Nine Solitary Swords (2)

Was it a cliff face? Or the wall of a cave?

A surface stretched before me, carved so cleanly it looked as though a single stroke of a sword had sliced it flat. And covering every inch of that wall, an uncountable number of blade scars.

"Are those letters?"

"A sword art?"

I still didn't have that kind of depth in swordsmanship.

A low hum vibrated through the air. A hologram of myself materialized right in front of my eyes — the Eye of Truth had conjured an illusion only I could see. So this was a new function that unlocked once my proficiency went up.

They say geniuses watch numbers and musical notes dance on their own. Was this what that felt like?

The hologram of me, sword in hand, snapped into a ready stance. I mirrored it.

A sword art of staggering presence erupted through the phantom blade, a cascading storm of cuts that filled the cave with killing wind. I might not have been a swordsman, but my stats were absurdly high for my level. And what did that mean? It meant I could brute-force my way through things I wasn't actually good at.

A little clumsy, sure — but with this body and this much internal energy, I could follow the phantom's movements.

"First Sword: Revolving Wheel Phantom Shadow."

The blade whirled around me in a storm of steel, occupying every lethal angle ahead with uncanny precision.

A brutally simple technique. But the weight and speed behind that single cut were nothing a martial artist of the same rank could hope to stop.

"Second Sword: Demon-Severing Form!"

Thunk. Damn it. Even with my physique and internal energy, I couldn't copy it completely.

Slash. Slash-slash. A cascading storm of cuts.

The pinnacle of Linked Sword and Illusion Sword — the very essence of Mount Hua. It opened with what looked like a simple sequence, then immediately doubled the difficulty of the sword path. If the opponent managed to block, it answered with twice that many chain-linked strikes and bled them dry.

"Nngh!"

I forced my grip tighter, crushing the hilt as I wrenched the technique out of my body. A wet pop cracked through my arm. But I did it. I copied the Third Sword: Refracting Demon-Carve.

A gentle sway. Sway. Sway.

A sword form that didn't look threatening in the slightest. There wasn't a shred of killing intent in it — if anything, it looked like a sword dance overflowing with beauty. But the meaning buried inside that grace was terrifying. It would carry an opponent to their death before they even realized they were dying.

"Mount Hua Plum Wind!"

A sickening crunch. "Ghk!"

The instant Super Recovery knitted my body back together, I tore it apart again. A faint sway. Just barely — the fourth form was starting to settle into my hands. But at this rate, I was going to fail.

A gentle sway. Sway. Sway. Then a silken whisper of steel.

Sword qi stripped of all killing intent began to seep from my blade, grain by careful grain.

"Hah… hah… hah…"

I'd only been swinging a sword for ten minutes and my entire body was soaked through with sweat. A third-rate swordsman — second-rate if you were being generous — had nearly mastered a supreme sword art on the first day. I gasped for air and followed the remaining sword path. It was brutal, but even just forcing my body to copy the movements was an enormous education.

An S-rank sword art!

"Learn it! Of course I'll learn it!"

Wow. What a steal.

I finally had enough swordsmanship to scrap a little with disciples of my own rank. Of course, if I just leaned on raw physicals, I could probably bully my way into the mid-tier anyway.

From then on, I came back to this place at least once every two days and drilled the sword art.

"Cheongsoooong♡"

"What."

"Aren't we going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠play the Rice-and-Barley Game anymore?"

"The future of the Mount Hua Sect is looking grim. I can't just fool around."

"Aww."

"Hey — I mean it!"

My fellow disciples threw themselves at me with staggering enthusiasm, but I tore myself away with the grim resolve of a man stopping halfway through a handjob and disappeared into the cave to train. I'd finally figured out how stupid it was to hitch my entire existence to earning S-Points. There was a path in learning martial arts with my own two hands. It was an obvious realization, and that obviousness only made me train harder.

"Hmm."

I was calculating sword paths. The Nine Solitary Swords. The name itself said there should be nine forms — but I could only see eight.

The scratch of a brush. I sketched sword trajectories across paper and sank into visualization training.

Scratch, scratch.

A flourish of ink.

"Then you do it!"

Watching the Eye of Truth research sword paths for days on end, nagging it was pointless.

"Ah! That's it!"

I'd found something I could actually do to help.

"You want to enter the Martial Archive?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

The Martial Arts Archive. I stood before the Plum Blossom Hall — supposedly the highest-grade vault in the entire collection — and laid out my case to a second-generation disciple.

"I'm developing a new sword art. I need reference material."

Of course, I'd already studied plenty of lost sword arts and martial techniques back at the research institute, things that had vanished from the world. I didn't remember them well myself, but the Eye of Truth had almost certainly stored them as raw data. Some of those were worthy of being called divine, peerless arts. But this was Mount Hua. I needed Mount Hua's martial arts.

"Hmm. It's true you're one of the more loyal disciples, and your talent isn't lacking, but…"

He hesitated.

"The Plum Blossom Hall is a bit early for you. Only those who have mastered the Plum Blossom Sword Art to five-star or higher are permitted."

"Is that so?"

"It is. Anyone who has cultivated an orthodox art to that depth isn't easily consumed by greed for more martial arts."

