Chapter 57
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Making an Example
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Yang Cho-gun's swift movements must have come from the Hainan Sect's lightness skill, the Coiling Capture Step.
"You rat! Let's see you dodge this one! White Lotus Ghost Net Blade Art!"
The burly man's blade swept toward Yang Dan-won with the ferocity of a typhoon.
His blade technique unleashed echoes like the wailing of ghosts.
"Falling Sun Dragon Slayer Sword!"
The signature techniques of the two sects clashed. Sword qi and blade qi collided dozens of times in midair.
Each impact sent deafening roars and shockwaves rippling through the arena, forcing spectators to clap their hands over their ears.
They weren't just blocking out the clashes of qi—the eerie, ghostly wails from the Ghost Net Blade added to the assault.
White Lotus Valley was a blade-wielding sect, yet infamous for its sound attacks.
Their White Lotus Ghost Blades weren't ordinary swords; their unique shape produced bizarre shrieks with every swing.
Masters of White Lotus Valley wielded tyrannical blade arts laced with sonic assaults, making them nightmarish opponents.
Yang Dan-won effortlessly evaded the overpowering blade strikes, his eyes flashing with insight.
He'd spotted a gap amid the giant's massive swings.
"Flying Fish Quick Sword!"
Another Hainan Sect secret technique erupted from his blade.
Sword qi like countless flying fish leaping from the ocean surface converged along his sword path.
Something thin as a finger shot into the air, and a dying groan burst from Mok Ya-seong's lips.
"Kuhk!"
That decided the victor.
Tsiiing—!
The massive Ghost Head Blade flew from Mok Ya-seong's grip, embedding itself in the dirt at the arena's edge.
Mok Ya-seong clutched his gushing wrist, while Yang Dan-won's sword hovered at his throat.
"Shall we continue?"
Mok Ya-seong bowed his head in defeat.
"...I lost."
"Hainan Sect's Yang Dan-won wins!"
The duel between Hainan Sect's Yang Dan-won and White Lotus Valley's Mok Ya-seong ended in victory for the Hainan Sect.
Yang Cho-gun watched his comrade's triumph, fists clenched tight.
"You alright?"
"Hoo... Not really, to be honest."
"If you've got something weighing on your chest, spill it to me. Don't bottle it up."
"When have I ever bottled anything up?"
"Feels like you're doing it right now."
"You trying to die?"
"...Sorry."
"No need to apologize. Just give me a bit."
"Give you what?"
"I'll tell you after I beat that bastard."
I sensed what he meant and nodded without pressing.
"Got it. I'll wait."
The first group's matches ended, and the second group began.
My turn had finally come.
My first opponent was a Sichuan Province master, an external arts powerhouse.
Like the others who'd faced the Imperial Palace Martial Academy, he made the mistake of running his mouth.
"Pretty little thing, aren't you? I'll paint that pretty face red with blood. Heh heh heh..."
'Right, this is that kind of place. Forgot for a second since it's been a while.'
I couldn't help chuckling at his words.
Talking about bloodbaths in front of a cutting master like me.
I decided to use him to make an example for the others.
After the pat-down, we faced off as the gong signaled the start.
Claaang—!
I charged straight in, burrowing into his inside range the moment the match began.
The Sichuan master wanted a standard duel at distance, trading techniques.
I had no intention of playing along.
Because that would've kept my elbows out of reach.
As I dove deep inside, he lashed out wildly to shake me off. But I deflected every strike, seizing his arms one by one.
He clearly panicked—he'd never fought like this.
Who fights by closing in and grabbing arms?
I hammered Muay Thai-style knee strikes into his exposed ribs.
Thud—
"Kuhk!"
Thud—
"Kek!"
His body crumpled from knees that could drop a bull, his movements slowing as his spleen took direct hits.
I could end him anytime now. But I didn't.
Too easy a win wouldn't do.
I had plenty of "gifts" to deliver.
Releasing his arm, I followed with an elbow slicing into his brow.
His left brow split open in an instant, blood gushing out.
As he panicked at the flow, I carved a cut into the other brow.
