Chapter 74
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Understanding Assassination Martial Arts (1)
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Originally, the concept of sparring didn't exist in the jianghu.
A time when people roamed the world with a single sword at their side, where a mere glance was taken as a provocation and killer blows flew without warning—a quantum superposition of romance and savagery.
Some looked back on that era of the martial world with longing, while others claimed the current state was far better.
The one who turned the tide of that age was the Supreme Under Heaven of her generation among women.
Born into the evil factions, she overcame unspeakable trials and tribulations to reach the pinnacle of martial arts, then boldly declared:
"This lady is the evil factions' best, the Supreme Under Heaven, and the greatest of past and present!"
With that, she planted a flag right in the heart of the orthodox martial world.
Bi-mu-cho-chin—a martial arts contest to find a spouse.
Of course, even before her, there had been occasional tussles where opponents held back from lethal force rather than fighting to the death.
But those four characters ignited a strange fever across the Central Plains.
In the end, she fell to the Martial Alliance Leader of the time.
And after that...
She spent a week at the Alliance headquarters, not only causing a racket with noise pollution but also leaving behind the infamous line:
"Urgh... This lady is actually third-rate...!"
From that moment on, they say life-or-death duels and sparring began to be strictly distinguished...
"...You beggar scum. You seriously just... F-f-fuck, I've lived long enough to hear the most ridiculous bullshit. My head hurts..."
"Brother Geum, have you been living under a rock? The Ha-bo-sam legend is infamous."
"Ha-bo-sam? ...Ah, shit."
Geum Sihyeon barely steadied his dizzying mind and focused on the spectacle before him.
Four swords scattered wildly in all directions, transforming into a meticulously choreographed sword dance.
The momentum favored Moyong Taek.
No matter how much secluded training he claimed, if one could gain enlightenment from a mere month of meditation, the martial world would already be at the Peak realm as its baseline.
Moyong Wicheon still couldn't grasp the tantalizing threads of insight wriggling at the edge of late first-rate.
"Tch...!"
In the heat of another fierce assault, Moyong Wicheon took a hit and hastily retreated.
Rather than pursue immediately, Moyong Taek chose to control the flow.
Though he'd regained much of his confidence lately, a decade-plus of accumulated defeats couldn't be shaken off in such a short time.
Safely. Slowly.
In a display of calm unimaginable from his usual gambling-loving nature, he swung his sword with measured precision.
"Hm..."
"Brother Geum. Looks like Brother Moyong ate something bad."
"Agreed. Fighting so... lamely... Er, yeah, kinda seems that way..."
Of course, his friends didn't look kindly on the display.
Moyong Wicheon felt the same.
"You bastard! Fight properly!"
The true value of twin-sword arts shines in relentlessly pressing the opponent without end.
Thus, Moyong Taek's half-hearted swings felt like outright insults to him.
How dare a somewhat less lowly cur... scorn me!
Moyong Wicheon's left and right swords surged forward once more, tracing unpredictable arcs to corner Moyong Taek.
One exchange.
Two exchanges.
Three exchanges...
In the blink of an eye—less than a quarter of an incense stick's time—over ten clashes had passed.
And again, Moyong Wicheon came out worse.
Ptoo!
Spitting a clot of blood onto the ground, he took a moment for self-reflection.
His sword—the Heaven-Earth Flash-Breaking Sword—was undoubtedly deeper and more profound than the Twin Dragon Whirlwind Sword.
So why couldn't he pierce through this still-somewhat-clumsy sword formation that failed to even form a proper dragon?
Wasn't the Heaven-Earth Flash-Breaking Sword the pinnacle among twin-sword arts?
Fortunate for him.
Slightly unfortunate for Moyong Taek.
Moyong Wicheon's intellect wasn't so dull as to miss that subtle difference.
Readjusting his stance, he launched another preemptive strike.
Except.
This time, the sword he chose was—
"Whoa. Mirror match."
"What's a mirror match?"
"Fancy Western term for seeing who wins with the same martial art. Study up on Western languages."
"Holy shit..."
The Twin Dragon Whirlwind Sword—the very same as Moyong Taek's.
Two men with blood flowing through the same veins exuded an eerily similar aura, mirroring each other's forms as if gazing into a looking glass.
Of course, Moyong Wicheon had neglected Twin Dragon Whirlwind Sword practice for a while, so it felt awkward at first.
But with each sword clash.
Each ragged breath.
Each surge of inner energy from his dantian to his fingertips.
