Chapter 45
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: One Win, One Loss (3)
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"If you beg for forgiveness right now, I'll let you off with just one arm."
"You're completely clueless."
"Do you think things have changed after all these years? Reality doesn't shift that easily."
"You're all talk. Stop dragging this out."
Anyone watching might think he was stalling out of fear. Did he sense that? Zhuge Kun's brow furrowed deeply. He couldn't fathom what this guy was relying on to act so boldly.
"Are you acting so cocky because you're banking on the Huangbo Clan? If so, you've made a grave mistake... you bastard!"
Before he could even finish his sentence, Mujin charged.
He was done listening to any more words. Irritation had reached its peak, hadn't it? He'd once tried to overlook that past defeat with magnanimity.
Show a little patience, and he should've just taken it quietly and gone on his way. Why drag someone else's kid into it? He could tolerate anything else, but touch his own child? No way in hell.
Shwoong!
Though somewhat startled by the faster-than-expected speed, Zhuge Kun was a peak swordmaster. He drew his sword to block the approach, slashing down at Mujin's lower body.
Clang!
The sword stopped halfway out of its sheath.
His foot draw was blocked.
"You're getting old."
Mujin's expression, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking, made Zhuge Kun feel even more pathetic.
It's an ironclad rule in the martial world: old folks who say 'get old and die' still thrash around desperately to stay alive.
"You little... Argh!"
While Zhuge Kun had sized Mujin up, their power levels were in entirely different realms from the start. The confidence that he could see through him was an illusion. A beat faster, Mujin kicked Zhuge Kun's sword away with his foot.
Wobble!
Zhuge Kun lost his balance without even managing the foot draw, and Mujin didn't miss the opening, smashing his palm into the man's jaw.
Thwack!
Thud!
The fallen Zhuge Kun struggled to rise, but his sense of balance was shot. The more he flailed to steady himself, the more he staggered like a drunkard.
"How dare you... Blech!"
"No growth from back then to now."
Mujin kicked the defenseless Zhuge Kun squarely. Who said anything about talking? The guy was too busy reeling from the impacts to stand, yet he kept yapping. That showed just how much disdain Mujin had for him.
"Don't get too cocky just because you won once. I'm not the same as back then. To overcome that defeat, I secluded myself in the mountains for twenty years, honing my skills. You have no idea the anguish I felt!"
Mujin brought up the past Little Dragon Tournament, airing his humiliating anecdote for all to hear. It jogged their fuzzy memories—now everyone would know.
A bit of exaggeration and distortion could be chalked up to the haze of reminiscence.
"They say a nobleman's revenge takes at least ten years. I wasn't even planning one, but thanks for giving me the chance."
Every time Zhuge Kun tried to get up, Mujin expertly disrupted him. He sabotaged his balance with infuriating precision. On top of that, the jaw strike's shock hadn't worn off yet.
"Surrender?"
"Shut... up... Gah!"
"Fine."
Mujin made it clear again: declare surrender, and he'd back off cleanly. Each time, Zhuge Kun clung to his pride amid his dazed consciousness.
Surrender would make it easy, but the prestige of a renowned family made his body suffer.
'He's begging for it—might as well oblige.'
Mujin channeled his resurfacing memories into his fists and feet. Each strike let him relive that day's humiliation.
His blood started boiling bit by bit.
Gradually, emotion infused his punches and kicks. Long-forgotten grudges came vividly alive.
"That... Gah!"
Surrender? No can do.
Not after putting him in such a foul mood.
Mujin vented like it was personal, rattling off justifications as he unleashed a barrage of punches. Not long after the duel began, Zhuge Kun lost consciousness.
Pat pat!
Mujin dusted off his hands and hoisted the limp Zhuge Kun over his shoulder. Blood dripped from the unconscious man, leaving a trail.
"And so, one win, one loss—a draw. Looking forward to the next match. Hone your grudge for thirty years, and you might get a shot."
Mujin turned the past defeat into an opportunity for vengeance. As a fair and square duel, he'd built a solid justification. This made it tricky for the Zhuge Clan to pull any tricks openly.
Of course, they might scheme behind the scenes—who knew.
But for now, it was off the table.
Bonus: Mujin got to beat the crap out of him to his heart's content.
He stanched the wounds and headed back to the second floor. The murmurs from behind curved Mujin's lips into a smile.
"He was from the Little Dragon Tournament? Victor's revenge—truly a nobleman's vengeance!"
"He unilaterally thrashed the Zhuge Clan's String Music Sword! How much effort did that take?"
"Toying with the String Music Sword means at least transcendent realm."
"Their kids are competing too. The Little Dragon Tournament just got way more exciting."
The crowd was thrilled with the spectacle. A huge embarrassment for the Zhuge Clan, but to others, it was just entertainment. They refrained from snap judgments only because it was the Zhuge Clan.
'How could this happen!'
For Zhuge Mok, it was a bolt from the blue beyond his worst fears. His father's swordsmanship was top-tier even within the clan. To be helplessly crushed by a third-rate warrior from some no-name sect?
He must've pulled some dirty trick. No ambush or scheme could simply overpower his father otherwise.
