The Successor of Taeheo (3)
Dang Mun-yeong had lost every last trace of composure.
His face had turned deathly pale, and the hand gripping his sword trembled faintly.
This is impossible! There’s no way this can be happening!
Dang Mun-yeong ground his teeth and swung his sword again.
Any trace of elegance or technique had vanished. What remained was nothing more than a desperate, ugly struggle to cut down his opponent.
Swish! Swish!
Yet not once did his blade even graze Seomun Hwan.
“Ugh!”
His sword grew heavy and sluggish. A numb tingling spread from his fingertips, and his movements slowed with every passing second.
In contrast, Seomun Hwan swung his own blade slowly—almost lazily.
And yet Dang Mun-yeong could not dodge that leisurely strike.
Thwack!
The sword slammed hard into Dang Mun-yeong’s shoulder. Since it struck with the flat of the blade rather than the edge, the sound was loud but left no wound.
“Ack!”
It didn’t hurt much physically, but the blow carved a deep gash across his pride.
Dang Mun-yeong’s body shook with humiliation and rage.
“You bastard!”
He unleashed a killing strike fueled by fury, but it still failed to connect. Having lost his calm, the tip of his sword wavered wildly, unable to find its mark.
Seomun Hwan did not miss the opening.
A naughty dog needs the stick.
Thwack!
This time it was the opposite shoulder.
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
Knees, elbows, ribs—every strike landed exactly where it would cause the most embarrassment.
The sword beat Dang Mun-yeong slowly and persistently, as if scolding a misbehaving child.
“S-stop!”
Dang Mun-yeong shouted, his face drenched in sweat, but Seomun Hwan only smiled and continued.
“It’s too early to give up. Surely you still have more to show me?”
It was a cruel taunt.
Dang Mun-yeong could not stop his body from shaking uncontrollably.
The spectators finally realized something was terribly wrong.
“Wait… isn’t this strange?”
“What the hell is going on…?”
“Was the third young master of the Seomun Clan always this strong?”
At first they had assumed Dang Mun-yeong’s skill simply made Seomun Hwan look weak by comparison. But as time passed, the scene before them had completely flipped.
If it ends like this, I…!
Dang Mun-yeong glanced around. Everyone was staring at him with strange expressions. Among them, the cold gaze of Dang Mi-ju was unbearable.
He could not let it end this way. He must not let it end this way.
His eyes turned bloodshot. His lips moved silently.
This is all your own fault!
With extreme secrecy, Dang Mun-yeong slipped a tiny golden needle from his sleeve.
It was one of the Sichuan Tang Clan’s secret arts—Chuhon Geumchim, the Soul-Chasing Golden Needle. Once it pierced the body, the vicious poison coating it would cause the victim’s flesh to rot away.
Using hidden weapons during a spar was one of the greatest taboos. Even for a clan famous for its use of poison and projectiles, this was unforgivable.
But Dang Mun-yeong had already lost his mind.
“Die!”
Dozens of golden needles burst forth, gleaming with an eerie light.
The crowd cried out in shock.
“Hidden weapons!”
“Using projectiles in a spar? Young Master Dang!”
But the needles were already flying straight toward Seomun Hwan’s vital points.
Shiiiing!
Everyone imagined his death.
Everyone except one person.
Dang Mi-ju watched the scene with keen, interested eyes.
Seomun Hwan gently swung his sword.
Swish.
The movement was so subtle it was nearly invisible. With that single, simple motion, dozens of golden needles suddenly bent in midair as if they had struck an invisible wall, then clattered uselessly to the ground.
It was a quiet, graceful movement—like a breeze gently caressing sword qi—without the slightest hint of violence.
Ting! Ting! Ting!
With tiny ringing sounds, the needles that had been slicing through the air suddenly changed direction and fell powerlessly to the earth.
Everyone stared at Seomun Hwan with frozen expressions.
He stood there completely unharmed, not a single needle having touched his body.
“Is this truly the secret art of the Tang Clan? How… disappointing.”
Seomun Hwan sneered and began walking forward slowly.
