Chapter 118
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 118
Chapter Title: 34. The Tiger's Maw (1)
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Flying Tiger brushed aside Ilgwang who was blocking his path and kicked the door open with tremendous force. He was just about to stride out of the Upper Azure Palace.
Reverend Gon Son stroked his luxurious beard with exaggerated flair, muttering under his breath, "Too rowdy," before calling out to Flying Tiger's back.
"This poor Daoist has no intention of stopping a benefactor who insists on leaving of his own accord. But if I let you go just like that, what becomes of this poor Daoist's position as an invited guest? So, benefactor, please halt your steps for a moment."
Flying Tiger snorted dismissively, as if wondering where this dog was barking from, and stepped out the door.
At that, Reverend Gon Son pulled a sheet of yellowed paper from his robes and began to chant.
"Taiyi Lingyang, self-radiant golden light..."
It was the incantation for activating a talisman.
Startled by the sound, Flying Tiger whirled around, poised to launch himself at any moment.
Just then, Reverend Gon Son sprang to his feet and shouted the closing invocation: "Hasten, hasten, as the law commands!" With that, he unfurled the talisman toward Flying Tiger.
Restraint
⟨ Binding ⟩
Two crimson characters scrawled on the yellowed paper.
Whoosh!
Miraculously, the talisman burst into flames on its own, scattering into pieces that flew in all directions before burning to ash in an instant and vanishing completely.
...!
Flying Tiger staggered.
His stomach churned, his legs went limp. Checking himself in alarm, he felt as though massive stones had been strapped to both shoulders—something was crushing him down!
Flying Tiger panicked at this unprecedented sensation. He'd figured he could take Reverend Gon Son in a fight, but he never imagined it would be like this.
'Is this the sorcery those Central Plains warlocks use?'
Flying Tiger struggled to steady his shaking mind and dredged up his memories.
Demonic sorcery.
To define it: tricks or arts that bewitched the mind, sowing chaos, or conjured eerie phenomena through supernatural forces.
Flying Tiger was encountering it for the first time since arriving in the Central Plains martial world, but back when he operated in the distant Western Regions, he'd crossed paths with it sporadically.
A normal person might never encounter it in a lifetime, but Flying Tiger was an assassin. His profession brought him into contact with such types now and then, so he'd studied them as well.
Though this talisman business was a first.
'Right. The presentation might differ, but the fundamentals should be the same.'
Flying Tiger thought that amid the urgency. Or perhaps he convinced himself of it. Otherwise, he had no other options right now.
The true terror of monstrous strength and divine chaos lay in their inscrutability.
But if it stemmed from the same roots as the warlocks he'd faced in the West...
'You're dead meat, you bastard!'
Murderous intent flared in Flying Tiger, but the rapidly shifting situation left no room for action.
Thud, thud.
Someone emerged from the Upper Azure Palace behind him—this time, it was Sama Gulgi.
Judging by appearances, each of these challengers intended to show off their signature skills against Flying Tiger one by one.
"Flying Tiger warrior, forgive us for cornering you like this. As the priest said, invited guests have their own positions to uphold."
"Damn it. What forgiveness?"
Was it fortune?
The crushing weight that had burdened him so heavily lifted after a brief moment, though a lingering dizziness remained like an aftereffect. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, so his tone came out rough.
Sama Gulgi planted himself squarely before Flying Tiger and acted before speaking.
Shing.
Sama Gulgi drew his sword and said,
"I've seen your prowess with fists, palms, fingers, and kicks. Now I want a proper look at your swordsmanship."
"If the situation doesn't suit you, you'll all gang up and beat me down, yet here you are with your dog tricks?"
As the dizziness faded, Flying Tiger glanced around and spoke.
By now, the other five inside the palace had rushed out to the front courtyard, encircling Flying Tiger and Sama Gulgi with plenty of space—precisely what Flying Tiger was pointing out.
Jeonggeum-i, positioning himself at Flying Tiger's rear, stepped forward instead.
"Don't worry. We're just concerned you'll bolt like last time."
"So I can fight without holding back? You'll really just watch and not interfere?"
When Flying Tiger pressed for confirmation, Jeonggeum-i scoffed.
"Hmph, what choice do we have? If Brother Sama insists. As host, we must save face for our invited guests. Personally, I'd love to thrash you myself."
"In that case..."
Flying Tiger spat, and his saliva was thick with blood.
"Did you take internal injuries?"
Sama Gulgi frowned at the sight, asking out of concern that his opponent might be gravely wounded. Not out of worry for Flying Tiger, but because it would undermine the legitimacy of the duel.
Self-respect, you might call it.
Bong Yeonja and Ilgwang wore incredulous expressions. The victim was a fool, and if they could profit from it, all the better—what nonsense was this?
Thus, Sama Gulgi clearly didn't fit in with the rest in such matters.
Yet Reverend Gon Son seemed cut from the same cloth regarding pride.
