Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Dragon-Phoenix Tournament (6)
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Anhui was ablaze with heat.
It was the result of the fervor from the first day of the preliminaries carrying straight through the group matches.
Now, everywhere in Seohyeon was filled with talk of the matches that had taken place that day.
That was only natural.
This Dragon-Phoenix Tournament was fiercely shaking up the established rankings of the Dragons and Phoenixes that had been stagnant for the past few years.
First came Poison Phoenix, breaking her six-year silence.
She had demonstrated martial prowess befitting the Tang Clan heir of Sichuan, ascending to the group finals.
Her opponent was the widely expected White Phoenix, Hye-un, and with their showdown just four days away, people were even gambling on the outcome.
"Still, it's Poison Phoenix! Have you already forgotten what happened six years ago? No one lasted even three exchanges against her on her way to the finals!"
"That time, White Phoenix was in a different group! Besides, even Poison Phoenix was taken down in three moves by Sword Dragon in the finals!"
"Sword Dragon doesn't count! No, more importantly, this time her opponent is White Phoenix, not Sword Dragon! I'm betting on Poison Phoenix. I just can't see her losing."
"Hmm, I'm going with White Phoenix. We don't know what Poison Phoenix has been up to for six years, but White Phoenix has steadily proven her skills all along, so she's the safer bet."
Bets were flying elsewhere too.
This time, on the matchup in the group with Strange Dragon Jegal San, Fist Dragon Il-un, and Immortal Dragon Hyeon-gong.
"It's Fist Dragon! Fist Dragon is a once-in-a-century prodigy from Shaolin! Who could stop him from reaching the semifinals!"
"What nonsense! Have you ever seen Immortal Dragon frown even once on the stage? He kept an unmoved heart even against Namgung Jincheon! Immortal Dragon is the clear winner of that group!"
"Fist Dragon!"
"Immortal Dragon!"
It was amusing that no one was predicting Jegal San's victory.
With so many Dragons crammed into one group for the first time ever, tomorrow's group semifinals in that bracket—dubbed the "group of death"—had become the hottest topic of debate.
But even that paled in comparison to the biggest buzz of this Dragon-Phoenix Tournament. Who else could it be?
Sword Dragon Namgung Jincheon and Ink Sword Mok Ri-won.
"...Sword Dragon lives up to his name. He hasn't swung his sword more than once in any match so far. He's the lock for Group One's win."
"That Ink Sword guy is impressive too. Just like Sword Dragon, he's ended every fight in a single exchange."
No disagreements here.
Even though the group finals weren't over yet, every warrior who had watched was convinced those two would advance to the semifinals.
Sword Dragon went without saying, and the same for Mok Ri-won.
He had backed up his arrogance—openly provoking Sword Dragon on the first day—with real skill.
By performing the freakish feat everyone dismissed as a fluke: snapping his opponent's sword in the first exchange.
"...Group One and Group Four's winners are basically decided already."
"And that's not all. Some are saying that Ink Sword guy might surpass the other Dragons and Phoenixes to reach the finals."
Absurd.
For a warrior who had only appeared in the jianghu a few months ago to receive such acclaim.
Yet Mok Ri-won was receiving exactly that.
This was the Central Plains martial world, where one proved oneself with the sword.
And Mok Ri-won had finished his proof with his blade.
"If those two meet, that'll be the finals."
"Right. Group One versus Group Three, Group Two versus Group Four in the semifinals."
"Sword Dragon will naturally reach the finals, and Ink Sword..."
"Will face the Group Two winner to settle who's superior."
Silence fell over the inn.
Could that Ink Sword guy really stand up to a Dragon who survived the group of death?
That was the burning question.
"...If Fist Dragon wins Group Two, I'll bet on him."
"I'll go with Immortal Dragon if he comes out on top."
"I'll bet on Ink Sword."
"Hm?"
"Just a feeling. That he'll earn a new Dragon title at this tournament."
