Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Wind Slash
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The moment Baek Pyo vaulted over the fence, he hurled his knife, batting away the masked man's sword.
Even so, since the sword strike hadn't lost its momentum, he shoved his head down slightly to pull Baek Yeorin clear of the blade's twisted trajectory.
At the same time, he snatched the rebounding knife and unleashed the forms of the Tempest Blade in a frenzy. Yet the masked man retreated with leisure, evading every single stroke.
This wasn't some run-of-the-mill thug. He clearly wielded martial arts far superior to Baek Pyo's own.
But anger surged within him. Cold fury boiled toward the assailant who had targeted his little sister.
"The situation's gotten a touch trickier. But the outcome remains the same."
Despite the interloper's arrival, the masked man showed not a trace of fluster as he gripped his sword.
And charged straight at Baek Pyo.
Baek Pyo stepped forward to meet him at the same instant. All to ensure the flung knife wouldn't nick Baek Yeorin by some ill chance.
Clang!Kaang!
Their sword and knife clashed dozens of times in a single breath, spitting sparks.
The masked man's blade was swift and unadorned; Baek Pyo's knife cleaved the air without a whisper of its path.
A duel between masters.
Dozens of exchanges flew back and forth, yet nothing pierced the relentless clamor of clanging steel. No dazzling sword-qi fanfare lit the night.
Their bout flowed seamlessly, as if the pair had long been familiar foes.
Sword qi cloaked the masked man's blade as it whipped toward Baek Pyo—but he sheared it apart with brutally swift, ever-shifting knife work. The masked man plainly held the edge in skill, yet Baek Pyo wasn't yielding ground.
"Ah!"
Baek Yeorin watched Baek Pyo exploit the masked man's gaps even as wounds bloomed on his flesh, and a long-forgotten lesson resurfaced.
Long ago, her steadfast brother had instructed her in the family swordsmanship:
"The instant you fixate on qi, your edge dulls. Fixate on form, and your adaptability rusts."
Baek Pyo's Tempest Blade.
No brute-force barrage fueled by rampant inner energy like others wielded. A symphony of blades that subsumed all through sheer keenness and velocity.
His aura carried a sinister edge, akin to some unorthodox warrior's, yet it embodied the true essence of the Baek Manor's storied art.
'Why return looking like that...'
Baek Yeorin fastened the garb her reliable fifth brother had given her and rose.
"Kuh!"
But in their deadlock, Baek Pyo yielded with a sharp grunt.
"Brother!"
A gaping wound split his retreating shoulder wide enough to glimpse torn flesh, blood streaming freely.
The knife clutched in his grip.
A butcher's crude tool for carving meat.
It had held its own against the masked man—but ultimately fell short. That stubby length had no doubt carved the breach.
Baek Yeorin seized her fallen sword from beside her.
Thinner than any other, yet brimming with unmatched keenness: her cherished blade of the past decade, the famed Wind Slash.
No gaudy neck pendant, this. The genuine heirloom of the Baek Manor lord.
"Brother!"
The first cry had brimmed with anguish; the second rang with iron resolve.
She hurled her sword toward Baek Pyo.
Thud.
Baek Pyo caught the incoming blade and shot Baek Yeorin a glance. Eyes brimming with trust.
And the significance infused in that tossed sword. It was the Baek Manor itself.
A family head's weapon embodied the lineage. Baek Pyo wavered briefly. He, who had wandered homeless for long years. Was he worthy to claim it?
"......"
Baek Pyo trusted Jinmu's voice without hesitation.
Plop.
The kitchen knife he'd lugged for years hit the dirt and stuck fast.
Kadrrrk!
He smashed the ring at Wind Slash's core without a second thought.
"What difference does a mere knife make?"
The masked man sneered icily after observing the exchange.
"Who knows. But my benefactor wouldn't spout nonsense."
"What?"
Baek Pyo drew a deep breath and swept the sword wide to either side.
Whirr, whirrr.
Wind whistled through the sword's newly bared hole with a hair-raising keen, like the wind itself shrieking in rage.
"Perfect. Right now."
Whirrrring.
As the gale's howl swelled to fill the Baek Manor in time with Baek Pyo's motions, illusion gripped them: a rogue storm devouring all.
Ssssh.
Keen sword intent rode those currents straight for the masked man.
"......!"
It had changed.
With just one sword swap.
Baek Pyo's blade—mere fleet-footed variability moments before—now rent the world asunder.
His energy hadn't surged. The aura pulsing from body and sword matched prior intensity.
What had shifted?
Pahat!
A rent tore the masked man's garb for the first time. Despite his dodge. More gashes spiderwebbed his frame with each pass.
'The sound?'
The masked man's eyes narrowed.
That was it.
The wind hole laid bare sans ring thrummed his eardrums into disarray.
For any warrior, three senses ruled supreme among five.
