Chapter 161: Tomb of the Ming King (6)
Chapter 161: Tomb of the Ming King (6)
Fundamentally, a sorcerer’s ability is not determined by martial prowess. Just as Zhuge Yeong was evaluated to have surpassed the level of a rising star in the realm of occult arts, despite remaining at the First-Rate level in combat.
That is the nature of sorcery to begin with. There are no clearly defined realms like those found in the clashing of blades.
The techniques and knowledge learned, the timing and luck aligned with the ritual, the available sacrifices and talismans, and even the energy and topography of the land—there are far too many variables to consider, even if two sorcerers perform the exact same spell.
From that perspective, Palace Master Huto was undoubtedly an exceptional sorcerer. He had chosen the perfect day, deployed a flawless absolute formation prepared specifically for himself, gained complete control over the ley lines, and possessed a vast repertoire of sorcerous arts.
However, just as a sorcerer’s ability is not determined by martial prowess...
A struggle that teeters on the edge of life and death is not determined solely by a sorcerer’s ability either.
—Boom!!
Palace Master Huto thrusts his hand forward. A bolt of lightning strikes down from the clear sky. As is the nature of lightning, it is not something a human can react to.
The fact that he could so effortlessly unleash a strike of such power—one that the Protection Aura of a Peak Realm master could never hope to block—was proof enough that Huto’s sorcery was of a high caliber.
However, the young man before him twisted his body and evaded it. It wasn't so much that he saw it and dodged, but rather...
It was as if he already knew exactly when and where it would fall.
"You... you brat! You miserable insect!"
Fire, lightning, the occasional trembling of the earth, and bone-chilling cold. Hallucinations that distorted the senses.
Every time he swung his hand, a strike of supernatural power that twisted the laws of nature appeared. At that point, Zhuge Yeong was certain.
A sorcerer’s offensive does not unfold in such a manner. He was wielding sorcery as if he were a martial artist executing combat forms. This belonged to the realm of heterodox arts. Even the Sect Leader of the Mount Mao Sect would not be able to use sorcery in such a wasteful, consumptive fashion.
This was closer to a miracle performed by a geomancer capable of scraping together almost the entirety of the local ley lines, consuming his own life force and primordial spirit in the process.
The fact that a martial artist, already evaluated to have reached the Super Peak Realm, was using sorcery of this level symbolized the sheer depth of the Mount Mao Sect’s power.
But then, he thought again.
Was the fact that a sorcerer of this level appeared so inadequate in a life-and-death struggle due to the arrogance of the Mount Mao Sect, who rarely faced actual combat?
Or was it—
"Do you have nothing to brag about other than your age?"
"You little sh—!!"
Was it the combat sense that was overwhelmingly superior to his own martial prowess and experience?
The killing strokes forged through every bit of training and discipline, honed solely to kill the opponent?
Should he marvel at the strength of the Hebei Peng Family for producing such a brilliant heir—a family whose martial logic seemed limited strictly to harming the enemy?
—Rumble!!
Lightning falls. Beneath a clear night sky where even the clusters of stars shine brightly, a single bolt of lightning, created by twisting the laws of nature, strikes down.
To this, once again.
—Boom!!
A thunderbolt surges upward. If sorcery is a technique that subverts nature, then this could be called a human principle built solely to crash into the opponent.
Peng Hyeon-hwi’s gauntlets once again tore through Yeo-heung’s Protection Aura.
Watching this, Zhuge Yeong recalled the stories he had often heard about the Hebei Peng Family since childhood, whenever the great martial sects were being discussed.
The common folk say: The martial arts of the Hebei Peng Family are powerful but violent, leaving many openings because they do not observe their surroundings. They say the arts are dull and simplistic, making them easy to dismantle, and while they possess a few decent moves, that is all—so one should simply avoid clashing directly and gauge their techniques from a distance.
Yes, the words are true.
Because everyone who failed to do so is dead.
*
Was it a bit too shallow?
My focus slipped slightly because my eyes were burning hot, so it couldn't be helped. My Middle Dantian began to scream, but I ignored it, thrusting my fingers into my acupoints once more to whip my body into motion.
Regardless, my only thought was killing this bastard.
"Cough! Hack! Urgh!"
The Protection Aura rose from the bastard’s body again. I saw his fluttering robes ignore the wind and billow once more. Beneath them, I could even see his dark blue internal energy writhing.
Like a shimmering haze, I could now see the flow of internal energy. I could even faintly see it flowing inside a person's body if I focused my vision just a little more.
