Chapter 182: Swordsman (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 182: Swordsman (5)
Rustle.
A soft sound echoed as various sleeves brushed against the massive round table.
Figures cloaked in formidable auras took their seats. A lustrous sheen gleamed from the colorful, exquisite robes each of them wore.
Every single one was dressed in immaculate silk. As expected of the regional aristocrats of the Orthodox factions, who dedicated their mornings to honing ultimate arts, their complexions were exceptionally vibrant.
These were people who sweated daily in the training grounds of prestigious clans; none among them ever neglected their grooming.
“The azure sky was exceptionally blue today. It felt almost like spring.”
A middle-aged man with a noble countenance sat in the seat farthest from the door. In his left hand, he held a White Crane Fan adorned with a dark blue tassel.
His snow-white robe complemented his pale, snowy skin perfectly, and he possessed sharp, slender facial features beneath thick eyebrows.
It was a face truly befitting the father of Seon-ryong Jegal Hyeon.
He was the Jegal Clan Leader.
He was also called the reincarnation of the Crouching Dragon.
This was not because he possessed miraculous, god-like strategies. Rather, the title signified that he had the appearance and dignity worthy of comparison to Jegal Muhu of the Shu Kingdom.
The sorcerous martial arts befitting his status as a clan leader also contributed to his alias. Rumors even whispered that his realm allowed him to occasionally interfere with the weather.
The Jegal Clan Leader calmly continued.
“The sword of that youth, cleaving through the heavens, was so magnificent it was hard to believe. Was it not incredibly dazzling and beautiful?”
“……”
He was speaking of the Flash Art, Jeong Yeon-shin.
They had gathered to discuss countermeasures.
The Commander of the Demonlight Wing had ultimately joined the Sect Founding Ceremony. Mud was about to be splattered all over the event meant to showcase the alliance’s face to the world.
The tyrannical, divine prowess displayed by the Desolate Fortress’s young Black Rank expert reminded some veterans of the Jianghu of the Hegemon Hero, Ma Yeon-jeok—the monster of the imperial-backed sect who had donned a purple robe at the age of thirty.
“We were prepared to endure the shame. We made a difficult decision, but human affairs always seem to return to the proper path in the end. Those wicked schemes simply didn’t work.”
The Jegal Clan Leader smiled faintly.
Silence fell. The atmosphere in the room was starkly different from his expression. A chilly air drifted over the elegant round table.
There was no one present who did not know that the true power behind the alliance was furious.
“And the Alliance Leader?” a middle-aged swordsman with fierce, glaring eyes suddenly asked.
It was the Moyong Clan Head. He wore a pink robe of a deeper shade than his son, Moyong Myeong-jun.
The way his hand rested lightly on his sword hilt in the meeting hall was strangely natural. For the greatest swordsman of Liaodong, any eccentricity was permitted.
“Ah, I was rambling.”
The Jegal Clan Leader’s smile deepened.
“The words I just spoke were those of the Alliance Leader.”
“That aloof rogue swordsman?” the Moyong Clan Head countered, furrowing his brow.
It was a solemn meeting hall. The only things that entered were shafts of sunlight filtering through the windows, dust motes swimming lazily in the beams illuminating the table.
Even though the Moyong Clan Head spoke so lightly of the Sword Saint, no one reacted. Only the complexions of a few rising stars, including Jegal Hyeon and Gongson Min, faltered slightly.
Jegal Hyeon and Ak Ye-rim, who had parted ways with the Commander of the Demonlight Wing on West Peak Road, had returned safely.
They had avoided the disaster of heading toward Seven Crowds Gorge and running into the Yeongcheon Sword Ghost.
This was because they had received a short letter delivered by the Diancang Sect’s spirit beast, which belonged to the Small Sword Empress Chwi So-ok, with whom they were already on friendly terms.
This is uncomfortable, Jegal Hyeon thought.
No matter what others said, the Commander of the Demonlight Wing he had met was a boy with a surprisingly innocent side.
Despite possessing such lofty martial prowess at a young age, he had listened intently to Jegal Hyeon’s words.
When dealing with the common folk, he was just a boy his age. He had even taken the death of the Azure Qilin to heart, even though he could have easily condemned him along with the rest of the Namgung Clan.