Sight, sound, touch.
Eye, ear, skin.
Training honed them finer than raw power or technique alone could forge.
Yet Baek Pyo's sword had blunted his hearing. Response lagged inevitably.
Circulating qi to mute it? Futile. Interference or silence yielded identical havoc.
But.
"Think this cheap ploy levels the field? Pathetic murim fools!"
Wooong!
Vast energy erupted from the masked man's frame.
Kuuung!
His stomped foot quaked the earth, gulping Baek Pyo's sonic tempest in a blink.
Shuuk!
The sword tip wormed through the breach toward Baek Pyo.
Klang! Kakaang!
Hesitation crept into Baek Pyo's wind-borne strokes.
Fast. Unclear origin.
Unfurling birthed shifts; shifts clove the gales.
Klang!
Qi-shod steel began to dominate Baek Pyo's blade. The masked man, baring full might, swiftly overturned Baek Pyo's fleeting upper hand.
Puhak!
Blood jetted from Baek Pyo's form. Teeth gritted, he whipped the sword swifter, keener. Blood-soaked and scarred, still he held.
'This bastard!'
Dozens of strikes, grievous wounds inflicted—yet unbreaking. Impatience clawed the masked man's heart.
This clash demanded swift closure and withdrawal. It had to end as pure Baek Manor versus Tyrant Hall.
Above all, secure the bloodless dagger Mubyeol pre-trace and bolt. No duel had summoned him; adaptation was mandatory.
The retreated woman at Baek Pyo's back. Wounded, sword surrendered to kin—his minions could manage her.
"Secure Mubyeol first...?"
Mid-shout to his underlings battling Baek warriors, the masked man froze.
Odd. No clash of arms for a spell. Baek Pyo's din had cloaked it.
His gaze fell on sprawled minions—then the encircling Baek Manor fighters.
"Why? Keep going. Entertaining. I'll spectate. Neither he nor I are so feeble as to need a dogpile."
"......"
A man in his thirties, arms folded atop a fallen minion's back, grinning. Jinmu.
"Wh—when?"
"When? Since you tangled with Baek Pyo."
"......"
Jinmu's smirk sent the masked man's pupils spasming.
That daytime ace. And this blocker? The pair who'd quit Baek Manor alongside Jinmu.
Only now twigging. Idiocy.
Hadn't they hied off versus Tyrant Hall? Return should've lagged.
Tyrant Hall crumbled already?
Disaster.
Baek Pyo, Baek Yeorin ahead? Manageable. Jinmu? Overreach.
He outclassed him vastly. Minions downed—no meat shields left.
'Damn it—I'm the encircled one?'
The masked man's features twisted viciously.
Overconfidence.
A razor-wire mission botched by unforeseen meddlers.
Options left: flee or fall on his blade.
His gaze iced over.
Frontliner was elite. But they'd drilled for stronger foes via singular regimens. Proven versus Central Plains luminaries.
Youth too. Strength bowed to inexperience's void.
Target swap: Jinmu.
All-in takedown, mission secured.
Tyrant Hall dust? Baek forces inbound. Linger, and viability evaporates.
"Oh? Me next?"
Sword tip wheeled his way; Jinmu rose sneering.
"Stating the obvious since you seem clueless: I don't dodge delivered fights."
Finger-cracks crackled bone-deep chills, ushering fresh phase.
No sword-draw needed. He'd clocked the masked man's brewing power.
If that was all...
"Baek Pyo would've been comfier."
Jinmu shook out, stance set—the masked man's sword arced in razor-swift.
Change-ignoring thrust. Blindingly faster, keener than versus Baek Pyo. Prep motions? Absent.
Confirmation: one of them.
And.
Wooong!
Fist ironclad, Jinmu held zero mercy.
Kwaaang!
Tip met knuckle; qi detonated fiercely.
"Kuhk!"
The masked man—banking on greenness—reeled groaning, eyes saucered.
"How—?!"
Same shock, every one.
Mirror their tricks, gawk like fools.
"Third time's the charm, asshole!"
Tiger Charge bridged gap instant; demon-visaged Jinmu bored in frontal.
"Tch!"
Masked man twisted thrust for variance—but.
"Late!"
Thud!
Handback swatted sword; reverse palm kissed chest.
Peureng!
Qi blast hurled him rearward; Jinmu's shadow ghosted after.
"That all?"
Crack!
Thuds chained relentless.
"For the back-and-forth hell you dragged me through!"
Short jaunt. Tyrant Hall to Baek Manor: bare thirty li.
Baek Pyo's lightness skill? Under a gak. Jinmu's stride? Cakewalk.
Pure pretext, if pressed.
Venting spleen.
"Long way to go yet, asshole!"
Puk! Pupuk!
Fists, feet rained merciless; the masked man landed zilch, thrashed dog-hot-days style.