Chapter 173: Movement in Stillness (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 173: Movement in Stillness (2)
“Urgh!”
Nok Gwi-bo stared at Seok Myeong, his eyes wide and trembling.
His condensed qi had undoubtedly found its mark. The moment the unleashed energy collided, the two forces should have annihilated one another. Even if the energies had simply canceled out, there should have been a thunderous, air-shattering roar.
Instead, his power had simply vanished—naturally, effortlessly.
To be precise, his energy had been snuffed out by Seok Myeong’s radiance as if it had never existed in the first place.
“This makes no sense…”
The shock was so profound that he couldn't even feel the pain in his broken arm.
No, come to think of it, that didn't make sense either. That strange radiance of the boy’s had clearly struck his arm. By all rights, the limb should have been severed. Yet, it remained intact. Though he felt a throbbing agony as if his insides had been ruptured, there wasn't a single drop of blood on the surface.
“The Bloodless Sword?”
Or perhaps a blunt sword technique. He had heard of martial arts where energy enveloped the sharpness of the blade, allowing one to strike with a sword without leaving a physical wound. But such things were the domain of ancient, high-ranking monks of great virtue. He never imagined a mere first-generation disciple could manifest such a technique.
“Aaaaaargh!”
Nearby, Gwi Cheon-neung was rolling on the ground, screaming.
At this moment, no one would recognize him as the Cold-Blooded Investigator, the ice-cold Elder of the Diancang Sect. He looked like a broken doll, collapsed and writhing in agony after Seok Myeong had struck him with a seemingly light palm thrust.
“Aaaagh! Argh!”
It was likely a variation of the Through-the-Back Fist.
It was a soft yet heavy palm force, similar to Shaolin’s Parting the Mountain Strike or Wudang’s Cotton Palm. Though the attack looked light, it utilized Penetrating Energy that burrowed deep into the body. With his internal organs shaken and his qi flowing in reverse, the pain must have been excruciating.
“Uuugh… Argh.”
Thump. Thump.
Amidst the screams, Seok Myeong took slow, deliberate steps toward Gwi Cheon-neung.
Step.
Startled by the approach, Nok Gwi-bo scrambled to stand in front of Gwi Cheon-neung, raising his sword in a desperate defense. However, Seok Myeong’s movements were not fast.
Ssh.
Seok Myeong raised his sword slowly enough for everyone to see. Then, he brought it down in a natural, vertical strike.
Clang!
“Ugh!”
With every collision of their blades, Nok Gwi-bo felt a shock that rattled his very skull. Seok Myeong continued to slash downward, his face an expressionless mask.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Agh! Argh! Urgh!”
Nok Gwi-bo’s cries rang out with every strike. Seok Myeong’s sword carried a monstrous strength, as if dozens of grown men were striking at once. Added to this was the agony of his left arm, which looked fine on the outside but was essentially shattered within.
Clang!
“Agh!”
Under the weight of yet another downward strike—
Thud.
Nok Gwi-bo finally succumbed to the force and fell to his knees.
Clang!
Seok Myeong swung his sword once more.
Snap!
Nok Gwi-bo’s sword shattered into pieces.
“Apologize. Before the memorial tablets of the Qingcheng ancestors. Apologize before everyone’s faces!”
“You… you…”
Nok Gwi-bo looked up, gritting his teeth. He was still an Elder of Diancang. Driven by the feeling that he would rather die than suffer such humiliation, he screamed in a fit of rage.
“You brat! Do you expect to survive after insulting an Elder of a sect like this?!”
“It is absurd for you to say such things. Who was the Black-Clad Woman controlling that Giant Demon? And how far did Diancang involve itself in this?”
Unlike his usual self, Seok Myeong did not show the respect due to a senior. Though his mind had been momentarily calmed by the harmony of the Taiji, his anger had flared up again now that the fight was over.
However, Nok Gwi-bo only became more hysterical, hurling insults.
“We know nothing of such things! You arrogant little shit!”
