An Out-of-Line Proposal
“Is that… the Flowing Cloud Sword Art?!”
“No way! How can Ryeong already perform the Flowing Cloud Sword Art?!”
A stunned roar rippled through the gathered disciples of the Jongnam Sect. A novice who had barely crossed the threshold of the mountain was out there wielding the sect’s trademark sword art in plain view.
The Flowing Cloud Sword Art was hardly something just anyone could pick up on a whim. Mastering it demanded strict prerequisites and long, arduous foundational cultivation. Yet Ryeong shattered all expectations. Even Jinyeong, watching the duel intently from the edge of the ring, could not execute those footwork transitions with such fluid grace. A genius—there was simply no other word under heaven to describe her.
If the spectators were this shaken, one could only imagine what Dang Jin felt, standing directly across from her in the ring.
‘She’s a monster.’
Parting Clouds to Seize the Moon was inherently a defensive form of the Flowing Cloud Sword Art, designed to deflect incoming momentum. Yet Ryeong brazenly weaponized it on the offensive. Infusing her blade with the principle of repelling impact, she used it to thrust her opponent even farther away. Even the Thousand-Catty Drop failed to anchor him, for the moment she lunged, she had mirrored the technique, sinking her own weight to meet his with equal, crushing force.
‘So Jongnam was harboring a monster after all.’
Watching his flustered son from below the stage, Dang Heo-gun stifled an appreciative chuckle. When news first broke that Jongnam’s sacred relic had been stolen, he had assumed the legendary sect’s illustrious history was finally drawing to a pathetic close. Reality told a different story. Though their prestige had suffered a bitter blow, Jongnam was quietly nurturing a prodigy capable of swallowing the next generation whole. If that young woman reached her full potential, the future supreme master under heaven would undoubtedly emerge from Mount Jongnam.
“That concludes the three courtesy exchanges,” Dang Jin said, his gaze hardening as he parried Ryeong’s following thrust.
His promised concession had ended; the time for retaliation had arrived.
Tap.
With a light, springing leap, Dang Jin widened the distance between them. He was far too seasoned to linger within a swordsman’s ideal striking range. His moniker, the Poison Dragon, was no hollow boast. Losing to a famed prodigy like the Sword Dragon was one thing, but suffering defeat at the hands of an unknown novice would bring utter disgrace upon the Sichuan Dang Clan.
“Haaap!”
Wh-wh-whist!
A storm of throwing daggers rained from above. A lesser martial artist might have wondered in awe how many blades could possibly be hidden within those wide sleeves, but Ryeong harbored no such naive thoughts. She had once stood at the absolute zenith of the assassin’s craft. Through her eyes, Dang Jin’s movements lacked seasoned refinement. The real dilemma was figuring out how to lose convincingly.
‘That old viper is watching me way too closely.’
Dang Heo-gun, the Clan Head, was tracking her every gesture with hawkish precision. Throwing the match with clumsy feints would give her away instantly, and deliberately failing to parry attacks she could easily deflect would only breed deeper suspicion. If anyone beyond Taecheong Jin'in caught on to her true identity, matters would turn perilously complicated. At the very least, she had to keep her secrets buried until she reclaimed the other sacred relics.
Cl-cl-clang!
Dang Jin’s eyes wavered as Ryeong batted the daggers aside with effortless precision. Her defense proved even more impregnable than her offense. He realized all too quickly that holding back would never bring her down.
“Forgive me, young lady. Things are about to get rough.”
“I wouldn't have it any other way.”
His mind made up, Dang Jin accelerated. Since light harassment was useless, he would settle it with rapid, close-quarters combat.
Swish-swish-swish!
Flitting behind Ryeong in the blink of an eye, Dang Jin unleashed a barrage of throwing knives. Anticipating the shift, Ryeong twisted her torso in midair, bringing the edge of her sword sweeping down toward his throat in a lethal counterarc.
Whoosh.
He tilted his head back, narrowly dodging the edge by a hair's breadth. It was a perilous gamble on a razor's edge, but her overextended counterattack left her flank completely exposed.
‘An opening!’
Seizing the gap, Dang Jin drove his left palm forward. What he failed to notice, however, was the faint smirk curling on Ryeong’s lips.
Smack!
“Kuh!”
Just as his palm struck her ribs, Dang Jin’s lowered stance caught Ryeong’s rising knee square in the face. A bone-jarring impact slammed through his nasal bridge and rattled his skull, instantly blurring his vision. Had internal qi backed that blow, a moment’s disorientation would have been the least of his concerns.
Blinking furiously to clear his head, Dang Jin scrambled to regain his footing. Yet before he could take a stance, Ryeong collapsed to the stone floor, clutching her side with an expression of genuine agony.
“A-Are you all right, young lady?!”
“Ow, ow, ow… I thought I could take it, but that was pure recklessness on my part. I concede.”
Dang Jin stood frozen in mortified guilt. He had struck her using palm force, whereas Ryeong had withheld her internal energy entirely. Had both fighters unleashed their full qi in that clash, she might have bruised a rib, but his face would have been caved in. For all intents and purposes, he had lost the duel. Of course, one could argue he had sealed away his deadly poison arts, but even so, the outcome left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
A solitary rhythm gave way to thunderous applause throughout the sparring arena, leaving him standing awkwardly amidst the cheers. Extending a hand to help Ryeong up was the only gentlemanly thing left to do.
