The Falling Sun Swordplay
At the precise moment when an attack should have flown forward, I stepped ahead instead. A brief opening appeared in Geomseon, who had been thrusting his fist out to meet my strike. Even if his fistwork left something to be desired, he was still the Sword Immortal. Despite the unexpected turn, he swiftly pulled his fist back. Yet it was clear my unpredictability had unsettled him. He refrained from throwing another punch and simply watched what I would do next, trying to determine whether I had deliberately broken the rhythm or if it had been pure coincidence.
Fine. I'll let you underestimate me one more time.
I poured my will into the lower half of my fist. A sincere, heavy intent to shatter my opponent could become a threat all on its own. Watching the fist fly out in the same rhythm as before, Geomseon felt no suspicion. He merely looked disappointed that the earlier surprise had been nothing more than a fluke.
The instant he moved his fist along with the flow, I knew I had him. He's taken the bait. That, too, had been part of my plan. Who would imagine a murim newcomer could toy with him through nothing but sheer will? No matter how enlightened a Sword Immortal he might be, he could not help but be caught off guard by something he had never bothered to consider. Naturally, the speed with which he withdrew his fist slowed.
Bewilderment flashed across Geomseon's eyes, but it was already too late. The extended fist, the forward-moving body, the broken balance, the power flowing forward—these were the consequences of being clumsy with fist techniques.
You senile old fool. What I intend to feed you this time is not a powerful punch. There is simply no time to unleash a full-strength attack against this man. The black creature and Harkia both granted me time, but Geomseon offers me no such luxury. The moment I prepare a heavy strike, he will ready a counter. Therefore, I must find a way to deliver a devastating blow in the shortest span possible. The most effective method is to torment him from within.
The instant my fist connected with Geomseon's body, the qi gathered at my elbow erupted like a gunshot, using the fist as its barrel. The energy pierced his skin, burrowed inside, and shook him to the core. Yet before his organs could twist from the flow, he succeeded in mastering his own power. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he leaped back, so he had clearly been affected, but the result fell short of what I had aimed for.
As expected, the absence of a proper physical body is frustrating. Had this been my form inside Apis, I could have ensured he would never stand again. Then again, if I had been using the Apis body, Geomseon would never have shown me an opening in the first place.
Geomseon wiped the blood from his lips with his sleeve, then looked at me and curved his mouth into a smile.
What a shame. If he had flown into a rage and accused me of cowardice, I would have gladly welcomed the insult.
I am not someone who can be lectured about age by anyone, yet I found myself unable to retort. Having ascended to the rank of Shinseon long ago, he must have lived through an unfathomable span of years.
Geomseon chuckled, then drew the sword from his waist. It was nothing special—just an ordinary blade well cared for. But the one who held it was far from ordinary, so there was no issue. Simply gripping a single sword changed the entire presence radiating from him. Bare-handed, he had seemed like nothing more than a frivolous old man. Now he was different. The opponent before me was a madman born of the sword, raised by the sword, who had ultimately become the sword itself.
When I tossed out the remark, laughter exploded from Geomseon’s mouth.
The previous exchange had been nothing more than Geomseon toying with me. I had succeeded in landing a hit during that game, but what began now was different. From this point forward, it was a struggle. A fight. A battle waged with lives on the line. The opponent still did not seem inclined to reveal his full sincerity, yet surviving the sword swings of that insane old madman would require me to rack my brains.
Hoo. This is good. I like it. The tension of possibly dying is delightful. The certainty that stopping my thoughts for even an instant would cost me my limbs brings joy. The premonition that the moment that blade touches my body I will die is positively lovely.
Very well. With thousands of spectators at our backs, let us begin this fight.
Geomseon took one step forward and moved his hand. Fast. With this current body, even following the motion was difficult. Still, I could just barely keep up. Even after channeling qi into my fist and striking the flat of the blade, blood welled from the back of my hand where it had made contact.
