Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Dragon Phoenix Tournament (3)
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"Next match, Beggar's Sect's Gwak Cheol versus Zhao Family's Jo Jin-hwi!"
Four more matches followed. But perhaps because the previous ones had been so overwhelming, none of these left much of an impression.
If I had to say something, there were guys a bit stronger than Unhak before I trained him, but honestly, they all looked about the same to me.
Guys like Jegal Hyeon or Yuseongil were just outliers to begin with. Among the young prodigies, they could be considered fairly strong.
The participants from the Northern Hebei Peng Clan or the Beggar's Sect were at least somewhat watchable, I suppose?
I yawned several times during the boring matches, but no one shot me dirty looks like before. They'd realized the gap in skill from my previous match.
"Now, we will proceed with the second round to select those advancing to the semifinals from the eight winners!"
And finally, the second round began, pitting the winners against each other.
"First match, Swift Sword Sect's Yuseongil versus Northern Hebei Peng Clan's Peng Muhyuk!"
"Waaaaah!"
The crowd erupted in cheers as Yuseongil, who had shown overwhelming skill in the first round, was called for the first match.
His opponent was Peng Muhyuk of the Northern Hebei Peng Clan, renowned for their Tyrant Swords, just like the Namgung Clan.
It was understandable for him to be intimidated by Yuseongil, who had easily crushed Wudang's prodigy in one exchange, yet Peng Muhyuk stood on the stage with a confident air.
"I don't care if you're from the Swift Sword Sect or whatever. Today, I'll show you exactly why the Peng Clan is one of the Five Great Sects."
Yuseongil just nodded carelessly at his opponent, who drew his sword and issued his declaration.
But Peng Muhyuk's confidence wasn't entirely unfounded.
He was the only young prodigy here who could actually respond to Yuseongil.
Five Tigers Severing Gate Saber.
As Peng Muhyuk raised his saber and unleashed his internal energy, his qi dispersed into a pentagonal formation within a five-and-a-half pace radius around him.
It was a kind of domain.
The Northern Hebei Peng Clan's saber art, Five Tigers Severing Gate Saber, lived up to its name: like a tiger defending its territory, it formed a set area and severed the breath of any intruder.
It showed mercy to those who didn't disturb its peace but delivered death to those who coveted what was its. A true tyrant saber art pursuing domination.
Within the formed domain, his senses sharpened, and his sword flew at anyone stepping foot there without a moment's hesitation.
Of course, there was the limitation that the opponent had to enter the domain first, but against an equal, it was invincible inside.
On the other hand, Yuseongil's sword was an extreme swift sword that rushed at the foe and ended the fight the instant it began. He had no choice but to enter the domain.
In terms of matchup, Peng Muhyuk was the worst possible opponent.
"Then, let the match begin!"
Yet Yuseongil merely placed his hand lightly on his sword with a bored expression.
Snap.
As the referee's hand rose, he gripped the sword still in its sheath and assumed his stance.
It was a posture like a bowstring drawn taut to its limit, every muscle in his body pulled to the extreme. As if all his muscles and nerves existed solely for that one instant, he shone on the stage.
The overwhelming tension made it feel like everything would end the moment he relaxed even slightly.
Peng Muhyuk, who had been wearing a relaxed expression, now broke into a cold sweat like a man facing a tiger, gripping his sword tightly.
The entire audience held their breath, not even swallowing, eyes fixed on the referee's hand. Everyone knew the moment it dropped, victory and defeat would be decided.
Finally, the bowstring was released.
Thwack!
The match ended in a flash, just as expected.
The instant Yuseongil entered the domain, Peng Muhyuk's sword flew at him.
But Yuseongil's sword reached him first, even faster.
"Winner, Swift Sword Sect's Yuseongil!"
Even after the match was called, Peng Muhyuk stood there in disbelief for a long time.
He had swung first, yet when he came to, a sword was at his throat. It was only natural he couldn't comprehend it with his common sense.
The reason was simple. Yuseongil's sword had been even faster than he anticipated.
Lightless Sword Art was not mere swift sword. It condensed qi with the sword still sheathed, then exploded it in an instant—an art impossible to block even if you knew it was coming.
It minimized the time from drawing the sword to striking the foe to the absolute extreme.
Even knowing when the sword would come, defeating him in speed was nearly impossible for young prodigies.
"Damn, damn, damn!"
Peng Muhyuk vented his frustration right there, not even sheathing his sword.
He had known the swift sword was coming and prepared, yet he never even got a chance to clash blades. That must have been infuriating.
"...Well done."
Perhaps feeling bad for him, Yuseongil awkwardly cupped his fists in respect.
It was an embarrassingly sloppy gesture, but he'd put in the effort in his own way. Some things about him never changed, then or now.
Having learned nothing but the sword, he sometimes struggled even with basic communication.
When we first met, I wasn't much better, but even I thought he was an idiot. That says it all.
One day, he didn't even know how to use chopsticks and was scooping rice with his hands, so I lectured him that for the leader's dignity, he couldn't do that.
