Grasping the Suck Star Great Law
So he wasn't a zealot after all. Ha-yeon's left hand shot out straight. Cheong-yong instinctively reacted, thinking she was launching some hidden weapon. But what happened with that left hand was beyond his wildest, most grotesque imaginings.
"I get it! The core of the Suck Star Great Law!"
A vortex of suction erupts in the palm of her hand, greedily devouring everything around it.
"What the—!"
This wasn't some puny whirlwind made of mere wind. A spiral flow erupted from the center of her palm, unmistakably pulling in pure vital energy. From the faint vital qi in the wild grasses to the nutrients held in the soil. The yang energy of the blazing sun and the yin energy wafting from the damp shadows under the rocks. Even the particles floating in the air... and the trace moisture mingled within them.
Everything was greedily sucked in, spiraling into a vortex.
"What kind of demonic sorcery is this?!"
What the hell kind of Suck Star Great Law was that? The one Cheong-yong knew, the one all of murim knew, was nothing like this. If it were an otherworldly divine art capable of such absurd feats, it would've been forbidden for entirely different reasons.
The danger of the Suck Star Great Law lay in its requirement of sacrificing others, combined with the sky-high risk of qi deviation. Low ceiling on growth, mandatory harm to others, and a rock-bottom floor that made control a nightmare—spawning droves of uncontrollable fiends. That was its level of threat, plain and simple.
So Cheong-yong could declare with certainty: That was absolutely not the Suck Star Great Law.
And he was right.
"Whoa."
Even Ha-yeon, the culprit behind this mess, blinked in wide-eyed surprise, like she hadn't expected this either.
"Didn't see that coming... Never even read about it in any books."
In her past life, Ha-yeon had been a Swordmaster. And the world where she'd honed those skills had focused solely on extreme mana breathing techniques and aura reinforcement. She'd cherry-picked what she needed and activated it on her own terms, so of course the trajectory would differ. She'd always been able to drain others' energy and make it her own if she wanted—hell, she could've done it since her previous life.
But combining the incantations from the Suck Star Great Law with her veteran mastery of aura manipulation and her pinnacle techniques had yielded this unexpected result. Or maybe surviving that near-death brush had shattered some barrier without her realizing.
Didn't matter which. What counted was that I'd taken another step forward today.
"Nice day, huh?"
Ha-yeon swung her sword—a clean, no-frills diagonal slash, nothing more.
Kagak!
"Urk!"
But the guy blocking it didn't look so hot. They'd exchanged a few probing blows at the start for reconnaissance, but he'd realized that was a mistake.
Cheong-yong's face went pale as he parried the bizarrely bending sword qi, like a flexible whip.
'My mistake!'
The enemy's otherworldly Suck Star Great Law from the get-go had seemed too ominous for a blitz; better to probe carefully with Wudang's soft, yielding swordsmanship that subdued even the strongest foes.
But now?
"Not easy, right? It's your energy, but now it's surging all erratic, like you're gonna puke, yeah?"
Blue and crystalline sword qi blooms from Cheong-yong's blade, immature since his recent breakthrough to Peak realm, but sharp and clear.
The essence of the sword he'd honed his entire life, finally bearing fruit.
"What sorcery have you wrought? Answer me!"
The Great Pure Sword Qi hurtled toward Ha-yeon. Wudang's signature soft, flexible yet unyieldingly pure energy. The blade he'd meticulously refined from his lower dantian now snarled back at him from her sword tip, coiled three times around it in azure loops, as if it had never been his to begin with.
Ha-yeon, pressing her assault, flashed a grin and leaped back.
"Curious?"
Like a master about to bestow wisdom in response to a question. Despite knowing it was foolish, Cheong-yong nodded.
Ha-yeon then looped the clinging Great Pure Sword Qi around her finger like a ring.
"How can an outsider freely wield Wudang's—no, my power?!"
"Quit yelling. Observe."
Of course, it wasn't some deep well of compassion. Nor was it me flexing on the kid 'cause I was overwhelmingly stronger.
I'm not an idiot—why bother with that crap?
'Ah, shit. Already tired after that?'
Just exhausted, plain and simple. Breath ragged, bones aching, muscles cramping.
