Chapter 29
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Guest from Sichuan (4)
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Ma Yeop's sword lashed out ferociously, and Flying Tiger's blade seemed to hold its own at first, but it was pushed back before even ten exchanges could pass. The fight flowed into a pattern much like the day before.
So Ma Yeop focused on offense, while Flying Tiger concentrated on defense.
Flying Tiger's swordplay was swift and flexible, infused with power in every fiber, but it was too simplistic. Just as he had yesterday, today he only unleashed the Sixty-Four Paths Wind-Water Dispersion derived from the Eight Directions Storm. He repeated it endlessly, as if he knew nothing else—not even half a form beyond it. No matter how impressive his strikes were, it was difficult to overcome his opponent with such limitations. Especially when that opponent was Ma Yeop.
In contrast, Ma Yeop's swordsmanship appeared brutal and chaotic at a glance, but it brimmed with purity throughout. A straightforward, profoundly refined energy. It was the sword path honed and passed down through generations of swordsmen. And the more desperately Flying Tiger blocked, the more that hidden sword technique revealed its true form.
Hung.
Ma Yeop thrust forward, the sword tip twisting subtly as it advanced.
Flying Tiger pulled back, lightly flicking his wrist. His blade curved smoothly behind him before rising sharply, sweeping Ma Yeop's sword upward.
Ting~
In an instant, Ma Yeop's sword coiled like a snake and lunged. Flying Tiger's elevated blade crashed down like lightning, striking the pursuing serpent's head twice in succession.
Clang~
Advancing a step and then retreating, their sword and blade clashed three times, each showing off their skills.
One might expect a moment to catch their breath amid such ferocity, but Ma Yeop's sword, burning with intensity, changed again.
Whirlic~
Ma Yeop leaped into the air, spinning fiercely. His sword, which had naturally wrapped around his whirling body, followed in a grand arc, slashing down.
It was a seamless chain of movements worthy of applause!
This time, Flying Tiger couldn't counter the assault. He could swing a few more times if he pushed stubbornly, but that would leave him open to a fatal blow.
What choice did he have?
Flying Tiger collapsed his stance to the left, rolling swiftly across the ground. Ma Yeop's sword cleaved through the space he had occupied, left and right.
Roll roll.
After two rolls, Flying Tiger sprang up, regaining control of his blade. He panted heavily, but his eyes sparkled.
Though Ma Yeop could easily have pressed the attack, he held back. Instead, he stared steadily at Flying Tiger, his eyes gleaming with interest, sword lowered at his side.
This lasted for a moment.
Flying Tiger soon realized Ma Yeop had no desire to continue. With a regretful sigh, he lowered his own blade and asked,
"Feeling better now?"
"I've shown you something shameful."
Ma Yeop said, chastising himself.
He had originally planned to thoroughly thrash the young punk. At best, the kid was just a hired thug swinging his sword for a few coins, so his outburst had irked him. Of course, after clashing blades yesterday, he knew the boy wasn't a pushover, but he had still underestimated him, assuming clear limits.
Yet surprisingly, today's Flying Tiger was different from yesterday. Even though his forms were the same.
Denser and tougher, perhaps?
To break through it, he had started mixing in one or two forms from his sect's sword arts, and by the end, he had even drawn his signature technique, the Clear Stream Nine Folds Sword. It wasn't intentional; his competitive spirit had simply surged forth.
Thus, he blamed himself for judging others hastily and for losing control, becoming overly immersed in the bout. Those were battle-ready forms laced with killing intent, unsuitable for a light spar. By resorting to them, he had admitted the opponent was no easy mark.
Truly, as Flying Tiger pointed out, he was the one who had crossed the line!
Yet despite grasping the context of Ma Yeop's 'shame,' Flying Tiger bluntly said something else.
"Hey, that was a slip of the tongue. If that last form was shameful, what does that make me, rolling around like a dog? I know you went easy on me, and I appreciate the lesson. Looking forward to tomorrow, too."
"Hm... you."
"Yeah?"
"Not angry?"
"At you?"
"Yes."
"Nonsense. The new guy's a bit of a prick, but his sword arm's the real deal—what can I do? Gotta accept it."
"...!"
"I sparred with you today partly out of personal curiosity, but more to show you my swordplay's solid enough to have your back. I told you—tomorrow, I'll cover your rear."
"I acknowledge it. Tomorrow... I'll look forward to it."
"Good. But you can expect even more tomorrow. My skills sharpen in the dark."
"Dark sword? Assassin?"
"Once upon a time."
Flying Tiger grinned and turned to walk away. Ma Yeop, following his back, hesitated before calling out as he entered the inn.
"Little brother, care for a drink?"
Pour pour.
The two silently filled and downed their cups.
Afterward, Ma Yeop apologized for his rudeness and revealed his background.
He hadn't meant to hide it; the Face Pursuit Squad's leaders had simply been considerate of his delicate situation. Tomorrow they would face formidable foes anyway—no time to conceal one's strength.
'Ma Yeop' was his real name, but once he had been called not 'Fire Ox' but Clear-Eyed Sword.
Clear-Eyed Sword Ma Yeop.
He was a disciple of the Qingcheng Sect.
He confessed he was the second of three disciples under Elder Bi An-ja, killed by the Eight Fiends of Sichuan. He had been there at the time but survived by fleeing, leaving his master and senior brothers behind.
Flying Tiger had already vaguely guessed Ma Yeop's identity and confirmed it through their two spars.
