#12. The Third-Rate Warrior Protecting the Sect's Honor (6)
"What the hell is going on here?"
"Yeah, right? No matter how you look at it..."
"They said the Blood Wolf Iron Sword of Iron Sword Sect was beyond the city walls, but that was just empty rumor too."
The atmosphere was more about slamming Iron Sword Sect than acknowledging Tae-eul Gate, even though a Tae-eul Gate disciple was overwhelming their prodigy.
Dogshit for real.
Tae-eul Gate had been playing paper tiger—or rather, paper fox—for centuries now, so changing perceptions would take a long time. And to buy that time, Iron Sword Sect's reputation needed to be not just shattered, but utterly demolished for a solid justification.
Iron Sword Sect had to become known in the jianghu as the type that'd devour Tae-eul Gate with Murim Alliance connivance at the flick of a finger.
"Haa, haa. Haa."
In that sense, things were unfolding perfectly right now.
Seong Mohyeon was in a beggar's rags after deploying the humiliating naryeotagon—a disgrace for any warrior—and covered in minor cuts. Meanwhile, I was spotless, without a single scratch, and not even winded.
Anyone could see I had the overwhelming advantage, but Seong Mohyeon refused to yield easily.
I wouldn't either.
There were just too many eyes on him. Not only Iron Sword Sect members, but every booze-loving soul in Anhuiseong had gathered. And weren't gossip and backbiting the finest snacks for heavy drinkers?
If this defeat got recorded, Seong Mohyeon would carry the label "lost to Tae-eul Gate trash" for life.
Plus, he probably thought he couldn't lose, which was the biggest reason he wouldn't quit.
From the spar's flow, he had no sword technique to counter my Socheon Sword Technique. He was sure he'd win, but for some reason, his qi kept breaking off, and his energy circulation faltered.
"Your internal energy cultivation must be lacking."
"Y-You bastard!"
His dantian qi should flow endlessly like a valley stream, but the Azure Dragon Ring made it drip like a leaky faucet—disrupting his forms and power.
"What the hell are you..."
"What about me?"
"You wouldn't happen to be...?"
"Losing makes you paranoid, huh?"
Snikt. Shrrk.
In the end, my sword sliced off Seong Mohyeon's hair. Now a wild-haired beggar, he growled in fury he couldn't contain.
"Something feel off?"
"Hrrgh, hrrgh."
Even the dimwitted Seong Mohyeon seemed to catch on around now. He switched from sword to fist technique, and the moment our hands clasped, I triggered the Azure Dragon Ring to drain his qi in a massive burst.
"Heup!"
Finally, certainty in his eyes. He recoiled like he'd seen a ghost.
Then he shouted toward the platform.
"S-Sorcery! It's sorcery!"
The Iron Sword Sect warriors and platform elders shot to their feet the instant he spoke.
Ignoring them, I swung at Seong Mohyeon with even fiercer momentum.
"Eek!"
A scream—not a kiai—leaked from his lips as he rolled on the ground. The cuts on his body grew deeper, his face smeared with despair and snot.
"Stop!"
Finally, Iron Sword Sect Lord Seong Cheonwol leaped up and bellowed.
His shout, laced with full internal energy, rang out like it would tear eardrums, staggering those with weak cultivation as they clutched their heads.
"Haa, haa."
The moment Seong Mohyeon turned his head, relieved by his lord's cry—
I unleashed Socheon Sword Technique aiming to sever his neck.
"You thought that'd end it?"
Snikt.
Relaxed by Seong Cheonwol's intervention, Seong Mohyeon had no time to step into a footwork before my Socheon Sword Technique thrust forward. He stumbled back in retreat.
But I was a step faster, slashing a long gash down his back.
"Argh!"
Blood sprayed as a wound crossed from right shoulder to left flank. As I readied a reverse slash—
Seong Cheonwol appeared in a flash, thrusting out his palm.
Boom! My body flew back three zhang.
Repelled three zhang away.
Something's gone wrong.
Iron Sword Sect Lord Seong Cheonwol thought so.
You know that feeling? Can't pinpoint it exactly, but something's off—and yet it's too crucial to halt midway. That was Seong Cheonwol's exact spot.
"Tae-eul Gate's swordsmanship is quite sharp."
Jegal Somyeong's musing deepened his suspicions.
Tae-eul Gate's sword was too light to pierce Iron Sword Sect's. Their paths differed in depth, bad matchup. To surpass it, one needed overwhelmingly superior internal energy.
"That Tae-eul Gate kid must have plenty of real combat experience."
As the fog cleared with Jegal Somyeong's words, objectively assessing the arrogant brat Jin Sowoon hit like a blow to the back of the head.
His improvisation rivaled seasoned ronin, turning the same forms into something entirely different.
But realizing what was wrong came too late.
"Argh."
Precious Seong Mohyeon screamed, collapsing as blood sprayed everywhere.
No time for further thought.
"You bastard! Didn't you hear me say stop?!"
The kid, knocked back three zhang, walked toward them without intent to end it.
"Is the match decided?"
"How dare you!"
"That Seong fool hasn't admitted defeat. If he had yielded cleanly, no blood would have been shed."
Even so, was spilling blood in a spar right?
"So you think you did well?"
"He didn't just refuse defeat—he insulted my victory by crying sorcery without shame, then fled showing his back. If not for your sixtieth birthday banquet, Sect Lord, it'd be his neck, not his back."
"Shut your mouth, brat!"
Seong Cheonwol desperately buried the "sorcery" claim.
