Chapter 358: Sprint (7)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 358: Sprint (7)
The scene unfolding within the manor defied providence.
It was a marvel wrought by True Qi.
Behind the paper window screen, a halo of light traced the silhouette of a figure sitting cross-legged, his hands resting at his lower abdomen.
It was Body Protection Qi.
The radiance spilling from his faintly glowing robes did not mingle with the lantern light of the banquet hall. Instead, it formed a subtle, fan-shaped boundary that actively repelled it. Its very nature was strangely tyrannical.
"Haa..."
A soft sigh escaped from beneath the Young Sect Leader's silver mask.
"That makes things a bit difficult..."
Just then, a low murmur—carried on a profound breath of internal energy—drifted from the room.
Suddenly, as if it had all been an illusion, the halo of light vanished. Darkness rushed back in an instant, swallowing the space as though the brilliance had never existed at all.
It was a technique that had never before been seen in the martial world.
"..."
Silence fell over the courtyard. Though the glow of the lanterns illuminated the surroundings once more, the boisterous clamor of the banquet did not return.
The Young Sect Leader brushed back a long lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. A trace of worry lingered on the pale fingertips that grazed her skin, and a deep blue light flashed from within her silver mask.
His energy wave was unstable. Is it not yet complete?
The Young Sect Leader stared intently at Jeong Yeon-shin's room before finally relaxing her gaze. She suddenly realized she was feeling an impatience entirely unlike her usual self.
Was it because a being who defied the simple bounds of black and white had finally entered this world, one that had been shrouded in gray for far too long?
How pathetic.
Mocking herself, the Heaven-Smiling Invincible of the Ming Cult averted her eyes from the detached building where Jeong Yeon-shin was staying.
Then, she scanned her surroundings.
"...It isn't as if this is the Spring and Autumn period of the Sixteen Kingdoms."
The Young Sect Leader chuckled under her breath. Her curled lips held a mixture of mockery, contempt, and self-deprecation.
"This is merely a place where mummies—living only because they cannot die—have been buried as sacrificial offerings."
Just then, the gaze of the Wind Lord, Lee Si-myeong, who was seated at the head table of the outdoor banquet, slowly drifted over. At that exact moment, the Young Sect Leader's expression hardened. Her figure shot upward like smoke, vanishing without a trace.
Only the hairy old master, who had been pointing toward Jeong Yeon-shin's room, remained in that spot.
"Hmm...?"
Doubt flickered in the Wind Lord Lee Si-myeong's eyes. When the old woman beside him asked what was wrong, he merely shook his head, his gaze fixed intently on the detached building where Jeong Yeon-shin was staying.
"Make sure no one goes near it," Lee Si-myeong said slowly. "He employs bizarre arts. I must keep a close eye on him."
"Didn't you say he was a dog of the imperial court? The light that just spread from there was highly unusual. Perhaps we should exterminate the roots right now..."
The speaker was an old woman with a long, diagonal scar across her face.
She was the Short-Gate Ghost Blade, Peng Mo-ran. A collateral branch member of the Peng Clan, she had harbored feelings for the Wind Lord—whom she regarded as an older brother—ever since her days as a rising star. At one time, she had roamed the martial world as the king of the Hebei vagabonds, never once setting foot in her family's estate.
This was because her lowly birth meant she had only been taught half of the Peng Clan's Five Tigers Severing Door Saber.
Though she had eventually followed Lee Si-myeong into this manor after many years, the Wind Lord treated her as nothing more than one of the top combat assets of the Hidden-Realm Peng Clan.
His eyes were always fixed on the Ghost-Howling Hegemon, Peng Yeo-ran.
"Exterminate the roots? Tomorrow is the wedding day."
His tone was a clear warning not to speak of such violent matters. A marriage was a momentous occasion. The future of the Ghost-Howling Hegemon was tied to it. The scent of blood could not be allowed to stain such an auspicious day.
"...Understood."
Having silenced Peng Mo-ran, Lee Si-myeong's gaze darkened.
The young man in that room, the Commander of the Demonlight Wing, would be powerless during the grand wedding ceremony. With both the Hegemon and the Wind Lord holding their ground, and with even the Ice-White Cheon So-so's allegiance remaining uncertain, there was nothing he could do.
He seemed even younger than his appearance suggested; honestly, it would be a relief if he didn't simply collapse from shock upon witnessing the betrayal of the Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit.