If the Flash Art had been a man from a noble family, he would have disparaged the character of the one who died by his hand and claimed his own actions were entirely justified. I have seen it far too many times. Even in my own clan...
The young Commander of the Demonlight Wing had not done that. He was a budding chivalrous hero. He should not be the target of such underhanded schemes.
Just as disillusionment welled up to his throat, Seon-ryong Jegal Hyeon heard a voice via sound transmission.
—Don’t let it show on your face, my foolish brother.
The girl sitting beside him kept her eyes cast down indifferently. Sweeping her black hair, tied with sky-blue silk, over her shoulder, she did not spare a single glance for anyone in the room.
The Serene Deep Eye, Jegal Cheong-a. She was Jegal Hyeon’s younger sister.
She had made a name for herself early on as a prodigy of eye techniques. She was also famous for her beauty, which was no less striking than her brother’s.
Hearing her transmission, Jegal Hyeon corrected his expression and immediately looked toward his father.
Fortunately, the Jegal Clan Leader was slowly nodding without looking in their direction.
The father of the Jegal siblings spoke softly.
“It seems our Sword Saint has fallen deeply for the talent of the Desolate Fortress’s young commander. Isn’t it quite surprising? Most of the Flash Art’s well-known achievements were accomplished through palm techniques, not swordplay. He seems more like a natural-born brawler than a sword prodigy, yet the Sword Saint’s eyes seem to have perceived a different aspect.”
“In truth, the Alliance Leader’s inner thoughts are none of our concern. We ought to focus on the uninvited guest. It’s quite a spectacle, is it not? The way he runs wild has reached a point where we can no longer sit idly by.”
“Moyong Clan Head, please share your esteemed opinion.”
“I have observed the Flash Art closely and noticed a sword wound on his lower left abdomen. An extraordinary sharp energy emanated from the scar. It was no ordinary, profound sword mark.”
The Jegal Clan Leader smiled.
“I saw it too. It must be a strike delivered by the Yeongcheon Sword Ghost.”
“Since it’s not a wound that will heal easily, it might suffice to devise a way to drag out the time gracefully. The more he continues to duel without recuperating, the worse his internal injuries will become. Perhaps the children under our wings might even secure a victory.”
As the Moyong Clan Head finished speaking, a colorless light flashed in his eyes.
It was then.
Miss Ye, sitting at one corner of the round table, slightly raised her head. Sunlight dappled her elegant jawline.
The Ye Clan Leader sitting next to her reacted immediately. He was a man neatly dressed in pure white martial robes, looking like the chief steward of a prestigious clan.
He raised his hand to draw attention, then spoke slowly.
“To begin with, calling him an uninvited guest is a misnomer. Did we not invite him ourselves? We summoned the Desolate Fortress envoy to save our alliance’s face and to declare to the world that we do not fear the imperial family’s watchdogs.”
“Are you rebuking us, saying our response in moving up the schedule was sloppy?” the Moyong Clan Head asked.
“I am saying we need a more constructive discussion. Dragging out the time gracefully? No suitable method comes to mind... Instead, how about a ten-move duel?”
It was a statement that commanded attention. The Ye Family had established themselves during the late Yuan Dynasty, alongside clans like the Blood Flame Cult and the Brightfolk.
The financial power stemming from their history of running merchant groups was immense.
Even after pouring vast sums of money into the establishment of the Martial World Alliance, they remained its primary source of funding.
This meant their influence within the alliance was formidable.
The Jegal Clan Leader showed interest.
“A ten-move duel. Are you suggesting we impose a condition on the Sect Founding Ceremony?”
“Isn’t the key issue right now saving our alliance’s face? Whether we struggle against a young expert, lose to him, or have a mid-tier peak expert barely win after a battle of attrition like a gauntlet duel, it is a massive loss either way. If we limit the number of exchanges, they can fight with their full strength without it truly being a full-scale battle, allowing both the winner and the loser to save face. Let us look at the bigger picture. Let’s not be bound by a single individual like the Commander of the Demonlight Wing,” the Ye Clan Leader said.
The Jegal Clan Leader lightly stroked his smooth chin.
