Chapter 336: The Tyrannical Way
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 336: The Tyrannical Way
A village bathed in the gentle sunlight of dusk.
The settlement was vast, generously split down the middle by what used to be a clear, jade-green stream.
Now, dozens of corpses lay strewn along its banks, their blood mingling with the crimson hues of the setting sun. The lower reaches of the waterway were no longer clear. Mud and blood churned beneath the hooves of hundreds of warhorses, their continuous snorting echoing through the air.
"So much time has passed. The Commander of the Demonlight Wing must be dead by now."
A crisp voice drifted through the cool air.
It belonged to a young noble with bold, sharp features. Seated atop a white steed adorned with an antique saddle, he gazed into the depths of the village. His posture was impeccably straight, radiating a stability that far surpassed the mounted warriors surrounding him.
"How regrettable."
Though he had merely murmured to himself, his Hero's Headband—black silk embroidered with gold—fluttered backward.
This was the result of his immense Accumulated Qi Amount; his internal energy was vast enough to naturally resonate within his voice.
He was the Duke of Grand Bloom, Gun Yu-cheon. The Eldest Son of the Deep Martial Alliance.
"Blade Sovereign, we can afford to take our time a little, can we not?"
His clear question carried on a current of internal energy.
It brushed past the heads of several steeds to reach the far flank. Instantly, a woman's dry reply returned, sounding as if she were whispering directly into the young noble's ear.
"The Eldest Son speaks amusingly. This is not a level of damage that can be brushed aside with mere bravado."
"……"
Gun Yu-cheon's eyes twitched. He pressed his toes firmly into the stirrups against his white horse's flanks.
And yet you won't lift a single finger.
He deliberately refrained from turning to look at the Radiant Blade Venerable. It was a matter of pride.
He had traveled from the main headquarters bearing a grave responsibility: securing the northern military supply route. Word had it that the powerful demonfolk were taking advantage of the famine, their uprisings growing increasingly fierce.
Merely delivering the martial arts army to the border would earn him immense merit. It was also the perfect opportunity to flaunt the majesty of the Deep Martial Alliance.
Originally, five hundred men would have sufficed. That alone was a formidable force.
But to guarantee absolute success, Gun Yu-cheon had brought five hundred more. Such a mobilization was only possible because they were one of the preeminent warlord factions under heaven.
It had to be a thousand.
A famine that drove people to wield swords of plunder rather than carry sacks of grain.
The Yeoryeong Lord, who was orchestrating the absurd task of rallying the Thirteen Heavens.
The Shanxi martial world, now reduced to a wasteland.
The rising expert who had decapitated the Jegal Clan Leader.
The sudden movements of the Moyong Clan Head and the Leader of the Deep Martial Alliance.
With all these chaotic elements exerting a profound influence on the state of affairs, there was no telling what variables might threaten the supply route.
It was entirely possible that those strange, violent, and supernatural beings known as peerless experts were roaming the nearby Murim. Unlike the great sects, these vagabonds traversed the martial world with a divine might akin to a one-man sect.
To handle such unpredictable variables, a force of a thousand was an absolute necessity.
It wasn't even a matter of foresight.
Five days ago, when the rear of his camp was suddenly ambushed, Gun Yu-cheon had been too busy assessing the enemy to marvel at his own preparedness.
In the face of famine, the line between orthodox and unorthodox factions blurred. He had to identify the attacker.
It was an Apostle of the Blood Flame Cult.
Initially, it was infuriating. He had been on the verge of taking revenge on the Commander of the Demonlight Wing, the man who had ended the lives of his fiancée and the Twin-Wing Blood Venerable.
But upon seeing the Seventh Apostle with his own eyes, his mind changed.
I want her.
A desire he could never voice to his subordinates took root in his heart. Just as the rumors claimed, she possessed a bewitchingly beautiful appearance and astonishing talent.
If properly broken in, she wouldn't be a mere decorative poppy, but a martial artist who could serve as the most exquisite Divine Sword under heaven.
— She is a supreme expert, absolutely vital if we are to conquer the martial world. Even if we lose five hundred men here, capturing her alive makes this a highly profitable venture.
He had used this justification with the Blade Sovereign.
Since it was a logical argument, it naturally worked. The main headquarters of the Blood Flame Cult had recently been destroyed. Furthermore, as a faction under the unorthodox umbrella of the Thirteen Heavens, the Deep Martial Alliance possessed an open temperament that easily embraced outsiders.
Gun Yu-cheon thought it was a stroke of luck. Even as over a hundred of his mounted men fell to her blade, his conviction did not waver. The value of a supreme expert could hardly be measured in the blood of mere soldiers.
"Indeed, she has mastered a martial art with incomplete mnemonics. I wonder if she is arrogant or simply foolish."
The Blade Sovereign's earlier murmur had also played a major role in his decision.
They were currently surrounding the Seventh Apostle in the deserted village.
