The Sword That Silenced the Thunderbolt

Silence settled over the reception hall at Namgung Cheon's words.

Gwak San swallowed without realizing it.

He had not come clutching a grudge, nor to trade pleasantries of any other kind. This was a challenge from a pure martial artist—and a declaration, more arrogant and unhesitating than any he had heard, that the man had come to test his martial might.

Disgust boiled up inside him.

However much of a young master of the Namgung Clan he might be, Gwak San was the head of a sect and a Peak Realm master who had weathered a lifetime of battles. To be treated so openly as a test subject by a brat who had barely crossed twenty—it made his blood surge backward.

But Gwak San suppressed the searing emotion and turned his mind to the practical matter that had to be settled first.

This man was direct bloodline of the World's Greatest Sword Family. Should this entanglement go wrong, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entire sect could be dragged into danger.

As the head of a sect, he spoke in a level voice.

"Before we speak of a duel, one thing must be made clear. Is this challenge the young master's own will, or does it carry the will of the Namgung Clan?"

Namgung Cheon answered without a flicker of hesitation.

"Not the Namgung Clan's. It is my will alone, Namgung Cheon's."

Gwak San's eyes deepened.

"Then I take it we agree to hold no one accountable for any misfortune that befalls in this duel."

At those words, Namgung Cheon smiled faintly for the first time.

"Of course."

The moment he heard that answer, the last shackle binding Gwak San fell away. All that remained was a pure contest of martial artist against martial artist. Only then did the long-suppressed emotion lift its head from the depths of Gwak San's chest.

He looked into the man's eyes. There lay nothing but a single, unadulterated desire—to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠break his saber.

If that's how it is.

At last a hearty smile spread across Gwak San's face. He now faced the man before him not as the young master of the Namgung Clan, but as one martial artist facing another.

"Good!"

A thunderous reply burst from his lips.

"If the young master's will is truly set, how could this Gwak San refuse? I will face you gladly, with the honor of the Thunderbolt Saber on the line."

He intended to prepare with all his heart.

"When and where do you wish to fight?" Gwak San asked.

Setting a date and holding a formal, witnessed duel before the eyes of many—that was the custom of the Orthodox Path. But Namgung Cheon's answer laughed in the face of that custom.

"Why put it off?"

A thin smile touched his lips.

"Right now. Here, in the Thunderbolt Sect."

Confidence soaked his voice. Gwak San said nothing more. Proving oneself with the sword rather than words—that was the way of the martial artist.

"Then to the training grounds."

The two men left the reception hall without another word.

Word that the third young master of the Namgung Clan had challenged the Sect Leader of the Thunderbolt Sect spread through the sect in an instant. Disciples poured like clouds toward the path leading to the training grounds, eager to witness the duel. On their faces, alongside the tension, was hope in full measure—that their Sect Leader would put the Namgung whelp in his place.

And if it went so, the name of the Thunderbolt Sect would ring through all of Anhui.

Thus, amid everyone's expectations, the two men took their places at the center of the training grounds.

Disciples of the Thunderbolt Sect crowded the training grounds on every side. Namgung Cheon felt their wariness but paid it no mind. Compared to the hostility of tens of thousands he had faced in his past life, this much was a child's tantrum.

His gaze stayed fixed on one man alone—the man standing before him, Gwak San.

The Peak Realm, is it.

The energy flowing from Gwak San's body carried a respectable weight. There was a pure, ferocious intensity to it, the kind that only a man who had driven his whole life down the single road of the saber could produce. As a first opponent, he lacked for nothing.

"Draw your sword, young master."

Gwak San spoke quietly as he drew the great saber at his waist. Fighting spirit blazed in his eyes.

Namgung Cheon liked that. Even facing a young master—one rumored, no less, to be utterly worthless—the man refused to let his guard slip for an instant.

Good.

Namgung Cheon's hand went to the sword at his waist.