Two men laughed at the third's words.
But it wasn't mockery.
"That would be a fun twist. Looking forward to it."
"This is the martial world—new masters can emerge anytime."
The three men raised their cups high.
"Well, you know."
The man who had previously predicted Dang Hwa-seo and Il-un as winners spoke up.
Another chuckled and replied.
"Of course. The championship still goes to Sword Dragon."
Clink.
Cups met.
A new star had risen in the righteous martial world, but one fact remained unchanged.
Sword Dragon Namgung Jincheon.
He was the master of this generation.
That night in Seohyeon, three men in an inn tilted their cups, anticipating the matches to come.
*
"Mok, my brother, did you hear?"
"Hm? Hear what?"
"You've got a new nickname."
"Ooh!!!"
In an inn not far from the training grounds.
Mok Ri-won, who had been making do with thin noodles and baekju for his meal, shot to his feet.
Dang Hwa-seo was the same—curiosity bubbling up at the news of a new moniker for him before the group matches had even ended.
"Quick, aren't they? So, what's the nickname?"
"Jade Face Sword."
"...."
Mok Ri-won's body stiffened rigid.
His face was frozen in shock.
"...Huh?"
"Jade Face Sword. They say even the way you sigh after a match looks like a painting. That's what I heard, anyway."
Mok Ri-won's throat bobbed.
Irritation flooded his features.
Bang!
"I-I don't want a nickname like that!"
As Mok Ri-won slammed the table, Jegal San cackled and twisted in laughter, while Dang Hwa-seo clutched her forehead like she'd seen this coming.
"Young Hero Mok, Jegal's just messing with you. Even if people are saying it, no one thinks of it as a real nickname. It's just a pet name."
"B-But still...!"
"Still what?"
Dang Hwa-seo fixed Mok Ri-won with a chilling glare.
Mok Ri-won trembled with fists clenched, feeling utterly wronged, but he couldn't retort.
He was afraid of her nagging.
'Little Sister's going too far!'
She knew how sensitive he was to humiliating nicknames, yet she wouldn't cut him slack. Resentment welled up.
His eyes naturally narrowed in a glare, but on his face, it just looked cute.
"Indeed! Even Jade Face Sword's pout is top-notch!"
"Brother Jegal!"
"Kuhahaha... Sorry!"
Smack!
"Ugh!"
"You're old enough to know better than to bully your little brother."
Fortunately, Dang Hwa-seo reined in Jegal San's antics.
She sighed deeply, face full of annoyance, and snatched Mok Ri-won's baekju to drink.
"Ah, that's..."
"I bought it with my own money."
"...."
Mok Ri-won shrank back, but Dang Hwa-seo had no attention to spare.
She was that irritated.
'Jade Face Sword, my ass.'
No wonder women's screams echoed only during Mok Ri-won's matches. Looked like this was the talk behind it.
She needed alcohol to cool her boiling rage.
And yet, in moments like this, Dang Hwa-seo couldn't help resenting her clan.
'Damn Ten Thousand Poisons Immunity.'
It neutralized even alcohol.
Thud!
"...Sorry. I feel stifled."
"No. I... I'm sorry too. It's not your fault this nickname stuck...."
Mok Ri-won cradled his returned baekju with both hands, peeking at Dang Hwa-seo.
Even as his eyes rolled clear and bright, his downcast gaze and neat lashes stood out.
Dang Hwa-seo felt her heart skip for a moment.
Such a dangerously alluring face.
"...Young Hero Mok. This is meddlesome advice, but if some strange woman approaches praising your matches, you must avoid her."
"Hm? Got it."
"Yes. This martial world is treacherous—old folks and kids aside, always beware of women."
Her worry was beyond measure.
With such a soft personality, he'd be easy prey for women with ill intentions. She couldn't shake the thought.
No, there was already precedent.
'White Phoenix...!'