“Indeed, if we do that, an inferior fighter might even snatch victory from a superior master... It will be a fight with many variables. You make a valid point.”
“We can attach any number of pretexts to it. Since these are highly turbulent times, wouldn’t the preservation of the Orthodox heroes’ strength serve as a fine justification?”
The discussion continued.
Jegal Hyeon and Jegal Cheong-a listened in silence.
The same went for Ak Ye-rim, Gongson Min, and Moyong Myeong-jun. They were in no position to rashly voice their opinions.
The conversation of the elders who moved the upper echelons of the Jianghu was grave. It remained so until the meeting concluded.
The Commander of the Demonlight Wing, whom Ak Ye-rim and Moyong Myeong-jun had rashly invited to a banquet before, was walking in a realm clearly distinct from that of the rising stars.
*
“You and the Flash Art. I heard you associated with him on your way to West Peak Road.”
The Jegal Clan Leader said as he left the meeting hall, accompanied by his two children.
He spoke while staring straight ahead, not looking at them. Jegal Hyeon bowed his head slightly and spoke.
“We merely exchanged a few words.”
“How absurd. You couldn’t even bring yourself to deceive the boy? If it had been your younger sister, she would have found out even the name of the maidservant the Flash Art loved in his childhood. Any information possessed by a Black Rank of the Desolate Fortress must be treated as a treasure.”
“……I apologize.”
“Enough,” the Jegal Clan Leader said indifferently. “Cheong-a, listen.”
“Yes,” Jegal Cheong-a, walking a step behind, replied softly.
“We have recovered the Azure Qilin’s corpse. We were also able to obtain the corpses of several of the Deep Martial Alliance bastards who were killed on West Peak Road.”
“……”
“Examine them. Although we have already identified various techniques in the Flash Art’s martial arts... a ten-move duel carries high uncertainty. Report back with a fresh perspective, without missing a single clue. The Commander of the Demonlight Wing is extremely strong.”
“I understand,” the girl replied expressionlessly.
In that moment, Jegal Hyeon’s face contorted. Nothing pleased him.
Not his sister and himself, who submitted to their authoritarian father’s oppression, nor his father, who engaged in underhanded schemes under the guise of a grand cause.
He had shared this very sentiment with his friend, Namgung Se-jin.
They were strong as the young masters of noble families, but weak as Orthodox martial artists. This had been true for all twenty-eight years of their lives.
Jegal Hyeon watched his younger sister walk away with monotonous steps.
He involuntarily thought that he envied Namgung Se-jin, who had met his end on his own terms.
*
The clear sunlight tilted. The autumn wind swept past, stealing time away.
Jegal Cheong-a had to examine the corpses of those slain by the Commander of the Demonlight Wing. Wounds originating from martial arts always told many stories.
From the traces of crushed internal power, one could discern the nature of the shockwaves. From the trajectories left in the sword marks, it was possible to estimate the sword path.
For her, it was a bit easier—at least, when it came to the wounds of the living.
The girl had achieved great completion in the Jegal Clan’s secret eye technique at an early age. This was because she had been designated as the 'eyes of the clan' since birth and was forced to train only in eye techniques.
Her exceptional talent among the clan’s rising stars also played a part.
Even so, it was her first time deciphering martial arts from the traces on a corpse. Her father was accustomed to pushing her and her brother’s limits in this manner.
He taught them to wear the mask of righteousness while pursuing the clan’s interests.
“My Lady, why are you in a place like this…”
“I received orders,” she replied in an emotionless tone.
Passing by the flustered subordinates, she stepped over the threshold of a secret pavilion. An escort immediately joined her.
An expressionless man guided the girl deeper into the interior.
The things passing through her vision were both familiar and strange. Faint sunlight, dark wooden floors, and the cold texture brushing against her feet.
The moment she entered the room at the end of the hallway, an old retainer of the clan stood guard outside the door.
Jegal Cheong-a faced five people lying with their eyes closed. Her own eyes trembled slightly.
Sarak.
The girl bowed twice toward them. Her black hair, tied in a single ponytail, flowed down darkly, and her sky-blue sleeves swept the floor twice.
Rising, Jegal Cheong-a stared down at Namgung Se-jin’s corpse.
His closed eyes looked gentle. His pale complexion stood out.
