Chapter 179: Swordsman (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 179: Swordsman (2)
The one who held the purse strings of the Martial World Alliance had come face-to-face with the Commander of the Demonlight Wing of the Desolate Fortress.
The confrontation between these two figures instantly drew the attention of everyone, even those who had been hurriedly clearing the path.
“Miss Ye? Wasn’t her hair originally red?”
“You’re behind on the news. They say she reached great completion in her inner cultivation method.”
“An achievement in her breathing technique? That makes no sense.”
“The unmarried children of the Ye family never make their names public. I heard it’s because their hair turns a reddish-black, like they practice a blood art. But once their mastery deepens, their black hair returns—and for her, it happened right in the middle of the Sect Founding Ceremony.”
“In the middle of the Sect Founding Ceremony…! Were there many witnesses?”
“It was in front of a massive crowd. The heads of various martial clans and the Alliance Leader himself were present. Having proven her martial prowess on top of her lineage and financial power, isn't that why she was appointed Chief Military Strategist of the Inner Court?”
“But can you really just brush it off as ‘similar’? I mean, isn’t it far too similar…?”
The man in the yellow robe lowered his voice. The swordsman he was speaking with gave a faint smile.
“They say a master’s enlightenment comes in a flash. You can’t hide the disposition that reveals itself when breaking through a bottleneck. It happened when the White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin, was facing a crisis during his duel; she suddenly attained a great awakening in the spectator seats. The sight of a pure, clear energy washing her red hair pitch-black… Personally, it left as strong an impression as the Eon Family Fist. It completely dispelled any suspicion.”
“The White Qilin! Right, what happened to him? I heard he fought a mid-tier expert from the Hongwon Gate!”
“He wasn’t a mid-tier warrior, but the sect leader himself. A seasoned master in his forties…”
Jeong Yeon-shin heard everything.
Even before Ye Ha-rin drew near, the halo—the manifestation of the internal energy the boy had cultivated—had reacted. If it had moved on its own, even for a moment, it was something he could not ignore.
That was why he remained perfectly still.
As she came within two paces, he was briefly reminded of the Seventh Apostle. It was because of her cheerful tone, which seemed strangely detached from the world. Had their voices been similar, his suspicions might have deepened.
The masseter muscles on either side of her slender jawline were also slightly wider. The space between her brows and the bridge of her nose was minutely broader as well. These were areas where nerves and the acupoints of the upper dantian were concentrated, locations that could not be altered even with the Face-Changing Art.
Still, he had to be certain.
He didn’t move as she reached out, just as he had done when instantly identifying the energy of the unorthodox factions. He intended to verify her true qi through physical contact. However, the halo, which had pulsed once, didn’t react again.
This held true even when her hand made full contact. Unless some rare treasure capable of completely concealing one’s disposition existed, she was almost certainly an orthodox martial artist.
Did my Dharma Power react first?
It was possible if she cultivated pure energy. Taoist Yu-hyeon of the Mount Hua Sect, who practiced the renowned Purple Mist Divine Art, had been the same. The same would apply to Wiji Myo-hwa, who cultivated the Taoist-derived Zhongnan martial arts.
As the boy calmly organized his thoughts, she spoke.
“You’re less shy than you look. Despite that stoic expression, you seem to have a soft heart.”
Step.
Ye Ha-rin curled the corners of her lips and took a step back. Her hand, which had been resting on the back of his, pulled away, her index and middle fingers the last to leave. It was a Sword Secret Finger—she was indeed a practitioner of the Jianghu.
“Since I feel like I’m at a disadvantage, I’ll tell you this: that was my childhood name. I have another name, given to me after my coming-of-age ceremony. I can only share it at an important moment.”
“Just tell me what the Sword Saint said,” the boy stated.
Ye Ha-rin’s smile deepened. “That really was all of it. He merely suggested we could promise a future meeting. Whether you follow his advice is up to you. Who here has the right to force the hand of a Black Rank from the Desolate Fortress?”
“I see,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied shortly.
