Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Tang Branch Tournament (6)
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Sichuan Province, Raksha Road.
The brief moment of catching up after their long separation didn't last.
They soon dove into talk of the upcoming sparring tournament.
"Your next opponent, young hero, is a man called Seol Ja-u, the Drunken Flower Swordsman."
Bang Jongdae said with a grin.
He then proceeded to rattle off information about him to Cheongun as if it were perfect timing, though no one knew where he'd gotten it.
"The Hyeoncheong Swordsmanship specializes in pushing away the opponent's weapon and breaking their stance. In particular, the third form, 'Lotus Wave Sever,' swings the sword quickly to scatter the foe's internal energy, so clashing head-on would put you at a disadvantage. Dodging and counterattacking is the best approach."
Cheongun couldn't tell if this guy was a monk or a gambler.
He was the epitome of the world's greatest gambling monk.
How much money did he bet, exactly?
Yet, amusingly enough, the info was quite useful.
That was why Cheongun listened intently while stuffing food down his throat.
"Young hero Cheong's techniques are erratic in many ways because you've broken free of the forms' rigid shapes."
Cheongun tilted his head.
Forms themselves started as a mnemonic device—too tedious to teach each move one by one, so just watch and imitate.
After endless repetition, you'd notice, "Huh? This feels faster than other stances?" or "Aha! That's why you do it this way!" Then you'd start adapting the forms, adding variations.
Once proficiency built up, you'd deconstruct and analyze them until you could use them unconsciously—that was called "breaking the form's shape."
But Cheongun hadn't broken any form's shape.
Where do fishing rod forms even exist?
He was just swinging it however felt right.
"Your first match was impressive, subduing a charging opponent in one strike. But Seol Ja-u won't attack first. He stands firm like Mount Tai, waiting for the enemy to rush in and exploit any opening."
Namgung Yeol cut in at Bang Jongdae's words.
"Will that be a problem? Brother Un's weapon doesn't require getting close."
"Is that so?"
"Of course. Smacking him with the pole works, but once the spar starts, just swinging that fishing line from afar—which can slice stone slabs—would leave the opponent scrambling, right?"
"Ho! That's a valid point."
Tournament outcomes were always unpredictable.
Every one so far had been the same.
Often, some unexpected dark horse would awaken mid-tournament and claim victory, or a skilled fighter would slip up from overconfidence.
That made the Tang Branch Tournament a hotbed where countless young martial artists earned their nicknames.
And the unpredictability of those matches set gamblers' hearts racing.
Hence, betting on the spars grew more rampant by the day.
But Namgung Yeol couldn't picture Cheongun losing.
Our Brother Cheong could never lose!
Even that monstrous master had acknowledged him, hadn't she?
And wasn't he the monster who'd stormed Bloodline Pavilion barehanded and taken the Pavilion Lord's head?
Namgung Yeol had reached the point of fanatic devotion to Cheongun.
But Bang Jongdae still worried.
"Take a look at this."
He spread the bracket on the table.
"This little monk shares Young Lady Namgung's view. No real challengers in the preliminaries, but if things proceed like this, the finals opponent is concerning."
Namgung Yeol's expression turned grave.
"...Tang So-rin."
"Tang Clan direct lineage—and one permitted to wear the green robes. Unlike the Alliance's Dragon-Phoenix Meet, poisons and hidden weapons are allowed here, aren't they?"
"Can't you just circulate qi to neutralize poison?"
Bang Jongdae chuckled heartily.
"Among the Tang Clan's direct lineage secret arts is one called Feline Soul Tranquilizer Powder."
"Feline Soul Tranquilizer Powder?"
"Yes. It's a poison that paralyzes qi and blood, easy even for experts to overlook. Once absorbed, the toxin clings to the meridians and lingers, so expelling it with qi circulation doesn't remove what's already infiltrated the nerves. Circulation actually accelerates the meridians, causing blurred vision, hazy consciousness, and wrenching abdominal pain all at once."