A highly skilled brat like him was unpredictable, prone to acting out at a moment's notice. It was better to keep him right where they could see him. After all, once the wedding was over, his Wind Flower Four-Wheel Kick would shatter the young Commander of the Demonlight Wing's neck.
That fellow will undoubtedly antagonize the Clan Head.
Contrary to public belief, he did not view the Ghost-Howling Hegemon as a woman.
It had been that way ever since he lost to Peng Yeo-ran in a duel during the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering of his youth. Back then, after she had spent the night with him, he had found her whispering sweet nothings into another woman's ear amidst the morning twilight the very next day.
In that moment, Lee Si-myeong suddenly comprehended the ultimate secrets of the sixteen forms of the Wind Flower Four-Wheel Kick, which raged like the wind containing the profound principle of Adaptability without Obstruction.
An unchained wind had existed right before his eyes.
Similar events had repeated over the long years. To the Wind Lord, the Ghost-Howling Hegemon was the very incarnation of inspiration taking human form—someone he had to protect until he himself reached the martial apex.
He admired the world-shaking Five Tigers Severing Door Saber wielded by Peng Yeo-ran, and he loved her conduct—freer than anyone else's under heaven.
Even when the Lord of the Golden Wing Sect suddenly visited them one day and seized the dharma treasure used to summon the flood dragon, Peng Yeo-ran had remained beautiful.
The Dragon Appearance Roaring Heaven Cannon. When she swallowed her indignation and finally created an ultimate technique that materialized the breath of the flood dragon—something that had previously only been passed down through oral tradition—Lee Si-myeong's martial arts also took a giant leap forward.
"Everyone, raise your glasses!"
He stood up calmly, acting as if he hadn't just witnessed the spectacle caused by the Commander of the Demonlight Wing's martial arts.
No other faction among the Eight Families in the martial world is as powerful as this.
Below the platform lay his and Peng Yeo-ran's armors. To Lee Si-myeong's eyes, the old masters of the Hidden-Realm Peng Clan—whose colorless eyes flashed in the lantern light—acted as a Body Protection Qi unmatched under heaven.
They were individuals who had achieved so much that they had squeezed through a natural formation just to capture a flood dragon.
"Tomorrow is the day! When the Head of the Hidden-Realm Peng Clan takes the Lord of the Immortal Wood Spirit, this flood dragon's Mysterious Place will truly become our own Peach Blossom Spring!"
There was no great cheer.
As always, the old masters of the previous generation cared deeply about saving face. Only the deep, colorless light flashing in the eyes of those gathered brought a profound sense of satisfaction to the Wind Lord.
* * *
In a blacksmith shop open on all sides.
Hiss!
Thick white steam billowed upward. A long piece of metal was being firmly bound and shaped under the hammers of a short boy and girl.
Both wore only paper-thin sleeveless undershirts, their outer robes tied tightly around their waists. The green hems characteristic of the Sichuan Tang Clan's attire hung down, stained with soot and ash.
As the furnace continuously breathed out scorching heat, the constantly rippling muscles of their upper bodies flexed—compact and perfectly defined. Beside the anvil on the left, sledges, hammers, and tongs hung neatly on the stone wall, adding to the rugged atmosphere and the heavy scent of iron.
It was the fifth day.
The intense cycle of birthing, refining, and forging consumed them.
At some point, a faint, sky-blue smoke began to drift from the eyes, noses, and mouths of the Tang siblings. The spellbound blacksmiths of the village could only watch them with blank expressions.
The small-statured boy worked the bellows with massive, sweeping motions, while the girl of similar appearance—her eyes flashing with a light-blue glow—repeatedly hammered the metal slowly taking the shape of a sword.
From time to time, they swapped positions and roles, maintaining the razor-sharp sensation coiled in their hands.
The number of onlookers surrounding them had reached nearly a hundred. Among them was Hahu Wi-jin, who had protected the villagers as their chief.
"Are my eyes playing tricks on me?" he muttered, staring blankly at the siblings, whose chins were beaded with clear drops of sweat.
Tang Yeo-hwa and Tang Ryeo-ryeo.
Their facial features occasionally seemed to shift, like a mirage in the great desert. Tang Yeo-hwa's facial lines were so sharp that he briefly resembled Jeong Yeon-shin, while Tang Ryeo-ryeo's features were so breathtaking that the flames of the furnace felt like mere ornaments adorning her.