A tingling sensation seeped into his upper dantian. It was a dense, thick wave of goodwill flowing in through his Baihui point, which had recently opened even wider. It originated from the smiling Ye Ha-rin. It felt like a sweet candy melting in his mind. She was a bizarre individual.
Shaking his head inwardly, the boy slowly took a step forward.
Just then, Ye Ha-rin gathered her fluttering white sleeves behind her back. “The White Qilin participated in the Sect Founding Tournament in your stead. He should be preparing for his next duel now.”
“……Thank you.”
“We will be seeing each other often from now on. It has become my duty to treat you with due respect. We must extend the utmost courtesy to envoys from great sects outside the Alliance.”
She laughed, asking him not to turn her away if she dropped by unannounced.
Pausing for a moment, Jeong Yeon-shin resumed walking.
The Lazy Flame Dragon, who had been scanning the Alliance warriors, immediately fell in step beside him, lowering his head slightly.
“She seems arrogant, but she doesn’t cross the line. When she touched you, she deliberately relaxed her forearm and completely withdrew the energy from her meridians. She’s clearly mastered orthodox martial arts, and her control over her internal energy is remarkable.”
“……”
“So that was the famous ‘Miss Ye.’ I hear there are few young masters here who don’t yearn for her. It’s no wonder even those Orthodox bastards, who grew up seeing only the finest things, lose their minds over her.”
The Lazy Flame Dragon chattered on, seemingly trying to lighten the mood. With a sly look, he stole a glance at his commander. He knew what the reward of the Sect Founding Tournament, the Shaolin Great Restoration Pill, meant to Jeong Yeon-shin.
The boy had already given the Small Restoration Pill, his reward from the Sichuan mission, to his grandfather, Ma Yeon-jeok. It had been a spirit elixir bestowed by the Chief Steward’s Office for his merits, an item obtained from Shaolin that awaited a worthy contributor. He had been told he was free to use it as he pleased.
He had left it at the bedside of his sleeping grandfather. After nearly perishing alongside the Blood Flame Cult Leader, Ma Yeon-jeok had become as gaunt as a mummy and frequently lost consciousness.
A Small Restoration Pill isn’t enough.
But the Great Restoration Pill, its reputation in the Jianghu second only to the fruit of the World Tree, would be different. He didn’t expect his grandfather to regain his martial arts all at once. He just wanted to see him move freely again.
The image of his grandfather standing against the Blood Flame Cult Leader amidst swirling blue flames was seared into his mind. It was the love of a blood relative, something he had never known before. This wasn't something he would give up on because of the Alliance leadership's schemes.
Strength surged into the hand gripping his sword hilt. He hadn’t let go even when Ye Ha-rin had touched him. Blue veins pulsed on the back of his hand.
“First, we focus on the Sect Founding Tournament,” the boy said.
The Lazy Flame Dragon chuckled softly, as if pleased. “I like how you pour all your focus into one thing, Commander. It’s thrilling. It makes you wonder what will happen next. But didn’t they say the tournament has already begun?”
“What does that matter?”
It wasn’t Jeong Yeon-shin who spoke, but Heonwon Chang. His eyes flashed as he walked with them toward the Rhyme-Fragrance Court. A colorless glow, the light of internal energy, flickered in his pupils. He had been fuming ever since he heard the news.
“I will teach these bastards the meaning of shame. You only need to swing your sword, Commander.”
“Convenient. I like it,” the Lazy Flame Dragon muttered.
The gawking Alliance warriors gradually fell away behind them, as did the onlookers. They had just witnessed the Chief Military Strategist of the Inner Court conversing with the Commander of the Demonlight Wing of the Desolate Fortress. The sight of such high-ranking figures associating was enough to demoralize any ordinary martial artist.
The only one with a hint of a smile was the young lady of the Ye clan. She alone stared openly at the back of the young Commander of the Demonlight Wing.
No matter what that old Sword Saint babbles, the Grand Preceptor's will comes first. Well, at least I delivered the message.