Namgung Yeol gasped.
What kind of monk knows poisons this intimately?
Even she hadn't known such a poison existed.
Then, the quietly listening Moyong Jin spoke up.
"...We can't give her a chance to poison him."
"That won't be easy. Tang direct descendants master poisoning techniques."
"Then just keep enough distance that the poison can't reach?"
"Stepping out of the arena disqualifies you, young hero."
Paeng Cheonwi chimed in too.
"Then just hold your breath?"
"Feline Soul Tranquilizer Powder absorbs through the sweat glands upon skin contact."
They debated among themselves for a while before suddenly turning to stare at Cheongun.
Cheongun just smiled brightly.
Then he abruptly stood, hands behind his back, and left.
How much time passed?
They realized.
Cheongun still hadn't paid for the meal.
Time passed.
Since the Tang Branch Tournament was a single-elimination bracket, Cheongun went through several more spars after his first.
The results were, naturally, his overwhelming victories.
The only issue was how he won.
No match lasted beyond one exchange.
Knocked out by the pole.
Or the fishing line suddenly wrapping the opponent's sword blade like a whirlwind before shattering it like glass.
It ended so abruptly no one had time to react—leaving spectators and fighters alike feeling empty.
And that wasn't all.
After each win, he'd declare victory himself like he was the judge.
And the declarations varied each time.
First match: "Victory. Overwhelming."
Next: "Victory. Simple."
Then: "Victory. Fishing rod difference."
And so, finals day arrived.
Darkwood Sect main hall.
"Kyaa!"
Jeok Hwa-ryeon jumped in surprise.
After her grueling training and freshening up, Cheongun was suddenly sitting in the seat of honor.
Her eyes widened as she asked,
"Sect Leader? Is the tournament over already?"
"Today's the finals."
"Finals? Then what are you doing here? Did you bail out of fear?"
At that, Cheongun pulled out his wooden bell from his robes, prompting Jeok Hwa-ryeon to cough awkwardly and ask again.
"Why are you here?"
"I need you, Ryeon-ah."
"Me? Why?"
"The opponent's tough. With your cheers, I could win easily."
Jeok Hwa-ryeon blinked.
Suddenly coming on this strong?
What was a sparring tournament? A stage tied to a martial artist's future honor.
Asking her to cheer at the finals of such a crucial event?
She knew better than anyone how monstrous her sect leader's power was.
"Tough opponent" was obviously an excuse.
This was a juniors' tournament—no one here could trouble the sect leader.
Which meant.
He came here to have her watch his victory!
"...Fine. If that's what the sect leader wants."
Jeok Hwa-ryeon smirked smugly.
See? He did see her as a woman.
This approach was kinda cute, too.
It even eased some resentment from that head-smack last time.
Then Cheongun beckoned with a finger.
At his gesture, Jeok Hwa-ryeon trotted over like a cat.
She crouched familiarly, turning to bare her nape.
As Cheongun grabbed it, she asked slyly,
"Can I ask one thing?"
"What?"
"Who's the opponent?"
Cheongun replied,
"Forgot."
"Ah, okay."
Cheongun unleashed his lightness skill.
"Tang So-rin. Cheongun. Enter the arena!"
The finals began with the judge's call.
Cheongun sauntered up swinging his fishing rod as usual.
"…"
"…"
Cheongun sized up his opponent.
A simple-looking girl with a round, bun-like hairstyle and flushed cheeks.
Petite, only up to his shoulder.
No visible weapon.
At her waist, under the specially made Tang green robes, hung pouches of hidden projectiles.
As it was the finals, a huge crowd had gathered.
Even the clan heads, sect leaders, and elders on the platform watched breathlessly.
No matter the talent, poisons were hard to guard against without extreme childhood training to build resistance.
And a Tang direct lineage poison wasn't just any poison.
Then the judge shouted,
"Begin!"
Cheongun blankly stared at Tang So-rin regardless.
She met his gaze briefly before covering her mouth and giggling.