“You still haven't learned your—”
“…Stop. It was a lie.”
Suddenly, Gwi Cheon-neung, his strength exhausted, waved a trembling hand. He restrained the raving Nok Gwi-bo and wore a bitter expression.
“Our sect has no connection to that Giant Demon or the Black-Clad Woman. I simply made it up to provoke you.”
“…What?”
Seok Myeong blinked in surprise. Then, his face twisted into a cold, angry sneer.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe it or not, it’s up to you, boy. If you think about it for even a moment, the logic is plain.”
Cough, cough!
He spat out a mouthful of blood. It was a severe internal injury. Though he managed to open his mouth because of Nok Gwi-bo’s support, his internal organs had yet to settle.
“I know what you’re thinking. I led you to think that way. But use your head. If we had joined hands with those mysterious people, why would we bother mobilizing the Martial Alliance to strike you?”
“……”
Seok Myeong fell silent. Though he had lost his cool for a moment due to rage, he realized Gwi Cheon-neung was right.
When the Black-Clad Woman attacked Mount Qingcheng, she had brought five Giant Demons. That attack had nearly laid the sect’s headquarters to waste. If not for Seok Myeong and the Sect Leader’s group returning in time, the entire sect might have vanished.
“This is ridiculous…”
In other words, Diancang really had no connection to them. If they did, it would have been much easier to combine their strength and erase Qingcheng from the Martial World long ago.
“Do you people… have no dignity as leaders of a sect? Do you discard the tragedy of others and the respect for the dead just to win a fight? How can Diancang still call itself a Taoist sect!”
“…Myeong, that is enough.”
A voice intervened, restraining the furious Seok Myeong. It was Song Jeong, the Sect Leader of Qingcheng.
Step. Step.
He stepped past Seok Myeong, whose face was flushed with anger, and spoke.
“It is Diancang, after all. This is to be expected from them.”
“Sect Leader!”
For once, Seok Myeong protested. Song Jeong spoke quietly, his face perfectly composed.
“Just because a dog bites a man, does that mean the man should bite the dog back?”
“……”
“Urgh!”
Seok Myeong fell silent, and the two Diancang Elders groaned. Though his tone was polite, Song Jeong’s words were a vicious insult. He was essentially saying he viewed Diancang as lower than dogs.
But Song Jeong’s polite vitriol didn't stop there.
“At any rate, I trust you are satisfied now, Elder Gwi Cheon-neung and Elder Nok Gwi-bo. Qingcheng is deeply moved that you have provided such precious guidance to a disciple of our sect.”
“What kind of rubbish is…”
“Thanks to you, Myeong has achieved a great breakthrough. Though it was brief, the enlightenment you provided ensures a bright future for Qingcheng. I truly wish to learn from such immense virtue displayed by Diancang.”
“…?”
Nok Gwi-bo was bewildered. Being a man of strong martial arts but simple wit, he couldn't grasp the subtext of Song Jeong’s words.
Splat!
Instead, the Cold-Blooded Investigator of Diancang, who understood exactly what was meant, spat out even more blood than before.
“Gwi Cheon-neung!”
“Ugh… I… we…”
The attacks the Diancang Elders had poured out, even at the cost of their own lifespans, had become pure nourishment for Qingcheng. The realization was so galling he felt like he might faint from resentment.
“Oh dear. It seems the Elders are unwell after their long journey. I pray for your swift recovery, and please… let us not see each other’s faces again.”
Song Jeong continued to trample them with a gentle smile until the very end. As he lightly raised his hand toward the crowd, the first-generation disciples, who had been holding their breath, erupted in cheers.
“Waaaaah!”
“Senior Brother Seok Myeong won!”
“The Eldest Disciple is victorious!”
“Qingcheng crushed Diancang—I mean, we won!”
The last shout was a bit odd, but regardless, everyone was in a festive mood, practically dancing. Song Jeong led Seok Myeong toward one side of the courtyard. They stopped in front of Dan Mok-jung, the Deputy Overseer of the Martial Alliance, whose face looked like he had just swallowed a toad.