Leaving her smooth smile behind them, the Demonlight Wing party soon entered the Rhyme-Fragrance Court. It was not the tranquil residence it usually was; a faint scent of blood hung in the air.
While the servants were startled by their sudden entrance, Jeong Yeon-shin spotted Namgung Hwa-shin in the courtyard. He was bent over a small pond, rinsing his hands.
The Blue Rank expert’s posture was disheveled. With one foot propped on a rock, he wiped clotted blood from his lips with the back of his hand. He seemed to have wanted to present himself in perfect condition upon sensing their approach, but realizing he was too late, he gave an embarrassed smile.
“I am glad you are safe,” Namgung Hwa-shin said.
The boy gazed at him blankly. “……I heard you took my place on the duel stage.”
“My luck in the matchups was good, so I didn’t lose. I was also pleased not to have run into any rising stars. The warriors I faced, up to the last one, were all mid-tier martial artists who provided good learning experiences. In any case, most of the younger generation has been eliminated, and they say only middle-aged and older masters remain.”
His tone was gentle. Was this how his older brother, the Azure Qilin, had once looked at him? He wore a faint smile, like the small ripples in the pond beside him. Yet, he looked exhausted.
“……”
The autumn wind brushed sharply against the boy’s face. Jeong Yeon-shin felt a strange, translucent sensation as an invisible breath of wind lingered in the silence. The ripples on the pond spread outward in layers.
“Thank you,” the boy said.
* * *
The next day, the news of the Desolate Fortress party’s return did not garner much attention. The Alliance warriors who had witnessed their arrival near the main gate felt a sense of shame and had no choice but to keep quiet about it. The leadership of the Martial World Alliance also refrained from broadcasting the news of the Deep Martial Alliance’s defeat. These were days of celebration, meant to boost the morale of the Alliance. The Sect Founding Tournament was a grand festival of martial arts unfolding in Hanzhong, Shaanxi.
“The Radiant Zen Sword! The First Hero of Yeoju! Let those who will broaden the horizons of our comrades step forward!”
A voice infused with internal energy rang out. Jegal Cheon, the acting Chief Military Strategist, a middle-aged man in deep green martial robes, stepped forward in person. He stood atop the massive circular duel stage that symbolized the Alliance's legitimacy in the Orthodox Martial World. A tremendous roar erupted from the surroundings.
Waaaaaaah!
A crowd of nearly a thousand surrounded the area, their heat so intense it felt as if the season had reverted to summer. The wooden watchtowers erected in all directions were packed with people, a miracle they were still standing.
A middle-aged man in a yellow robe stepped onto the stage. He was Seop Un-cheol, the Radiant Zen Sword, a warrior born and raised in Hanzhong. His thick, sword-like eyebrows and exceptionally clear eyes testified to his extraordinary nature. He was also famous as the brother-in-law of the Jegal Clan Leader.
The aura of So Jun, the First Hero of Yeoju, who approached from the opposite side, was just as outstanding. The moment he stepped onto the duel stage, the spectators who had climbed the watchtowers swayed in unison, rocked by the wave of energy carried in his footwork.
The presence of these mid-tier masters was entirely different from that of the rising stars. They were the true protagonists contending for supremacy in the Sect Founding Tournament.
“There are so many dragons and tigers. Was there really a need to force the schedule forward?”
“We had to consider all contingencies.”
“What about public opinion?”
“Hanzhong is already Alliance territory. If we speak of the greater cause, the shame will be diluted.”
“The strategist is correct. Besides… it’s not as if we lack masters below the elder rank who can face the Commander of the Demonlight Wing. The heads of each clan’s martial units are in their prime. Hasn’t the Hwasan Sword Excellence also descended from the mountain?”
“It would be best not to bring that up. Pitting a young master who hasn’t even reached twenty against them was the Desolate Fortress’s trap from the start. For us, losing would be an absolute disgrace, and even winning wouldn’t be a complete victory.”
This was the spectator section for the Martial World Alliance leadership. Beneath a brilliant canopy, quiet conversation flowed within the wide shade. A sense of victory, something they had taken for granted their entire lives, lent an elegance to their words. They were the local aristocrats of the martial world, living in a world of their own.
