Chapter 101
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 101
Chapter Title: A Family-Like Clan (2)
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Mujin knew little about the inner workings of the Sichuan Tang Clan.
All he remembered was the guy who'd suddenly kicked the bucket after teaming up with him during the War King era. They'd hit it off for a short while and smashed plenty of Demonic Cult goons together. But after earning some fame, the fool fell into a trap and died. Mujin had shrugged it off at the time, but looking back now, it felt off. That wasn't the sort of man to go out so pathetically.
'Still a nobody all this time? That doesn't add up.'
The guy stood out like a sore thumb, yet he'd lived in his clan like a dead man walking. That suggested he was a late bloomer, the type who flowered spectacularly later in life. But poison arts couldn't be mastered overnight by nature. No martial art reached completion easily, but poison techniques were far tougher from initiation to mastery.
'Trained in secret, and still got this far.'
Practicing poison arts on the sly was damn near impossible. The toxins had their own volatile traits, and inner energy control was a nightmare. On the flip side, what if he'd trained openly without all those restrictions?
'Can't let talent like that go to waste.'
-You're right.
Mujin decided to trim the dead branches. Too many shoots weakened the whole tree. Better to prune early and keep only what was needed for efficiency.
Yukchil returned after finishing his mission.
He'd followed Mujin's orders to the letter, but something felt off. He couldn't fathom why he'd been told to do it. Sure, they handled poisons and hidden weapons, but the Sichuan Tang Clan was a pillar of the orthodox sects, one of the Five Great Families.
"Any reason why?"
"You already know."
"The Tang Clan is a renowned house."
"And the imperial court is a band of butchers?"
"Gah, please don't say scary stuff like that. I'm gonna die young!"
Prestige or not didn't matter. Once blinded by lust for power, nothing else registered.
After waiting for the rumors to spread just right, Mujin wandered the streets of Iron Citadel with Cheolho when the time came. As Sichuan's capital, it dwarfed Cheongyang in scale. Folks tended to dismiss it for lying off the central axis, but up close, it blended diverse styles seamlessly.
Sichuan's spicy fare suited Mujin's palate perfectly.
The spicy tofu and meat were top-notch.
After strolling the city and markets, they settled at a mobile stall slinging dan dan noodles. A weathered old lady ladled spicy sauce over the noodles and poured in the broth.
Slurp!
Mujin started with the soup.
'Impressive.'
Spicy yet refreshing. Bringing out flavor from opposites like that was no small feat. It looked simple, but the depth set it apart. Even among stalls, the thriving ones had their reasons.
"How is it?"
"Spicy, but I can't stop."
"Want more?"
"Can I?"
"Think your master can't treat you to a bowl? Eat up."
"Thank you, Master!"
Cheolho's wheedling drew gasps from nearby diners. They clearly mistook him for the master at first glance, so the shock hit hard. One nearly choked.
Slurp, slurrrp!
Cheolho's appetite matched his growth spurt. Alongside Mujin, they'd already polished off seventeen bowls. Like a eating contest, master and disciple slurped away like possessed fiends.
As the old lady's face darkened, Mujin paid up front to boost her spirits. With so many dine-and-dashers, owners stayed wary.
"What brings you here?"
They were deep in their feast. To avoid interruptions, orders were pre-placed. Cheolho glanced back mid-slurp at the sudden discord, then resumed.
"Ignoring me, are you?!"
Not recalling the face, Cheolho sized him up carefully. The changed attire threw him off, but recognition dawned. Like his master, Cheolho didn't commit faces to memory easily. The disciple took after the master.
"Who're you?"
"Tang Cheonho of the Sichuan Tang Clan."
"Ah, right."
Mujin smirked and kept eating, while Cheolho stood, bowing politely to apologize for the rudeness.
"Tang Cheonho, sorry. Didn't recognize you with the new look. My bad—forgive me."
With his version of an apology done, Cheolho grabbed his chopsticks to resume without lingering.
Hohoho!
A clear, melodic laugh rang out. Tang Cheonho scowled at the woman watching amusedly.
"Our Cheonho, strutting like hot stuff till you met your match."
"It was a mistake."
"Make it twice, and you won't save face."
"Ease up! Even you'd get it."
The woman's name was Tang Cheonye, three years Cheonho's senior. Her brother's slip-up was refreshingly novel. Sure, he'd been humiliated at the Little Dragon Tournament by the Nangong Clan, but it hadn't diminished his prowess.
She was curious about the punk who'd beaten her brother. Who could it be? Few peers had the potential to best him.
And what a striking face he had.
How could he be the same age as her brother? Without Cheonho's indignation, she'd have pegged him as peers with their father.
"I challenge you."
"I'm eating."
It annoyed Cheolho. He'd won once already—what good would a rematch do?
"It's soup, not rice."
At his master's quip, Cheolho frowned. That tone meant fight. Refusing meant hell. He'd sensed it from the easy noodle buy.