Words like "sorcery" or "forbidden arts" carried weight—not to be thrown around lightly.
The problem? His own grandson uttered it.
"This one-sided humiliation disguised as a spar started with your grandson's reckless insult. You still think your side was right?"
"You little—!"
Iron Sword Sect Lord's robes began to swell slowly.
He tried intimidation to force retreat, but no dice. Instead, the kid's eyes blazed like he'd grasped a perfect pretext, charging forward.
"So Iron Sword Sect can't accept a fair defeat and needs its lord to nullify the match? Petty sect, huh? Now you get it— they're not in the 108 Peaks because they have the problem."
With each word, the crowd's mood shifted.
Seong Cheonwol was trapped, unable to advance or retreat.
"Sorcery, definitely sorcery, Grandfather!"
Seong Cheonwol wanted to sew Seong Mohyeon's mouth shut.
"...Quiet!"
"It's true! I felt it clearly! That bastard's definitely mastered the Absorption Great Law!"
He stared at his grandson in disbelief at the stupidity. Fine in the heat of battle, but affirming forbidden arts publicly? That'd bring responsibility crashing down.
Worse, Murim Alliance's Chief Strategist and Namgung clansmen were present.
Thankfully, neither Namgung nor Jegal showed reaction. Worth every bribe.
"Is it true?"
"How else could I lose?!"
"You...!"
If just excuses for losing, unforgivable—even if it ended the family line.
"Grandfather! I, Blood Wolf Iron Sword Seong Mohyeon, have never lost to peers in internal energy or martial arts since childhood. Does it make sense I'd lose to Tae-eul Gate?"
Effort helped, but Seong Mohyeon got top treatments: wasp nest combs, elixirs, every perk.
Objectively, he couldn't lose to Jin Sowoon.
"Why would I fabricate this out of spite? Mid-spar, my qi broke multiple times, draining away. I kept fighting to confirm."
Tears streaming, Seong Mohyeon ranted.
"You're sure it cut off during circulation?"
"Of course. And at the end, my circulating energy suddenly sucked out."
Suspicions swung back to Jin Sowoon.
"If you're lying..."
"Disciple—not, Iron Sword Sect's Seong Mohyeon. If false, I'll pay dearly."
"Fine."
Seong Cheonwol bet on his grandson. And maybe uproot Tae-eul Gate tomorrow, he told Jin Sowoon.
"Heard? I must examine your body."
The elder, pondering the gravity, played his evil hand. Secretly hoping for forbidden arts mastery—to plant an Iron Sword outer school on Tae-eul Gate's ruins, claim 108 Peaks status, dominate Hebi and Anhuiseong.
But no such luck.
"By what right?"
"As a warrior seeking jianghu peace, it's my duty."
"You'd corner my sect like this?"
Seong Cheonwol doubled down. No sane cultivator of Absorption Great Law would use it publicly—suicidal, begging for dismemberment.
"Iron Sword Sect's fame rings beyond Hebi—no, all Anhuiseong. Yet you'd slander a small sect like Tae-eul Gate as unorthodox over not being in the 108 Peaks?!"
"So my grandson lies?!"
"My sect's already tarnished by that fool. If we're innocent, how'll you compensate?!"
"..."
"We're one of the 108 Peaks in name. This doubts the Murim Alliance itself?"
Drag in the Alliance since the strategist was here.
"Shut it! Your verbosity fuels suspicion. I'll check, then contact Execution Hall to hold you and Tae-eul Gate accountable."
I grabbed his robe hem, yanking hard as he tried to backpedal.
"I stake my sect's honor—and resist this irrational Iron Sword Sect outrage to the end!"
I summoned innate essence over internal energy. Heat rose to my face; robes swelled like his earlier.
"Crazy bastard..."
Seong Cheonwol spat curses, paling at my mutual destruction resolve.
I bellowed with full power, voice booming.
"Sect Lord! If I end up crippled or dead here—until Execution Hall arrives, let no one touch my body!"
"Jin Sowoon!"
Father called desperately.
"Father! This unworthy son forsakes his body for the Tae-eul Gate I cherish more than life—forgive me."
Resolve set, indescribable pressure blanketed the training ground and beyond.
Seong Cheonwol and Seong Mohyeon's faces crumpled under it.
Fearless, I stepped toward Seong Cheonwol; he instinctively retreated three paces.
"Hmph! Think I'll let an ungraduated disciple ruin himself?!"
Gang Chaeseok, Hong Saryeon, and Father leaped onto the field.
"No father sends his son first. Today, I bury my bones in Iron Sword Sect."
Tae-eul Gate was geared for mutual destruction to block him.
"H-How dare..."
Seong Cheonwol growled in impotent rage.
Force would work, but cost 108 Peaks status for a century.
Desperate, he eyed Jegal Somyeong. Crowd gazes followed.
Only he could resolve this.
"Enough."
Jegal Somyeong rose; his voice echoed everywhere, heavy despite not loud—irresistible weight.
"All of you... sheath your swords."
Instantly, Seong Mohyeon and Seong Cheonwol sheathed; Tae-eul Gate followed one by one.
"...?"
Jegal Somyeong's puzzled gaze turned to me.
"Why haven't you sheathed yours?"
I kept staring at Seong Cheonwol, now shifting to Jegal Somyeong.
"I can't trust the Murim Alliance Chief Strategist who's only watched till now—so my sword stays drawn."
"!!!"
"!!!"
Those on the field. Around it. Even peeking from distant windows— all froze in shock.