Tyrant Blade Dragon (2)
The second day of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering’s main tournament dawned.
Crowds packed every space around the sparring stage. Of the four matches scheduled that day, the first was the one everyone had come to see.
“So it’s the Hebei Paeng Family’s Tyrant Blade Dragon against the Zhongnan Sect’s Jade Light Sword. Who do you think takes it?”
“On pure realm, the Tyrant Blade Dragon has the edge—but the Jade Light Sword’s no ordinary talent either.”
“He beat Shaolin’s Iron Fist Dragon in the prelims finals, and yesterday he traded high-level sword qi with his own sect brother. That wasn’t a fluke.”
“Hasn’t even reached twenty yet and he’s already at the peak of First-class. Of course the expectations are sky-high.”
“Both of them favor solid, straightforward power over flash. We’re in for a real brawl.”
Paeng Mu-jin, the Tyrant Blade Dragon—runner-up of the previous Dragon and Phoenix Gathering and a heavy favorite to take the title this time. Cheonhwa, the Jade Light Sword—a rising star who had already carved out results far beyond his years. Anticipation hung thick as the two men finally stepped onto the stage.
Cheonhwa and Paeng Mu-jin faced each other in silence. The moment their eyes met, both understood that words were useless. Only two martial artists stood here now, each hungry for victory. Competitive fire kindled in their gazes. Instinctively, their hands drifted toward their weapons. In that instant every rational calculation of odds was cast aside; such thoughts would only get in the way against the man across from them. In the end, the one left standing would simply be the more tenacious of the two.
Paeng Mu-jin drew his willow-leaf saber. Cheonhwa raised Okgyeong, the jade-hued wooden sword. They leveled the blades at each other. Even that simple act sent razor-edged auras surging outward, the collision of their presence pressing down on the entire stage as if a life-or-death duel were about to begin. Spectators felt sweat bead on their palms. Even the referee standing close by swallowed hard without realizing it.
Still locked in their ready stances, the two men glared across the short distance—predators coiled to spring. In that hair-trigger silence the referee’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Begin!”
The signal dropped and both exploded forward. Internal energy flooded the wooden sword raised in a high vertical cut and the willow-leaf saber that answered it. Three layered currents of force wrapped Okgyeong; lightning seemed to crackle along the saber’s edge. Their paths carved straight, honest arcs free of any trickery. The two trajectories crossed at a single point.
Kuuung!
Power met power, Jin Release met Jin Release, and a heavy detonation rolled across the stage. The shockwave spider-webbed the floor with hairline cracks, whipped their robes, and hammered against the protective qi each man wore. If the residual force alone reached this level, the rebound crashing through the fighters themselves must have been staggering.
Yet Paeng Mu-jin’s eyes narrowed. Something felt wrong.
The feedback is too light.
The stronger the Jin Release, the harsher the rebound—that was simple law. Yet the jolt traveling up the saber’s hilt was noticeably milder than it should have been. He had not mistimed the strike; through his spiritual sense he confirmed that body and internal energy had moved exactly as always. The only variable lay outside himself—the opponent standing before him.
An application of the Qi-Borrowing Sword… Heavenly Rain Storage.
He had watched Cheonhwa’s earlier matches and dissected every form. If the shock had been absorbed, what came next was obvious. Cheonhwa swung again; Paeng Mu-jin met him with a matching cut. The exchange mirrored the first perfectly—until the result diverged.
Kwa-gwang!
The impact rang twice in rapid succession. Under the suddenly greater pressure Paeng Mu-jin’s eyes thinned further.
The form that detonates the force stored by Heavenly Rain Storage—Heavenly Rain Gathering.
Ordinarily the technique was a sudden reversal used to escape danger or deliver a finishing blow. This time Cheonhwa had layered it atop an ordinary Jin Release, amplifying the strike’s raw power.
He’s trying to close the gap in pure force through linked forms.
Taking every constraint into account, their foundations stood roughly equal. The true disparity therefore lay in the arts themselves. The Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven centered on the Middle Way, tempered by Weight, Strength, and Blunt Force. The Primordial Thunderclap Blade, by contrast, embodied Strength, Weight, and Tyranny. Pure destructive power favored the saber. Cheonhwa clearly meant to erase that edge through creative application.
But even that has limits.
Heavenly Rain Gathering could only be used after Heavenly Rain Storage had first absorbed an impact, and the amount of force that could be stored was finite. Worse, the drain on internal energy, stamina, and mental focus would be brutal. That he employed the method so freely meant he was confident—or that he had some further scheme.
Whatever he’s planning doesn’t matter.
Paeng Mu-jin’s answer was singular: break through head-on. He swung again. Cheonhwa answered with Okgyeong.
Kwa-gwang!
The third collision mirrored the second. Once more Heavenly Rain Gathering had been unleashed.
He’s absorbing the shock of every exchange and firing it straight back.
Paeng Mu-jin now understood exactly how the two forms were being cycled. Only someone who had mastered them to the point of pure reflex could chain them this way. From this moment on, every clash would carry the same linked technique.