Whoosh!
Cheolho, about to refuse, slurped the rest and stood. Even at seventeen, sitting he'd seemed average, but upright, he doubled in menace. A full head taller than an adult man. Next to his master, he'd looked smaller.
Thud!
As Cheolho rose and approached, shadows crept over Tang Cheonho's handsome face.
'What the hell is this guy!'
Not long after the tournament ended, yet his build had ballooned. Dismissing it as mere bulk would be a mistake. His whole presence screamed solidity.
-Go easy.
From Mujin's transmission, Cheolho caught the ulterior motive. Slow at first, but even a dog from the schoolhouse recited poetry after three years—instincts sharpened.
"Here I come."
"Bring it."
Though outmatched in aura, Tang Cheonho held firm. Post-tournament, he'd secluded for two months. His suppressed energy surged, clashing with Cheolho's.
"You'll need blades."
Mujin needled Tang Cheonho, factoring in Cheolho's stats. Force him to draw what he didn't want to.
As they squared off, Tang Cheonye sidled up to Mujin and sat.
"You're a fun one. You must be the Lord of Heavenly Fortune, right, old timer?"
"Cut that out. Who the hell came up with that lame nickname? If you're dubbing, make it War King at least. What do you take me for?!"
Mujin was always at the scene of big events, chalked up to lucky breaks. Even beating the String Music Sword was dubbed heavenly fortune. He suspected someone spread "Lord of Heavenly Fortune" deliberately.
"Delusional old man."
"Earn the skills first."
"Sounds like you're saying you'd measure swords with my grandpa."
"Why not?"
Tang Cheonye flinched at Mujin's calm reply. Was this guy sane? Amusement soured to disbelief.
"King" titles weren't for amateurs. Especially her grandfather, Tang Poison Lord, the era's poison sovereign.
"Do you grasp what that means?"
"Worry about your brother first."
"Dodging with words... Huh?"
"Not bad at all, unlike appearances, eh, my disciple?"
Crowds gathered. Before all eyes, Cheolho and Tang Cheonho clashed. Their size gap made it a contest of speed and power. But Cheolho's opening barrage overwhelmed Tang Cheonho's defense.
En route to Iron Citadel, Cheolho had chanced upon fortune. His arts leaped forward—he was a new man since the tournament.
Same techniques, but speed and power multiplied several times.
Bam!
Tang Cheonho crossed his arms in an X to block, but flew back, rolling hard across the ground. After five spins, he stopped, eyes wide in shock.
Tremble!
His blocking arms went numb.
'...A monster!'
Hard-pressed, he'd unleashed hidden bead shots. Nine hidden weapons in one motion, all flicked away barehanded. Without a body harder than steel, how...?
And so fast.
Shaking Thunder Phantom Step's foundation, he cut off paths. Everywhere led into his trajectory.
Having grasped lightfoot essence, Cheolho optimized his space. Controlled zone formed; trapped, Tang Cheonho suffocated.
Thwack!
Seizing the opening, Cheolho whipped a leg, then elbow-smashed the falling face.
Crash!
Tang Cheonho blacked out.
Onlookers gaped at the anticlimactic end. No one expected a Tang warrior downed so easily.
"Big age gap, and still too harsh!"
"Bullying kids as an adult."
"Good thing there's an age difference."
Unaware of Cheolho's age, they consoled themselves with Tang Cheonho's loss.
"Lucky break."
"Think you can mock the main house unscathed?!"
"Never mocked them."
"Denying it now?"
"Not the clan—you lot. Honestly, nobodies—why keep coming at us?"
Mujin's pointed barb furrowed Tang Cheonye's fine brows. She'd never met his type.
Rudeness aside, he had no fear. This was Sichuan. Provoking a Tang warrior in Iron Citadel? Suicidal.
"No running now!"
"Can't even beat my disciple—why run?"
"You'll answer for that!"
"Win, and take my arm."
If you can.
Mujin made a promise he wouldn't keep. Slim chance, but shameless regardless.
Slurp!
Noodles hit the spot.
Mujin ignored her, inhaling his bowl. Contents shifted a bit, but whatever.
Swish!
Tang Cheonye outclassed her brother. Light, sharp, essence-packed.
Tatang!
She flung seven blood needles, staring in disbelief. They merely grazed Cheolho's clothes before clattering away. Remaining shots he punched aside. Death-touch needles' edge failed.
'...Brute!'
He exploited split-second gaps masterfully. Now she saw why her brother lost so dumbly.
Clear mistake.
Fell for the taunt, ceding distance. Too late to reclaim.
Clang!
Iron Wheel Burst Break.
Tang Cheonye collided with Iron-Blood Lion Art-infused power, hurtling far, far away.
Roll!
She tumbled, face-planting. Poise gone, hair a mess over her face.
Tap!
He roused Tang Cheonho, passed out comfy as at home. Not his house, though—cold stone floor would crook his jaw if he kept sleeping.