Chapter 53
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Ominous Clouds
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"I thought the Eight Strong matches would be different, but he won again!"
"He crushed the Zhuge Clan not once, but twice in a row!"
"At this point, isn't he sworn enemies with the Zhuge Clan?"
"Winning the whole thing changes everything. They lost to a top contender."
"The Zhuge Clan's swordsmanship isn't the best anyway. We still don't know who'll take the championship."
The cheers from the tournament grounds echoed across the entire Nangong Clan grounds, shaking the very heavens with the event's fervor.
Meng!
Though the Little Dragon Tournament had drawn all eyes to the Nangong Clan, Nangong Yeonhwa couldn't care less. Whether the tournament happened or not made no difference to her. The spar from two days ago still felt like a dream.
"How long are you going to space out? If you're thinking of backing out of our deal, things are going to get very tricky for you."
"What the hell are you, anyway?"
"Don't ask when you already know. I'm exactly what you think I am."
"That's exactly why it doesn't make sense! How can someone like you come from some no-name sect?"
"Must be nice being born into a prestigious clan with a big reputation."
"Quit snarking at me. Did you at least stumble on some heavenly opportunity or something?"
"Think whatever you want."
Nangong Yeonhwa tried to analyze Mujin's martial arts. She'd used the guided spar as an excuse to probe the origins of his skills. But during the actual fight, such thoughts hadn't even crossed her mind. Even now, recalling that moment two days ago sent chills racing across her skin. It was a horrifying thrill she never wanted to imagine again.
'What was that aura?'
Mujin's presence couldn't come from just grinding away at martial arts. Unless he'd crawled out of the asura hells, maybe. But the current martial world was a peaceful era, free from incursions by the Demonic Cult, Blood Cult, or barbarians from the borders. Even in small-scale bloodbaths, she'd never seen anyone with an aura like his.
'Unless he's a yaksha or a hell demon.'
It was a type of presence even the Nangong Clan hadn't encountered. If they were purely talking raw power, there were a few in the clan on Mujin's level—her father, his brothers, the elders, and protectors.
Could they beat Mujin? Nangong Yeonhwa couldn't answer that.
Martial prowess and true strength were different.
Of course, without reaching a certain realm, it might be useless. But at similar levels, no one could defeat Mujin. That was her conclusion.
"How did you know the weakness of the Heavenly Thunder Divine Fist?"
"You have so many weaknesses, I didn't even need to."
"I trained my stamina harder than anyone, you know."
"Of course you did. To overcome the innate physical limits between men and women. And you're not satisfied with your current level anyway. If you want to live like a frog in a well, keep doing what you're doing."
Even with a Heavenly Thunder Body suited for thunder qi, a woman was still a woman. Compared to men, there were gaps in frame, muscle, and bone structure. Only by surpassing those could one be considered a true master.
Nangong Yeonhwa had undoubtedly put in more effort than most. Her body wasn't weak. But that was only compared to warriors within those limits. She wanted to become a transcendent master beyond them. To do that, she had to start over from the beginning—a far more grueling, desperate process.
"You're lucky to have a great teacher. There's no one like me anywhere else."
"Can you stop bragging for five seconds?!"
"It's not bragging. It's a fact."
"You annoying bastard!"
"Guilty as charged."
When Mujin playfully raised his fist, Nangong Yeonhwa hurriedly retreated ten paces. Her body instinctively remembered the terror. He might be joking, but she'd end up splattered on the ground like a frog with ruptured guts.
"That's not fair! I'm a girl!"
"Says who?"
As infuriating as it was, Nangong Yeonhwa couldn't deny it. He was like a devil crawled up from hell, but his eye for martial arts was spot-on. Like a fellow disciple who'd trained alongside her. Just internalizing the insights from yesterday's and today's spars had produced dramatically different results.
-Those brutes get along well.
'Martial arts are a conversation between bodies.'
