Chapter 25 - Wind Thunder Sword
Sudden, ear-splitting screams tore through the air.
“Gasp!”
“Hm?”
Cheongpung, who had been swinging his sword, and even Jin Muhon, who had drawn his halfway, flinched in surprise.
It wasn’t just any scream.
A ghostly wail.
Like hundreds of ghosts shrieking at once.
Everyone who heard it shuddered, chills running down their spines as they widened their eyes.
Claaang!
Jin Muhon blocked Cheongpung’s sword with his own, drawn about halfway.
Cheongpung, who hadn’t meant to strike so aggressively, hurriedly retreated and reset his stance.
Tssst— White dust billowed from the scraped earth.
Jin Muhon quickly sheathed his sword.
Click!
The scream cut off.
“Huh? It stopped?”
“What was that just now? A ghost?”
“Pfft! Ghosts in broad daylight?”
The Ghost Soul Sect and Iron Blood Society warriors looked around in confusion, faces blank.
Jin Muhon frowned, glanced down at his sword for a moment, then turned his head back.
“You little brat. What did you feed it?”
His eyes met Ak Manho’s, who happened to be nearby amid the Ghost Soul Sect crowd.
But Ak Manho looked just as startled, so this must be new to him too.
The sword wielded by the Four Emperors Alliance Leader.
The Demonic Cult had several demonic swords.
Back in his Sword Demon days, Jin Muhon had favored one of them.
Not mere blades, but swords imbued with spirits that lent power to their wielders.
Of course, there was always a price.
The more one used a demonic sword, the more the swordsman became enslaved to it, ultimately turning into its nourishment.
Once it devoured its host, the demonic sword sought a new master.
That was the fate binding swordsmen hungry for power and blades that craved sustenance.
It didn’t react like this when I drew it from the water.
The Four Emperors Sword seemed to possess a similar nature.
He didn’t yet know what power it held, but one thing was clear: it had reacted within the Blood Mist.
Come to think of it, the first time he’d gripped this sword, he’d seen the Blood Mist in his mind’s eye too.
And beyond it.
Red eyes staring right at him.
“What are you pondering with the enemy right in front of you?”
“Hm?”
A heavy voice snapped Jin Muhon from his thoughts.
A man in a deeply pressed bamboo hat, poised in a mounted stance ready to charge at any moment.
Yet his voice trembled faintly.
“My apologies.”
Jin Muhon nodded and lifted his sheathed sword.
The bamboo hat quivered slightly.
“...Are you mocking me? Draw your sword.”
“You heard it too. I hate the noise.”
“Draw it.”
“Fine?”
Jin Muhon smirked and drew the Four Emperors Sword halfway.
—Kiiiiiaaaaaaaaak!!
Once again, the tearing screams echoed everywhere.
Even though they’d heard it once before, Cheongpung and all the onlookers shuddered violently.
“Urk!”
“W-what is this?!”
Some clamped their ears, others staggered back on trembling legs.
Interesting.
Jin Muhon scanned his surroundings.
He’d first thought the screams came from the Four Emperors Sword itself, but now he saw the source was the Blood Mist.
The Blood Mist was writhing in response to the sword, unleashing those wails.
So that’s it.
As if piecing it together, Jin Muhon nodded and click—sheathed the sword again.
The screams stopped abruptly.
Jin Muhon gazed indifferently at Cheongpung and asked.
“Shall I draw it?”
“...Let’s just spar.”
“As you wish.”
The corner of Jin Muhon’s mouth curved up faintly.
Cheongpung, seeing it from beneath his hat, gritted his teeth.
“Today will be different from back then.”
“Back then?”
“Seven years ago! I haven’t forgotten that day for a single moment!”
“...?”
Seven years ago, out of nowhere. Jin Muhon tilted his head.
But Cheongpung gave him no time to recall, lowering into stance.
Whiiir!
Qi swirled around Cheongpung like a tempest.
His tattered Daoist robes whipped wildly, dust rising like clouds.
“Here I come!”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Booom!
Before Jin Muhon finished speaking, Cheongpung kicked off the ground.
His sword closed the distance in a straight line, aiming for Jin Muhon’s brow.
A sharp blade gleam flashed under the sun.
Shhrrk!
Jin Muhon’s eyes sparkled with mild surprise.
Wudang swordsmanship was known for the fluid grace and softness of Taiji, but Cheongpung’s was entirely different.
“Haaap!!”
The sword struck first, the shout following.
That fast—a swift sword.
Rather than block, Jin Muhon twisted his body slightly.
Swoosh!
Cheongpung’s blade grazed past Jin Muhon’s eyes by a hair’s breadth.
Jin Muhon raised his sheathed Four Emperors Sword, bracing for the follow-up.
“Hm?”
But Cheongpung shot far ahead and spun back into stance.
“...”
Jin Muhon stared at him in bewilderment.
“You. Aren’t you from Wudang?”
“...”
Strength hidden in softness, forms flowing endlessly like Taiji—that was the essence of Wudang swordsmanship. Yet Cheongpung wielded one-strike-kill strikes.
Less like a stuffy Daoist’s blade, more akin to an assassin’s.
“What? Wudang? You mean that Wudang Sect?”