Even at a glance, her condition was far from normal. Her eyes were unfocused, and her solitary figure in the devastated village looked precarious, her center of balance constantly shifting. Bits of gore and dried blood clung to her ebony hair.
This was the grueling result of holding off an entire martial arts army for five days using the Blood Flame Cult's Graceful Body Technique.
"It has already been several days. Will you continue to just watch? It might be better to personally execute her..."
"The value of a Blood Flame Cult aristocrat turned rogue is hard to measure in gold," the Blade Sovereign replied to her direct subordinate. "Let alone the Seventh Apostle, who possesses the True Blood Physique. She will be of great strength to our alliance. Such talent and martial prowess cannot be found anywhere else."
"Then...?"
"The Eldest Son's decision is not wrong. If we feed her a Gu poison, she will more than fill the vacancy left by the Twin-Wing Blood Venerable. In fact, she is highly likely to surpass him."
"Understood."
"I intended to conserve my energy for the northern expedition... Had I known it would drag on like this, I would have fought her one-on-one from the very beginning."
The Blade Sovereign clicked her tongue.
"Behave yourself."
She stroked her horse's neck as she prepared to dismount.
Step.
A footstep echoed with a strange, dreamlike quality.
It did not belong to her.
In the eyes of the Blade Sovereign, who had just stepped down without even touching her stirrups, a bizarre sight unfolded.
A constellation-like haze of light left faint traces across her retinas.
A young man, exceptionally lean but with tightly corded muscles on his forearms, strolled through the ranks of the martial arts army. His somewhat short black robe fluttered behind him.
A faint, whitish glow trailed beneath his feet. Because his every step was incredibly swift, this phantom-like movement was visible only to the Blade Sovereign.
Having effortlessly bypassed the ironclad encirclement, the young man materialized before the Seventh Apostle in the very next instant.
"Stop," the Blade Sovereign commanded the mounted warriors.
She paid no heed to Gun Yu-cheon, whose head snapped up in sudden bewilderment. Even as the Eldest Son shouted something, she merely raised a hand to hold back the army.
All the while, she channeled her Flickering Layered Qi—the very technique that had earned her the title of Radiant Blade Venerable.
An expert.
The moment her True Qi flooded the fine vessels of her eyes, a suffocating pressure weighed down on her—a dread she had rarely felt, even in the harsh North.
She hesitated to strike. Her intuition screamed that this man was a monster.
Gun Yu-cheon, standing at the front of the ranks, also fell silent, his eyes narrowing.
Though some might dismiss him as a mere tiger's cub, he still carried the bloodline of the Leader of the Deep Martial Alliance. He could not deny the overwhelming presence of the expert standing before them. It was only right to observe the sudden intruder, at least for the moment.
"Where did he just come from?"
"The Blade Sovereign ordered us to stop. Is he a warrior of our alliance?"
"What kind of Body Protection Scripture is that...!"
Fluster spread among the mounted experts.
Yet, there was no major commotion. A wave of energy radiating from the Blade Sovereign's hand swept over them, keeping the ranks in check.
The soldiers merely displayed varying degrees of bewilderment, curiosity, intrigue, and fear.
"How can he move so freely? Is he just ignoring the Blood Art energy waves?"
"That demoness seems to have lost much of her strength, but leaving him to face her alone is another matter entirely."
"Eldest Son, is that man an ally?"
However, they soon shut their mouths.
A martial artist had to maintain a posture of learning even in the face of an enemy, all to further their own martial Dao. The confrontation unfolding before them was not something mere underlings were qualified to gossip about.
Though an unexpected variable had appeared, since the Eldest Son and the Blade Sovereign remained silent, the soldiers assumed the role of humble observers—a survival instinct honed in the North.
At the center of the army's encirclement, in a village completely abandoned by its commoners, a man and a woman stood facing each other.
At a glance, there was not much difference in their ages. Both possessed long, pitch-black hair and features illuminated by the setting sun. They even looked similarly gaunt, as if neither had eaten for a long time.
"I have never seen you in such a state," the young man murmured.
No answer came.
The Seventh Apostle merely lowered her head slightly, letting her hands hang loosely at her sides. It was a starting stance that allowed her to seamlessly transition into fist, palm, or kicking techniques.
Though they were clearly acquaintances, she did not recognize him.
Qi deviation.
Beside her eyepatch, her remaining eye gleamed a feral crimson. She was entirely trapped in madness, acting purely on the instincts of an expert whose combat interval had been breached, warily observing the intruder.
The bloody mist surrounding the Seventh Apostle grew even denser.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, intangible waves of energy erupted sporadically from the young man's body. The calm aura he had originally possessed vanished in an instant.
Waves of internal power clawed at the dirt ground like tangled hemp. He shrouded himself in a demonic energy potent enough to steal a person's soul.
The ranks of the army stirred in alarm.
His posture shifted under the influence of this dark energy. His hands, which had hung neatly beneath his black robe, now exuded a decadent, lethal quality.
Every time the invisible waves of energy clashed, a sinister hiss echoed like a striking snake.