He looked at Cheonhwa. The younger man’s face remained utterly calm, his eyes almost asking, Is that all? Paeng Mu-jin felt the corner of his mouth lift into a feral, beast-like smile. He had known it already, but it had been a long time since he faced an opponent who truly made his blood sing.
What followed was pure, brutal attrition. Wooden sword and willow-leaf saber crashed again and again. Air-shattering booms rolled without pause. Concentric shockwaves of Jin Release scoured the stage, kicking up clouds of dust. The floor, unable to endure, cracked and then began to break apart. Neither man yielded a single step; each simply poured more forms into the fray.
As the exchange lengthened they both discarded the thin protective auras they had been maintaining. Those fragile barriers would shatter at the first solid hit, so better to pour the energy into offense. The moment either landed a clean strike, the match would end—an edge-of-the-knife gamble. Their attacks canceled each other out, yet the fragile balance could collapse at any instant. Every sense sharpened to a razor’s edge, they tracked each other’s slightest motion. Efficiency was abandoned. All that remained was the raw drive to smash the man in front of them into the ground.
The word “fierce” barely scratched the surface of this battle. Both knew they were sprinting toward a cliff, yet neither could stop. Perhaps it was shallow pride. Perhaps it was sheer stubbornness to win on their own terms. One thing alone was certain: their hammering hearts were roaring at them not to halt.
Kung!
Every clash sent fire through the hands gripping their weapons.
Kung!
Every form made bones and sinews creak and scream.
Kung!
Every exchange left their qi and blood boiling under the residual force. If there was breath left for a battle cry, it was better spent on the next internal-energy cycle. Inhale—recover. Exhale—strike.
This isn’t enough.
Holding the line won’t win it.
After more than thirty exchanges they reached the same conclusion. Continue like this and they would simply collapse together. Something had to break the stalemate.
I have to push harder than this!
Their auras pulsed in unison—the signal that every scrap of Stored Jin built up in their bodies was about to be unleashed. Both men detonated their Stored Jin and crashed together once more.
Kwa-reu-reung!
A thunderous roar erupted; a storm of residual force howled across the stage. Paeng Mu-jin could not absorb the rebound and was driven skidding backward. Cheonhwa held his ground, but the floor beneath him finally gave way and sank completely. Paeng Mu-jin immediately launched his light-foot technique, closing the distance again. The Yongquan point under his sole exploded with propulsive force; he poured every ounce of that speed into the saber raised high overhead.
Cheonhwa answered with a single, crushing stomp. A heavy vibration rolled outward, sweeping every loose fragment of the stage clean. Immediately his aura pulsed again—the clear prelude to another Stored Jin. It was the core principle of the White Steel Force Method: release Stored Jin, then ride the rebound to store and release again.
Paeng Mu-jin’s blade carried pure kinetic power converted into cutting force. Cheonhwa’s sword answered by stacking successive layers of Stored Jin into ever-greater sword power. When the two strikes crossed, the stage shuddered once more.
The duel entered a new phase. The rebound flung Paeng Mu-jin back; he used light-foot arts to charge again, and Cheonhwa met him head-on. With every collision sharp shards of residual force scattered in every direction. Standing at the heart of that storm, both men were lacerated by the invisible blades. They bled freely yet paid the wounds no mind. Blood spattered and painted the stage crimson.
The spectators watched in stunned silence. This was no life-or-death duel—only a tournament match—yet the two fought as if their lives hung in the balance. More than one onlooker wondered whether a corpse would need to be carried off the stage. The referee and organizers, however, only watched with grave faces, making no move to intervene. The fight had grown dangerously heated, yet forcing a stop might prove even more dangerous. Though they battled with everything they had, no killing intent stained the air—only pure, blazing competitive spirit. To halt them now risked heart demons. A decision had to come from within the two of them alone.
Every breath in the stands was held as the crowd waited for the end.
A mountain lord wreathed in red lightning charged. An unyielding jade trajectory stood firm against it. More than fifty exchanges had already passed. Both men felt, instinctively, that the finish was near. Their bodies still had reserves, but the stage itself did not. After absorbing countless catastrophic impacts, almost no solid surface remained; it could collapse at any moment. If the stage failed, the match would be forcibly stopped and end in an unsatisfactory draw. That outcome was intolerable. With nothing more than a shared glance they reached an agreement: the next exchange would decide everything.
Paeng Mu-jin drove the Primordial Thunderclap Divine Art to its absolute limit, wrapping his entire body in vivid scarlet lightning. Cheonhwa, following the essence of the Grand Heaven Firm Sword Art, poured Jin Release, internal energy, and will into Okgyeong until the wooden blade seemed to hum. One preparation was thunderous; the other was absolute stillness. Ready at last, they moved to write the final period.
The ultimate form of the Primordial Thunderclap Blade met the purest essence of Zhongnan’s firm sword. The resulting impact erased even sound as it swallowed the stage whole.