“T-this can’t be…”
Dang Mun-yeong’s face went blank with despair.
Seomun Hwan approached without a word.
Dang Mun-yeong’s knees buckled as he tried to retreat, but his legs refused to obey.
“Y-you… how dare you…”
Dang Mun-yeong shouted desperately, but before he could finish, Seomun Hwan’s sword flashed like lightning.
Swoosh!
“Gah!”
Dang Mun-yeong’s jaw twisted violently to the side.
Crack!
The sound of breaking bone rang out clearly.
Seomun Hwan did not stop there. He raised the sword high and began striking Dang Mun-yeong’s shoulders and back with the flat of the blade.
“A fool who doesn’t even know his own place dares to…”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The crisp sounds echoed loudly across the training ground. The spectators watched with their mouths hanging open.
“Aaaagh! Stop! Stop it!”
Dang Mun-yeong tried frantically to flee, but Seomun Hwan kicked his legs out from under him with a cold smile.
Thud!
His legs flew into the air, flipping his body upside down in midair.
The moment Dang Mun-yeong hit the ground, Seomun Hwan planted a foot on his chest.
“Uwaaah!”
Blood and saliva sprayed from Dang Mun-yeong’s mouth.
He was no longer the noble young master of the Tang Clan, nor a cunning schemer. He was simply an arrogant youth who had never been properly beaten in his life.
“This is the enlightenment you wanted so badly to see. Learn it well.”
Even as he spoke in that mocking tone, Seomun Hwan continued raining blows down with his sword.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
“All this just to look good in front of a girl?”
Thwack!
“Do you know what people like you hate the most?”
Thwack!
“Being stepped on in front of everyone like this.”
Dang Mun-yeong’s face was already swollen and bruised beyond recognition.
“S-stop… please…”
Watching him cry and beg pathetically, Seomun Hwan grinned.
“There it is. Your honest face at last. Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d been this honest from the beginning?”
Finally, Seomun Hwan lightly tapped the top of Dang Mun-yeong’s head with his sword.
Thump!
Dang Mun-yeong’s eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.
Seomun Hwan looked down at him and muttered coldly.
“If you keep acting like someone who deserves a beating, you’ll eventually get one.”
A heavy silence fell over the training ground.
“……”
The second young master of the Tang Clan had been utterly trampled by an unknown third-rate from the Seomun Clan.
The violence far exceeded what was acceptable in a simple spar. Yet no one could raise an objection.
After all, it was Dang Mun-yeong who had drawn first blood by using hidden weapons.
“Well then… it seems the spar is over.”
After dealing with Dang Mun-yeong, Seomun Hwan gave a light fist-and-palm salute and turned to leave the training ground.
But at that exact moment—
Vwoooong!
A heavy aura engulfed the entire area, as if the world itself had frozen.
“…!”
Seomun Hwan instinctively tensed, forcing his stiffened body to turn.
When he looked back, the Poison Emperor, Dang Cheon-woo, had risen from his seat and was staring at him with icy eyes.
The overwhelming pressure radiating from his body swept across the area like a storm.
Profound Realm.
The ultimate level that only seven people in the current Murim had ever reached. The presence of one of those seven now completely dominated the training ground.
When the Poison Emperor took a single step forward, it felt as though all the air in the area collapsed beneath his foot.
“Ugh!”
“Khhk!”
Countless Murim experts who had been watching could not even utter proper groans before dropping to their knees. They lowered their heads involuntarily, avoiding the Poison Emperor’s gaze.
The Poison Emperor’s eyes gleamed coldly.
“You are the young master of the Seomun Clan, correct?”
His low, indifferent voice pierced the hearts of everyone present like an ice pick.
An invisible force twisted the space, pressing down on Seomun Hwan.
Seomun Hwan’s body shook. He desperately raised his internal energy, but before the Poison Emperor’s formless pressure it was like a sandcastle before a wave.
“Your skill is remarkable for one so young.”
Though his voice remained calm and low, each word pressed down on the entire space.
Even under that crushing pressure, Seomun Hwan answered evenly.
“You flatter me, elder. I was simply fortunate.”