Even if preserved by Maoshan Sect sorcery, a corpse was still a corpse. He could not find peace even in death. This was the price of being born into a noble family and enjoying its power.
It was deeply tragic—both the life of the Azure Qilin and the plight of Jegal Cheong-a.
“Setting aside the power…” the girl murmured to herself as she scanned the traces of the sword’s path across Namgung Se-jin’s body.
She wanted to escape this place quickly. She examined the scar that reached his ribs and checked his flank, which had been crushed by a palm technique.
She fully engraved the martial arts of the Flash Art, the Commander of the Demonlight Wing, into her eyes.
An internal power gathered in Jegal Cheong-a’s pupils. A leaf-green light flashed across her pitch-black eyes.
There is a singular intent that penetrates all of his martial arts.
The girl’s eyes widened. Something was approaching her through the realm of intuition.
The inspiration that often flashes in the minds of geniuses reacted to the traces left by the Flash Art. It surged through her genius-level sense of Qi.
A blue spark flared in her eyes. It was a gaze brimming with brilliant talent.
She thought:
It is intuitive, desperate, and fast.
A strange emotion appeared on the girl’s face.
What could possibly be lacking in a boy who could be called the greatest under heaven among his peers? She had once thought it was unfair for such talent to exist in the world.
Although the talent of the Hwangbo Clan’s Lazy Flame Dragon was said to be the greatest among the noble families, the Solar Divine Pulse was a constitution that demanded a heavy price.
Why did the Commander of the Demonlight Wing meld such an intent into his martial arts? As the youngest Black Rank of the Desolate Fortress, he possessed everything.
The wounds grew progressively deeper. It means his sword force was delivered properly. The fact that the effective hits of his shockwaves increased noticeably means his martial prowess steadily rose even in the midst of a life-and-death duel... There cannot be another monster like him in the world.
For the first time, interest colored the girl’s face.
She intentionally nurtured the small emotion that arose in order to endure the guilt of examining corpses.
Jegal Cheong-a wondered: what deficiency did the most perfect boy in the Jianghu possess?
Just as her brother Jegal Hyeon had formed a bond with the Azure Qilin and then the Flash Art, could she and the young commander of the Desolate Fortress also empathize with each other through mutual pity?
*
The Commander of the Demonlight Wing.
The winning streak of the Flash Art, Jeong Yeon-shin, continued unabated. This remained true even after he accepted the proposal of a ten-move duel.
The boy was somewhat puzzled. It was a duel format that was highly advantageous to him.
This was true in terms of stamina and especially true for facing the Hwasan Sword Excellence.
The Sword Excellence was indeed the strongest expert at the Sect Founding Ceremony.
It was said he was on par with Ma Jin in his prime—a realm where flowers bloomed from the sword.
His experience in wielding a sword would be on an entirely different level from that of the newly appointed commander of the Desolate Fortress. The longer the exchange dragged on, the higher the likelihood of defeat.
I was planning to end it quickly anyway, but to think they would make it an official rule.
The boy thought, standing face-to-face with the leader of the Moyong Clan’s Heavenly Spirit Sword Unit.
“I heard a rumor that you are a Grandmaster. They say that because all ultimate arts were tailored to your body from birth, it is not strange for you to display such martial power at a young age. Is that true? I find it hard to believe.”
The middle-aged swordsman in red robes asked.
He had narrow eyes beneath a wide brow. His probing gaze was incredibly sharp.
The upper echelons of the Martial World Alliance had already analyzed all the martial arts the Flash Art had shown.
The Commander of the Demonlight Wing’s techniques took the form of single, decisive strikes.
With an internal power that seemed influenced by the Orthodox Buddhist sects, his martial arts were explosive, built for powerful single blows. It was a style that would have worked exceptionally well in realms where one was desperate to survive.
But the world of a true expert is different.
The Commander of the Heavenly Spirit Sword Unit scanned the boy’s entire body.
In battles between peak experts, they contest the flow. That is why they connect forms to weave patterns of fist and sword techniques.
That is also why a rogue martial artist cannot defeat an expert who has trained in Orthodox martial arts.
Once an opponent who can withstand single strikes seizes the upper hand with systematic swordplay, the other is bound to be defeated helplessly.
