The Tenth Opponent

The moment Gal Mu-seong's head hit the ground, silence fell over the training yard.

The gang leader who had been their sky mere moments ago now lay rolling in the dust, nothing more than a blood-soaked slab of meat.

"L-Leader…?"

Someone's trembling voice rang out, and then—

"Kill that bastard!"

The vice-leader roared, his eyes rolling back with fury. At his words, killing intent kindled in the eyes of every warrior present.

Shring! Shrrring!

The sound of dozens of blades being drawn rang out in succession, one after another. A murderous aura pressed in from all sides, steel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flashing on every flank.

But Namgung Cheon did not so much as stir.

He simply gazed down, quiet and unhurried, at the sword in his hand—Mukhon.

Then, in that instant—

Fwoooosh!

Blue-white flame blossomed once more along Mukhon's blade. Sword force. The supreme emblem of the Transcendent Realm—the absolute power that severed all things.

The violent wind-pressure erupting from the flaming sword force swept across the entire training yard.

WHAAAM—!

It was a razor-sharp pressure, as if dozens of blades were slicing through flesh all at once. The dirt of the ground surged away like a wave, and the gang members standing nearest stumbled backward without meaning to.

And then—

Grrrrrlll…

Gal Mu-seong's severed head, lying on the ground, began to roll as if it were alive, driven by that fierce sword wind. Trailing a smear of blood, it came to a soft, wet stop right at the feet of the vice-leader near the edge of the yard.

"…!"

The vice-leader found himself staring directly into those hollow, empty eyes—eyes that seemed to glare up at him in accusation.

Reality came flooding back. He raised his head, and his gaze locked with Namgung Cheon's.

Namgung Cheon, wreathed in the blazing glow of sword force, looked down at him. The killing intent radiating from that single man crushed the murderous aura of dozens beneath it like so much dust.

"Uhhh…"

The faces of the vice-leader and every Blood Sword Gang member present began to drain white. They could feel it, vividly—the sensation of their bodies being hacked into dozens, hundreds of pieces.

The terror of death. That primal fear froze them where they stood.

Only then did Namgung Cheon slowly lift his head. He swept his gaze over the gang members one by one, then walked with unhurried calm toward the main gate.

Thud. Thud.

In the dead-silent yard, the sound of his footsteps echoed with terrible clarity. As he approached, the men blocking his path recoiled in raw terror, backing away step by stumbling step until a path opened ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before him.

A lane split open through dozens of Blood Sword Gang members. Namgung Cheon walked it.

And when he finally stood before the wide-open main gate, he paused for a moment. A scene flickered through his mind from his past life—wolves tearing at the carcass of a defeated pack leader.

The nature of the wolf pack.

The strongest takes everything. That is simply how it works.

Human nature was not so different. That was why men fought for it.

Without turning around, he murmured quietly.

"The leader is dead… so someone will have to decide who leads next."

With those words, Namgung Cheon left the compound without a trace of regret.

Long after he had gone, the silence endured. But before long—

Thud.

With that one small sound—

"Kill the vice-leader!"

"You dog—!"

A wind of blood swept through the Blood Sword Gang.

As Namgung Cheon walked out of the compound, a faint smile played at the corner of his mouth.

The news spread: Namgung Cheon had broken the Blood Demon Sword, Gal Mu-seong, and the Blood Sword Gang had disintegrated overnight. At first, people dismissed it as an absurd rumor.

But before the rumor had even finished spreading, Namgung Cheon's sword turned toward another of Hefei's great pillars.

The Blue Wind Sword Sect—an Orthodox sword sect that stood shoulder to shoulder with the Thunderbolt Sect. Its leader, the Falling Blossom Sword Jin Hyeon, was a veteran master who had earned distinction even in the Great War of Justice and Demons. He received Namgung Cheon's challenge with courtesy, and a fair and honorable duel unfolded before hundreds of watching warriors.

Yet Jin Hyeon's dazzling swordwork proved nothing more than a dance before Namgung Cheon's blade. The contest did not pass thirty exchanges, and Jin Hyeon withdrew his sword of his own accord, conceding defeat cleanly.

Namgung Cheon's steps did not stop. The very next day, he went straight for the Mountain Domination Clan, an Unorthodox sect on Hefei's outskirts. The spear of its leader, the Primordial Single Spear Ma Cheon-il, struck like lightning—yet it never once so much as brushed Namgung Cheon's collar, slicing only empty air, until at last his spear shaft was cleaved clean in two and shattered miserably against Namgung Cheon's sword.

The heads of both the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Orthodox and Unorthodox paths had crumbled beneath a single man's sword in the span of barely two days. The very air of Hefei changed. People began to wonder, day after day, where Namgung Cheon would walk next—and then, more than that, they began to follow in his wake.

By the time the number of Peak Realm masters he had broken passed eight, the people finally understood. That they could no longer call him merely the third young master of the Namgung Clan.

And so the name they began to utter, heavy with awe and fear alike: Sword Ghost.

Namgung Cheon's new name began to shake Hefei—and beyond it, all of Anhui Province.

A shabby tavern on a street corner. Namgung Cheon sat before a steaming bowl of noodles.

The crowd pressing around the tavern murmured incessantly, but he paid it no mind and lifted his chopsticks.

Just then, the tavern door burst open, and a hulking man with twin sabers at his belt strode inside. His eyes were fixed from the very first moment on one person only—Namgung Cheon.

