The Divine Dragon Appears

The Divine Dragon emerged as Seomun Cheong shot forward, skimming along the ground. In Wolbong's field of vision, her form suddenly dropped straight down before surging up right in front of him. In response, Wolbong planted both feet firmly on the ground using the Thousand Catty Drop technique and brought his forearms together, raising them like an iron wall.

Then—tap.

The sword strike that landed on his heavily reinforced forearms felt as light as a feather. Since it clearly wasn't meant as a real attack, Wolbong slowly lowered his arms. Only then did he see Seomun Cheong standing quietly with her sword raised.

The confident reply left Seomun Cheong speechless. Did that even make sense? No matter how much this was supposed to be a spar, who in their right mind would try to block a sword with just two raised forearms? Even though the practice sword had a dulled edge, coating it with sword qi still wouldn't create a real blade. If adding a bit of sword qi could suddenly produce a cutting edge out of nowhere, who in the world would bother carrying an actual sword around? They'd just walk around with a thin iron rod and shoot out some ultra-high-temperature blade like something from a far-future space age.

Seomun Cheong turned her gaze toward the host and referee. Her look clearly asked whether this was acceptable. The referee's expression also grew subtle.

The referee looked at Seomun Cheong.

Since her face was hidden behind a veil anyway, Seomun Cheong furrowed her brows deeply. The spar had already begun; bringing out a real sword now would look pathetic. Besides, even if she used one, could she attack comfortably? If she accidentally cut him, blood would be spilled at the sparring event. And if she won using a real sword against an unarmed opponent, it was obvious people would talk behind her back later. They'd say that despite being called one of the pillars of the righteous Murim, she was acting in a petty and underhanded way by only taking the advantageous route.

After what seemed like it would be a single clash, the two combatants were just standing there chatting. The murmurs among the spectators in the sparring arena grew louder. Seomun Cheong shook her head.

And so the spar resumed.

Seomun Cheong first wrapped her sword in a very thin layer of qi to test whether it was truly okay. The strike she extended smoothly carried more of a gentle, relaxed swing than any profound technique. In response, Wolbong lightly raised his forearms, which were positioned at right angles, to meet it.

Thud.

The impact transmitted through her grip was incredibly solid. It felt like she'd struck a boulder. Seomun Cheong gradually increased the intensity of her attacks. Wolbong blocked each one perfectly in turn. It was a display of skill where he deliberately blocked even trajectories that could have been let through if she truly intended to cut him. Only after Seomun Cheong's sword qi grew denser and began producing multiple entangled strands of sword energy did she finally feel some certainty.

Hmm. He could probably block a real sword too.

But it was still ambiguous. Could she cut his throat? What about other vital points? How about his stomach? What if she stabbed his solar plexus? No, why was this turning out like this?

However, Wolbong seemed to think he had shown enough of his defensive power. Only then did he unfold the secret techniques of Shaolin fist arts. It was like a ferocious beast charging forward wrapped in a heavy shell.

Fortunately, these were moves she was familiar with. The straight punch he extended was the Big Dipper Straight Line from the Seven Star Fist. As she lightly twisted her body, his folded forearm rotated and his fist came flying toward her face. Seomun Cheong leaned her upper body back, and his clenched fist stopped right in front of her chin, fluttering her veil. A human elbow could only rotate so far, after all.

After letting the light chain attack flow past, it was Seomun Cheong's turn again. She stepped on the top of Wolbong's foot as he stood completely sideways and pushed his knee with her other foot.

What the—why isn't he moving?

But since the legs firmly planted on the sparring platform wouldn't budge, Seomun Cheong's balance was the one that faltered, causing her torso to topple forward. She planted one hand on the ground and executed two large cartwheels. By the time she landed, Wolbong had already closed in tight. He assumed a stance as if riding a horse, with both fists loaded perfectly at his waist.

Front? Back? There was no time to think. Wolbong's thighs seemed to swell to twice their size.

Boom!