-Yujin would never let that slide if she heard.
'Don't call my sister-in-law by name so casually! Who do you think you are?'
Mujin pushed Nangong Yeonhwa while scrutinizing her arts through the Demon King's eyes. He used the Soul-Piercing Demonic Eye to etch them indelibly into her mind.
"Pine Tiger Sect uses sword arts, right?"
"It's not some special fist art."
"Yeah, yeah, you're the best."
"You're just weak."
This lunatic seemed to study how to piss people off every day. Even the same words coming from him hit harder. She wanted to smack him, but she'd only taste her own inadequacy. As a direct descendant of the Nangong Clan, it was a humiliating feeling she'd never known before. Was it okay to feel this powerless?
'I can't even glimpse his secret techniques, let alone the roots of his arts.'
Mujin hadn't used any flashy moves against her. Just basic forms—like the Daoist Six Harmonies Fist, emphasizing unity with heaven, earth, and all directions. But his temperament was the opposite of Daoist principles.
'And that repulsive force that countered my thunder qi? Total cheat.'
It had seemed simple at the time, but looking back, it was an absurd technique. Impossible without perfectly reading her moves.
"How long are you going to brood? I'm not exactly swimming in free time."
"Says the guy who skipped his son's match to get drunk!"
"I saw it all."
Mujin claimed he'd seen everything. Projecting his mind to read hers as well.
"Want me to make you a cyclops?"
"Didn't I warn you about trash talk?"
Mujin's blatant dismissal infuriated her, but Nangong Yeonhwa had to honor their deal.
She'd brought him here to meet her grandfather. Beyond this point, only direct descendants or permitted individuals could enter.
"No one's allowed in here."
"And?"
Mujin was utterly indifferent.
His intent to see the Sword Emperor and leave was clear. Come to think of it, she didn't get why he wanted to see the Sword Emperor. Sword and fist paths diverged, even if all paths led back to the source.
"Do you still get lessons from him?"
"I used to, but he's been in closed-door training lately."
"Your grandfather."
"He's the Sword Emperor. It's not just for my benefit."
"Siblings should get along."
"I wish."
Nangong Yeonhwa wanted that too, but clan power dynamics made it impossible. All direct descendants vied for clan head, trapped in endless competition.
They arrived at the Great Origin Pavilion, where the Sword Emperor resided. For a former clan head's abode, it wasn't particularly grand or ornate.
Just as they were about to enter—
A unfamiliar voice rang out.
"What business brings you?"
"I want to see Grandfather."
The man blocking Mujin and Nangong Yeonhwa was missing his right arm—the one that should have gripped a sword. His empty sleeve fluttered limply in the breeze.
Flap, flap!
He resembled the Sword Bastion in appearance, but rougher, more stubborn.
As expected, he was the Sword Bastion's older brother, Nangong Je.
One might expect a pitiful sight from the Poison Sword's moniker and lost arm, but he exuded unyielding resolve.
"Father said no contact with outsiders for his final training."
"He finished closed-door training."
"So you don't trust my word?!"
"That's not it, Uncle! Can't you make an exception?"
"Bringing an outsider to disturb Father's training?!"
Nangong Je's cold gaze fixed on Mujin, a threat that outsiders weren't allowed in the Great Origin Pavilion.
Scritch!
Mujin casually dug in his ear, blew out the wax, and let it scatter in the wind, standing nonchalantly. His disinterest was crystal clear, no matter what you said.
Twitch!
Open insolence. Intentional? Probably not. But interpretation was subjective in the moment.
A mad glint flickered in Nangong Je's cold eyes. He recalled the humiliation he'd endured his whole life. And from some third-rate sect's punk, no less.
"Fearless."
"Me?"
"Your clumsy intimidation tactics won't work."
"Is it because you're missing an arm? Got a narrow mind to match."
"...?"
There. Still think it's intimidation?