From the very first move, his killing intent overflowed. If I had been an ordinary modern person instead of myself, that strike would have taken my head clean off, you deranged old lunatic.
Geomseon exclaimed in admiration while continuing to swing his sword. When I had faced the Third Elder, I could maintain some composure even with a second-class body. Yet against this old bastard Geomseon, I could scarcely find time to breathe.
Wounds gradually multiplied across my body. Blood scattered in all directions as my brain screamed in pain. Instinct constantly shrieked warnings of death. I ignored it all and focused solely on receiving the blade. It was not yet time to counter. Even if I were carved away until my throat was severed, the opportunity had not arrived. So I endured. I managed the qi inside my body and waited for the right moment.
Geomseon abruptly halted the continuous barrage and raised an eyebrow at my bloodied form.
At first listen, Geomseon’s words sounded reasonable. The truth, however, was different.
To a martial artist, the weapon they wield is their very life. The higher one’s realm, the fiercer their pride in what they master. Therefore, Geomseon’s proposal was not to treat sword and fist as equals. It was to abandon the fist and devote myself to the sword he would teach.
Come. Answer the provocation.
Geomseon burst into laughter, flung aside his straw hat, and revealed his disheveled white hair.
Geomseon raised his sword high. It pointed past the bamboo forest toward the sun hanging in the sky.
As the blade descended, the world was dyed in its color. The sky held neither stars nor clouds—only complete blackness, as though the sun had fallen and even the moon could not rise. The entire realm sank into perfect darkness.
It had been a long time since I last witnessed it, yet it remained awe-inspiring. To reach a single extreme and place even the world beneath oneself. Because of this old bastard, I had assumed every other Shinseon would be the same. How many disappointments had I suffered? Among all the immortals, Geomseon was the exception of exceptions. While countless others had become Shinseon through various means, he was a monster among monsters who had attained transcendence through nothing but the realm he had forged alone.
The battle with him had been one of the most intense fights of my entire life. Regrettably, I could not recreate that same clash now, but was I not a body that would not die even if killed? I would risk my life.
I pressed several acupoints across my body. During my days of tyranny in the murim, I had once captured a man known as Shinui. I coerced him into teaching me many things. Most concerned medicine, but some involved acupoints. The points I pressed now artificially drove the qi within the body into a violent frenzy. It might be easier to understand if I called it an external heretical art that temporarily transformed a person into a jiangshi. Enormous power could be gained, yet the acupoints would be ruined; once the effect ended, the body would never wield martial arts again.
Originally I had used these points only to turn those I sought revenge upon into existences that were neither dead nor alive. But the current me could die and revive endlessly. Even if this body were destroyed, I could simply switch to another. I had no desire to empathize, yet I now understood why Hyeolgyoju treated his own body so recklessly. It was far more efficient this way.
I spread the qi that rampaged ferociously, attempting to devour even its owner. As though venting its frustration at failing to consume me, the energy swallowed the surrounding qi and steadily swelled in power.
Was it my father who once fought Geomseon? Or perhaps the Heavenly Demon who came before him? I could not know, but it did not matter. What I used was the Heavenly Demon Divine Art I had refined myself. No matter how many times he had battled previous Heavenly Demons, it would have no bearing.
I gathered the energy that had been devouring everything around me and condensed it within my dantian. The qi rampaged wildly inside me once more, but when I crushed it with my will, it obediently tucked its tail.
If anyone understood the Falling Sun Swordplay better than Geomseon himself, it would be me. After making him my enemy in the past, I had constantly employed the sword of the falling sun. Speaking only of its underlying principles, it could rival any supreme martial art in existence, yet it possessed a clear weakness. The Falling Sun Swordplay was a technique Geomseon had created with the sole desire to cut down everything the world contained. Therefore, it gave no thought to defense. It existed only to slice apart whatever approached, never considering countering, blocking, or evading. It simply charged forward.
In that sense, there were more openings now than when he swung his blade in ordinary combat. If I did not seize this chance, when would I ever find one?