"Hoho! You're Cheongun, right?"
"Yes."
Tang So-rin smirked.
She'd thoroughly investigated Cheongun.
A monster among monsters, with unprecedented martial ineptitude and genius combined.
But tradition dictated that the Tang entrant always won the Tang Branch Tournament.
Because hidden weapons and poisons were allowed.
In a mock battle mimicking real combat, with poisons and projectiles permitted, no peer could beat a Tang direct descendant.
Thus, the unspoken rule against Tang foes was never give them an opening.
Poison required a delivery process, after all.
Yet this fool just stood there gaping?
He didn't even know the basics of facing a Tang disciple.
"Pathetic. You don't even grasp the situation, do you?"
Black haze seeped out around the bun-haired Tang So-rin.
It surged toward Cheongun, dominating the space.
She narrowed her eyes mockingly.
"Staring won't help. The poisoning's already done."
"…"
"Feeling dizzy yet? Holding your breath is useless. Sadly, it absorbs through the skin."
"…"
"Soon cold sweat everywhere. Vision blurring, excruciating gut pain incoming. As a Tang direct technique, that's par for the course, right?"
"…"
"Oh, no need to panic. Not lethal. But you'll lose ugly in front of everyone. So surrender quick if you get it."
Cheongun listened quietly.
Tang So-rin faltered slightly.
His expression was too serene.
"Told you, enduring's pointless."
"…"
"Hehe! Can't even talk now?"
"…"
"Predictable for a talent-wasted punk like you."
"…"
Tang So-rin kept provoking.
The more agitated the foe, the more qi circulation faltered, boosting poison absorption.
The black haze thickened around Cheongun.
But things were different.
Cheongun felt unaffected.
If anything, the denser the poison, the clearer his mind grew.
Cheongun glanced at Jeok Hwa-ryeon in the stands.
The black poison qi was sucked into Cheongun.
With each breath, Primordial Unity Qi flooded his dantian, circulating through meridians to purify the impurities.
Cheongun's eyes gleamed blue.
Soon, blue haze seeped from his body.
As if the inhaled poison was being refined and expelled.
His body underwent drastic change.
Toxins boiled up like impurities, gathering in the dantian.
The Primordial Unity Qi enveloped them, extracting only vital energy for absorption.
Like digesting a heavy, greasy meal in his gut.
Vitality surged, a massive euphoria racing through his channels.
Cheongun savored it and burped.
"Burp."
"What?"
Paat—!
Cheongun's form vanished in a blue afterimage.
No time for her to ponder the poison's failure.
Tang So-rin hastily heightened her senses.
Damn, dizzy.
Qi flows crossed chaotically.
Just now from the east, now crashing from the west; plummeting from above, now erupting from below.
Scanning around, her head snapped to one side.
Cheongun had appeared beside her.
"Where?"
"Damn!"
Paat!
Tang So-rin unleashed lightness skill to widen the gap.
But Cheongun wouldn't let her.
As he pursued, she gritted her teeth and swept her right arm horizontally.
Her green sleeve flared, launching hidden Asura Daggers.
Pabababak—!
Projectiles sliced air toward Cheongun.
He whipped the rod-holding hand like a lash.
The flying line sliced through empty space.
The slack end tautened—Pueong!—ripping air, accelerating, writhing like it had a mind of its own, batting away every incoming dart.
"!!!"
Caught off-guard, Tang So-rin froze.
The line whipped around her upper body, binding tight.
"W-Wait…!"
Before she finished, her body lifted.
Cheongun reeled her in like a trophy fish.
Moments later, bound to the line, she arced through air before Kwang! slamming headfirst into the ground.
"Guh…"
Cheongun gazed contentedly at her planted in the dirt.
Head buried upside-down, legs twitching skyward—like a rooted radish shaking.
"…"
Silence again.
As Cheongun opened his mouth for his usual declaration,
"W-Winner! Cheongun wins!!"
"Ah."
The wide-eyed judge beat him to it.