"Would that be the Sword Ghost, Young Master Namgung Cheon?"

A provocative voice.

"I am called Pung Jin-ak, the Gale Twin Sabers, from Shandong! I've ridden a long road to break you and carve my name into the world. Grant me a duel, I beg you!"

A brash, confident bellow.

"The Gale Twin Sabers?"

"He came all the way from Shandong?"

The murmuring around them swelled. A master of Pung Jin-ak's caliber was someone no one could afford to dismiss.

But Namgung Cheon did not even lift his head. His eyes remained fixed on the steam rising off the milky-white broth.

He only frowned slightly.

At that consummate, crushing disregard, Pung Jin-ak's face flushed red, then white. But he did not move rashly. Every nerve in his body strained to gauge the other man's presence.

Namgung Cheon, saying nothing, picked up a bundle of noodles with his chopsticks and brought them to his mouth.

Slurp.

Then he chewed and swallowed, slowly. A perfectly peaceful, ordinary movement.

And yet, at the same moment, an invisible force bore down on every inch of Pung Jin-ak's body. The instant Namgung Cheon swallowed his noodles, that force added weight upon weight, crushing down on him entirely.

"Ugh…!"

Cold sweat poured down Pung Jin-ak's face like rain. He clawed his internal energy up desperately just to endure. The hands gripping his twin sabers trembled violently, and his spine was soaked through with sweat.

Hooo—

The other man was simply eating a meal. And yet Pung Jin-ak needed every ounce of his strength just to remain standing.

Namgung Cheon lifted his chopsticks once more and brought the last of the noodles to his mouth.

Crunch.

From the knees of the man holding out against the pressure came the sound of something snapping. He could endure no more. If he held on like this, every bone in his body would be crushed, his ribs driven inward to pierce his own heart.

And finally—

THUD.

Pung Jin-ak's massive frame collapsed without resistance. On both knees, head hanging, he heaved for breath.

Everyone inside and outside the tavern watched the scene with bated breath.

Clack.

Only then did Namgung Cheon set his chopsticks down with an audible click. He turned his head slowly and looked down at the kneeling Pung Jin-ak.

"……"

Pung Jin-ak could not bring himself to meet his eyes. In a shaking voice, he admitted his defeat.

"…I—I lose."

Only then did Namgung Cheon withdraw his pressure and rise slowly from his seat. He tossed a few coins onto the table to pay, and walked out of the tavern.

That makes five today alone.

The tiresome swarms of flies, hungry to steal another man's fame, had begun to circle. This was more than enough. It was time to end this proof.

A quiet inn room on the outskirts of Hefei.

Namgung Cheon leaned against the creaking wooden window frame, silently gazing down at Hefei as darkness settled over the city. Countless oil lamps flickered to life one by one, glittering like stars—but the splendid night scenery never reached his eyes.

His mind was reviewing the campaign of the past several days. The Thunderbolt Saber, Gwak San. The Blood Demon Sword, Gal Mu-seong, and the rest. Each had been a master who commanded Hefei in his own right. Their martial arts had each borne a different color, and each had undeniably reached a certain height.

But that was all. Measured against the road he had walked—the summit he had trodden as the Heavenly Demon—they were no more than nameless wildflowers blooming halfway up a mountainside.

Aside from those who have withdrawn from the world, and the Namgung Clan itself, there is no one left in Hefei—or in all of Anhui—who is worth drawing my sword against.

Swatting at the worthless flies that lunged for his reputation was nothing but a waste of time, devoid of all meaning. Nine victories. Nine proofs. It was time to put the final period on this campaign of duels.

With one last fight, he had to proclaim his return to the world beyond any doubt—and make the clan's scheming vipers too afraid to even think of testing him again.

So who should that last, tenth opponent be?

He must stand on a different level from everyone so far.

That was the first condition. A mere Peak Realm master would not suffice. To draw out his true strength, his opponent had to at least stand at the threshold of the Transcendent Realm—or better, to have already entered it.

Only then can this proof be finished with the splendor it deserves.

And the second condition: he could not be a man of the Namgung Clan. Crossing swords with the clan's internal masters was not yet timely. Until the clan head returned, he had to avoid infighting.

Someone in Anhui—someone not of the Namgung Clan—who had reached the Transcendent Realm. Did such a contradictory being truly exist here?

A faint crease formed between Namgung Cheon's brows. No suitable opponent came readily to mind.

He sat lost in thought for a moment, gazing at the brilliant moon beyond the window—and then, suddenly, a memory he had forgotten flashed across his mind like a stroke of lightning.

The intelligence of the Jianghu he had gathered as the Heavenly Demon in his past life merged with the memories of the Namgung Cheon of today, and at last a single figure took shape.

…Yes. There was one.

Just one man. Such a being had certainly existed.

A solitary genius who rose into the ranks of the supreme relying on nothing but a single sword—no backing from a great sect, no clan's support. The sole disciple of Nangwang, the king of the wanderers. A master hailed as a talent surpassing his own master, who had long since entered the Transcendent Realm. And at the same time, someone who would plausibly be staying here in Hefei.

Found him.

The final opponent. Namgung Cheon's eyes blazed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brighter than they ever had. A warrior's pure fighting spirit roared to life.

He murmured quietly.

"The Jeongmyeolgeom—the Absolute Extinction Sword. Mujin."

It was the last name that would end this proof.

The contents of this book may not be used in any form or by any means without the written permission of Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. — Dream Books.