prey, gauging the moment to pounce—a bizarre footwork leaving faint afterimages around Cheongmyeong.
Instinct warned against thrusting rashly.
"Hup."
He inhaled. Okheo Singong merged with Ssangryeong Mugyeok Jin-gi, advancing to Okcheong Jin-gi, jade sword energy extending along his blade. Okheo Singong was the foundational art for advanced Wudang techniques—prerequisite for Taecheong Simbeop, Okcheong Jin-gi, Sangcheong Singong. Naturally, it blended seamlessly into the Ssangryeong Mugyeok Jin-gi devised by the Wudang Sword Hero.
At once, a chill like clear wind scoured flesh emanated from Cheongmyeong's entire body.
"…!!"
Jo Mun-bin's face hardened at the spine-chilling killing intent. Why were Taoists and Buddhists—especially Shaolin arhats—underrated despite their status? Because cultivation suppressed killing intent. They rarely revealed hostility. Thus, they earned respect. Utmost caution in drawing swords. Ruthless mercy in striking. That was Shaolin, that was Wudang.
'This guy…?'
Wudang arts epitomized softness. But pure softness couldn't repel hardness without supreme yielding skill. Against innate strength trained in rigid arts, softness alone spelled defeat. Meet power with power.
Could Wudang arts do that? The doubt flashed through Jo Mun-bin's mind, but—
"Ha! Entertaining!"
Cheongmyeong stepped forward. His quivering sword tip traced a circle, then a bizarre curve. The pattern: Wudang's taiji symbol.
Circles naturally rising in the air shed intangibility for form.
"Taiji Sword? Think you can face me with Wudang's obsolete lost art!?"
Jo Mun-bin's spear tip shattered the taiji pattern in the air. But Cheongmyeong's advance didn't halt. With each step, his aura swelled despite his injury—like a thousand jin pressing down.
"Krah!"
Only Jo Mun-bin roared. Cheongmyeong didn't even exhale shallowly. He halted. As Jo Mun-bin gritted his teeth and thrust, dozens of sword forces transcended intangible gyeong into tangible gi, grazing him.
His whirlwind spear force seemed trapped in the circle Cheongmyeong's tip drew, then shattered by merciless slashes, fragments scattering.
Pop. Amid the crumbling force he couldn't withstand, a thunderous rupture like splitting leather drum.
"You bastard!!"
Spear shadows poured in countless afterimages. Gray serpents with iron scales undulated forth, but Cheongmyeong's eyes remained serene.
Five circles from his sword tip instantly enclosed the air.
With Cheongmyeong's calm utterance, the five circles clenched the incoming dozens of spear shadows, scattering them.
Now Jo Mun-bin paled in shock. But he flipped mid-air, retracting his spear before hurling it with terrifying speed. A blood-red blade laced not with qi but ganglyeok plummeted like a meteor.
Cheongmyeong wasn't naive. His right hand formed a sword-mudra concentrating inner energy. His left brimmed with Wudang's clear sword energy. Ssangryeong Mugyeok Jin-gi dwelled separately in each hand, distorting the air around him.
Seeing it, Jo Mun-bin's forehead cracked. The aura from Cheongmyeong felt ominous.
"You bastard!!"
With his shout, the three spears on his back all unsheathed. Three spears soared like meteors toward Cheongmyeong. He faced the onslaught without disrupting his breath. Wudang swordsmanship demanded unshakable calm—akin to Shaolin's extreme discipline.
Mirror-still mind, lake in clear mirror—his eyes were utterly pure.
Ssangryeong Mugyeok Jin-gi raced through his body. As if focused solely on the single sword in hand. Like twin spirits returning to heaven, it coiled in his dantian. At life's brink, Ssangryeong Mugyeok Jin-gi reverted to unity. Unity was Mugyeok. Mugyeok was endless—inexhaustible no matter how much used.
"Die!!"
Jo Mun-bin's four spears—three launched plus the hurled one—formed a demon's visage, engulfing Cheongmyeong. The ultimate of Hyeollyeon Chang layered on Gonghyeol Ma-gong: Saho Yuran.
As blood-red radiance sought to rend him, dazzling light bloomed from Cheongmyeong's sword tip.
"Wha…?"
In the instant Jo Mun-bin's eyes widened in horror, Cheongmyeong's single stroke became azure lightning, tearing the air.