Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Yangtze Blood Battle (3)
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“Kahahaha!”
Cheol Woo, finally unleashed after so long, rampaged to his heart’s content.
With every swing of his fists, the bandits dropped like sacks of blood-soaked flour, and the once-pristine bandit ship was reduced to rubble as if struck by imperial cannons.
“You bastard!”
Goryong, the chieftain of Wushan Stronghold, wept tears of blood as he charged at the monster named Cheol Woo.
For Goryong, who had led his men from a nearby water stronghold—not the main base of the Yangtze Waterway Alliance—purely to curry favor with the alliance leader, this nightmare was unbearable.
He had believed without a doubt that Wushan Stronghold would grow into one of the Yangtze Waterway Alliance’s premier bandit dens. Yet his three sons, whom he’d pinned all his hopes on, fell without even a scream under Cheol Woo’s playful punches and kicks. Unlike his intact corpses of his elder sons, the youngest had vanished into the river, leaving not even a trace.
As the blood-soaked Goryong desperately lunged forward, the terrified leaders of Wushan Stronghold snapped out of their daze and joined him in a coordinated assault.
Though mere bandits, they were the heads of a faction, and their skills were respectable. Moreover, years of fighting side by side made their combined attack precise and cunning.
Massive blades slashed from both sides, aiming for his face and flanks.
A sharp whistle of air from behind.
Right before his eyes, Goryong—bereft of his sons—charged heedless of his own life.
Yet Cheol Woo, the target of their onslaught, remained utterly calm.
The sharp killing intent washing over him even brought a smile to his face, as if he were enjoying it.
The moment the Wushan leaders’ attacks converged on Cheol Woo, the man—who had shown no movement until then—shifted his body in a diagonal slash.
The blades flying from left and right merely grazed his clothes, while the three daggers hurtling from the rear lost their trajectory entirely, slicing empty air.
Only Goryong, unswayed by Cheol Woo’s feint, kept pace with his motion.
“Die!”
The Opening Heaven Fist’s ultimate technique—the very move that had elevated Goryong from the dregs to chieftain—targeted Cheol Woo’s heart.
Bam!
With a dull thud of collision, it was Goryong, not Cheol Woo, who staggered.
Goryong stared in disbelief at his pulverized fist. The skin was shredded, the bones shattered beyond recognition.
“For a bandit, that’s a decent punch.”
Cheol Woo, who had effortlessly crushed Goryong’s fist with a light jab, remarked as if impressed. It was a backhanded compliment, but to the listener, pure mockery.
“But it’s sloppy. A fist is used like this.”
Turning his gaze to Goryong and stepping forward, Cheol Woo unleashed a punch toward the regrouping leaders.
The Overlord Sixteen Fists that had massacred the White Pig Legion.
In an instant, Cheol Woo’s fists dominated the space, sweeping through the leaders.
It was a devastating strike even seasoned experts would struggle against.
They had no way to block it.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The leader on the left toppled forward.
Struck in the chest, he spewed blood like a waterfall and breathed his last. The one beside him took a blow to the gut and was flung over the railing.
Even the man who’d resisted by hurling daggers collapsed in agony as every bone in his body shattered.
In the blink of an eye, Cheol Woo had swept away the leaders. He finished with a brutal kick to Goryong’s head, the man now on his knees, lost to terror and despair.
Goryong crashed into the spot where his sons had fallen. With that, Cheol Woo stayed his hand. Most bandits were already dead, and the survivors had all leaped into the river to flee him.
“Alright, next one.”
Turning his head in search of his next target, Cheol Woo still wore a hungry expression.
Thud!
His foot caught on the railing.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
He had struck first, unleashed a one-sided barrage. So why was he the one backing away, the one wounded?
“Why!”
Deungcheol couldn’t bear his dire situation or the despair, erupting in rage. Neung Sohwa gazed at him impassively and remarked with faint regret.
“If your arms were intact, would you have been stronger?”
“What?”
“I’m asking if you’d have been stronger.”
“Of course...”