The sword path Ma Yeop displayed was archaic yet infused with Daoist essence, distinct from the secular martial schools.
The jianghu was vast, but how many sects had such depth, and among them, how many had clashed with Sichuan's demonic fiends?
Ma Yeop himself had reported the fiends' rampage and Elder Bi An-ja's final words to the Qingcheng Sect.
But he hadn't joined the pursuit squad formed primarily by Qingcheng to hunt the Eight Fiends. The details were painful.
By the time he recovered, the incident was officially closed, with only three heads taken: Gold Lion Lang, a major fiend, and two others.
So he questioned his peers from the pursuit squad and learned that two or three of the Eight Fiends' fates remained unclear—contrary to official reports. After the final battle in the gorge, the squad had searched for bodies over five days but hadn't recovered them all.
Thus, Ma Yeop defied those around him, vowing to find even the last one's corpse, and set out alone.
Six months passed.
By heaven's grace, he discovered some remnants of the Eight Fiends had survived. Tracking their trail led him to Shaanxi Province.
There, he unexpectedly encountered the pursuit squad monitoring suspicious moves by the emerging Yeonpyeong Film—without knowing the leadership's true identities—leading to the current situation.
In essence, uncovering and identifying the Eight Fiends was entirely Ma Yeop's merit.
That was the full account of events.
As Flying Tiger listened, Ma Yeop was still harshly blaming himself.
"Brother Ma, what happened to your face?"
"One eye got hit by that demoness Sa Tak-jin's hidden weapon during the fight with the Eight Fiends. My recklessness forced my master and juniors into a tough spot from the start."
"Must've been rough. Good thing it's almost over. Tomorrow, we'll pay them back in full."
"Revenge... Heh heh heh, I've longed for this. It's the only solace left in my life."
Ma Yeop's one good eye gleamed as he spoke of vengeance.
"And the facial scars—from then too?"
"No. I did it myself."
"Huh?"
"I couldn't bear carrying that face around. So I carved it up with my own blade."
"Your voice too?"
"Yeah. It was so repulsive, I took medicine to ruin my vocal cords. Much better now."
Ma Yeop cackled like a crow, mocking himself. It was madness.
How had he fallen so far?
From surviving alone?
Or believing his master and brothers died because of him?
There seemed more to the unspoken story. Whatever the truth, Flying Tiger clicked his tongue at Ma Yeop's self-loathing.
How would such a man treat others when he treated himself so cruelly? Perhaps his resentment toward Jin Ga-yong stemmed from that—the man seemed to compromise and thrive despite a similar plight.
Ma Yeop spoke in his raspy voice.
"Should've ended it long ago, but what can I do? I have to cling to this wretched life until those bastards all drop dead."
"Tch, you're a real mess."
"Heh heh heh, that I am."
"Hm, still, thanks to your persistence, we found those hidden vermin. You stopped countless lives from being lost. Well done! Your late master would be proud of that much in his unworthy disciple."
Ma Yeop flinched.
As he met Flying Tiger's gaze, the young man shrugged and filled his empty cup.
Pour pour.
The two men downed their cups. Ma Yeop wiped his mouth with his sleeve and changed the subject.
"Enough of this dull talk. Now, let's hear your story."
"What're you curious about?"
"Your sword forms earlier were unique."
"Sixty-Four Paths Wind-Water Dispersion."
"Sixty-four is eight times eight... Does it mean swinging the Eight Directions Storm in all eight directions?"
"Yep."
"And Wind-Water Dispersion refers to a hexagram from the Book of Changes?"
"Right. They say the strike patterns depict that image—wind over water, scattering like spray!"
Ma Yeop closed his eyes briefly, imagining the sword intent of the Sixty-Four Paths Wind-Water Dispersion as Flying Tiger described it.
Sixty-four slashes bursting in all directions at once. What was it? A dense net in the sky to block a storm of petals?
Recalling their spar, Ma Yeop spotted something.
"Did you deliberately stick to defensive forms against me, excluding all others?"
"Kind of happened that way? Honestly, when's a swordsman like me gonna get to touch orthodox Daoist martial arts again?"
"So that's it."
Ma Yeop smiled wryly.
He had heated up, treating the 'spar' as a chance to show the kid his place.
Flying Tiger, meanwhile, had drawn out attacks to refine his own defenses. As he said, experiencing Daoist sword arts wasn't easy—a prime training opportunity.
In a way, the clever young rascal had toyed with him, but Ma Yeop didn't feel bad.
"So, did my Qingcheng Sect's humble arts help you at all, little brother?"
"Help? Absolutely. It's like my vision cleared up. Ahem, so, what did you think of my Wind-Water Dispersion?"
When Flying Tiger shamelessly asked for advice, Ma Yeop laughed in disbelief, then gladly obliged, calmly sharing his observations from the spar.
He spoke casually, but it was no small gift. His words brimmed with the principles of martial arts and the subtleties of offense and defense as seen by a veteran swordsman.
Why had Ma Yeop done this?
'I vowed to cast aside life, yet I craved a shred of warmth after all.'
Ma Yeop thought as he poured himself another drink at the end.
Across from him, Flying Tiger was lost in thought, entranced. One thread of Ma Yeop's words had struck deep.
It was a bond of sorts.
Ma Yeop set down his empty cup and quietly slipped away, leaving Flying Tiger to his contemplation.
At the same time, he steeled his resolve.
'But my indulgences end here. Tomorrow! I'll sever all karmic ties.'