The Poison Emperor spoke again, his gaze cold.
“Fortunate? The techniques you displayed are far too profound and mysterious to dismiss as mere luck. Do you truly believe you can fool even my eyes?”
With every word, the pressure grew heavier, as if a massive mountain were crushing Seomun Hwan’s entire body.
“U-ugh!”
“The Poison Emperor’s aura is this powerful…!”
It was an overwhelming force that could completely subdue even the greatest experts of the Murim.
The Poison Emperor took another step closer.
“The movements you just performed were so profound that even I cannot fully grasp their depth. They could not possibly belong to the Seomun Clan. Who taught you?”
Seomun Hwan put on a troubled expression and bowed his head slightly.
“I apologize, but… revealing my master’s identity is somewhat difficult.”
At those words, the Poison Emperor’s eyebrows shot up sharply. Clear suspicion filled his eyes.
“Difficult?”
When Seomun Hwan furrowed his brow as if flustered, the Poison Emperor’s voice grew even colder.
“Many distinguished figures from the Murim Alliance and the martial world are present. If your master’s identity is something you cannot reveal with confidence before them…”
The Poison Emperor’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
“Then I must ask whether what you have learned is not the martial arts of the righteous path, but rather the arts of the unorthodox—or perhaps sorcery. For example… the Demonic Cult.”
The moment the words “Demonic Cult” left his mouth, the expressions of everyone present changed.
Wariness and hostility appeared clearly in their eyes.
“The Demonic Cult? No way…!”
“It’s not an unreasonable suspicion. How else could he have hidden such bizarre skill?”
Murmurs spread through the crowd around Seomun Hwan.
Yet Seomun Hwan, having predicted all of this, smiled inwardly with satisfaction while continuing to act even more flustered.
“That is not what I meant. It is simply that my master instructed me not to reveal his identity…”
“Who is your master? If it is a legitimate school, there should be no reason to hide it, correct?”
The Poison Emperor’s questioning grew fiercer.
This was the exact moment Seomun Hwan had been waiting for.
The perfect timing to create a dramatic scene.
Seomun Hwan let out a small sigh, then spoke in a resolute voice as if he had made up his mind.
“Very well. It seems I have no choice. Even if my master scolds me later, I will prove my innocence.”
The Poison Emperor’s eyes flashed sharply.
Seomun Hwan slowly raised his sword.
This should be enough to set the mood.
The tip of the sword trembled slightly. Then a calm yet mysterious energy began to swirl around the blade.
It looked like a completely natural stance with no power behind it at all.
Yet every expert present felt an extraordinary energy emanating from the tip of that sword.
“T-that’s…!”
Someone among the spectators let out a small gasp.
The energy enveloping Seomun Hwan’s body spread out like an unshakable river.
The sword began to move gently.
A vast and flexible momentum, as if it contained the entire universe. It was neither sharp nor violent—an invisible power that transcended flashiness and technique, reaching the pure pinnacle of martial truth.
“I-impossible… that is clearly Kunlun’s…!”
Several people familiar with the martial world were overcome with shock.
As the formless sword slowly cut through the air, an unmistakable orthodox energy filled the entire training ground.
The greatest of Kunlun’s secret techniques…
"The sword that slays dragons within the Great Void."
⟨ Taeheo Doryong Sword Art ⟩
“It’s the Taeheo Doryong Sword Art! Kunlun’s supreme sword technique!”
“Does this mean Taeheo Singeom has returned? We heard rumors he was dead, but he was alive after all?”
Even the Poison Emperor, Dang Cheon-woo, widened his eyes in shock.
He muttered involuntarily, as if sighing.
“Kunlun’s lineage has not yet been severed?”
A rumor that had been secretly circulating in the martial world recently flashed through his mind.
Taeheo Singeom is not dead. He has been quietly training a successor behind the scenes of the martial world.
The thought that the young man before him—Seomun Hwan—might be that hidden successor swirled rapidly through Dang Cheon-woo’s head.
Having demonstrated the sword art, Seomun Hwan smiled secretly where no one could see.
As expected, they took the bait.
Everything was going according to plan.