The young man took a slow step forward.
Step.
The mist conjured by the Seventh Apostle's internal power wavered. It failed to impede his steps for even a moment, parting as if welcoming one of its own.
"……?"
Their temperaments were remarkably similar. Both were shrouded in irregularly spreading waves of internal power. A True Qi that felt both sinister and elegant—the word "aristocrat" suited it perfectly.
The young man, who had arrived bearing a bizarre Body Protection Scripture, looked in this moment exactly like the Seventh Apostle's fellow disciple. It would not have been strange if he had addressed her as his Senior or Junior Sister right then and there.
A peculiar expression crossed the Seventh Apostle's face.
It was entirely different from a moment ago when she could barely support her own weight. Her ruby-like eye drifted slightly upward, as if scanning the depths of her past.
"Mara... True-Blood Art?" she muttered haltingly.
Then, her bright red lips curved into a smooth, deadly arc.
In the next instant, her figure blurred.
Clang!
The explosion occurred the very moment their palms met. A translucent concentric circle of force swept out in all directions.
The aftermath of the strike was violent. The stream flowing behind them erupted upward with a deafening roar.
It did not stop at a single exchange.
The man and woman began to furiously trade blows. A storm of shockwaves raged along the faintly intertwining forms of their limbs.
The upper branches of a thick, ancient tree snapped and shattered, while the stream's water continuously surged into the air, raining back down upon them.
The young man did not draw the sword at his waist.
Bare-handed, he freely unleashed long and short trajectories with his sturdy limbs. His fist, palm, and kicking techniques drew unobstructed straight lines and fluid curves.
It was the martial arts army that flinched every time fragments of the shockwaves flew out like sparks. Even as the ground cracked violently beneath the combatants' feet, the soldiers could not properly track their movements.
Hundreds of martial trajectories were carved into the air and faded away, until the last rays of the setting sun dyed the hems of both their robes a deep, bloody red.
Thud!
The trunk of an ancient tree was violently gouged just above the young man's shoulder. He now stood with his back pressed against the wood.
As fragments of bark fell with a dry rustle, the Seventh Apostle, having cornered her opponent, flashed a crimson smile. The madness of her Qi deviation was fully laid bare.
"Young Grand Preceptor."
She stared intently at him. Her gaze felt like a physical tickle against his skin. The distance between them was practically nonexistent; the Seventh Apostle's crimson eye filled his entire vision.
Yet, that red eye was unfocused. She was sensing him not through sight, but through the flow of his energy waves.
A bizarre heat writhed within her pale face, burning in the distinct gaze of a supreme expert. Her shattered mind was wandering through the past.
Just like the moment she had shown deference to the Young Grand Preceptor at the Blood Flame Cult's main headquarters, the Seventh Apostle exhaled a smooth breath and whispered, "You are mine. You are my possession. Create my martial arts, and be reflected only in my eyes. Until you burn away all your talent and perish."
"……"
"No, wait, that's not right. Could you... not perish?"
Having spoken with the imperious tone of a Blood Flame Cult aristocrat, she suddenly began to ramble.
The expression on her deathly pale face shifted several times in a single breath. One moment, it was filled with dark possessiveness; the next, she wore a look of sudden terror and took a step back.
Then, with a soft rustle of cloth, she stepped forward again and gently stroked the back of the young man's head.
"You, too, must practice your kicking techniques in the dead of night."
The young man watched her calmly.
Rustle.
The Seventh Apostle's long fingertips brushed against his collar before gently wrapping around his neck.
Her lips parted slightly.
"I will show you my everything. The circulation of True Qi, Fa Jin, even the movement of every single muscle fiber that creates the Body Protection Scripture."
She was completely trapped in a fragment of the past, acting as the dominant one, just as she always had.
Whoosh.
Once again, a crimson mist sprouted beneath the Seventh Apostle's feet. It was a formation created by dozens of overlapping layers of Blood Art energy waves—a technique designed to absolutely bind an opponent who had entered her combat interval.
In that instant, the young man's fingers twitched.
A deafening roar resounded, sounding as if dozens of mirrors had shattered simultaneously.
The mist was torn to shreds, scattering in a reddish haze in all directions. He had penetrated the structure of her internal power, utterly destroying her technique from its very foundation.
It was an impossible feat—unless one possessed a complete and thorough insight into the absolute origin of the opponent's martial arts.
At the same time...
Rustle—
It happened in a mere split second.
For a brief moment, muscle fibers clashed against muscle fibers. Colorless shockwaves of the Harmony Realm—vying for dominance—bloomed in fierce streams from the gaps between their touching robes.
In the blink of an eye, their positions reversed.
Now, it was the Seventh Apostle's back pressed against the tree.
As Jeong Yeon-shin lowered his head slightly, his lips brushed against her ear. His breath, entirely devoid of Halo Qi, tickled the fine hairs of her skin.
"You are the novice," the young man whispered in a low voice.