Chapter 37
Chapter 37
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Dragon-Phoenix Tournament (10)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The participants' waiting room in the martial arena.
Mok Ri-won sat cross-legged in the middle of the modestly sized room, lost in thought.
What occupied his mind was the question that had lingered without pause since witnessing the match between Il-un and Hyeon-gong a week ago.
‘Why did he harbor killing intent?’
Why had Hyeon-gong harbored killing intent?
Why had malice taken root in the heart of one who should have cherished justice and chivalry?
It would have been easy to dismiss him simply as a villain.
Or to label him a traitor who defied his sect's will.
Yet Mok Ri-won did not wish to reach such a hasty conclusion.
-A hero is one who constantly grapples with doubt.
That was what his master, Mok Seon-o, had always said.
‘Personal grudge?’
Did Hyeon-gong hate Il-un?
‘External pressure?’
Was it a clash between sects?
‘Or perhaps…’
Did he simply enjoy taking lives?
“...”
Mok Ri-won’s eyes opened.
A deep shadow dwelled within them, one that felt somehow hollow.
“I’ll know once I see for myself.”
Mok Ri-won unfolded his legs and stood.
Even from within the waiting area, the cheers echoed loudly.
Shaking off the shadow rising in his chest with those sounds, he took a step forward.
*
Sword King Namgung Hyeok.
Seated in the highest position in the arena, he spoke to the old woman beside him.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested in something like this.”
“Consider it a whim from my trip outside. Old age brings nothing but idle curiosity, doesn’t it?”
The old woman chuckled in response, her demeanor utterly unassuming.
This sparked curiosity among those guarding Namgung Hyeok’s side.
‘Who on earth is that old woman?’
For Namgung Hyeok, who always upheld hierarchy, to allow her to sit beside him meant she must be a master from a previous generation.
Yet among the masters they knew, there was no such unassuming old woman, leaving them puzzled.
To put it simply.
The old woman’s identity was Killing Star Yeom So-so.
She was one of the Four Saints Six Kings, like Namgung Hyeok, and someone who had made a certain choice alongside him at the Blood Massacre twenty years prior.
“…Are you after the Ink Sword?”
“I told you, it’s just a whim. And you, Sword King? Are you after that boy too, when you already have a grandson like that?”
“Who knows.”
Namgung Hyeok quietly gazed at the still-empty arena stage.
Ink Sword Mok Ri-won.
The rising star currently shaking the jianghu.
Namgung Hyeok couldn’t deny that the name immediately evoked a memory.
-Are you the Sword Dragon?
A man brimming with confidence, yet not arrogant.
A man he had never been able to surpass until the very end.
With the emergence of the Ink Sword, Namgung Hyeok found himself recalling the man no longer called Sword Saint.
‘If the Sword Saint had raised that child to the end.’
The child they’d taken in at the end of the Blood Massacre would be around Mok Ri-won’s age now, had he survived and grown safely.
Namgung Hyeok wanted confirmation.
Whether he truly was the child who inherited the Sword Saint’s will.
If so, had the child raised by the man he so desperately wished to surpass—even to the point of discarding his own name—grown as intended?
Had the Sword Saint realized his own will?
…And was he even alive?
“…Consider it my amusement as well.”
“Tut tut, still as dull as ever.”
The guards looked at Yeom So-so in alarm.
Unfazed by their stares, she turned her eyes to the arena.
Just then, two men were ascending the stage.
‘My, what a pretty face he has.’
Mok Ri-won’s handsome features, so unlike his father Mok Seon-o in youth.
Yeom So-so found the irony amusing.
*
The cheers swelled to their peak.
The heat from the gathered crowd turned to humidity, clinging to the skin.
At the center of it all, Mok Ri-won faced Immortal Dragon Hyeon-gong.
“Please, go easy on me.”
The man cupped his fists with a hearty laugh.
Mok Ri-won returned the gesture.
Then he asked.
“Why did you harbor killing intent?”
“Pardon?”
“The match with Il-un Monk. Surely you understand now?”
A flinch—.
Hyeon-gong’s body twitched for an instant.
This reaction bolstered Mok Ri-won’s suspicions.
But the response was lackluster.
“What do you mean?”
Hyeon-gong merely laughed heartily again.
Mok Ri-won watched him a moment longer before withdrawing his gaze and unfolding his fists.
“No need for further words, then. I understand.”
The announcer stepped back and raised his hand.