"I will not let you die easily!"
"Hah, big words."
When his hand gripped and shook a talisman, I had already read the entire trajectory. The direction he aimed for, the way heaven and earth resonated, even the spot where his gaze landed.
The moment all of that concentrated into an instant, his strike flew toward my body.
If I simply shifted my body from that position, there was no reason to be hit.
"How... how are you dodging? An ignorant boor who knows nothing of the Great Law, a mere soldier with a blade... how on earth?!"
"Because you're bad at it."
My gauntlets collided with his Protection Aura once more. Now that I had overheated my Middle Dantian, every strike exploded with the impact force of the Thunderbolt City-Destroying Cannon. The burden of each move surged through my entire body as a backlash, but—
I ignored it. It wasn't as if I was going to collapse and cry just because my body hurt a little.
"You should have killed me in one go. You shouldn't have given me a second chance. You definitely shouldn't have used the same trick three times."
"You—!"
"And you shouldn't have been afraid."
The saber falls. When the thunderbolt touches the blade that had been resting quietly on my shoulder, the white-hot edge tears through the air as it descends.
With a roar that shook the world. Why bother using something like sorcery?
Our family can call down lightning without needing to seize some lucky timing, read ley lines, or engage in the tedious and pedantic study of absurd Taoist teachings.
"If you wanted to act like a refined gentleman from afar, you shouldn't have stepped forward yourself. If you did step forward, you should have at least been prepared."
"Prepared?! What kind of preparation is needed to deal with mere insects—"
"The preparation to be bitten to death by those insects, and the resolve to die willingly if that happens."
Every life-and-death duel has one of two results. You win and survive, or you lose and die.
Sometimes certain martial artists... no, most people in the Murim live as if they can't even imagine they might die. They live boldly, as if they will always be victorious, as if they have two lives.
We are not like that. We weren't taught that way. We were taught that everyone gets only one chance, that defeat means death, and that the world hates us.
But if I had to pick one difference from other sects, it would be that the Hebei Peng Family does not teach fear.
Most martial artists who act brave, thinking they won't die, tend to become the most pathetic when faced with death.
We are different. We know we can be defeated and die at any time and any place, and we are taught how to move forward despite knowing that. We are taught to strike away blades with our fists, to block what cannot be avoided, and to take with our bodies what cannot be blocked.
We are taught that if we can just move forward and deliver just one.
Just one single strike. That is enough.
If we win as a result, we survive; if we lose and die, our family will surely collect the blood debt. A martial artist bearing the Peng name may be defeated—
But the Hebei Peng Family is never defeated.
So, if you were raised as a member of this great family, be bold at all times, even when befriending death.
—Boom!!
Finally.
Yeo-heung’s right arm, still clutching the talisman, soared into the air.
The severed surface was charred black and twisted by the lightning energy, falling silently without shedding a single drop of blood.
Yeo-heung didn't even have the presence of mind to worry about his fallen arm. His entire will was already scattering, and his True Qi was leaking out in torrents.
His mind, seized by shock, pain, and terror, went blank. His vast knowledge of spells and sorcery, his control over the ley lines—none of it remained in his head.
Naturally, what he did next was merely an instinctive display of what he had practiced the longest.
"Aaaaaagh!!"
His scream and shout were reflexive. It was born of terror rather than pain. He was frightened by the eyes that burned with an eerily brilliant blue light.
Since ancient times, the tiger and lightning have symbolized the warding off of evil in Taoism. To him, a practitioner of the heterodox occult arts, the man before him could only be seen as a tiger approaching while draped in lightning.
"Don't come near me! Stay away!!"
Clutching the stump of his severed arm, he scrambled across the ground and ran with all his might. It was the Mount Mao Sect’s movement technique, known as the Soul-Calling Energy Flight Art. Because it bordered on the realm of sorcery, he was able to move away with a speed akin to the Earth Shrinking Art.
In the moment that fearsome man paused, perhaps not having imagined this far, Yeo-heung had already pulled several yards away and shouted.
"I will remember you! I will surely remember and find you! You had better not think of leaving this land alive. You will surely—"
It was at that moment, as he shouted while tearing through the forest. In the midst of shouting to suppress his fear with spite and humiliation, a thin voice reached his ears.
"Stupid priest."
A woman's voice, sounding a bit dull and nasal.
And then.
—Thwack!!
"Gah!"
The sensation of a blade piercing his back followed.