Her finals opponent, White Phoenix.
Dang Hwa-seo had noticed clearly.
How she kept watching her and Mok Ri-won with a smile throughout the tournament.
Grind.
Dang Hwa-seo's teeth clenched.
'Sleazy bitch.'
Even if she were buried six feet under, she'd never let White Phoenix have Mok Ri-won.
With that thought, Dang Hwa-seo reignited her fighting spirit.
Of course, oblivious Mok Ri-won and Jegal San just found her scary.
*
The next day arrived.
The training grounds buzzed with a different kind of heat.
It was the semifinals of the infamous group of death.
Strange Dragon versus Fist Dragon.
As the last match before the group finals, the audience's anticipation soared sky-high.
"Monk, go easy on me."
"Amitabha."
Amid the chaos, Il-un clasped his hands and chanted, steadying his breath.
Jegal San felt an inexplicable unease at Il-un's demeanor.
"Brother Jegal! You got this!!!"
Mok Ri-won cheered from afar, but sadly, it wasn't much help.
[Then, begin! Strange Dragon Jegal San! Fist Dragon Il-un!]
The announcer raised his hand.
Jegal San pulled out a jade stone from his sleeve, rolling it in his palm as he unleashed his dantian qi.
In that instant.
Boom!
Il-un shot forward like a ray of light, fist aimed at Jegal San's instep.
Jegal San dodged the fist, sensing it, but his face had gone pale as a sheet.
"Wh-What is..."
"Amitabha."
The arena floor cracked.
It wasn't fragile material, yet Il-un's withdrawn fist left rubble crumbling finely.
"M-Monk...?"
"Amitabha."
Il-un smiled faintly.
"Woooaaah!!!"
Cheers erupted for Il-un's fist technique.
Only then did Jegal San realize.
'This...'
He might not leave this world alive if he wasn't careful.
"Amitabha."
Jegal San eyed Il-un warily.
Even murmuring "Amitabha," Il-un's eyes gleamed coldly.
Indeed.
He hadn't given up on shutting Jegal San's mouth.
One might trust him by now, but Jegal San's usual frivolity was the issue.
Il-un's solution was simple.
Unable to resort to killing intent, he'd instill bone-deep fear with overwhelming might.
"Amitabha."
Jegal San's decision was swift.
"Surren..."
Boom!
"...der! Surrender! Surrennder! SURRRREEEENNNDDEEEERRR!!!"
Jegal San fled in terror.
Il-un smiled contentedly and clasped hands again, while the audience tilted heads at the anticlimactic end.
"...What was that?"
The man who once predicted Fist Dragon for the semifinals felt a strange mix of joy and sorrow.
*
That same night.
Finishing training and heading back to his lodgings, Mok Ri-won hummed, replaying the day's events.
'Monk Il-un was incredible.'
Jegal San surrendered quickly, so he didn't see much, but he'd gauged the monk's martial arts well enough.
'Definitely Golden Sand Palm, one of Shaolin's 72 Arts.'
It was a fist technique, not palm, but the power that shattered the arena floor screamed Golden Sand Palm.
No inner energy had emanated from his punch that crushed the bare ground.
'Even external arts can do that.'
Excitement swelled.
Mok Ri-won’s heart pounded imagining that fist infused with qi.
Of course—he hoped Il-un would be his next opponent.
Two days until his group finals.
Then semifinals among group winners.
Anxiety and thrill mixed into pleasant tremors as he walked cheerfully.
"Oh my, Benefactor Mok?"
A woman's voice pierced his ear.
Chill.
Goosebumps prickled his skin.
Fingers trembled.
Turning creakily, Mok Ri-won saw in his vision.
"What a fateful coincidence."
White Phoenix Hye-un, smiling sweetly at him.
"Eek!"
On a dark night with the moon hidden behind clouds.
Mok Ri-won leaped back at Hye-un's shadowy figure like he'd seen a ghost.