Mujin's blunt truth startled not just Nangong Je, but Nangong Yeonhwa too. Who says that to his face? Has this guy been eating iron? She had to intervene.
Tremble!
To Nangong Je, his missing arm was like a reverse scale. The shock of losing his vital right arm still tormented him. He'd hidden it since, and no one dared mention it. It was an unspoken clan taboo. Mujin shattered it without hesitation.
"You must want to die!"
"I'm just calling a one-armed man one-armed. What else should I say?"
True, not wrong. But blurting it to someone with a disability? You'd deserve the backlash. Blame Nangong Je's murderous rage or Mujin's rudeness—it was the latter.
"Stop it, you lunatic!"
"What'd I do?"
"You call that nothing?!"
Nangong Yeonhwa now fully grasped this irresponsible bastard was certifiably insane! Her uncle had lost his arm, but he was still a pillar of the Nangong Clan. He'd abandoned his right-arm sword arts, started over with his left, and reached the transcendent realm. You couldn't dismiss that effort.
"Yeonhwa, stand back. You! Prepare yourself."
"Strange talk. I'm here to see the former clan head. Yet you're blocking me without even asking his intent."
Mujin's question made Nangong Je pause mid-murderous intent. Impertinent, sure—like asking who he was to block when the Sword Emperor himself might allow it. But it pierced the core. The Sword Emperor had ended training. Blocking his granddaughter without checking? Scrutinized, it was odd.
"Insolent fool! You'll answer for those words. Or your precious sect won't survive."
"Bring it."
Threatening his sect unleashed Mujin's aura. The intense energy coiled within erupted like a volcano.
Flinch!
Nangong Je stepped back. The cocky thug transformed into a yaksha from hell in an instant. His body knew.
'This guy!'
Nangong Je felt his rage cool to ice. He didn't think he'd lose a fight, but subduing him easily? Doubtful. The problem: backing down now wounded his pride. He burned to end this punk.
Then.
Mujin cupped his fists in salute.
"I was rude in my eagerness to meet one of the Divine Continent's Twenty-One Strong. I must have gone blind for a moment."
An unexpected turn.
Nangong Yeonhwa's face screamed, What's this guy's deal now? What did he eat to act like this? Rudeness galore, then apologies and nonsense. She couldn't keep up.
'Accept it? Ignore it?'
Mujin seemed to plead acceptance, but his face said otherwise.
Take it or leave it.
Shake, shake!
Nangong Je nearly lost control of his boiling fury. But more commotion gained nothing.
"Get lost!"
"Thank you. I'll repay this favor soon."
"That chance comes sooner than you think."
"Music to my ears."
Mujin relaxed his stance, turned, and glanced at Nangong Yeonhwa.
She stood dumbfounded, incredulous. No matter how she thought about it, Mujin was a madman. Why had she brought this lunatic? Her luck was rotten. She should've never met him!
"Coming or not? Your call."
Mujin strode over the pavilion threshold without hesitation. Nangong Yeonhwa snapped back, bowed to her uncle, and followed.
Then she shouted.
"Hey, wrong way!"
"Oh, this way."
"Left!"
"Right."
Even after Mujin and Nangong Yeonhwa vanished, Nangong Je glared at the spot. Rage rivaling the day he lost his arm. He couldn't let this mocker go.
Crunch!
Madness gleamed in his eyes.
Back at the inn, Mujin ordered a lavish spread from the owner. Used to Mujin day-drinking, the owner didn't bat an eye. He filled the table with house specialties: liquor and sides.
Beef, chicken, pork.
The meat trio: spicy, salty, sweet.
And greasy.
Mujin's tastes—flavor over health—shone through. The owner knew them well now.
Nangong Yeonhwa's voice rose.
"You crazy bastard!"
"People can hear!"
"Shut up! Why the hell did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Does our clan look like a joke to you?"
"Not particularly."
Your clan alone? The whole martial world is a joke. No need to feel bad about your pride.