After that, teaching him chopsticks from scratch was such a hassle I still sigh thinking about it.
"Next match, Lower Five Gates' Yi Sowol versus Beggar's Sect's Gwak Cheol!"
Lost in old memories, I heard the referee call my name.
Already my turn?
And of all people, the one Beggar's Sect guy I absolutely didn't want to face.
What rotten luck.
"Haa."
I trudged up to the stage. The beggar from the Beggar's Sect stood there straight-backed, waiting for me.
"I saw your skill in the first round. As you know, the Beggar's Sect and Lower Five Gates have always been inextricably linked. I won't underestimate you, but as a branch leader of the Beggar's Sect, I'll give it my all."
Gwak Cheol, who introduced himself as a branch leader, bowed formally with a tense posture.
The Lower Five Gates and Beggar's Sect were both groups of street rats with overlapping pride in their information networks, the best in the jianghu, so they often clashed.
Dragon and tiger locked in combat—no, more like idiots versus beggars. Better to call it the clash of two stubborn geniuses, self-strong duo or whatever.
I had no interest in that, but for the sect leader's face, I'd put on a show.
"It's an honor to face a branch leader of the Beggar's Sect."
Of course, inwardly I was cursing up a storm.
Even in my past life, I'd gone to great lengths to avoid those Beggar's Sect bastards, and now I had to face one here.
"Then, let the match begin!"
Unaware of my thoughts, the match started in an instant.
The Beggar's Sect's martial arts mostly consisted of fist, palm, or stick techniques, since beggars often lacked proper weapons and could just pick up any stick.
This bare-handed guy who called himself a branch leader had clearly mastered the Descending Dragon Eighteen Palms, handed down to direct disciples of the clan leader.
The stick arts like Dog Beating Stick Technique would be better, but the Beggar's Sect beggars' palm strikes were truly tricky to deal with.
It was the smell.
Yes, that foul stench. The unique reek of Beggar's Sect beggars, like they'd smeared their whole bodies with thirty-year-rotted eggs, was so bad you could smell it from ten paces away.
Even branch leaders weren't truly penniless, but they insisted on embodying the beggar's virtue, dressing in rags and not bathing.
The one I knew boasted proudly of not washing for ten whole years as a beggar's true merit. The others were no doubt the same.
Imagine that stinking body unleashing palm strikes. Before the palms even hit, most people fainted from the stench when the foe closed in.
In my past life, I'd barely dodged the clan leader's attack only to nearly pass out from the smell grazing my nose.
That stench was the true unavoidable strike.
"Here I come!"
So I focused on evasion, keeping maximum distance. Honestly, I didn't want to get within sword range either.
Watching the little rat-like beggar desperately charging from afar, I thought:
Ah, if those hands touch me, I'm really screwed.
For the first time since regressing, I faced true fear.
"Do you plan to just keep running?"
For every step he took, I took two back. But as he said, I couldn't run forever.
What to do?
Firing sword qi risked hurting him too much, but closing in for a sword finish was impossible. A true dilemma.
This must be what they mean by cornered on a cliff.
"In that case, I have a move of my own."
The beggar suddenly stopped and began tracing a large circle with his hands.
That was definitely Descending Dragon Eighteen Palms' Remorse of the Soaring Dragon. It gathered qi to unleash a powerful palm thrust.
The problem was the stench coming with it.
Damn, I didn't want to use this, but...
Before he could unleash it, I concentrated sword qi at my blade's tip.
Qi condensed to the extreme at one point would overflow like a drop in a full cup once it hit its limit.
Normally, it scattered everywhere, but if controlled, it became the perfect weapon.
Bang!
The qi at my sword tip stretched from a point into a line, grazing the beggar's cheek like an arrow from a bow and leaving a deep hole in the arena wall.
"Th-that's sword aura? No, sword silk?"
"Sword silk from a young prodigy? With that power?"
Behind the confused crowd, the sect leaders rose from their seats, sweating coldly.
Sword silk was a technique where condensed sword qi extended like thread to pierce foes, with power akin to sword aura. It required profound internal energy few could wield.
It was common knowledge that young prodigies before their twenties couldn't use it due to insufficient qi.
But I was different. My past life's experience, reaching realms where sword aura felt trivial, let me achieve maximum efficiency with less qi.
I couldn't unleash full sword aura yet, but condensing qi at a point was no issue.
I hated drawing attention, but no choice.
"I concede defeat."
The beggar wiped blood from his cheek and admitted defeat.
"Good match."
"Thank you for not ending it quickly to preserve the Beggar's Sect's face."
Sensing the skill gap, he'd mistaken my early evasion as consideration for his sect's honor.
"Was that it?"
"No wonder the match dragged on despite the skill difference."
The crowd seemed to buy it too, and soon I was labeled "humble."
In truth, I'd just been dodging the stench, but if the result was good, fine.
Sometimes, even a cow backing up catches a rat.