“The duel goes to the Young Clan Head! Splendid work from both combatants!”
“Thank you for the guidance, Young Clan Head.”
“It was an illuminating match, young lady.”
Masking his turbulent thoughts behind a composed nod, Dang Jin stepped down from the platform, where Dang Heo-gun promptly fell into step beside him.
“How was it?”
“…In truth, Father, I lost.”
“You would have won had you used your poison arts.”
“No. More than that… I felt she was hiding something.”
Dang Heo-gun offered a faint smirk. Had his son failed to sense even that much, he would have been sorely disappointed. At least the boy possessed the wits to perceive the truth.
Meanwhile, Ryeong found herself swarmed by an excited horde of fellow disciples, bombarded by a barrage of questions.
“When on earth did you learn the Flowing Cloud Sword Art? How can you use it already?!”
“Wait, you aren't the Sect Leader’s secret granddaughter or something, are you?”
“This is unreal! Move over, Sword Dragon—shouldn’t we be calling her the Sword Phoenix instead?!”
“Ahaha, thank you for the enthusiasm, everyone. But right now, my ribs are hurting a bit…”
“Oh, right! This is no time to chatter! Hurry, go get treated!”
Using her supposed injury as an excuse, she managed to slip away from the crowd. For some reason, the disciples urged Jinyeong to escort her, and the moment she was alone with someone who knew she was acting, her pained expression evaporated into cool indifference.
“I think that old snake suspects who I am.”
“You don't mean the Clan Head of the Dang Clan, do you?”
“Who else would be the snake around here? Anyway, there’s an unsettling aura about him.”
His gaze had been unpleasant—not purely avaricious, but carrying an uncomfortably sticky weight. Whatever it meant, she didn't care for it in the slightest.
“I never imagined you could wield the Flowing Cloud Sword Art like that,” Jinyeong remarked.
“Why? Was my form that strange?”
“Where did you even get the idea to launch a direct assault using an overtly defensive stance?”
“I didn't even know it was supposed to be defensive. No wonder the qi flow felt awkward.”
In Ryeong’s mind, defensive forms didn't exist. For an assassin, the moment one was forced to defend was the moment death was already knocking at the door. Why bother polishing defensive moves when one could hone techniques that ended the target faster and cleaner? She still moved by the ingrained instincts of a killer: butcher the enemy before they can strike. It was a habit she needed to unlearn, especially now that she was far weaker than in her prime and drawing unnecessary attention was the last thing she needed.
“At least it seems the Dang Clan has no ties to the Demon Blood Divine Cult.”
“Are you certain?”
“The Clan Head isn't tainted by demonic arts, at the very least.”
Lately, Ryeong had developed a peculiar knack: the ability to detect demonic cultivation. During the previous raid on Mount Jongnam, she had registered an oily, revolting sensation. At the time, she had brushed it off as natural disgust, but upon reflection, that sickening aura had originated entirely from the enemy commander.
Naturally, she hadn't taken the revelation at face value. She had probed and doubted until the end. If she truly possessed the gift to sniff out demonic practitioners, why had it manifested now?
‘Whenever I hit a wall like this, the Celestial Immortal Divine Art is usually the culprit.’
A technique passed down from a transcendent immortal.
Just how much untapped potential rested within the Celestial Immortal Divine Art? It brushed aside basic cultivation arts, amplified foreign energy channels, and now granted her the power to scent demonic cultivation. She needed a word with Immortal Hyeok. Somehow, she had to find a way to reach him.
Her best bet was establishing contact through the sacred relics. He had claimed he could not meddle excessively with the mortal realm, and the last time she had seen his visage was when she first inherited the divine art. Countless questions had piled up since then. If she didn't clear them away, she could never move forward.
‘Hyeok said dark clouds were gathering over the martial world.’
He had even declared that she was the one destined to sweep those clouds away. Piecing together the clues, she found it overwhelmingly likely that the looming shadow was none other than the Demon Blood Divine Cult. After all, they had brazenly reduced Mount Jongnam to rubble. The trouble was that she had been designated as their opposing counterweight.
‘Why did he have to drag me into this mess?’
She had no history with the Demon Blood Divine Cult, nor did she give a damn about their grand apocalyptic ambitions. She could not fathom why Hyeok had remade her in this fashion. Joining the Jongnam Sect was sheer coincidence, yet on the back of that freak accident, the old immortal had upended her life and turned a perfectly fine man into a woman.
‘Ugh. Thinking about it just pisses me off all over again.’
What irritated her even more was the begrudging realization that she actually wanted to fight them. Mount Jongnam was no longer an assembly of strangers to her. Somewhere along the way, she had grown far too fond of these people. If the Demon Blood Divine Cult dared to trample over them, she knew she wouldn't be able to just stand by and watch.
‘Cunning old bastard. He knew I’d turn out like this all along.’
He had seen straight through the fundamental nature of the soul named Ryeong. Having a stranger she had barely met read her so completely was an infuriatingly bitter pill to swallow.