Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Black Dragon Gang (1)
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“Gah, gurgle.”
A trickle of blood ran from Bai Dong-il’s mouth. He was already exhausted from consecutive battles.
In such a state, how could his body possibly hold up against a formidable Taoist?
Bai Dong-il spat out another mouthful of clotted blood.
The internal injuries from that single clash were severe, but he had also learned much.
‘A swordsman from the Mount Hua Sect…’
When their swords crossed, he'd faintly sensed the Plum Blossom Sword Arts. Though it seemed swayed by passion, its tip had precisely aimed for him.
Bai Dong-il suddenly thought of Ouyang Jue.
Wondering if this man was also a first-generation disciple, Bai Dong-il took a step back.
“I am Bai Dong-il, the Red Sword Demon of the Black Dragon Gang. May I know your name?”
At those words, the Taoist shot him a look as if he’d gone mad.
For a mortal enemy who had just cut down his sect brother, the question was far too polite, absurdly so.
The Taoist asked, enraged.
“What meaning does that have!”
“I must know the name of the one who cuts me down, so I can report it to King Yama.”
Bai Dong-il’s words were calm, even tranquil. It was as if he had no will to fight.
Moreover, his appearance and condition were wretched. He looked as if he could barely swing his sword once.
Bai Dong-il spoke as if pleading.
“Unlike me, who belongs to the Unorthodox Faction, you are a Taoist, are you not?”
Only then did the Taoist spit out his words as if vomiting blood.
“Very well! I am Heon Yang, a third-generation disciple of the Mount Hua Sect!”
Simultaneously, his sword cut through the air.
At its tip, sword energy imbued with the Purple Mist's true qi shimmered faintly.
He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and his skill level seemed to be approaching the first-rate.
Realizing his opponent was not a master, Bai Dong-il smiled faintly.
‘I suppose men like Ouyang Jue and Liu Zhangming are the exceptions.’
Whoosh! Clang!
The sword Bai Dong-il swung clashed with Heon Yang’s, illuminating the surroundings.
The power coming from Heon Yang was heavy, but it wasn’t the overwhelming gap he had felt with Ouyang Jue.
‘Does this mean that only Bai Duanxian’s disciples are unusually strong?’
Bai Dong-il felt a small sense of relief.
Not everyone in the Mount Hua Sect is a monster.
If so, I can win.
Squish.
Bai Dong-il’s foot trampled on the Mount Hua robes of a fallen disciple.
Heon Yang’s eyes turned sharp. As if reflecting his fury, his sword was also imbued with a thick killing intent.
He felt a viciousness that seemed ready to slice him in two at any moment, making his skin tingle.
Spurred by this, Bai Dong-il forced his dulled senses, weakened by blood loss, to sharpen.
Loose joints, slack muscles.
He controlled them all with sheer willpower.
Bai Dong-il straightened his body, which threatened to go limp.
Lacking technique, clumsy swordsmanship?
He momentarily forgot such things. He focused only on the killing intent emanating from his opponent and the enemy’s presence.
At the moment his spirit soared, about to explode.
Fwoosh!
Bai Dong-il kicked the ground. It wasn’t to charge.
Water-logged sand sprayed toward Heon Yang.
Heon Yang’s voice cracked.
“Cowardly!”
Heon Yang swatted the clump of sand with his wide sleeve, but some of it stuck to his clothes.
Normally, he wouldn’t even have felt the weight.
But now, he felt it clearly. The dampness enveloped one of his arms.
What was even more chilling, however…
Clang! Kang!
…was the existence of Bai Dong-il, swinging his sword with sheer tenacity.
He clearly had no internal energy or stamina left, but he was fighting with willpower alone.
Sensing that momentum, Heon Yang swallowed hard.
But he did not stop his sword.
Clang, Kang!
Several tens of seconds passed.
Certainly, Heon Yang was not a martial artist of the same high realm as Ouyang Jue or Liu Zhangming.
He was neither a genius nor a prodigy.
He had simply been faithful to his diligent nature, steadily mastering his swordsmanship.
But the Plum Blossom Sword Arts that Heon Yang wielded was by no means easy to face.
Shudder…
Bai Dong-il’s wrist trembled. His sword likewise drooped downward.
He couldn’t endure any longer. Compared to his opponent’s skill, his own was utterly pathetic.
‘Still, one more time.’
Clang, screee!
He clashed swords. Then, a cut was drawn across his forearm. Lowering his sword tip just a moment ago had been the cause.
His ears were ringing, his vision blurry.
The cut seemed deep, as he couldn't put much strength into his arm.
‘At this point, am I even holding the sword, or just leaning on it?’
