Chapter 67: Sword King at Death's Door
Sword King at Death's Door
Chapter 67: Sword King at Death's Door
Baek Yak and Dan Woo-sung had already shared information about their enemies' meticulous methods. What stood out most was the revelation of a successor faction within the Demonic Path—something even the Fist King in his previous life had never heard of.
Back then, the Fist King had never engaged in full-scale war against the Demonic Path. He had simply been a young man striving to prove himself against those who bore the title of "Emperor." But now, as always, fate would be decided by force.
Dan Woo-sung made a proposal.
"Lady Baek, I think it's time we tested each other. Not just a single bout, but a thorough exchange—like how I glimpsed the entirety of Lord Baek Mujin's martial arts. In return, I will reveal the martial arts of the Oryo Sect without reservation. The Fist King's techniques should prove useful to you as well."
Baek Yak studied him carefully.
This was no ordinary suggestion.
With a faint smile, she asked, "You're not actually asking me to teach you my martial arts, are you?"
"Of course not. I cultivate Extreme Yang energy—I have no intention of learning ice-based techniques. What we need to understand about each other are the killing methods, the principles of death, the martial arts that lead to annihilation."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Some risks are worth taking. There's no need to rush—this is just an extension of physical training."
"I understand."
Dan Woo-sung considered this the orthodox way of the White Path—exchanging martial knowledge. Of course, most sects, bound by tradition and pride, would never engage in such an exchange. His past self had been no different, secluded in the mountains, striving alone for strength. That path had ended in death, and now he had to try what he hadn't before.
And who better than the descendant of a man hailed as the greatest in history?
Their mutual goodwill made this conversation possible.
Dan Woo-sung was serious.
If there was a way to grow stronger, he would try everything. If one method failed, he'd dream again and let Jin So-han and Baek Mujin beat him senseless all night. But that was just fantasy.
Baek Yak replied simply, "Very well. I, too, will do whatever it takes to grow stronger."
Though proud, she had already accepted that she couldn't defeat this merchant's son in physical combat. That acknowledgment had naturally turned into respect, leaving her no reason to refuse.
Dan Woo-sung extended his hand.
"Then start by holding it. We'll begin with internal energy and take it step by step."
Baek Yak glanced around the reception room. "Here?"
"Let's control it."
She took his hand. Neither released their energy yet, simply holding each other's grip for a moment.
Dan Woo-sung smirked deliberately.
Baek Yak withdrew her hand, then placed a single finger on his palm.
"Ready."
He nodded.
"Let's begin."
Baek Yak injected cold energy into his palm using the White Flower Finger Technique. Dan Woo-sung felt his hand freeze instantly as he channeled his own energy in return.
A single misstep could lead to severe internal injury.
But the two carefully gauged each other's energy, gradually increasing their output.
Baek Yak was curious about Dan Woo-sung's level.
From his palm surged a violent, crackling lightning energy, as if ready to explode. She suppressed it firmly with her White Flower technique.
"Let's raise it further," Dan Woo-sung said.
As she nodded and increased her output, a chilling aura enveloped her body.
Dan Woo-sung, too, was now burning with heat.
Baek Yak realized firsthand that his internal energy ran far deeper than his outward demeanor suggested. As the heir of Baek Mujin, recently returned to the Central Plains, she had been meticulously prepared by her family.
Her grandfather had passed everything to her father, and her father to her.
Yet Dan Woo-sung was holding his own.
When the lightning energy began surging uncontrollably from his palm, she gripped his hand and said, "I'll counter with the White Flower Palm."
The lightning was too wild to suppress with finger techniques alone.
Since both still held back some strength, conversation remained natural.
"I'll raise it to the ninth stage soon," Dan Woo-sung said briefly.
Baek Yak endured the lightning and nodded. Most martial artists considered the tenth or twelfth stage as mastery, so she replied casually, "Try raising it to the tenth. I'll stop there."
Dan Woo-sung studied her expression, then pushed his energy beyond its usual limits.
At that moment, a shockwave erupted from their bodies, shaking the room's decorations and rattling the walls and doors.
Startled, the two locked eyes before gradually reducing their energy. They remained holding hands for a while longer.
The setting was hardly appropriate.
Baek Yak withdrew her hand and wiped the sweat from Dan Woo-sung's forehead with her finger. The icy touch felt refreshing against his skin.
"I think I have much to learn," she said. "I've never used this much energy before. It feels different from training alone."
Of course, combat wasn't just about internal energy. She already knew Dan Woo-sung had deeper experience in real battles and tactical exchanges. With extraordinary enemies on the move, preparing alongside him didn't seem like a bad idea.
Dan Woo-sung glanced at her sleeve—then his eyes widened.
With a snap, the fabric split and tore upward.
He caught the fraying sleeve.
Baek Yak gasped.
"Oh dear."
She laughed, her dimples deepening as she rolled up the torn sleeve.
"Ran-i will scold me if she sees this. I'll have to change secretly."
Dan Woo-sung nodded.
The man known as the Sword King—Neung Cheon-ak—was fifty-two years old this year.