'What kind of pathetic sack of meat is this?'
Ha-yeon's breathing techniques could dominate the continent—no, the world—with their finesse, persisting as long as her mind held. Top-tier even in murim, no doubt.
But this body? Calling her dad "dad" was off-limits, and she had to call her mom a "courtesan." Best-case, a commoner. Malnourished at that.
'How does this twig even function daily?'
Weak body. Matching this burly bastard with such a frail frame left me gasping, swinging a heavy iron lump with arms that'd snap under a poke. Brutal.
Reinforce with the qi from Suck Star Great Law? Only if the body could handle it. Wrapping aura—or qi—around this mess without bursting every orifice with blood would be a miracle. Aura's convenient and destructive, not a god's grace.
Even fine-tuned to the limit without wrecking herself, it was still third-rate warrior level at best. Yet matching a Peak realm prodigy from mighty Wudang? That alone hinted at Ha-yeon's prowess.
Circulating sharp, turbid foreign qi through her meridians without damage? Insane feat. Certifiably mad.
But hey, madness aside, I'm wiped.
"Aura—er, draw out your sword qi."
"Like this, perhaps?"
"No, dummy. Loop it like a ring."
Cheong-yong awkwardly drew his sword qi, fumbling to coil it around his blade like a ring. Grimacing, grunting with effort to mimic her.
Damn, he actually tried.
Keep pretending to teach, make him burn more qi. Buy time to catch my breath. Bonus.
Talent helped—he soon coiled it proudly and presented it.
"Done."
"Now around your finger."
"...What?"
"Around your finger. Like me."
Truth be told, Ha-yeon was half-bored by now. Coiling sword qi on a finger? Suicidal. One slip and it'd shred the digit clean off.
But this fool actually tried?
"Urgh."
"...What're you doing?"
"Gah. Damn it."
"What're you doing?"
Pupils dilating in fear of self-mutilation, yet stubbornly struggling.
Ha-yeon thought: Is he a bit slow?
Cheong-yong had his reasons too.
'I have to do it! If she's absorbing my sword qi with that freakish power! No other way!'
He was scared shitless. Fighting someone wielding such nonsense barehanded? Donating his own sword qi to the enemy? Might as well die.
A mana breathing grandmaster, maybe an aura expert, possibly a grand demonic overlord. No control over his sword qi? Zero chance of victory.
That was the calculus. Not glancing away for enlightenment mid-fight—he had to glance away and gain it to escape the obvious dead end.
"Uh, yeah. Keep at it. Your energy's pretty supple—flow it naturally. No, not like that. Curl like bending your finger, not your elbow."
"My thanks for your... guidance, senior."
......
"Yes! I did it! Sword qi around my finger!"
"Good job, you dumb zealot bastard! I said round, but it's a square—whatever, you did it!"
What felt earth-shatteringly intense in the moment fades with time. Forgetting is humanity's blessing; erosion touches the heart too.
So, with the heat cooled from Cheong-yong's head and Ha-yeon's interest waned, they scratched their heads awkwardly at each other.
Truth was, more sword clashes had happened before this. Mostly Cheong-yong's sneaky, dirty ambushes when she seemed off-guard.
Ha-yeon had punished him each time with icy smiles. His hair was a mangled mess of holes and tangles, body covered in wounds—some deep enough to scar badly.
She'd aimed to sever, but his footwork was slick; dodged lethals. Tch, a bit more power and he'd be halved.
Ha-yeon? Just sweat-soaked clothes. Otherwise unchanged.
No matter his sword qi blasts or slashes, she evaded with fairy-like grace. She'd curse at "fairy" over phoenix or griffon, but that's how Cheong-yong saw it.
"Ha, hahaha!"
Cheong-yong laughed madly and tossed his sword.
"What're you doing?"
"Junior—no, this one is utterly ashamed."
"Huh?"
"You've overlooked all my rudeness and even bestowed teachings. I dare not lift my head in shame."
This guy's spouting nonsense mid-fight. Just admit defeat instead of acting like a legendary hero schooled by a sage.
Annoying, honestly.
"So?"
"At first, I spied on your technique and deemed it pure Suck Star Great Law. But after your guidance on qi arts, it's clearly beyond any vile minion practicing such filth."