Mok Ri-won placed his hand on the sword at his waist.
He hadn’t received an answer.
But he could feel it.
The piercing killing intent that spread through his body the moment he posed the question.
That was proof more certain than any words.
“I cannot discuss chivalry with you.”
The announcer’s hand dropped.
At the same moment, Mok Ri-won shot forward.
Chae-aeng—!
The match had begun.
*
Whenever discussions of Ink Sword Mok Ri-won arose in the western regions, one topic always dominated.
‘What kind of sword does he wield?’
That was the question.
It was only natural.
In all his appearances at the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament so far, Mok Ri-won had never shown more than a single strike.
And even that single strike ended with his technique shattering his opponent’s sword.
Some said.
-He wields the Rigid Sword! Nothing but the Rigid Sword! The Ink Sword is a swordsman who crushes foes with overwhelming power!
Others countered.
-Rigid Sword, nonsense! He uses the Balanced Sword! Shattering a blade isn’t something brute force alone can achieve, is it? It’s a feat of precisely knowing where to apply weight and concentrating power there!
And those denying both claimed.
-I believe the Ink Sword’s style embodies the fluid beauty of the Wudang sword. Isn’t that right? He never swings first. He draws his sword only after his opponent strikes. Considering that, doesn’t it make sense that he used his foe’s own force to shatter the blade?
Until today, no one had reached a definitive answer.
And now, the many who had debated finally beheld his sword properly.
“Swift Sword…”
His sword unleashed a barrage at overwhelming speed, embodying the essence of the Swift Sword that pinned down his opponent.
But that assessment didn’t last.
The next technique Mok Ri-won displayed was too bizarre to call Swift Sword.
It slithered like a snake, then shot out like a tentacle, only to halt abruptly at times.
“Illusory Sword?”
So it appeared, at least.
To their eyes, that is.
The more discerning masters present.
The renowned sects from across the Central Plains chuckled wryly and fixed their gazes on his movements.
“No. It’s none of those.”
They had already reached superhuman realms.
They could manifest natural qi and perceive the flows within it.
Thus, they knew.
“…Irregularity.”
It was irregularity.
Shifting from Balanced Sword to Rigid Sword, dispersing into Illusory Sword with a shake, then thrusting as Swift Sword.
The dream of all jianghu swordsmen, yet achieved by none.
“What kind of absurd…”
It was mere profligacy, blessed by the gift of talent.
Someone from a renowned sect murmured while watching him.
“…Prepare negotiations at once.”
Soon after, several people from different factions slipped away from various parts of the spectator stands.
Prodigious talent.
In a martial world built on strength, it deserved envy and resentment.
But not in this moment.
Ink Sword Mok Ri-won had no affiliation.
Which meant his talent was there for the taking.
That fact alone transformed him from a marvel into a treasure, an object of greed etched in their eyes.
The stagnant jianghu began to stir.
*
Mok Ri-won pressed Hyeon-gong relentlessly.
To the point where no counter he attempted could even be called a struggle.
To the point where the brazen killing intent he’d revealed was thoroughly crushed.
He hadn’t intended to go all out like this, but one reason had changed his mind.
‘His resolve is misguided.’
His judgment that Immortal Dragon Hyeon-gong’s mindset was flawed.
Yet his hope that the man still understood chivalry.
Ma Il-seok had once said.
-No one falls to the crooked path as easily as those from prestigious sects.
-Why? They grow up watching heroes, don’t they?
-That’s precisely why. Always lording over others breeds poor manners. Every generation produces arrogant juniors who act like unorthodox scum out of hubris. Well, in our generation, the eldest brother beat the sense out of them.
-You mean Master?
-Yes, at the Azure Dragon Martial Tournament. Among those who faced him was that Sword King. The brat was so rude I didn’t even want to talk to him, but after getting thrashed by brother, he quieted down a bit.
-Come on, you weren’t much better yourself.
-Agh, brother! We agreed not to bring that up!
-My apologies, slip of the tongue.
The later generations of prestigious sects were prone to straying.
Those in positions of overlooking others grew arrogant easily.
-Yuan-a.
-Yes!
-Someday, you’ll encounter the ones Geok-ja spoke of. When that time comes, can you show them a bit of mercy and guide them to the righteous path?
-Yes! I’ll do exactly that!
-Good. Such a kind soul you are.
Thus, those who knew chivalry must set them straight.
