Chapter 122
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: The Broken Sword (1)
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Flying Tiger didn't want to turn his back or retreat to face what might be his final moment. If he was allowed just one move... then he wanted to swing his blade with all his might.
That was the whole reason.
Flying Tiger had lived as an assassin but perhaps wanted to die as a warrior.
'I'll stake everything on a single strike!'
And so, the technique Flying Tiger chose was the first step of the Sixty-Four Paths of Wind-Water Phantasm.
He knew plenty of exquisite moves, including bizarre stances possible only with a sword rather than a blade. But he picked the one he had practiced the most, the one most familiar, the one he could perform best.
Among them, what was permitted to Flying Tiger was eight slashes packed into that single step of the Wind-Water Phantasm.
Recently, Flying Tiger had become able to unleash seven out of the total eight steps of the Wind-Water Phantasm in one breath. In theory, that meant eight strikes per step, up to a maximum barrage of fifty-six.
But everything was relative.
Judging by the speed of the slash the Shandong old man had demonstrated, Flying Tiger figured he'd be upon him before even two or three steps.
That was why he compromised on a single step. He intended to pour everything into that one step.
The plan was solid, but someone had once told Flying Tiger, "Everyone has a clever plan... until they get hit."
…...!
As Flying Tiger drew "Clear Stream" and looked on, the Shandong old man's eyes were impassive. That instinct told him the outcome even before their blades met.
So in this case, perhaps he realized it right before getting struck?
That man's blade was fast.
Forget eight slashes—he wouldn't even get to swing once or twice before it sliced past.
And that blade was like a raging wave.
Even one or two swings would tear him to shreds like paper scraps.
And then... in the end, you'd be cleaved apart.
Flying Tiger halted his thoughts.
He poured everything into a single slash. The energy for eight furious strikes, even his own life and death—he threw it all into that one cut.
The next instant.
The Shandong old man swept his broadsword horizontally. It charged at Flying Tiger with the momentum of a thousand armies and ten thousand horses, aiming to bisect him.
Shwaaak—
And Flying Tiger drew Clear Stream, slashing downward in a vertical arc along the same trajectory.
Shiiit.
The horizontal broadsword and the vertical Clear Stream crossed, exploding on impact. A powerful surge of energy rippled outward in all directions.
Kwaaang~!
The result: Flying Tiger's Clear Stream shattered into pieces, and in exchange, it sent the Shandong old man's broadsword rebounding backward.
Just three steps.
That was how many steps it forced the Shandong old man to stagger back.
'Brother Ma Yeop's Clear Stream...'
Fragments of the Clear Stream sword, now in dozens of pieces, scattered in all directions on the shockwave's energy just then.
Flying Tiger's face paled as he was shoved back, unable to suppress his despair. It felt like Ma Yeop himself had been quartered.
But there was no time to indulge in sentiment.
Unlike anyone else, the momentarily repelled Shandong old man retracted his blade and stepped forward again.
Flying Tiger's mind spun.
The distance between him and the old man was about ten paces. But to a master like that, it was nothing—he'd close it in an instant... which meant a second strike was coming any moment!
And now, with even the peerless Clear Stream broken and gone, how was he supposed to withstand that monstrous blow?
'Fine then...'
Pajik. Pajijik~
Flying Tiger summoned the power of Lightning in double layers, stacking it atop itself.
Of course, it was reckless.
If it were before, the stacking alone would have been impossible—not to mention using Lightning again so soon after the last time, which would cause it to run rampant immediately.
And while his capacity to handle Lightning had increased thanks to Ma Yeop's treatment and training in the Bone Shrinking Skill, this level of strain was still dicey.
But... so what?
As Flying Tiger hurled himself backward, he formed a sword mudra in the air with his left hand.
Harmony arose.
Some of the Clear Stream fragments exploding in all directions began to whirl like they had been caught in a vortex, dancing wildly.
Whirrr~
And thus, they swept over the Shandong old man who had pursued hot on his heels.
It was the deadly technique he had unleashed against that bandit thug Pung Bae-dok during the Three Kings Battle at Hwangchung Hall before: Shattering Whirl.
This method inherently consumed a massive amount of internal energy. And this time, he had to force it out without preparation, with the fragments' trajectories and speeds even more savage. It demanded an enormous amount of power.
That was why he had triggered Lightning repeatedly.
And the result?
Kwa-gwa-gwa—Bang!
Space shattered like a barrage of shells had been fired, shaking the earth.
The Shattering Whirl had no power to make metal shards explode on their own—this was the harmony wrought by the Shandong old man.
Shockingly, he had struck down each of the dozen incoming fragments with lightning-fast slashes. Each time, they burst apart, reduced to mere metal dust.
'This crazy old bastard... Are you even human? Human, I say!'
Flying Tiger wanted to scream that inwardly, even as successive strains and severe internal energy depletion made him nearly vomit up a clot of blood—he held it back for the moment.
It was that deflating.
The one consolation was that even this monster hadn't blocked every fragment. His already tattered brown robe tore in a few more places, splattered with blood.
Thus, the Shandong old man seemed fairly surprised too, standing in place with a hardened expression as he eyed Flying Tiger.
At least he showed a minimum of humanity?
Ptooey—
Flying Tiger spat, and fortunately, there was no blood mixed in.