His blade grew precise, refined, and sharp—as if absorbing Moyong Taek's very sword.
A choice his pride would never have allowed under normal circumstances.
But now, all traces of arrogance had vanished from Moyong Wicheon's mind.
The condescending thoughts toward Moyong Taek had slipped away amid the swings.
Not as elder son versus second son.
Swordsman facing swordsman.
He set aside his own shortcomings and embraced the opponent's sharpness.
Before he knew it, Moyong Wicheon's vision was filled with...
...the vast, barren plains of Liaodong.
A harsh, desolate land where he'd spent his childhood, laying the foundations of his life and his clan.
Where news would come of an uncle who'd patted his head yesterday burning out his life flame against invaders the next day.
A place where strife came before peace.
Yes.
Victory and defeat weren't mere strokes of fate—only victory meant survival.
This was just another path.
It struck like lightning, but Moyong Wicheon was a warrior ready to advance to the next stage.
His pupils slackened slightly in that trance-like instant, yet his strikes never halted.
No— they grew fiercer.
"What the? Suddenly?"
"Brother Geum. Did that guy just break through?"
"Watch your wording, seriously..."
The sword energy that had clung to his blade tip, seeking escape, began forming the clear, distinct shape of a dragon—small but vivid.
And then.
"Huuuuh..."
His consciousness snapped back from the mental image to reality as he let out a deep breath.
For perhaps the first time—Moyong Wicheon felt genuine gratitude toward Moyong Taek.
Or on second thought, maybe the second, third, or even tenth time—regardless.
But.
"Gah—"
The first thing to greet him upon clutching that enlightenment...
Was searing pain surging from his lower abdomen.
Moyong Taek's kick had nailed him squarely in the groin.
A short while later.
Debate raged among the judges: Was kicking the groin during a spar a lethal move or fair leg technique?
But considering it allowed time to consolidate enlightenment—the crucial moment for any warrior—leniency was granted.
"...A loss is a loss. This defeat will make me stronger."
Moyong Wicheon, regaining his senses, accepted it fully.
"The winner of the freshman sparring tournament is... Moyong Taek!"
Moyong Seol stepped forward as representative (sort of), announcing the victory with a strange mix of pride and embarrassment.
Moyong Taek, wearing an even deeper shade of shame, humbly accepted the cheers and jeers from the stands.
"Hm... Brother Geum. After that mood-killing finishing blow, how about 'Cold Water Taek' as a new nickname?"
"Aptly put."
Geum Sihyeon and Unhak grinned ear to ear.
Less joy at a friend's victory, more like mischievous kids who'd found a new toy.
With the sparring tournament behind them...
Fun at Hundred Flowers Academy vanished entirely.
Biologically speaking, dopamine has its limits, and May had been too wild anyway.
"Urgh... Uuugh..."
The classes were ramping up in intensity.
The one he regretted taking most was Understanding Evil Faction Martial Arts.
Sorry, Teacher Chicken Beak...
Actually, no—not sorry at all...!
"Huff... Huff... Huff..."
"The winner... is playing... the wounded hero..."
"..."
Watching Cold Water Taek suffer even more eased his own pain a bit.
This must be what friendship is.
"Stop!"
Boom!
Thud!
Thump!
At Teacher Chicken Beak's shout...
Sounds of sandbags unwinding from bodies and hitting the floor echoed everywhere.
"Amitabha, you've all worked hard."
The bald monk's voice—having corrupted half the curriculum to external arts—threw the class into further disarray.
After taking the Great Reversion Pill, just return to Shaolin quietly. No need to plant your ass here offering to help with external arts lectures.
He'd subtly complained to Teacher Chicken Beak.
- Hm, disciple. That monk's cracked open the skulls of at least a thousand evil faction scum. They say the evil factions can't gain a foothold in Hubei because he keeps his eyes peeled.
It fell on deaf ears.
"Class dismissed for today! Good work, everyone!"
Teacher Chicken Beak cheerfully called it.
"A drink?"
"Sure."
"Me too."
"Ah, cold water in the booze..."
"You little shit..."
As they traded their usual banter and sauntered toward the city to wash away the day's fatigue...
Bzzz—
His smartphone—set to silent except for a few contacts—vibrated for the first time in ages.
[Geum Sirang]
[Come to my instructor's office immediately upon receipt]
"...Looks like you'll have to drink without me."
He smacked Unhak's whining head about meeting another girl, then dragged his heavy feet onward.
Geum Sirang wasn't one to message first.
Something must have come up.