Cheong-yong knelt and kowtowed, revealing his patchy, scarred scalp.
"How may this foolish junior atone for his sins?"
"Hm."
Say "leave your head," maybe? Nah, probably not.
Ha-yeon wasn't displeased, really. Sure, she'd felt the strain and wanted to thrash the punk... but she'd gone easy.
'Martial arts.'
Not her pseudo-energy drain or ice wraps—real deal martial techniques. As a swordswoman, she'd instinctively sensed it clashing with his blade.
'Tech evolved differently in another world. Not like Heon-u's pseudo-magic.'
That must make it authentic martial arts. Not that Suck Star Great Law or White Hand Devil Skill were inferior to this green kid's swordplay.
Just more to Ha-yeon's taste—the path Wudang had refined.
"Heh."
No need to clear up the misunderstanding, then.
Stifling her ragged breaths, Ha-yeon approached the prostrated Cheong-yong with a sly grin.
"You think if I weren't strong, what would've happened to me?"
"...No words."
"If you'd harbored foul intent, and I was just some powerless girl? I'd be mangled. Limbs hacked, holes punched—screaming silently."
"No such intent! Just... crippling your wrist at most...!"
"Who're you to decide that?"
Cheong-yong shut up.
"If the victim feels that way, the perp has nothing to say. Who knows what you'd have done with different intentions?"
"I—"
"Objectively: You're the psycho pulling a knife on some random pig-munching civilian."
"But anyone would've seen it as Suck Star Great Law."
"Hey."
"No words."
Hmm. What's with this guy? So compliant? My religious nutjobs back home would've fake-repented, ranting divine punishment by now.
Not a total moron? Or just ironclad self-pride, seeing themselves as true manly warriors?
Test time.
"Buddha motherfucker."
"...Pardon?"
"Buddha's ass, plump and perky, town's top bride material."
"Senior?"
Holy shit! Insulted his god and no freakout! No glowing cross tattoos screaming demons!
If acting, maybe let it slide once.
Ha-yeon's lips finally curled into a genuine smile. Play this right, score more scripture.
"That qi art, martial skill you use."
"Great Pure Sword Method and Eight Trigrams Steps. Tai Chi Wise Sword taught by Cheong-un Jin-in."
"Worth that much. Call it even."
"Even decapitating this one, I cannot yield that. Apologies."
"Really? Folks change their tune with a blade at the neck. Backtalk from the perp?"
Pressing the nape, blade poised. Cheong-yong rubs his head on the dirt, yelling.
"Apologies!"
"Boring. No fun, no satisfaction."
I've butchered plenty; these types don't crack without skull-cracking mind-reading.
So... what's his remaining value? Hard-fighting youth? Nothing but arts to take.
"Hey."
"Yes."
"What's your name."
"Wudang first-generation disciple Cheong-yong. Taught by Cheong-un Jin-in."
"Got it, dummy."
"This one is Cheong-yong."
"Dummy."
"Yes."
Yeah, okay.
"How many years' worth of sorry exactly?"
"...You mean."
Cheong-yong wasn't dumb. Caught the hint: she wanted him as disciple.
Rubbing his head in the dirt, his master Cheong-un Jin-in's words surfaced.
'Cheong-yong.'
'Yes, Master.'
'Learn everything you can.'
'Yes.'
'Even unorthodox arts if needed—not full demonic, but evil ones okay.'
'Master?'
'Just don't get caught. Living long, I've realized: to protect kin, family—what filthy deed can't you do? If you can protect, do it.'
'...'
'If cornered by life and death, sell out this master. Master-disciple same as parent-child; no plans for a funeral at my age.'
'...Master!'
'But learn demonic arts? You're dead. Guaranteed. Annual funerals or not, I'll kill you.'
"Dare I... dictate terms when begging mercy? As you wish. Atonement isn't for the offender to decide."
"Good. No more, no less—exactly ten years."
"...This unworthy disciple offers the nine prostrations."
"Carry me."
"Master?"
Only then did Ha-yeon flop to the ground, gasping.
"Carry me, slave boy."
"..."
"Gah. Hack. Ugh, dying. Breath... hek."
Cheong-yong thought: Hit her now, I could win.