-He's lost it.
'I'm the War King.'
His ego pierced the heavens, rivaling heavenly gods, but Mujin brushed it off. In his War King days, he'd seen the martial world as pathetic. Even with most absolute masters dead, it crumbled to the Demonic Cult too easily. Without him, no chance. So yeah, it was laughable.
"You! That was way too rude."
"I know."
"Knowing makes it worse! What if Uncle had attacked?"
"He didn't."
Nangong Je had accepted the apology. Odd to her. Her uncle showing emotion was weird enough, but holding back killing intent? Uncharacteristic, un-Nangong-like even.
"How'd he lose that arm?"
"None of your business."
If it was clan-only knowledge, easy to guess.
"Succession fight, then."
"Stop guessing!"
Nangong Yeonhwa didn't deny it outright. A secret, but everyone in the clan knew. An open secret hushed up. But this guy didn't know. Pure guess.
Spot-on, so it pissed her off.
"Must hold a grudge against your father."
"Say something sensible!"
"Would you loyally serve the one who cut off your arm?"
"It was a fair duel. And don't slander the clan with nonsense. Even you, I won't forgive."
Clan loyalty was natural. Self-deprecation fine, but outsiders? Unbearable. But that loyalty blinded. Emotions clouded judgment fiercely.
"Even if no brother matches his sibling—that's only when things flow naturally."
"Didn't your little brother take everything from you?"
"I graciously yielded. Arm intact."
"Rumored playboy, my ass! Gracious yield, bullshit!"
They'd investigated him already. Nangong intelligence still sharp. Not bad.
"If clan folk were around, you wouldn't have walked away. Watch your mouth from now on."
"Noted. Anyway, when did the Sword Emperor start closed-door training?"
"Five years ago."
"Some enlightenment?"
"Don't know the details."
Mujin asked casually, then drank and shoveled snacks. Utter nonchalance. It irked Nangong Yeonhwa. Life-or-death tension, and he was chill.
'Not even scared?'
This guy was reckless but not proactive. The exchange with her uncle felt off. Never doubted before, but now...
"Whatever. Fine."
Mujin traded toasts with Nangong Yeonhwa, got thoroughly drunk, then headed to his room. She left first to digest her insights.
Mujin couldn't shake his suspicions.
'Demonic essence, right?'
-More precisely, demonic soul. Cultists would call it divine essence.
'This deep in this era?'
-Basic strategy.
As War King, Mujin had crushed countless Demonic Cult demons. Fought endlessly. He'd learned their scent better than anyone. Instinct, not certainty. But near dead-on.
So he'd provoked boldly, despite knowing it rude. To test the reaction.
The Demon King had sensed demonic soul in Nangong Je.
Demonic soul arose from absorbing demonic essence—a subtle trait. Hardly visible outwardly. Masters like the War King might detect it, but modern warriors couldn't.
Unless perfectly concealed, as top cult demons could. But Nangong Je's wasn't perfect.
He'd hidden his dark side. Despite bone-deep provocation on his sore spot, he accepted the apology. A prideful Nangong warrior swallowing that humiliation? It screamed hidden agenda.
'What can Nangong Je do?'
-Unknown.
Ending him outright? Easy, quietly. But if not alone, headache. Even without Sword Emperor, Sword Bastion and key forces remained strong. Nangong Je alone couldn't shake the clan.
'No easy play.'
-Can't confirm now. They won't believe you anyway.
Even warning of dark forces meddling—would they buy it? Nangong Yeonhwa proved it. Lucky if they didn't turn hostile.
'No choice?'
-Don't stir trouble.
'I know.'
-It'll surface soon. Wait.
Mujin wasn't without thoughts. Demonic Cult hadn't surfaced yet. Had to bide time. Or abandon Nangong Clan.
No strong attachment.
Family first.
'Worst case, grab my son and bolt.'
-Heh, indeed.
Iron Tiger?