"No such thing. This poor Daoist showed mercy, so he merely felt heavy for a moment. He's perfectly fine."
"Oh? Then how did our young warrior end up spitting blood? Did he bite his own tongue in shock at your arts, Reverend?"
Bong Yeonja asked with evident amusement, but Reverend Gon Son replied indifferently while keeping a sharp eye on Flying Tiger. Then, in a clear, ringing voice, he warned:
"Who knows, perhaps. But listen well, young one. If you think of fleeing mid-fight, abandon the notion. Do so, and this poor Daoist will make you feel the true meaning of sorcery to your bones."
"...!"
The onlookers stared at him anew.
Everyone knew it was boasting, but his sorcery was so effective—and he so qualified—that it rang true.
Even considering just that 'Binding' talisman alone made it clear.
No matter Flying Tiger's evasion skills, escaping this place seemed impossible.
They didn't even hope for complete restraint.
A momentary stagger.
That sliver of time would allow someone like Ho Yeonhwa to close in with near-instantaneous acceleration akin to Body-Lightening Shift and sever the opponent's throat.
And was this limited to Ho Yeonhwa?
All gathered here were experts of comparable caliber.
How invaluable Reverend Gon Son's sorcery was to them!
Not to mention his own martial prowess, set aside for now.
Flying Tiger, like the others, acknowledged Reverend Gon Son's arts—for whatever reason—and accepted the duel without further resistance.
Now ignoring the odious priest and everyone else, he focused his battle spirit solely on Sama Gulgi.
As he did, he untied the Overstepping Blade from his waist and lifted it sheath and all in warning.
"Unyielding Sword—among these lot, you're the closest to human, so I'll impart one lesson."
"...?"
Flying Tiger slowly drew the sheathed Overstepping Blade so Sama Gulgi could see clearly.
The blade emerged, revealing its unique silvery sheen, and hummed contentedly.
Shing.
A gleam lit Sama Gulgi's eyes. Anyone could see it was an extraordinary treasured sword.
"This blade has shared life and death with me for ages. Naturally, in my youth, it sustained my wretched life. Only recently has it gained the stature befitting its master."
"..."
Calling the Overstepping Blade a longtime comrade? What nonsense was this all of a sudden?
It had been less than ten days since Flying Tiger seized it from the Mad Wind White Horse's favorite weapon.
Flying Tiger wanted to convey that his forthcoming display of strength relied entirely on the treasured blade. His aim was to draw attention to the sword in his stead.
Why?
It made it easier to play tricks when scheming, widening his room to maneuver.
Flying Tiger planned to take down both these brigands and Ye Mountain's Zhao Family Manor together—but that was the extent of it.
What loyalty did he owe that fledgling bastard?
Thus, even now, he was laying the groundwork to needle them.
Having thus imprinted his sword on the onlookers, Flying Tiger continued.
"So, what do you make of my comrade?"
"It's certainly a blade worthy of pride. I concede—even I, a swordsman, covet it. So, what's your point?"
"To duel you, should I set this sword aside and pick up some other weapon? Would you accept the results then?"
"What absurd talk is that? A weapon is a warrior's second self. This Unyielding Sword doesn't quibble so. Put your best effort forward without worry. Though not quite your caliber, my sword is a faithful companion in its own right."
Flying Tiger nodded in satisfaction.
"Exactly. What each bears is their right—and their responsibility. Be it armament, physical condition, or the weight of life itself."
"...!"
Only then did Sama Gulgi grasp Flying Tiger's intent.
Don't fuss over others' conditions—focus on the duel. My sword is no pushover!
Sama Gulgi nodded gladly and assumed a formal salute.
First, he traced the earth's boundary with his longsword, then raised the tip skyward as if upholding the heavens.
Thus creating space for man between heaven and earth—the signature sword art of the now-vanished Hubei Sama Family: Three Divides Stroke.
...!
Flying Tiger had planned his usual empty stance without flourish. His favored Wind Water Phantom—which he intended to use again—required no particular salute.
Whether from eight directions or otherwise, it was all about sweeping slashes—such a straightforward art needed no pompous pose.
But Sama Gulgi's salute inspired him, so Flying Tiger changed his mind.
With his left hand, he formed a sword seal pointing at the midday sun.
(Of course, it was midnight, so no sun shone—but such was the seal's meaning.) A ritual of sorts.
Then, reversing his grip, he traced a hexagram, returning to a low stance. The blade whistled through empty air, and Flying Tiger's gaze was solemn.
Solemn to the point of grim resolve.
The founding assassin's—revered as a chivalrous rogue—Bleak Chill Swordsmanship, drawn from the Yishui Lament.
The Warring States figure Jing Ke, setting off on his near-impossible mission to assassinate the Qin Emperor, began the Yishui Lament thus:
"The wind whistles sadly, the Yishui runs cold."
Bleak Chill Swordsmanship took one character each from "bleak" and "chill" in that verse.