Shreeeong—

With a clear, crystalline ring, an azure blade emerged. The beloved sword of Namgung Cheong, the past patriarch once hailed as the Sword King—Changcheon. Having crossed decades of time to meet a new master at last, the treasured blade drank in the sunlight of the training grounds and breathed out a cool, dazzling blue. The clear, upright energy streaming from its edge was so overwhelming that the onlookers felt reverence stir in their breasts unbidden.

Gwak San swallowed without meaning to. To unleash such presence from the mere act of drawing a sword.

Yet the cold shiver running down his spine only stoked his fighting spirit hotter.

"A famous blade."

With the low exclamation, Gwak San adjusted his grip on the great saber. His opponent's aura exceeded imagination, but the pride of a lifetime spent at the saber's side did not waver. And so, as an elder, he offered his courtesy.

"I'll yield the first move. Come at me."

But—

"No need."

Gwak San's brow twitched. He abandoned the thought of yielding the first strike at once.

"……You'll regret it."

With those words, Gwak San's body moved.

Kung—!

With a stamping step, Gwak San surged forward—a blistering charge ill-suited to his massive frame. The great saber came crashing down in an instant. It was the first form of his storied Thunderbolt Saber Art, Thunderbolt Collapses the Mountain. True to its name, a saber force that might bring down a mountain itself drove toward Namgung Cheon's head.

But—

Slow.

Namgung Cheon turned his body lightly and deflected the strike. His form shifted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like flowing water, soft and supple.

KWAANG—!

The saber that grazed past him hammered the floor of the training grounds, carving a deep fissure into the solid stone slabs.

Gwak San's face hardened. He had not taken the boy lightly, but he had never imagined his opening move would be evaded so simply.

"Hah!"

With a short battle cry, Gwak San swung the saber without pause. Unbroken, linked strikes—then another form, Parting Wind, Cleaving Steel, and the third, Thunder Shatters River and Sky.

Shwaaek—! Shwaeaek—!

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forms of the Thunderbolt Saber Art unfolded like a storm, without a breath's pause. Each time his great saber clove the air, sharp cracks of splitting air burst out one after another. Amid the roar of air being torn apart, heavy saber force scattered in all directions, leaving deep scars across every corner of the training grounds.

"Whoa!"

The watching disciples burst into cheers despite themselves. Their Sect Leader's saber art carried a majesty that could command the world.

But Namgung Cheon, standing at the very heart of that assault, was utterly serene. With the barest minimum of movement, he evaded every one of Gwak San's attacks. Half a step right, a handspan left. Again and again, Gwak San's saber carved only empty air. It was as if the man were reading his every movement before he made it.

"This is absurd……"

A groan escaped Gwak San's lips.

Chaang—!

His great saber collided head-on with Namgung Cheon's sword. With the shriek of grinding steel, the immense internal force transmitted through the blade numbed his entire arm. Even his internal energy was leagues beyond his own. Everything he had built over a lifetime was being denied, root and branch, before this young master.

That realization shattered Gwak San's composure completely. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, and his breathing grew ragged beyond restraint. All precision of form was gone. Only the instinct to bring his opponent down remained, driving the saber wildly through the air.

Namgung Cheon watched the sight calmly.

It's over.

His opponent's forms had already collapsed into disorder, openings showing everywhere. He could counter and end it at any moment—but he did not. Even the movements of a small ant can teach a man something.

The Thunderbolt Saber Art.

A stubborn saber style—fierce, direct, staking everything on raw destructive force. The strengths and weaknesses within it, the flow of its qi and its variations. Namgung Cheon took all of it into his eyes.

And the moment he had grasped everything—

"Uwaaaah!"

Gwak San wrung out every last thread of internal force and unleashed his greatest saber force. The final form of the Thunderbolt Saber Art—Myriad Lightnings Beneath Heaven. As if dozens of bolts were falling at once, saber force assailed Namgung Cheon from every direction. There was no ground to evade to, no wall to block with—a form of certain death.