Deungcheol, about to shout it like thunder, faltered mid-sentence.
He surely would have been stronger. But whether that would matter was doubtful.
At some point, the fury dominating his body began to subscribe.
His thirst for vengeance hadn’t vanished, but he could now assess the situation coldly.
Finally, he saw it: the overwhelming strength of the enemy before him, who appeared barely into her twenties.
It wasn’t mere strength—it was the oppressive pressure of facing a mountain. He’d never felt this from Yuak.
‘No, I’ve felt this sensation before.’
A faint fragment from his distant past flickered in his memory.
Deungcheol’s wavering gaze drifted to the veil over Neung Sohwa’s face.
Three exquisitely embroidered plum blossoms.
The sleeves bore the same pattern.
The hazy memory struck like lightning.
The sword dance of the woman who had swept away his master and comrades with overwhelming might unfolded vividly before his eyes once more.
Her sword and robes had borne the same emblem.
“Sword Empress...”
A glint flickered in Neung Sohwa’s impassive eyes.
“So you know me—or rather, my master. Even that man we met before seemed to recognize me.”
At her words, fierce doubt filled Deungcheol’s eyes.
‘The man we met before? Someone who knew of the Sword Empress?’
A sudden hypothesis dawned on him.
“Before encountering Biwoong Stronghold, did you perhaps meet another water stronghold?”
Deungcheol asked cautiously. His tone had turned utterly polite.
“Black Bone Stronghold, was it? Yes, we met them. But there was no clash.”
“Black Bone Stronghold.”
Deungcheol’s eyes sharpened.
“Then the one who recognized you as the Sword Empress was their chieftain?”
“I’m not certain he truly recognized me. It just felt that way.”
“No. He knew. No doubt about it.”
Deungcheol ground his teeth.
He recalled what Gahyu had told him upon joining the Yangtze Waterway Alliance’s main force.
Through a spy in the Bloodhound Hall, they’d secretly contacted subordinates of Biwoong Stronghold who’d been handed over to the authorities. They’d confirmed a few facts: the fight hadn’t erupted blindly from the start; crucially, the token from Black Bone Stronghold was fake, which sparked the toll dispute.
‘Yukseung, who recognized the Sword Empress’s emblem, gave a forged token. No way would our boys let a long-lost merchant ship pass after spotting that. It was a borrow-knife-to-kill scheme.’
Deungcheol instantly saw through Yukseung’s plot. He’d have done the same given the chance.
Now grasping the full picture, flames leaped in Deungcheol’s eyes.
They’d fallen perfectly into Yukseung’s trap, coveting Biwoong Stronghold’s territory.
He, his two sons, and Biwoong’s bandits had become pawns on Yukseung’s meticulously laid chessboard.
Staring vacantly at the sky, lost in thought for a long while, Deungcheol slowly bowed toward Neung Sohwa.
“If we retreat now, will you let us go?”
It might seem servile, begging his life from the enemy, but Deungcheol had no choice.
Neung Sohwa had indeed slain his two sons, but the true culprit behind it all was Yukseung.
Ideal would be vengeance on both, but that was impossible. At least, he desperately wanted bloody retribution on Yukseung.
Deungcheol awaited Neung Sohwa’s words with bated breath.
“I don’t dodge fights that come to me, but I don’t chase those who choose to withdraw.”
“Thank... you.”
His voice trembling, Deungcheol bowed again, clutching his axe with bloodshot eyes, vowing revenge—
“But there are exceptions.”
Neung Sohwa’s voice cut in, ice-cold.
“Th-that... Hngh!”
A gasp escaped Deungcheol’s lips.
Bloody blossoms bloomed across his chest.
The last sight Deungcheol beheld in life.
Spotting the leader of the Red Righteousness Clan, Sima Geon unleashed the Heaven-Shattering Nine Wall Fist toward Yuak and Chosu.
Caught off guard by the sudden, lightning assault, Yuak and Chosu’s reactions lagged for a split second. Yet, as the Yangtze Waterway Alliance’s top elites, they calmly countered, emerging unscathed.