How lucky was that? It might even allow him to draw on Lightning's power one more time. Sure, it'd probably go berserk afterward, but still.
'If I can swing my blade refreshingly one more time, that's something, right? Damn you. I won't go down easy.'
Flying Tiger flicked up a weapon from the ground with his instep, caught it, and swung it a couple times.
It was the overfunded sword he had dropped earlier.
Flying Tiger had retreated under pressure from the start with this overfunded sword in mind.
Then, trembling with rage, he asked,
"Well, old timer, you seem just fine?"
"So-so. I could swing my blade a hundred times over."
"Ha, perfect timing. I've just warmed up myself. So, shall we..."
"But I'll acknowledge it. You're pretty useful."
"Shall we go at it proper... What?"
"By my standards, your skills are decent enough. You pass."
"Uh, I pass?"
"Yes. Didn't you say it yourself? You're quick to act and will heed my words. Now that I've checked your skills too, what reason do I have to fail you?"
….
"What, you don't want to?"
"No! Ha. Ha. Ha."
Flying Tiger answered hastily with an awkward laugh. A path to survival had opened—why hesitate? But he had fumbled his expression control for a moment because he'd been on the brink of death until just now, fully prepared to die, making the sudden shift feel off-putting.
'Could this old man just look fine on the outside but have some major injury?'
As Flying Tiger suspected this, the Shandong old man spoke.
"Just warmed up, eh? I had fun for the first time in ages myself. Shall we play a bit more then?"
"Heavens, no. To be honest, that was all bluster."
Flying Tiger let the overfunded sword droop as he made a miserable face.
He had ended up looking quite pathetic in the end, but thus Flying Tiger successfully joined the forces of the young swordsman.
Jang-geum still grumbled with unease, but since the Shandong old man had approved, it lingered only as a grudge.
"Do you trust that guy, Elder?"
"What nonsense."
"Pardon?"
"Even if the brat runs, he's still in the palm of my hand. What harm could his disloyalty do?"
"Ah... well, true."
"Besides, didn't you lot ask me to decide? You didn't try spouting nonsense against this Heavenly Army, did you?"
"Gasp! No, sir!"
"Hmph, enough. I have a use for that old fellow of yours for a bit, so I'll keep him around for a few days. If you're worried, handle him yourselves afterward. But until then, I'll take responsibility and watch him."
"We're nothing but grateful."
Late at night, an impromptu bonfire blazed in the inner courtyard of Jeonghae Hall, a whole pig roasting atop it and filling the air with a savory aroma.
It was Ho Ye-hwa's suggestion.
With all the talk and trouble around the new member's joining, this was a simple welcome to shake it off and get along.
The Taoist hall, which should have been pure, looked a sight, but no one present minded in the least. Honestly, they lacked any sense of issue or interest.
It wasn't for nothing that rivers-and-lakes folk were pointed at behind their backs as sword-wielding ruffians.
"Everyone, have a drink."
"Sounds good. I'm just grateful for the warm welcome."
Ho Ye-hwa spoke amiably as he raised his cup, and Flying Tiger responded refreshingly. The rest lifted their cups one by one, half-heartedly amid the chilly atmosphere.
The juniors bustled about grilling meat and fetching wine jars, while seven people sat at the table set up in the courtyard of Upper Pure Palace.
Ho Ye-hwa and Jang-geum.
Bong Yeon-ja and Il-gwang, along with Sama Gul-gi.
The Shandong old man and Flying Tiger.
The drinking party's mood split into these three groups.
Monk Gonsun couldn't attend due to the one responsible for his pain. Though Jang-geum had advised him to withdraw from this operation and rest given his condition, he stubbornly insisted on joining. Even if he couldn't use martial arts for a while, he still had several talismans left, so he'd be plenty helpful, he claimed.
So Flying Tiger was curious too.
'His dantian is shattered, so no martial arts no matter what he claims. He cut off his own finger and implanted Lightning's energy inside—can he even use talismans? Is he bluffing out of denial about being useless, which might kill him? Or... does he really want to die by my hand?'
Time would tell.
Oddly, Flying Tiger ended up stuck to the Shandong old man.
How long had it been since their life-or-death clash? Yet the two chatted off in a corner for a bit, and afterward, they seemed chummy. Mostly Flying Tiger clung close and acted friendly, while the old man tolerated it. But given the old man's temperament of allowing no one near, even that was extraordinary.
What had happened? They bonded over the fight?
Who could say.
In any case, the important part was that Flying Tiger strutted around arrogantly, using his connection to the Shandong old man as leverage. And strangely, Jang-geum, the one in charge here, seemed to look the other way to some extent.
"Damn it, 'tiger by the dog's command,' my ass—it's exactly that. Can't stand looking at it. A filthy world where connections are everything. Ain't that right, Lady Bong?"
Il-gwang, tolerant of his own faults but intolerant of others', grumbled this to Bong Yeon-ja beside him. Unexpectedly, the one thought to be on his side snorted.
"Hmph! Fox-beaten fool who only runs his mouth. What a sap."
"Ahem! Lady Bong, that's a misunderstanding. Right, Unmeng Sword?"
"Who knows."
Sama Gul-gi, seated on the opposite side, gave an ambiguous reply and looked away.
What, had they all taken dumb pills as a group? When even huddling together wasn't enough...
Il-gwang burned with injustice.