Seomun Cheong stomped the ground and launched herself into the air. At the same time, Wolbong's twin fists shot forward. The two arms extending from his feet planted on the ground stretched his torso fully. The powerful twin fists barely grazed beneath her rising feet.

Thud!

Seomun Cheong's knee slammed into Wolbong's forehead.

My knee!

Because her knee joint creaked from the impact, Seomun Cheong swallowed a scream and used one hand to press down on Wolbong's rough-shaven head, flipping herself into a handstand. Just how hard was this guy's head? Not wanting to simply pass by, she struck his pale bald head with the pommel of her sword before using the recoil to fly away and land on the ground.

Wolbong staggered slightly, but that was all. Seomun Cheong clicked her tongue in disappointment. She should have hit him harder. Worried she might crack the monk's skull, she had held back, and as a result, he seemed barely affected. Though the tips of his ears had turned slightly red—probably from blood rushing to his head.

Hmm. Is he pissed?

Wolbong charged forward aggressively once more. Seomun Cheong retreated with wide strides while unleashing a continuous barrage of sword strikes.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

Although the slashes lacked proper power because she was moving backward, the sight of him charging fiercely while batting them away with his fists and arms was incredibly bewildering. The original purpose of weapons was to make contact with the opponent's body. Since human flesh couldn't withstand weapons, the moment they touched—whether stabbing, cutting, or slicing—produced a dramatic conclusion.

Yet the Shaolin warrior monks completely denied this fundamental principle.

At that point, even Seomun Cheong couldn't help but admire them. So that's how the weaponless Shaolin monks came to be regarded as the greatest martial artists in the world. No, who the hell blocks swords with their hands?

Hmm. Does the monk know the Sosu Magong too?

It seemed like a reasonable suspicion. But when it came to pure hardness, the Vajra Indestructible Divine Art was an external art designed specifically for that purpose, while Sosu Magong was merely an additional bonus. There was no need to compare which was stronger.

The Seventy-Two Ultimate Arts of Shaolin poured out endlessly—arms, fists, the back of hands, palm strikes, knife-hand strikes, and even kicks. By striking the sword away with bare hands, his offense and defense became one. Seomun Cheong had no choice but to keep retreating and swinging her sword. In the blink of an eye, more than ten exchanges had passed, and Seomun Cheong had taken over thirty steps backward.

However, no matter how fast someone walking backward might be, they could never outpace someone walking forward. Moreover, Shaolin footwork was based on that stubborn forward momentum. The distance gradually closed until, at some point, Wolbong planted his front foot right in front of her widely spread stance.

Ah. Something big is coming.

Seomun Cheong sensed it instinctively. Sure enough, his outstretched palm aimed at her eyes while his fist, pulled back tightly, shot forward with a menacing whoosh. It looked as if it would pierce straight through her abdomen and out her back.

But since no blood was spilled at the sparring event, Seomun Cheong had made an emergency escape. The afterimage left behind by her Wave-Treading Micro-Steps fused with formation techniques had been pierced instead.

Like a master of the Earth Shrinking Technique, Seomun Cheong appeared elegantly behind Wolbong, eight steps away with her back turned. She quickly spun around. Wolbong, who had suddenly lost his opponent, had already seen her Wave-Treading Micro-Steps from afar, so he didn't panic. He immediately located her and aimed his fist.

Then, as he took a large step while turning his body completely straight and extending his fist—

Feeling a dangerous premonition, Seomun Cheong urgently drew up her internal energy. The sword qi that surged with power pushed to its limit seemed to make the blade swell five times larger in an instant. The sword, now like a great blade, came crashing down with the momentum to split everything in two.

BOOM!!

With a tremendous roar, Seomun Cheong's sword qi split apart like an unfolding fan and scattered violently behind her. She was pushed straight backward. Even though her hands had been trained by Sosu Magong, a tearing pain shot through them.

It was Shaolin's famous divine art, the Hundred Steps Divine Fist.