By murim standards, anyway. By ordinary standards, orthodox or unorthodox, every last one of them was a martial-arts-obsessed lunatic.

"Then I'll master the Plum Blossom Sword Art to five-star and come back."

"Do that."

Researching the Nine Solitary Swords had already deepened my understanding of swordsmanship considerably, and my proficiency had climbed with it. Thanks to the Eye of Truth, of course. Even so, my Plum Blossom Sword Art proficiency was already higher than my Taiyu Extreme Way. I only needed to push it another five percent and I could read the texts in the Plum Blossom Hall.

I stormed into the training hall for the first time in a while.

"Hahp! Hahp!"

"Aiyah!"

Disciples were swinging their swords with earnest diligence, as if the wholesome Mount Hua Sect of old had been restored right before my eyes. I scanned the room. Fortunately, no one of master rank was in sight.

I peeled off my clothes.

"Huh?"

The disciples who sensed something off stopped mid-swing and turned to look at me.

"Everyone, undo your belts!"

"Hiiit!"

"No way."

"Cheongsong's back!"

"The sex demon! The sex demon has returned!"

Slam. Slam. Nobody even had to say a word. They shut the windows and barred the door on their own. A rustle of cloth. A few disciples rubbed wooden practice swords against their groins and stared at me.

"Cheongsong♡"

Ha Bo-yeon threw her arms around me.

"Mmh!"

I kissed her like I meant to swallow her tongue whole.

"Nnnh♡"

"Mmh, mmh."

Then a warm wet heat wrapped around my cock. Someone had taken me into their mouth. "Ahhhn!" And I could feel it — someone else had claimed my ass. Someone was licking Ha Bo-yeon's ass too.

"Haaah, haaah."

"Cheongsong♡"

It had been so long since the last orgy that the female disciples had no idea when my mood might change, so they rushed to suck on every inch of me.

"The Rice-and-Barley Game begins now."

"Yeees♡"

A full thirty disciples dropped to their knees in front of me and addressed my cock like it was a god.

"Please grant this pathetic, worthless pussy the honor of the Rice-and-Barley Game, Lord Giant Cock♡"

"Please wreck my useless womb!"

"Haaah♡ haaah♡ I'm a dog-cunt slut. Please, just once, let me taste your cock's cum♡"

I nodded, thoroughly satisfied.

"Build me a pussy mountain range."

"Y-yes? Lord Cock, what's a pussy mountain range?"

"Look at this ignorant cunt."

I laid them down one by one. Then I stacked another woman on top of each one already on her back. Flushed and panting, they kissed each other and leaked pussy juice in thick, glistening strands. I stacked one more on top of each pair. Three women to a pussy-mountain. Ten mountains in all.

"This is a pussy mountain range."

A wet thrust.

"Haaaaaaaaahn♡"

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

When I buried my cock in the highest pussy-valley, the stream of juices overflowed, soaking pubic hair as it ran downward. It slicked the ass of the woman beneath, then her face, then kept going, a rivulet of sex that soaked the training hall floor in a shining puddle.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

"Ahn♡ hahng♡ haaauunn♡"

"Please dump your cum in my pathetic pussy too!"

"What an impatient, worthless bitch in heat!"

A wet shove.

"Ahhht♡"

Thirty pussies. White dragon-spring water sloshed and overflowed down all ten mountains of the range, and the training hall rang with screams of pleasure. I had about three hundred S-Points left.

Slap. Slap. Slap. My hips crashed into the stacked asses of the pussy mountain range, and the meaty, rhythmic impact thundered through the hall.

That was when it happened.

BOOM.

"What do you think you're doing?"

An instructor-rank martial artist. A second-generation disciple kicked the door open and roared.

"A tail that's too long is bound to get caught. Once or twice is one thing — what the hell is this? There's a limit to how much I can look the other way. Youth is no excuse."

"Instructor, you're… too, you know."

"What? Speak up. I can't hear you."

"Instructor, you're horny too!"

"What?"

CRASH. I slammed a tackle into her without mercy. I hadn't put my full power behind it, so her stance collapsed but it wouldn't actually hurt.

"Let go of me! What do you think you're doing?"

"Instructor. I can smell how wet you are from here."

I slid my hand over her clothes and cupped her sex.

"You're soaked, aren't you?"

"Th-this is—!"

Sprawled on the floor with her hair a wild mess, she made quite a picture. She might have been pushing past her thirties toward forty, but murim folk — especially orthodox Taoists — had far better skin than ordinary people, and they aged like they were still in their twenties. Daily purification of internal energy and a carefully restricted diet would do that. She was more beautiful than most women half her age.

A wet press of my fingers.

"Hah! Take your hand off me."

"Don't lie there dripping and say things you don't mean. You barged into a place where people were having sex. I don't think I need to spell ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out why."

"I-I simply— I only…"

Her eyes wavered. A lifetime of martial training had sculpted her body into something genuinely beautiful. I dragged my tongue slowly across her abs — denser, tighter, more finely honed than any of the disciples' — and her pussy clenched in time with every lick, a visible shudder running through the slit.

"Instructor. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠We're just playing a game."

"A game?"

"Yes. Have you heard of the Rice-and-Barley Game?"

"R-Rice-and-Barley? What's that?"

She looked interested.