"If you say things like that, I can't let you go alive. When you're running away, you have to beg for mercy to guarantee a next time. Survival skills! Don't you know them?"
"You... you bitch..."
"Uh-uh, if you talk like that, I can't save you. Now, repeat after me."
Yeo-heung glared at his opponent with bloodshot eyes. She was a weak, insignificant martial artist he could have snapped the neck of with a single move. Most of the martial arts she knew were limited to trivialities like stealth or footwork, and even those were at a mediocre level.
A piece of trash who had fled when he was dealing with Zhuge Yeong. That was all he had thought of her.
He looked at the blade held in the woman's hand. Yes, as long as one is human, as long as one is born of flesh and blood, they are bound to die if a blade is driven into their vital points.
"Please spare me, Big Sister. Say it."
"Sp-spa—"
To such an insignificant person. To a commoner he wouldn't have spared a glance for. To the kind of mayfly-like trash that lives for one season and dies the next—he was about to say words he would never have uttered.
As he mouthed a plea for his life.
When he looked at the woman with trembling eyes, she smiled brightly and replied.
"I don't want to."
—Slash!!
"I don't want to get scolded by the youngest. He's scary."
The voice of the woman, chattering to herself, gradually grew distant. Palace Master Huto, who once commanded dozens of inner disciples and studied as a geomancer of the Mount Mao Sect, was simply lost in confusion as his vision spun.
He felt so dizzy his stomach churned, yet he couldn't even vomit. He realized the reason in the next moment. It was because his body was falling alone far away.
In his fragmenting thoughts, he came to understand. Yes, since he had no body, he couldn't possibly vomit.
The sky and earth flipped several times. His head rolled across the ground for a while before finally stopping.
He saw the cloudless night sky. Looking up at the noisy cluster of stars above, the old Taoist repeated what he had learned and studied all his life in his final moment.
He looked at the sky and read the laws of heaven.
—Mouth agape.
The words that could not be connected because he had no lungs twitched once beneath his lips before fading away.
His gaze was fixed on one star that shone most brilliantly in the center of the star cluster.
The Heavenly Shadow Star was shining.
The ominous star said to bring chaos to the world was bound by a band that looked like black chains.
*
"I—I did good, right! I killed him! He was trying to run away, so I went shick-shack!"
"Yes, yes, you did well."
"You have to tell the other siblings, okay? That this Big Sister didn't betray the sect, but was just following the Eldest Sister's will! Understand? You must!"
"My head is throbbing. Be a little quiet."
I pressed down on my aching head and shook it. This feeling of my overheated Middle Dantian gradually subsiding was something I could never get used to, no matter how many times I experienced it.
I decided to think of it as a headache just before a hangover clears. The same went for the sense of exhaustion and weakness.
My overheated acupoints seemed to have shut down, as if they were going to be dysfunctional for a while.
"Yeong."
"Yeah, Hyeon-hwi. You worked hard."
"No, that's not what I mean. Hurry up and do your job."
"...What? What job?"
"We have to get ready to run, so guide us to the Ming King's tomb quickly."
We had to destroy the Ming King's ancient tomb. Thoroughly, so that others would no longer speak of this place. So that rumors of the Ming King's legacy would no longer agitate Jiangnan.
And that was clearly a task with a time limit.
"It might be better to rest for a bit. Your complexion is worse than words can describe."
"Hey, when do we have time to rest?"
"Huh?"
"Did I say we were the only ones here?"
Only then did Zhuge Yeong grasp the meaning of my words and bit his lip.
Yes, Zhuge Yeong had interfered with what Palace Master Huto Yeo-heung was trying to do.
The bastard’s intention was clear.
—All the martial artists who sought the Tomb of the Ming King died fighting each other for the legacy, and finally, someone who secured Han Lin'er's legacy survived and escaped alone.
If such a rumor spread through Jiangnan, it would have become an invincible weapon that paralyzed the Jiangnan White Forest Association whenever Zhuge Yeon-seon intended.
Zhuge Yeong had stopped that. It was because he had drawn too much of Yeo-heung’s attention while dismantling the absolute formation.
It was a simple syllogism.
Yeo-heung’s goal was the annihilation of all martial artists hidden in this area.
And since Zhuge Yeong had interfered with that...
There were still martial artists in this land seeking 'Han Lin'er's legacy.'
Martial artists so full of greed that they would rush in while ignoring the warnings and surveillance of the Mount Mao Sect and the Namgung Family.
"Dammit."
Having grasped the situation, Zhuge Yeong sighed and grumbled.