The ten-move rule was unnecessary. The leadership, frightened that the process of defeating him might be tedious, had erred.
They had been too busy trying to create a format where the alliance’s martial artists could save face even if they lost. Their perspective was different from that of the young Commander of the Demonlight Wing.
The Commander of the Heavenly Spirit Sword Unit continued speaking to the silent boy.
“Because your very existence defies belief, all sorts of wild rumors are circulating. Most of them must be nonsense. It’s a pity about the ten-move rule. Swordsmen are supposed to share their feelings through the vibration of their blades, but I doubt I will even feel a tickle in my palm.”
“You talk too much,” Jeong Yeon-shin said. “Has the duel begun?”
A lingering, arrogant smile curled the lips of the Commander of the Heavenly Spirit Sword Unit. Maintaining an utterly relaxed posture, he casually tapped his fingers against the hilt of his undrawn sword, projecting an air of absolute superiority.
He fully intended to exploit the ten-move rule to his absolute advantage. Deep within his heart, he harbored a bitter, deeply rooted personal grudge against the Desolate Fortress, and this duel presented the perfect opportunity to vent his long-held frustrations.
His plan was simple yet malicious: he would put on a grand show of bravado, effortlessly toy with and defeat this upstart boy, and in doing so, severely tarnish the vaunted prestige of the Black Rank for all the martial world to witness.
"Am I not graciously yielding the combat interval to you even now?" he mocked, his voice carrying effortlessly across the tense arena. "You may come at me whenever you wish. I have already crossed swords with the Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit from among your esteemed Black Ranks, so I am well aware of what you people are capable of..."
It was precisely at that moment.
A sudden, violent gust of wind blew across the dueling grounds, carrying with it a chilling premonition of death.
Without any warning, a blinding flash of a sword erupted directly into the vision of the Commander of the Heavenly Spirit Sword Unit.
‘What...?!’
A blade carrying a monstrous, heaven-shaking force cleaved straight toward his brow. It was as if the very wind, carved out of the empty air, had instantaneously transformed into a lethal, physical sword.
He could not even register the moment the weapon had been drawn from its sheath. A raging tempest erupted from the tip of the blade as it rushed forward, crossing the distance between them in a fraction of a second.
It was a chillingly terrifying shockwave that tore through the atmosphere. The surrounding scenery violently blurred out of focus, leaving the Commander's vision entirely consumed by a single, rapidly expanding point of deadly steel.
Driven purely by survival instincts, the swordsman of the Moyong Clan drew his own sword like a streak of lightning. There was absolutely no time to stamp his foot to gather his internal energy or establish a proper stance. He simply threw his arm upward in a desperate, rising slash to deflect the incoming doom.
Swaaaak!
The air itself warped translucently along the trajectory of his blade, a testament to the raw panic and power behind his swing. Yet, to his absolute horror, there was no impact felt in his palm. His sword hit nothing but empty air.
It had been a masterful feint—a phantom strike that flawlessly exploited a blind spot in his psychological defenses.
Instead of the heavy clash of steel, only a terrifyingly cold sensation brushing in a perfectly straight line against his exposed neck remained vivid in his mind.
Only belatedly did the true image of reality come into view. The boy was standing right beside him, his black robe fluttering wildly in the aftermath of his unnatural speed, casually holding his sword directly against the side of the Commander's neck.
The pure white light radiating from the razor-sharp blade cast an ethereal, almost divine glow over the deep, unreadable eyes of the young Commander of the Demonlight Wing.
An aura of strange, incomprehensible transcendence seemed to hover around the boy’s entire body. It was an uncanny, otherworldly presence that defied logic and reason, making him seem less like a mortal martial artist and more like a descending deity.
If the legendary Bodhidharma had lived as a mere mortal wandering the secular world, would he have looked like this? Perhaps it only felt that way because of the sheer, overwhelming shock of the situation, but the illusion was undeniably powerful.
"Indeed, you wouldn't have felt a thing! What incredible foresight!"
The mocking voice rang out loudly from the spectator seats. A brazen scoundrel, conspicuously wearing a sky-blue Hero’s Headband tied around his forehead, shouted with absolute glee, shattering the stunned silence of the arena.