Chapter 120
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 120
Chapter Title: Thinking He's a Knight-Errant (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wuoooong!
Jeok Serin hadn't been chosen as the divine maiden solely for her stunning beauty. She possessed an innate talent worthy of becoming the next divine sword of the Emei Sect, a prospect hailed as befitting a Sword Empress.
Crunch!
The smile on Im Yeon-hong's face, which had lingered amid Jeok Serin's unyielding stance like an impenetrable wall, turned icy cold. Watching her stirred up the pent-up resentment she'd long suppressed.
Jeok Serin, who always blocked her path yet feigned benevolence with hollow words of comfort—oblivious to how utterly pathetic it made others feel.
"What are you dawdling for? Subdue her already!"
"Fine, quit your yapping."
The leader of the masked men grinned wickedly as he targeted Jeok Serin. At the same time, the others turned their gazes toward Nun Mu-ae, scattering her attention.
"You vile beasts!"
"Still so green."
If she hadn't been poisoned, if Sa-je hadn't been in peril—such excuses meant nothing in battle. In a fight where life and death hung in the balance, only current strength and outcomes mattered.
Clang, clang, claaang!
Sparks flew from Jeok Serin's sword clashing against the masked men's blades. Infused with the profound inner energy of orthodox swordsmanship from the Nine Great Sects, it amplified their power. The strikes flew straight without deviation, like those of demonic cults or unorthodox paths—perhaps seeming rigid. Yet persisting on that path birthed sword strikes that even demons and heretics could never match.
Ugh!
Each clash shook Jeok Serin. Though she unleashed the notoriously intricate Nanpi Tempest Sword Technique—one of the most complex in the sect's canon—she couldn't even muster its full might, getting overwhelmingly pushed back.
"...Nun Mu-ae!"
Outmatched in inner energy, Jeok Serin distanced herself from Nun Mu-ae. The masked men had anticipated this from the start. They aimed to create an opening in her defenses for an easy takedown. Despite their overwhelming advantage, they never grew complacent.
Swish!
One masked man pressed his sword to Nun Mu-ae's throat. Even unconscious from the cold killing intent, her body shuddered violently. Subconsciously, she sensed her life teetering on the edge.
"Drop your sword! Refuse, and your nun's head rolls."
Jeok Serin knew from the blade's edge: even in peak condition, handling these masked foes wouldn't be easy. Poisoned as she was, barely holding them off—this was hopelessly disadvantageous, and they offered no mercy.
"Nun Mu-ae, I'll die as an Emei warrior!"
Better to face humiliation and death fighting or by her own hand than submit.
"Words won't sway her."
Sensing Jeok Serin's resolve, the masked man furrowed his brow. Clearly a novice lacking experience, yet handling her proved no simple task.
But the world wasn't one where resolve always prevailed.
"Let's see that smooth middle-aged body of yours. Strip Nun Mu-ae bare."
"You monsters!"
Jeok Serin's teeth ground in fury. Imagining Nun Mu-ae violated before her eyes shook her hardened determination.
The masked man seized that fleeting gap.
Slash!
Blood sprayed from the gash.
Stagger!
She was forced back, her sword form crumbling. Ignoring the wound and chaining strikes might have turned it fatal.
On the other hand, the masked man had held back with his sword—not to kill outright, but to subdue.
"Persistent. But enduring the Soul-Melting Poison won't last."
As the masked man said, Jeok Serin's face paled to a sickly blue. Her trembling body suggested the barely suppressed toxin was now raging.
"Better death than defilement."
"Think it'll be that easy?"
Even suicide was denied. As the masked man unleashed his full sword barrage, she was relentlessly driven back.
To make matters worse, Nun Mu-ae's robes were being peeled away, exposing her smooth, cleanly shaven scalp that quivered in fear.
Crack, crunch!
In this desperate crisis, a sound like a chicken's neck snapping echoed.
'What a mess this has become.'
-I told you so.
'This is a linked situation.'
-Pathetic excuse.