Chae-aeng—!
Hyeon-gong’s sword was deflected.
As Mok Ri-won lunged again, Hyeon-gong held his breath and unleashed Wudang martial arts.
Taiji.
The pinnacle of Wudang, harmonizing all creation within a circle.
And the most elegant counter in the Central Plains martial world.
The force Mok Ri-won swung returned to him.
But Mok Ri-won dodged it effortlessly.
Hwiiik—.
The moment his sword pierced empty air, Mok Ri-won flicked his wrist, repelling the blade.
Saaah—.
Inky qi waves enveloped his sword.
At the same time, pale blue qi waves cloaked Hyeon-gong’s.
A clash of sword qi.
With their internal energies evenly matched, the outcome would now hinge on mastery of control.
“You must reflect on yourself.”
Mok Ri-won declared as he swung.
It was a different flow from before.
Until now, he had used irregularity to wield swords of every posture, but for the first time, he adopted a standardized stance.
Stance.
The flower of martial arts, schematizing its essence into physical forms to embody technique in a single move.
The inky qi shimmered faintly.
Dull as if painted in black ink, yet it gave the illusion of gleaming with a peculiar resonance.
Mok Ri-won recalled his master’s teachings.
‘The Meteor Seven Swords recreate the motion of stars through seven sword forms.’
Mok Ri-won drew his sword back fully.
A clear thrusting posture.
In that fleeting instant, he became an immovable mountain.
-The first form imitates the Big Dipper. It captures the brightest star, embodying unshakable eternity. Our ancestor gazed upon it and thrust at the heavens seven times, perfecting this sword.
Seven unyielding consecutive strikes.
Meteor Seven Swords, First Form: Seven Stars Extreme Sword.
Tak—.
Mok Ri-won stepped forward.
His sword shot like a beam of light, targeting Hyeon-gong’s shoulder.
Hyeon-gong wrapped his shoulder in qi, but it was futile.
Kwa-jik—.
With a crunching sound, Hyeon-gong’s left shoulder collapsed.
The blade hadn’t even touched him.
The accompanying qi wave had merely wrenched the joint.
“Keuk…!”
Hyeon-gong’s eyes widened.
Mok Ri-won did not relent.
In the next flurry, he struck the right shoulder, lungs, heart, right waist, knee, and foot in succession.
Hyeon-gong’s stance crumbled.
As Mok Ri-won finished the form and raised his sword for the finale.
‘…A smile?’
He caught the smile at Hyeon-gong’s lips.
A momentary hesitation from the incomprehensible reaction.
In that split second, Mok Ri-won’s body stiffened.
Chaeng-grang—.
Hyeon-gong’s sword clattered to the ground.
[Ink Sword! Sssssuuung!!!]
The announcer’s cry rang out alongside the following cheers.
And Hyeon-gong collapsed.
Mok Ri-won stared in stunned silence, taking it all in.
Then he was certain.
‘Just now…’
Hyeon-gong had deliberately taken the form.
And dropping the sword at the end was intentional, not from exhaustion.
That smile implied something.
‘…Winning isn’t the goal.’
Hyeon-gong had entered the match intending to lose.
*
Namgung Hyeok gripped the armrest of his chair as if to crush it.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
Namgung Hyeok glared ferociously at Yeom So-so.
He erected a qi barrier to contain sound, then continued.
“Meteor Seven Swords. You didn’t think I wouldn’t recognize it, did you?”
Namgung Hyeok was genuinely furious.
Not at Mok Ri-won, but at the old woman before him.
“I knew you wouldn’t come here without reason. So, did humiliating me amuse you?”
She had known from the start.
That the youth called Ink Sword was the Sword Saint’s child.
The child from that day when the Blood Massacre ended.
Namgung Hyeok’s aura turned vicious.
His guards outside the barrier were unaware, but Yeom So-so clearly sensed the surging power within him.
Yeom So-so chuckled.
“How about it? That old man crafted something impressive, didn’t he?”
“...”
Namgung Hyeok’s brow furrowed.
His gaze turned to Mok Ri-won’s bewildered face.
‘Sword Saint…’
Watching Mok Ri-won, Namgung Hyeok recalled the first form he’d displayed and soon let out a hollow laugh.
‘…He’s alive.’
Kkwa-duk—.
The armrest shattered.
The flame in Namgung Hyeok’s chest, extinguished since the Blood Massacre, reignited once more.