Contrary to the Murim Alliance Lord's worries, he was still very much alive.
But he had been captured by unknown assailants.
Though captured, he wasn't bound, and his weapons remained untouched.
He simply sat cross-legged in an empty white space, eating the two meals delivered daily through the iron door. What had forced him to surrender was poison—so subtle he hadn't even noticed its application until it disrupted his energy flow.
Now he was trapped in this vast, white prison.
Could the Sword King truly surrender without a fight?
But the moment he sensed the martial prowess of his two attackers while poisoned, he had been stunned.
Even without the poison, they were beyond his ability to handle.
For some reason, when he lowered his sword, their leader had called off his subordinates.
Then, as if invited, he had been escorted here.
He held no illusions of escape—but he was curious. About their identities. About the fates of the Fist King and Moo Yong-chu. About why even the Sword Emperor had gone silent.
Rather than die meaninglessly in battle, he wanted to uncover something—anything—about the Demonic Path's leaders.
Clang.
The white iron door opened, and a dozen black-clad men entered. A cheerful-faced man strode toward Neung Cheon-ak and spoke.
"Senior Sword King, I hope the food suits your taste."
The man had dark skin and handsome features—the kind women would flock to if not for his drab attire.
Neung Cheon-ak nodded.
"No poison. It was decent."
This cheerful man was one of the two who had overwhelmed him with sheer pressure.
The man grinned.
"Good. Have you expelled the poison with your breathing technique?"
"Since yesterday, it's improved. Listen, junior."
"Yes, speak freely."
"We haven't even exchanged names yet. At least tell me yours."
The man replied, "You may not believe me, but I've discarded my human name."
A subordinate brought a chair, and the man sat across from the Sword King.
Neung Cheon-ak nodded.
"Somehow, I do believe you. If you've abandoned your name, what should I call you?"
The man smiled.
"Senior, you may call me the Sword Demon."
Neung Cheon-ak nodded again.
"Sword Demon, is it? How old are you?"
The Sword Demon chuckled.
"I don't count the years."
Struggling to remain calm, Neung Cheon-ak asked, "Did your parents perish in the Five Peaks War?"
"Ah, the Five Peaks War? It's been a while since I heard that name. Probably. I don't know their exact fate—they weren't the ones who raised me. Anything else you're curious about?"
Neung Cheon-ak nodded.
"Why keep me alive?"
The Sword Demon smirked.
"You're called the Sword King, aren't you?"
"I don't follow."
"Senior, look at my subordinates."
He raised a hand, gesturing to the twelve black-clad men lined up behind him. Each wore a black sword at their waist.
"What do you think? They're all swordsmen."
The Sword King smirked.
"Impressive."
The Sword Demon laughed heartily.
"How about this? I'll give you a chance to kill them. One-on-one, fair and square. They'd consider it an honor—to duel the Sword King himself. They've never had such an opportunity before."
Neung Cheon-ak nodded.
"Junior, I'd be grateful for the chance. Beats getting ganged up on."
The Sword Demon clapped.
"Magnificent."
As Neung Cheon-ak stood, he asked, "Before we begin—one question."
"Ask."
"Did you kill the Fist King and Moo Yong-chu the same way? And what of the others? Even the Sword Emperor has gone silent."
The Sword Demon grinned.
"Hmm. Ah, the Fist King—I remember him. Fought like a madman. Couldn't capture him alive. That's all you need to know."
Neung Cheon-ak drew his sword.
"Thanks for telling me. Who's first?"
The Sword Demon snapped his fingers.
"The Youngest."
A man at the end of the line stepped forward.
"Yes."
Pointing at Neung Cheon-ak, the Sword Demon said, "Kill the great Sword King. If you fail, you die."
"I obey."
The Sword Demon pointed at the others.
"Watch closely. If the youngest dies, you're next."
"Understood."
Spreading his arms like a referee, the Sword Demon declared:
"Then begin."
Neung Cheon-ak raised his sword, offering the first move. The subordinate called "The Youngest" bowed formally—then lunged.
The Sword King found it eerie how these men maintained decorum while pretending to be human. He deflected the incoming blade.
Kang!
His hair whipped back from the shockwave. The enemy's internal energy was deeper than expected.
This is their youngest?
But not unbeatable. Neung Cheon-ak resolved to drag every last one of them to the grave with him.
After twenty exchanges, he began spotting openings.
But with all eyes watching, unease gnawed at him.
After a dozen more attacks, he deflected a counterstrike, spun, and cleanly aimed for the man's neck.
Kang!
At the moment the blade should have severed flesh, the subordinate lashed out with a palm strike.
Neung Cheon-ak mirrored the move instantly.
Kwaaaang!
The force sent the man crashing into the wall—yet he stood up immediately.
Neung Cheon-ak stared, stunned. His sword, which should have cleaved through the man's neck, had been repelled.
Blade Immunity?!
The Sword Demon applauded, impressed.
"Magnificent. A counterattack in that instant? Truly, kings live up to their titles."
As Neung Cheon-ak stood frozen, the Sword Demon urged:
"Senior, it's not over yet. Continue."
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