Sima Geon’s attack didn’t press further. It hadn’t been meant to fell them from the start—just to buy time for Yuhan.
“Block him!”
At Yu Wol’s shout, the Ink Scale Squad sprang into action.
Sa Ilgong, the Ink Scale Captain and friend of Yu Wol, hadn’t dismissed the warning. He’d been on high alert since Sima Geon appeared, enabling the swift response.
Sima Geon maintained his charge, swinging his fist.
The Heaven-Shattering Nine Wall Fist’s Ten Directions Thunder form.
In one strike, Sima Geon pulverized the chests of six Ink Scale members. As they collapsed, a flash gleamed from behind.
A sword shot forth like lightning, targeting Sima Geon’s arm.
Sima Geon twisted his wrist, deflecting it with Thunderclap Palm.
“Damn it, in that brief instant.”
Sa Ilgong, who’d aimed to sever Sima Geon’s arm at the cost of his men’s lives, retreated grinding his teeth. The deflected sword now targeted his brow.
As their leader fell back, the Ink Scale Squad surged forward.
Sima Geon extended his hand toward them, and light flared from the Heavenly Demon Ring on his wrist.
The light became a blinding flash, enveloping the area.
Slash!
With a gruesome sound, seven exposed Ink Scale members crumpled. Thin red lines marked their throats.
Seeing his squad halved in an instant, Sa Ilgong felt his blood boil.
Drip! Drip! Drip!
The scattered raindrops began to intensify.
Yu Wol blocked Sima Geon’s relentless advance.
The Heavenly Demon Sword shot toward Yu Wol.
The ultimate technique of the Thunderbolt Blood Sword, Mad Flash, was too swift for human eyes to follow—surpassing even the Extreme Swift Light of the Single Heaven Nine Forms in pure speed.
Sensing something approaching, Yu Wol instinctively moved his sword.
It saved him.
Deflected by Yu Wol’s blade, the Heavenly Demon Sword merely sliced his shoulder.
Excruciating pain surged from the wound, but Yu Wol didn’t flinch. The enemy’s assault wasn’t over, and if he fell, Yuhan’s life behind him hung in the balance.
As Sima Geon moved to strike again—
“Foolish child.”
Yuak’s greatsword, Dragon Fang, flew in with a voice heavy with pity.
No flourishes, no blinding speed.
Yet Sima Geon was forced to withdraw the Heavenly Demon Sword aimed at Yu Wol.
Boom!
A mighty clash sent both Sima Geon and Yuak reeling five steps back.
Just one exchange, but Sima Geon felt Yuak’s power.
Even during his sweep of the demonic path, he’d encountered few such masters. At least on par with the North Heaven Sword Demon.
But Yuak’s shock dwarfed Sima Geon’s.
Five steps each looked like a draw at first glance. Yet while he’d struck with full force, Sima Geon had held back reserves.
‘A monster.’
Yuak steeled himself, reaffirming the caliber of the foe before him.
His form surged forward, swinging Dragon Fang anew at close range.
A peril sword struck at Sima Geon’s flank from nowhere.
True to his moniker, Yangtze Flying Tiger, the movements were incredibly nimble, the sword’s momentum ferocious.
Before the blade arrived, choking killing intent assailed first.
Chosu, who hadn’t planned to join the fray, furrowed his brow as the peril sword suddenly intervened. But he couldn’t complain. Instinct as a warrior had compelled it. Sima Geon’s aura was that dangerous.
“Must capture him before that one joins.”
Chosu steeled his resolve, eyeing Cheol Woo rampaging madly on the distant bandit ship.
He removed his ever-present gauntlets.
Gnarled, skeletal hands emerged—ruined by flawed training methods.
Yet Chosu’s obsession had forged them into weapons harder than steel.
“Practiced external arts, have you?”
Startled by the sudden voice, Chosu whipped around.
Neung Sohwa stood silently, sword sheathed at her chest, having crossed unnoticed.