Not satisfied, I grabbed his neck and headbutted him.
In modern fights, it'd be a foul. Here? No rules against it.
His nose bridge shattered; it twisted grotesquely as twin streams of blood poured down.
I grinned at his ruined face.
"Now you're starting to look decent."
"Kuuh... You bastard."
Blood streaming from his mangled face, he bellowed.
"That's a foul! He's hiding weapons under his clothes!"
"Ha, these guys always cry 'hidden weapons' or 'sorcery'."
Riiip—!
I tore off my top. Scars and rugged muscle bared to the world.
I tossed the rags at him.
"Go on! Check for weapons yourself."
"Whoa! Look at those muscles."
"Never seen anything like that."
"How much external training for that...?"
"What's with all those scars?"
The crowd gawked at my physique.
Ignoring them, I told the guy rummaging my clothes.
"You know false accusation's a heavier crime, right?"
"F-False accusation?"
I lunged, carving another massive gash across his face.
"Kaaaaagh! I-I lost! I forfeit! Stop! Enough!"
"Imperial Palace Martial Academy's Hwang Tae-seong wins!"
"Waaaaah!"
"Whoaaa!"
"Yes!"
I raised both arms high, roaring in triumph.
Truth be told, he was so weak it wasn't thrilling. But for White-Clothed Youth Corps scouts, showmanship mattered.
As the blood-soaked wreck staggered off, I called out.
"You're much prettier now."
"Making my face like this... I'll remember you."
"Whatever. Next time we meet, you won't walk away alive like today. Keep that in mind."
"..."
The Sichuan master slunk away silently. Another win for the Imperial Palace Martial Academy.
Everyone gathered was stunned.
The academy expected to lose every match had snagged two victories faster than anyone.
The private betting houses erupted in chaos.
Ruined gamblers wailed over lost fortunes; casual small-stake bettors cashed in hundreds-fold amid the frenzy.
Yang Cho-gun and Hwang Tae-seong became marked men for the bookies.
Dan-bi relayed the betting house frenzy; I could picture the scene.
Reminded me of when Korea beat Germany in the 2018 Russia World Cup.
Global touts had bet heavy on our loss and got burned, right?
Whatever. Gamblers' woes weren't my problem.
Only profits mattered.
-Profit rate?
-We bet one silver tael each at five houses. All paid over 100x, my lord.
500 silver taels.
Enough for a modest manor—not huge, but decent.
To young Dan-bi, it trembled her voice with awe.
To me? Meh.
I had more already, and could make bigger anytime.
-Hm, not bad. Be extra careful collecting—big sums draw eyes.
-I'll mobilize every available clan member.
-How many?
-About... ten?
'Smaller crew than expected.'
-Fine. Collect safely.
-Yes, my lord!
'Hm. 500 silver taels per round. Money duplication I never saw back home, happening here.'
Three more matches for me.
Nailing every one raises flags, but underdog hunters exist—no fraud cries.
Issue: Would bookies pay out clean?
If not, I'd handle it then.
Next: Overlord Sect's Cheon-sim-dan versus Black King Sect's Yi-baek.
The match turned gripping.
I cheered hard for the unfamiliar Black King Sect master.
Cheon-sim-dan wasn't weak—top ranks by Dragon Academy standards—despite his ugly loss to me.
He blasted fist qi and winds, dominating.
"Overlord Divine Fist, First Form: Thunder Split Strike!"
How many elixirs did Overlord Sect feed him? His internal energy showed no sign of waning.
Frustrated, I yelled.
"Hey! Fight on, Black King Sect!"
Cheon-sim-dan's eyes blazed.
"Kuuk! That mutt?"
My cheer backfired; his momentum surged. Yi-baek took a hundred-plus hits and flew out, defeated.
A utter rout, but his durability demanded respect.
Savoring victory, Cheon-sim-dan glared at me.
"You're next! Prepare yourself!"
Cliché line.
I repaid him by picking my nose with my pinky.
"Kuuuh! You punk!"
Face flushing purple, Cheon-sim-dan stormed offstage.