After resolving the Tang Clan matter, trouble erupted immediately. Coincidence was less than ten percent likely. Word must have reached them, and their meddling was fact.
Fortunately, it didn't seem entirely premeditated. Overlapping accidents did play a part.
Yet when coincidences pile up, they can twist into inevitable fate.
Even so, their full commitment to killing him implied something deeper.
'They underestimated me.'
-Seems that way.
'They should've brought all Nine Heavenly Stars at minimum. Hmm, even that might not suffice.'
-Infuriating, but I'll concede.
If they'd come fully aware, their force would've been laughable. To think these rabble could kill him—absurd.
By now, the situation was obvious. Seeds planted in Emei and Qingcheng—cheap provocation to destabilize Sichuan after the Tang Clan fiasco.
Crack, crunch!
No need to hear more. Mujin casually crushed the throat he'd gripped. The man's face, clinging to slim hope of survival, twisted in injustice before lolling out his tongue like a dead ox.
Whish, thud!
Mujin had no hobby of toying with corpses. He hurled the body aside and charged the bald monk.
Startled by the neck-snapping, they were still braced.
But Mujin's speed was blinding.
"You bastard... Ack!"
"Idiot."
Anyone could see he was the enemy—not an ally!
Why bother talking?
Die leisurely if you're so relaxed.
Mujin smashed the man's back with a fist, then kicked the two flanking masked men—from left to right—like toppling a folding screen.
Splat, crunch!
A flash-like, devastating kick technique.
The masked men's heads exploded within their masks, denying them even the chance to reveal their identities in a pathetic end.
Whoosh!
Mujin spun like lightning, thrusting his fist.
Boom!
A razor-sharp vortex swirled around his fist heart, riding the fist wind. The sudden ambush left no time for the bereaved to mourn.
Splatter!
A man burst apart, blood spraying everywhere—a gruesome sight to the uninitiated. But that's what fist winds do. Shaolin's Hundred-Step Divine Fist was polished into seventy-two forms, but at full power, it pulverized bodies.
Just like now.
Red blood reflected sunlight, casting crimson glints everywhere. Silence blanketed the blood-wind ravaged space.
Mujin locked eyes with Im Yeon-hong, who stared at him in stunned shock.
"...Stay back! I'm an Emei warrior!"
"Crazy bitch."
Tell him to go and he won't; tell him to come and he won't. Mujin wasn't fool enough to heed a madwoman he'd just met.
Besides, he'd heard everything earlier.
How dare this dog of a woman act human! Even dogs don't bite the master who pampers them. She should be grateful her nun raised her so softly—instead, she bites the hand!
'Right, Demon King?'
-You saying that for me to hear?
'Quick on the uptake.'
-You son of a bitch!
The Demon King, raised by his handler, fumed—but Mujin kept priorities straight.
"Die!"
Snapped from the ambush, Im Yeon-hong suddenly unleashed Extermination Sword and lunged at Mujin. A lethal technique among Emei's Eight Great Swords.
Swish!
Mujin read the thrusting blade's trajectory perfectly, slipping inside to close the gap with Im Yeon-hong.
Gasp!
She never dreamed he'd so effortlessly evade the pinnacle Severing Heaven's Fate move—yielding aerial dominance. Chills of crisis prickled her skin. But before countering, a fist slammed her abdomen.
Boom!
The fist's force sank like water into sand, ravaging her organs.
Urk!
Foreign matter surged up her throat, spewing from Im Yeon-hong's mouth.
Mujin scowled.
"All meat."
Monks avoided meat, but warriors needed it. Protein was essential for power. Some reached heights on grains alone, but exceedingly rare. Warriors ascended via balanced diet including flesh.
Thud!
He propped the kneeling, collapsing Im Yeon-hong with his foot, then flung her at the masked man.
Whoooosh!
The masked man—who'd relentlessly toyed with Jeok Serin—was facing a combined assault from Cheol-ho, Na-reung, and Yuk-chil. While Mujin fetched the carriage, they'd flanked him. The moment the surprise attack began, they'd zeroed in.