“As you can see, things seem to have been wrapped up.”
“…Yes.”
Dan Mok-jung could only sigh. No matter how much he wanted to find fault, there was nothing left to nitpick. The three neutral sects—Shaolin, Wudang, and Mount Hua—had witnessed everything, and Diancang had suffered a catastrophic loss of prestige. If he tried to stir up more trouble, the Martial Alliance Leader would find himself at odds with Shaolin, who held the Green Jade Buddha Staff as a sacred token.
“I won’t see you out. Our sect intends to hold a feast to celebrate for a while, so if you were thinking of joining, please put that thought aside.”
“…I shall do that.”
Dan Mok-jung ground his teeth at Song Jeong’s sarcasm. He finally understood why Song Jeong, despite being known as a man of deep insight, rarely participated in Martial Alliance events. Though he seemed gentle on the outside, Song Jeong was a Qingcheng man to his very core.
‘Those damn, arrogant Qingcheng bastards.’
He was simply worried about how he would report this to the Alliance Leader.
“Well done, Seok Myeong. When did you learn such martial arts?”
“Senior Brother Song Hye would be so happy in the afterlife.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
The Qingcheng Elders, who had always been difficult to approach, came from all sides to pat Seok Myeong on the shoulder. As Seok Myeong busily bowed and blushed in response, a cold-looking figure caught his eye.
It was none other than Song Hak.
“……”
Song Hak cleared his throat several times, looked at Seok Myeong, and then turned his head away, muttering a single sentence as he passed by.
“…You worked hard.”
That one sentence sounded warmer than anything else.
“Yes, sir!”
Seok Myeong beamed with a bright, full-faced smile.
*
“Phew…”
As Mount Qingcheng descended into a full-blown festival atmosphere, the delegation began their journey home. Among them, Elder Gu Jong-myeong of the Mount Hua Sect could not shake the complex expression from his face.
“Martial Uncle?”
“…It’s nothing.”
When Yu Yeok-gil asked out of concern, Gu Jong-myeong waved him off. He tried to tell himself it couldn't be, that it was impossible, but his heart was filled with a lingering attachment that kept bringing the thought back to the surface.
‘Clearly…’
When Seok Myeong’s sword had radiated light while facing the three Diancang Elders, Gu Jong-myeong’s heart had nearly stopped. For a fleeting moment, he had definitely seen it.
‘The light of Jaha.’
A violet hue.
It was because he was reminded of the martial art that was once the pride of Mount Hua, now a mere legend.
‘The Violet Mist Divine Art…’
A light that resembled the deep indigo of a setting sun. That was the color emitted when one had perfectly mastered the Violet Mist Divine Art.
“Uncle Jong-myeong. Are you perhaps thinking the same thing I am?”
“……”
Perhaps that was why he couldn't answer Yu Yeok-gil’s cautious question.
‘Just how?’
What was this new divine art that Qingcheng had acquired? What kind of technique possessed such earth-shattering power that it could force three Elder-level experts to their knees at the hands of a mere first-generation disciple?
And above all else.
“Why did it emit a violet energy? Surely it couldn't be…”
“It’s impossible. There’s no way…”
Gu Jong-myeong’s expression shifted rapidly at Yu Yeok-gil’s question. Mount Hua and Qingcheng were different sects with different pursuits. Even if all paths eventually lead to the same destination, how could they have restored a lost secret of his own sect? It defied logic.
Yet, the more he tried to deny it, the more the lingering doubt persisted.
…You shall see the brilliant radiance of five colors.
Over a decade ago, he had heard a specific oral tradition regarding the Violet Mist Divine Art from a Martial Uncle. While the world knew the Violet Mist Divine Art to be violet, the reality was different.
It was a five-colored light.
The mixture of various lights created an aura that merely looked violet.
That oral tradition, projected onto Seok Myeong’s sword qi, refused to leave his mind, as if time had frozen.
It remained there, alongside the setting sun that hung over their path home.