Whoa. If that had hit me properly, I would've been knocked out cold.

If she gave him too much distance, those ridiculously powerful attacks would come flying. Wolbong stood with both arms fully extended and his bent legs now perfectly straight. The heel of his back foot was slightly lifted. Seomun Cheong quietly withdrew her own foot and measured the angle.

The moment Wolbong's body flipped around sharply, Seomun Cheong also stomped the sparring platform hard enough to shatter it and shot forward.

Whoosh!

The aftershock of the Hundred Steps Divine Fist brushed past her ear. Even though she had created quite a distance and dodged with room to spare, the aftershock was still strong enough to tickle her ear.

Seomun Cheong's footwork drew sharp, lightning-like trajectories as she advanced forward, alternating left and right. It was a completely different, lightning-fast movement compared to the elegant and leisurely Wolnyeo Mountain Walk. It was the supreme light footwork that had made the Divine Thief who he was—Void-Piercing Instant Movement.

Of course, since it wasn't a footwork she had shown to others before, no one recognized it.

Her sword qi drew afterimages, striking Wolbong like a streak of lightning following her movements. But the moment it touched, Wolbong's body suddenly vanished. It was the Iron Plate Bridge technique that Seomun Cheong also enjoyed using. Since this too originated from Shaolin studies, it could be called the original version.

Wolbong, who had sprung up like a spring, extended a palm strike downward with his fingers curled. A palm strike like this used the hardest part of the hand—the area connected to the wrist—and delivered power without loss, making it an incredibly powerful technique.

Wolbong's palm strike dug into Seomun Cheong's stomach.

Thud!

Even though she had tensed her abs beforehand, her breath was completely knocked out of her with a choked gasp. Since it wasn't a proper rotating strike following from footwork but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an improvised attack relying only on wrist elasticity from an awkward posture, its power was negligible. That was why she could endure it.

Seomun Cheong stabbed her sword deep into the sparring platform, let go, and threw a punch at Wolbong's chin. Since Wolbong hadn't expected a swordsman to abandon her weapon, his chin spun from the impact.

In truth, Seomun Cheong had learned about thirty of Shaolin's Seventy-Two Ultimate Arts. The bare-handed martial arts commonly sold in the markets were all degraded versions of them. And since she had raised all those white-bordered miscellaneous skills to ten stars, they barely consumed any practice points and were essentially worthless.

To the staggering Wolbong, Seomun Cheong delivered a viciously hard blow to his solar plexus, carrying all her resentment for her own throbbing and painful abs. However, Wolbong's palm blocked her fist right in front of his own solar plexus.

But Seomun Cheong possessed monstrous strength. The result was that Wolbong, who had struck his own solar plexus with the back of his hand, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let out a heavy gasp as the air was forced from his lungs.

Seomun Cheong's eyes flashed. As she withdrew her fist, she leaned her body forward. Using the destructive force of her stomp on the ground, her elbow shot out. It was a picture-perfect display of the External Gate Straight Strike.

WHAM!!

After taking another hit to his solar plexus and expelling what little breath remained, Seomun Cheong spun in the opposite direction, intending to follow up with the Iron Mountain Lean technique by driving her shoulder blade into him—

Using such a common technique—and worse, the authentic original version—against a master who had trained in it properly since childhood was far too complacent. As the price for her complacency, Seomun Cheong took a brutal hit to her side. She snatched up the sword she had embedded in the platform and quickly created distance.

Seomun Cheong rubbed her stomach and massaged her side, frowning. Wolbong was also huffing short breaths, seemingly struggling to regain the breathing that had been knocked out of him after taking two blows to his solar plexus.

Seomun Cheong was pondering how she could beat him into submission so he would admit defeat and step down. Suddenly, Wolbong raised one hand.

Then, golden internal energy began to flicker around his fist. It started glowing brilliantly on its own.

At the same time, the spectators who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had been watching the spar without even daring to breathe burst into cheers. Separately, for Seomun Cheong, this was very bad news.