It was to the extent that one might think if Jeong Yeon-shin had been born a woman, he would look exactly like the Poison Phoenix standing before them.
Whoosh!
The flames of the furnace flared violently. This time, Tang Ryeo-ryeo took over the bellows.
They were completely of one mind and body. The sound of hammering never ceased, as if they had achieved the state of Unity of Body and Sword not with a blade, but with each other.
The sweltering heat grew even denser.
Fueled by Sichuan's ironwood, Yunnan's firestone, and a unique soil powder found only in the flood dragon's Mysterious Place, the furnace unleashed a monstrous heat capable of melting any metal in an instant.
The glowing red blade resting on the anvil continuously endured the siblings' relentless hammering.
"It will suit a fast sword well. At this rate, there will be virtually no air resistance."
"We are imbuing it with spirituality right now, right? Do you remember the dharma power?"
"I only know the feeling, but this child will only need to know that feeling too. That way, it won't break when dharma power is channeled into it."
"I've never seen the Lightning-Flash Sword Ridge Style. The center of gravity..."
"Let's estimate it based on our benefactor's posture."
"His arms were like light iron bars, like True Silver Ore. His internal power waves never broke."
"Since his reaction speed is much faster than ours, we must focus on the joints."
"Shoulder, elbow, wrist. Jianyu Point, Quchi Point, Neiguan Point... We don't need to worry about the Tiger's Mouth Point between the thumb and index finger. Since our benefactor's grip can handle even the Brilliant River, it's best to make the movement of the joints as easy as possible."
"Yeo-hwa, the Later Heaven Eight Trigrams at the sword tip. Half of a half-inch below Tui. Strike with ten percent of your power."
Clang!
"Li. I don't need to tell you where...?"
Clang!
"Is it alright for our True Qi to enter it? I hope it doesn't taint the blade."
"We have no other choice."
"Qian. Dead center, slightly to the left."
Clang!
This was no ordinary hammering. With every strike, the force of Fa Jin rippled outward in all directions. Whenever a faint, circular shockwave tore through the air, at least one of the nearby onlookers would stumble and fall.
"Looking at the body he has built now, he must be adept at shifting stances. Or he will have to use them often."
"I know."
"I have seen the Lightning-Flash Sword Ridge Style before," Hahu Wi-jin chimed in occasionally, offering helpful advice. "The counter-stance that accumulates and unleashes shockwaves was impressive."
"Elasticity. Add a bit more soil. Original Three Yang Art at thirty percent."
"Now!"
Whoosh— Clang!
Without even laying eyes on Jeong Yeon-shin, they were saving him.
By engraving his image in their minds, emulating his talents, and dissecting his martial arts as if preparing to defeat him—all to repay their debt—the sword on the anvil progressed toward completion.
Just as martial arts became divine arts when imbued with spirituality.
Their five days of continuous hammering were breathing that very spirituality into the metal. They forged it so that the master would not have to adapt to the weapon. Instead, the weapon would infinitely comprehend the master's will the moment he grasped it.
And then, on the sixth day, as a pale blue dawn broke over the distant ridge.
"Just a bit more... Yes! Right here, this is it!"
With a shout from his sister, Tang Ryeo-ryeo, Tang Yeo-hwa delivered the final strike.
From the base of the blade, drenched in their blood, a faint wave of light-blue brilliance began to ripple outward.
Thrummmm—!
The sound rang out like a clear bell, spreading far and wide from atop the anvil.
The wrought iron, hardened by intense heat, instantly cast off its red-hot glow and reclaimed its pristine silver body. The morning sunlight stretched long and shimmered over the blade, highlighting an engraved pattern of intersecting streams of water.
The thick Adam's apple of Hahu Wi-jin—who had watched the Tang siblings without moving a muscle—bobbed. He did not stare at the newly forged sword.
The siblings did not fit the finished blade into its prepared hilt.
They simply stood facing each other in silence, the anvil holding the sword between them, faint smiles playing on their lips.
The sky-blue light no longer radiated from the siblings.
—Repay a kindness twofold, and return a grudge tenfold.
The Tang Clan's chivalry had converged upon a single person who was not even present. At that moment, the sunlight shattered and flowed like white water down the blade.
The Poison Dragon, Tang Yeo-hwa. The Poison Phoenix, Tang Ryeo-ryeo.
They had forged a Divine Sword, and died standing.
They were seventeen years old.