Bam!
Taking a cannonball-like hit from airborne Im Yeon-hong, the masked man staggered massively, exposing a gap.
"...You bastards!"
Breath caught, he had no room for rage. A bull-rush punch shattered his shoulder.
Boom!
Terrifying destructive power.
His qi-reinforced body cracked, internal injuries blooming. He circulated Great Brahma Unrivaled Divine Art to dispel the invading fist force, but time was short.
Swish!
Na-reung's light kick targeted his nape. He barely ducked, only for Yuk-chil's knee to await—like a premeditated combo, their synergy flawless.
Crack!
Lips split on the knee, blood gushing. Head snapped back, torso exposed—Cheol-ho unleashed Peerless Single Point Cannon.
Boom!
Peerless Single Point Cannon, an advanced form of Iron-Blood Lion Fist—its raw power unmatched.
Clang!
He instinctively blocked Qingcheng's ultimate Seventy-Two Wave Sword: Absolute Light—but the impact sent him tumbling across the ground.
Whoosh!
No respite in his humiliation. Before rising, Yuk-chil's palm strikes targeted vitals.
"...Cowards!"
Hmph, whatever!
Cheol-ho, Na-reung, and Yuk-chil ignored him. They staunchly followed Mujin's creed: victory was all. No fairness in fights—lose and you're done. They'd evolved into pragmatic warriors.
"Poison's fine for you, huh?"
These scum, who poisoned and tried raping women before killing, crying foul? Laughable. Circumstances easily stripped consciences bare.
Hm?
A sharp instinct flared. Mujin trusted the sensation.
"Fall back."
...Pardon?
Mujin shoved Cheol-ho, Na-reung, and Yuk-chil aside. In that instant, something shot from Tak Gwang-un's sleeve amid flashing qi.
"Die!"
A small, black-painted iron bead. Fast and potent, but dodgeable. Knowing its nature changed everything.
Kabooom!
The ignited bead exploded, rending heaven and earth. Horrific flames erupted instantly—a devastating weapon fusing fireball and shrapnel to annihilate areas.
Wuuuung!
Yet the blast didn't exceed half a zhang. Mujin's dominance enveloped space, devouring the explosion.
Whoosh, puff!
The volcanic burst compressed within his qi barrier, extinguishing like a snuffed candle.
Ah!
Cheol-ho, Na-reung, and Yuk-chil were aghast. No one anticipated a hidden bomb. More shocking: the unnatural flames.
'...Heavenly Thunder Bomb!'
Yuk-chil's shock transcended humanity. Qingcheng's forbidden explosive, the Heavenly Thunder Bomb—rumored rival to Thunderclap Bullets. And he'd nullified it with qi.
The masked man was equally stunned—it was his final trump.
"Hey, isn't that Qingcheng's First Sword, Tak Gwang-un?"
"The sect won't stand... Urk!"
Mask torn, identity revealed. But no great surprise. Qingcheng involvement was expected; just not one of their Five Divine Stars, the First Sword.
'How deep does this infiltration go?'
Unlike others, Beggar's Clan Yuk-chil burned inside. From Tang Clan to Qingcheng and Emei—hidden forces lurked. Their aims and scale chilled him.
Gurk!
Tak Gwang-un curled shrimp-like, screaming. Fatally wounded, he thrashed under Na-reung, Yuk-chil, and Cheol-ho's combo.
Grip!
Mujin seized the subdued Tak Gwang-un's throat, activating Soul-Piercing Demonic Eye. Answer within known bounds.
"I know nothing... Aaaaagh!"
"Figured. What would trash like you know?"
Expectations low, Mujin felt at ease. No real hopes, and zilch confirmed.
Shudder!
Body convulsing wildly, veins bulging to burst then receding.
Aaaagh!
Last agonized spasm. Mujin ended it nonchalantly.
Crunch!
Then roused the fainted Im Yeon-hong.
"Spare me... Take my body... Urk!"
As if anyone wants that filthy carcass—ruining whose marriage?