To one side, a middle-aged swordsman in the robes of the Mount Hua Sect furrowed his brow. His closed eyes and crossed arms betrayed his discomfort. The Small Sword Empress, present as the representative and chief disciple of the Diancang Sect, was the same, a strangely uncomfortable expression barely concealed beneath her blank face. However, the Sect Founding Tournament was a torrent signaling the changing of the times, something the sects cultivating the Dao deep in the mountains could do little about.
“The Radiant Zen Sword and the First Hero of Yeoju. Who did you bet on?”
“I’ve already bet half my remaining fortune on the Hwasan Sword Excellence and the Eon Family's Number One Fist… but just watching their duel is eye-opening. Personally, I think the Radiant Zen Sword’s swordsmanship is slightly sharper. He was once called the greatest genius of Hanzhong.”
“I imagine the people from Yangzhou Prefecture would beg to differ.”
While the crowd conversed excitedly, Seop Un-cheol and So Jun stood facing each other. In an instant, the heat intensified as the cheers rose without end.
The unprecedented festival in the Central Plains, ongoing for four days, was about to begin once more.
It was then.
Boom!
A single banner plunged diagonally into the center of the duel stage. A fierce shockwave tore into the ground, sending dust sweeping outward in concentric circles, laden with violent true qi.
A white robe tied to a steel flagpole fluttered wildly, revealing the character ‘Hwang’ engraved on its back for all the world to see.
“The Commander of the Demonlight Wing of the Desolate Fortress! Jeong Yeon-shin, the Flash Art, who took pity on the common folk of Hanzhong!”
A young man's voice, infused with true qi raised to its absolute peak, resounded. It possessed the same quality as the colorless energy shimmering from the banner, and it echoed in all directions as if he had mastered the Lion's Roar.
“Has returned after defeating the Yeongcheon Sword Ghost and the martial arts army of the Deep Martial Alliance—!”
It was a tremendous roar. For a moment, the very air seemed to tremble.
An unexpected crisis had erupted, a method rarely conceived of in the Orthodox Jianghu. Despite its reckless nature, it was a sight that shook the hearts of the crowd. Whispers spread in all directions like a tidal wave.
In the brief moment it took for hundreds of martial artists to blink, a boy in a black robe stood beneath the white banner of the Desolate Fortress—an astonishing display of his Body Protection Scripture.
The terrifying backdraft of his light-footwork swept in a moment later.
Amidst his pitch-black robe and black hair fluttering in the wind, the young Commander of the Demonlight Wing slowly parted his lips.
“I was meant to participate as an envoy, but due to my own lack of virtue, I am late. Was your Alliance not formed to oppose our fortress? What meaning is there in my absence? Is that not so?”
He carried himself entirely as a Black Rank of the Desolate Fortress. His voice was truly arrogant, as was his posture and disposition. The young supreme master stood proudly between the Radiant Zen Sword and the First Hero of Yeoju.
With his smooth chin slightly raised, he looked down upon the crowd below.
“The Commander of the Demonlight Wing?”
“That Body Protection Scripture…!”
The boy didn't spare the two mid-tier masters so much as a glance.
With one hand behind his back, he wrapped the other around the banner of the Desolate Fortress. Then, pulling the flagpole free from the ground, he spoke.
“The Desolate Fortress does not avoid a challenge.”
With those words, he drove it back down.
Thud!
A heavy vibration rang out. A wave of internal power, accompanied by a dusty wind, rippled outward from his feet. The flagpole now stood perfectly perpendicular to the stage. The banner, catching the recoil, fluttered, proudly displaying the wild character ‘Hwang’.
“I feel a deep responsibility for my lateness. Therefore, from this moment on, I shall face every single duel alone.”
The Commander of the Demonlight Wing curled his lips upward.
“Don't worry about the shame of a Chariot Wheel Battle.”
“……”
For a few breaths, time froze, as if the world itself had ground to a halt.