“Nah, the family head must’ve misheard. Why would a Wudang expert be here?”
“He looks scary strong though? What if he really is from Wudang?”
The Ghost Soul Sect warriors buzzed at Jin Muhon’s words.
Even with his origins mentioned, Cheongpung paid them no mind.
He was utterly focused on the man before him.
Seven years. Seven years.
Seven years ago.
Dragged by his infamous master to the Hundred Thousand Great Mountains.
Realizing too late it was Demonic Cult territory, Cheongpung had jumped in protest.
—Master! Why did you bring me here?!
—Tch. Cheongpung, steel hardens with each strike. If you wield a sword, you seek out experts to clash with.
—No, Master, you’re just picking fights! And this is Demonic Cult land! You know what they call you in the jianghu? Dao Destroyer! Dao Destroyer! One of the Heaven’s Freaks!
—Oh? These bastards skip the nice names for that shit nickname. So, what number freak am I?
—...Pardon?
His master, carefree and reveling in eccentricities.
But even that master had nearly died facing the Sword Demon before him.
Watching their battle, Cheongpung couldn’t twitch a finger.
The master who roamed unchallenged had grabbed him and fled the mountains like a madman.
I will surpass you! No matter what!
From that day.
While eating, training, shitting, sleeping.
Jin Muhon’s sword haunted Cheongpung’s mind.
That horrific demonic qi, the rampage that devoured the world.
It was an insurmountable wall—a heart demon.
“Shut up and take this!”
Shhrrk!
Cheongpung’s sword grew even faster.
The tip sliced air, wind howling at his toes.
Jin Muhon dodged by twisting rather than clashing.
Shhrrk! Shhrrk! Shhrrk!
“Haaap!!”
Still, Cheongpung pressed on.
Swift. Swift. Swift.
His body heated, amplifying his inner energy.
His sword accelerated accordingly.
At some point, lightning crackled at the tip.
Crackle!
After a dozen exchanges.
He finally nicked Jin Muhon’s chest.
Jin Muhon blinked down at the shallow cut.
“...”
Fast.
Without inner energy, he’d have been in real trouble.
But the bamboo hat guy’s basic premise was flawed.
“Whoa...”
“How does a human move like that?!”
The onlookers reacted differently.
One sees only as much as one knows.
Ordinary warriors could barely track Cheongpung, convinced Jin Muhon was cornered.
“Swift sword, huh...”
Disappointment crossed Jin Muhon’s face.
He’d hoped to pry a usable Wudang technique for Jin Hayeon from this guy, but swift sword didn’t suit her.
“How long do you plan to just dodge?! If you’re truly him, fight fair and square!”
Jin Muhon pushed aside his disappointment and eyed Cheongpung steadily.
Face hidden by the hat, but he seemed plenty pissed.
His swift sword ill-suited to Wudang, his speech patterns—they hinted he’d tangled with the old Sword Demon before.
Swift sword must’ve been his breakthrough.
“Fine. I won’t dodge this time.”
“Good! I’ll make this strike my last too! If I can’t cut you with it, I’ll admit defeat!”
“Is that so? Then if my body touches your sword, I’ll concede defeat too.”
Cheongpung’s eyes bulged.
“A man’s word!”
“...”
“A man’s word!!”
“Shut up and swing.”
“...”
Cheongpung gnashed his teeth and bent his knees.
His right arm, gripping the sword, pulled back to his chest for tension; inner energy sank to his legs, primed to launch.
Sweat dripped from his palms. His heart pounded wildly.
Cheongpung drew a deep breath from his dantian.
“Huuuup!”
Jin Muhon stirred inner energy in his upper dantian and exhaled slowly.
Red mist began creeping in from around him.
“Here I go!”
Booom!
Cheongpung kicked off.
Becoming a single line, he closed the gap in an instant.
Hummm!
Inner energy exploded from Jin Muhon’s upper dantian.
His consciousness accelerated. Cheongpung slowed bit by bit.
Sounds stretched, surroundings dimmed,
And soon, the world froze perfectly still.
Swoosh!
Only the two moved within it.
Cheongpung’s sword approached.
In the slowed world, Jin Muhon watched it intently.
Then he shing—drew the Four Emperors Sword.
—Kiihihihi!!
“Hm?”
In the frozen world, the scream’s source was clearer.
Something writhed within the Blood Mist.
Countless indistinct human shapes.
—Kiiiiiaaaaaaaaak!!
The ear-shattering wail stretched long.
Cheongpung grimaced, his sword tip wavering.
How could Jin Muhon miss the opening?
He swung the sheathed Four Emperors Sword, thwack—smacking Cheongpung’s head.
“Guhk!”
A dull thud on skull.
Cheongpung’s head snapped back. His crumpled hat fell.
Eyes rolled back, he crumpled.
Thud!
Jin Muhon looked down.
Where the hat had rolled. A young Daoist in his mid-twenties sprawled, whites of his eyes showing.
Jin Muhon furrowed his brow.
“This guy... who is he?”
Jin Muhon searched his memory.
Seven years ago.
If he pictured that face a bit younger,
“Seven years ago... Ah! Could it be this punk?”
That’s when it hit.
Mid-sentence, Jin Muhon whipped his head sideways.
Someone approached from afar with astonishing lightness skill.