Zhuge Mok harbored suspicions but had to stay silent.
Mujin sat with his father right beside him, arm draped chummily around Zhuge Kun's shoulders. It was subtly choking him.
Slip into a deserted alley, and a hundred lashes per tael would be the minimum.
"The young master of the Zhuge Clan is awfully suspicious. Hard to believe? Want to try it yourself? Go on. Who knows, maybe there's a trick."
"...No, sir!"
It was blatant intimidation. Spout nonsense, and his neck snaps. Zhuge Mok wanted out of there, but his father hadn't regained consciousness.
One wrong move, and father and son might not see the end of the day.
Tick, tick!
Mujin kept the friendly arm around him while keeping Zhuge Kun in striking range. He signaled he could act anytime. But it was just a feint—he didn't actually strike. To onlookers, they looked amicable. Yelling suspicions without proof would get him nowhere; denying it would shut it down. Mujin could even use that to justify overpowering him.
"Abandoning your dad and running would make you unfilial. You know that, right?"
"...Yes, I do!"
Ditch his father and flee? The clan wouldn't let that slide. He'd be lucky not to get exiled.
It wasn't a hugely memorable incident for Mujin, but clearing the grudge left him satisfied. The old grudge came knocking on its own, saving him the trouble. Without it, he'd have let it slide unnoticed; instead, they scratched the itch perfectly.
"They say a nobleman's grudge simmers ten years."
"A nobleman's... Yes! A nobleman's grudge simmers ten years."
Not the time for that. Why spout idioms now! And he got it wrong too. To lose to such an uncultured brute—still unbelievable.
-Just breathe. Don't talk! Is the embarrassment only mine?
'As long as the meaning gets across, who cares!'
Mujin bulldozed through stubbornly. Right or wrong didn't matter; he held the reins. In moments like this, own the mistake shamelessly.
"The son surely understands Great Hero Zhuge Kun's intent. Cherish that sentiment deeply."
"...!"
"No answer?"
"...Understood!"
Mujin gave Zhuge Mok a light "mental education" with a carefree heart, then feigned surprise. It looked clumsy to anyone, but Mujin didn't care. It screamed, "Suspect and deny all you want—I couldn't give less of a damn."
"Oops, my mind's wandering. Great Hero Zhuge Kun! Come to your senses. No napping here. What are you doing, son!"
"...Pardon?"
"Hurry and get him to a room for a proper check-up. Some son, tsk tsk tsk!"
"...Yes, understood."
"Take good care of him."
Mujin inwardly puffed with pride as he sent the father-son duo off. Issue resolved smoothly.
The hitherto silent Huangbo Se-ryeong spoke up.
"The Zhuge Clan won't let this slide."
"What can they do if they don't? Let 'em come if they dare. Son! Aren't you proud of your old man?"
Taejin let out a deep sigh.
Now he'd draw attention at the Little Dragon Tournament. Rumors spread faster in crowds. Come the start, he'd be a prime target. The tournament gauged potential, but no competitor wanted a tougher path to victory.
'Still feels damn good, though.'
He'd never seen his dad succeed by showing off, but Taejin admired his father's unflinching boldness.
Mountains, cliffs, pine trees, and egrets brought a graceful ink painting to life on the room's walls. The thick scent of ink hung in the air. Every scroll depicted renowned families in splendor.
Swish!
The ink ground meticulously in the inkstone shimmered with auspicious dark light. Each brushstroke on the paper conjured mystical scenes.
Whish!
"One stroke" didn't quite fit painting, yet no better word captured it. Though executed in a single unbroken line, the canvas rivaled a master's perfection. Truly one of the continent's top painting prodigies.
Hmm!
The painting was flawless. Yet the middle-aged man tore it without hesitation. Even perfection fell short of his standards.
"The Twin Evils?"
"No trace found."
"Was it that difficult?"
"Not at all."
He couldn't meet the middle-aged man's lofty, clear gaze. One word from him could spell his doom, hanging by a thread. He seemed the epitome of an upright bamboo scholar, but the man's true intent was beyond mortal ken—something from the heavens themselves.
"The foundation of our grand scheme is shaking from the roots."
"My apologies."
He hadn't accounted for the Twin Evils' betrayal. They knew the doctrine's terror better than anyone. They lacked the guts. Thus, some variable had arisen midway.
"I suspect Huangbo Clan involvement, but Huangbo Fortress can't handle the Twin Evils. We checked if the Fist King intervened, but he hasn't left his family."
"This is troublesome."
"However, rumors say the Little Lake Stronghold was eradicated. The Huangbo Clan suppressing the news suggests some connection."
"Not certain, though."
"Give me time, and I'll confirm."
"If the Beggars' Clan or Hao Clan catches wind, it'll be a headache on all fronts. Wait until it quiets down."
"Yes."
The whereabouts of the Divine Myth Horse Spirit Armor were crucial. It had to be found, but preparations weren't perfect yet. Rash moves could topple the great undertaking's foundation.
'Curious.'
He felt like he was missing something vital, yet certainty eluded him. A novel sensation for the middle-aged man.