Yet Namgung Cheon met it without a change of expression.

Tak.

Into the storm of countless saber forces, he took a single step forward. And then—

Shwaaek—!

He swung his sword once. Just once. A movement neither fast nor ornate. But what lay within it was the will of the Heavenly Demon—to destroy all things and stand towering above the wreckage.

KWAKWAGWANG—!

Azure sword energy tore Gwak San's storm of saber force apart head-on.

"……!"

Shock flooded Gwak San's eyes. His desperate final technique, dismantled so emptily. And in the very next instant, a cold sensation brushed the back of his neck.

When had he closed the distance? The tip of Namgung Cheon's sword hung motionless at his throat. As the chill blade touched skin, his fine hairs stood on end, and a single drop of blood traced down the back of his neck. Had the man applied the slightest more strength, his head would already have left his shoulders.

The roars and cracking air that had filled the training grounds stopped as if they had never been. Silence. Only Gwak San's ragged breathing echoed across the grounds.

Namgung Cheon regarded Gwak San without a word. In his eyes there was neither the exultation of the victor nor mockery for the defeated—only the calm of a man to whom everything had simply concluded.

Tuk. Clang.

The great saber slipped from Gwak San's powerless fingers. He opened his mouth slowly.

"……I've lost."

At Gwak San's words, Namgung Cheon lowered his sword.

"A fine bout."

Chak.

Sheathing his sword, Namgung Cheon turned to leave the training grounds. There was nothing left for him here. But an urgent voice came from behind him.

"Wait, young master—please!"

Namgung Cheon stopped and looked back. Gwak San strode up to him and, without a moment's hesitation, dropped to his knees. It was a posture of utter humiliation for a Peak Realm master and the head of a sect to take. The disciples nearby gasped and murmured, but Gwak San paid them no mind. He spoke with a grave face.

"Seeing your sword today, I realized I had been a frog in a well."

His voice trembled. And within it lay not the groveling of a defeated man, but a pure yearning for a higher realm.

"Please—grant me your teaching."

Heavy silence fell over the training grounds once more. Namgung Cheon gazed down at the kneeling Gwak San for a while without a word. His eyes were as calm as ever, but a small interest kindled in them.

A man who could cast aside his pride and bow his head before strength. Such men were easy to handle. Toss them a scrap of food, and they become loyal hounds that bark and bite for their master.

He'll be useful.

Judgment made, Namgung Cheon spoke.

"Teaching, you say." A faint smile touched his lips. "I have no intention of that."

The instant disappointment flashed across Gwak San's face, Namgung Cheon continued.

"But I will repay your sincerity."

As Gwak San looked up in surprise, Namgung Cheon's voice bored into his ear.

"What is too rigid merely breaks. You cling to striking, and so you fail to see what should be allowed to slip past."

"……!"

The shock was like a hammer to the skull. The heart of the problem that had ensnared him for years, pierced through in a single sentence. The shiver of enlightenment ran down Gwak San's spine.

Meanwhile, Namgung Cheon turned without lingering and began to leave the training grounds. Gathering his senses, Gwak San shouted urgently at the receding figure's back.

"Thank you, young master! I will never forget this debt as long as I live!"

Even at the thunderous cry, Namgung Cheon did not look back. But toward that retreating back, Gwak San bowed with all his heart, forehead pressed to the earth—and held it until Namgung Cheon had vanished entirely from sight.

As Namgung Cheon walked out of the Thunderbolt Sect, a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Gwak San. The attitude the man had shown ran parallel to the path he himself sought. But Namgung Cheon felt nothing greater from him than that.

I've only just crested the first mountain.

His gaze passed beyond the Thunderbolt Sect's walls, toward the vast sky above the city of Anhui.

Now it begins.

Until every strongman under this heaven knelt. His struggle would not stop.