A faint, derisive smile touched Bai Dong-il’s face.
It was directed at himself.
‘If only I had trained a little harder, following my brother.’
‘Or if I had just grabbed anyone from the Black Dragon Gang and studied swordsmanship.’
At least I wouldn’t have stopped at the second-rate level. I wouldn’t have received this cut, either.
It was all regret, all ‘what ifs.’ Nothing more than daydreams, divorced from reality.
Knowing it would come to this, wouldn’t it have been better to die at the hands of Ouyang Jue back in Chang’an?
He gave a bitter smile.
“Hyaaaah!”
Blood spurted from the cut. His muscles felt like they were about to tear from the strain.
One of Bai Dong-il’s eyes turned completely red. Though the pain tried to break his will, he did not close his eyes.
Seeing Heon Yang approach, he swung his sword without hesitation.
Clang!
He poured his very soul into it.
He grabbed his faltering will by the hair and pulled it back up. He thought of the deceased Bai Cheong-il.
Scree, Kang!
Pushed back in the contest of strength, Bai Dong-il’s body slid backward. Heon Yang, who was about to charge, hesitated for a moment.
‘…I cut him?’
The Taoist robe below his knee was cut and fluttering. If it had been a little deeper, he would have been dragging one foot.
‘Is this truly the will of a desperate man?’
Heon Yang corrected his assumption that Bai Dong-il was an easy opponent.
For Bai Dong-il, this was a misfortune. It was the despair of knowing he could no longer win by a fluke.
But Bai Dong-il was looking past him, at something else.
‘I have to deal with this one quickly, compose myself, and stop the next person.’
Even now, Mount Hua and Zhongnan were approaching. The Martial Alliance, said to be so slow to act, was also stirring.
Perhaps the Black Dragon Gang had become the catalyst for the Taoist sects of the northern region to unite.
If so, who was it that made it happen?
Bai Dong-il recalled Ouyang Jue’s piercing gaze. He remembered the hand that had seemed ready to take his life at any moment.
“It’s alright.”
Bai Dong-il muttered words laced with relief.
Isn’t this more hopeful than back then?
If I keep killing the scouts here, at least the Black Dragon Gang Leader will be able to escape.
Bai Dong-il wore a bitter smile.
“I am the Red Sword Demon of the Black Dragon Gang.”
He clenched his jaw, clearing his mind. His dead eyes slowly began to burn.
Heon Yang also sensed the change and tensed. His Plum Blossom Sword, which had been relentlessly exploiting Bai Dong-il’s openings, briefly retreated to catch its breath.
Bai Dong-il pushed through that gap and advanced. A straight line—he swung with a simple, direct sword technique.
To execute anything else, Bai Dong-il had neither the learned techniques nor the necessary internal energy.
Besides, wasn't this the closest form of swordsmanship to taking Heon Yang's life?
‘Before this breath leaves me, before I die.’
His tenacity became malice. The sheer force of it was enough to momentarily bewilder even the vengeful Heon Yang.
Clang, screee.
Though Heon Yang was briefly taken aback, the Plum Blossom Sword Arts he had learned and mastered over half his life honestly blocked Bai Dong-il.
His short breaths, his single-burst explosive power—it was all within Heon Yang’s expectations.
One hundred seconds had passed.
For Bai Dong-il, who had looked half-dead, to have fought so hard for this long was nothing short of a miracle.
Heon Yang knew this as well, and offered a moment of respect.
“You are an enemy of Mount Hua, but you are a warrior worthy of respect.”
“Hah, hah, hah.”
“I’ll be ending this now.”
Flutter.
As Heon Yang drew up his internal energy, his robes began to flutter.
Drip.
A drop of sweat trickled down Bai Dong-il’s forehead. His arm was now trembling uncontrollably.
Is this the end?
Bai Dong-il couldn’t even muster a handful of internal energy.
All he had left was obstinacy, stubbornness. Only dishonorable words, unfit for concepts like victory or conclusion.
Heon Yang, too, must have sensed victory, as he murmured in a low voice.
“A life that pursued wealth and honor is about to lose its light.”
“…Keh.”
At those words, Bai Dong-il gave a pure laugh. Wrong. The Taoist’s words were surely false.
Because in all his life, Bai Dong-il had never desired any wealth or honor.
His only goal was to live a peaceful life and then die.
Perhaps even his closeness to Bai Cheong-il wasn’t out of brotherly love, but a means to achieve his goal.
A self-deprecating tone escaped him.
His reddened vision continued to bring despair.
‘You’re going to fight when you can’t even see your enemy properly?’
And what about his constantly ringing ears?
An erratic whistling of the wind was battering his eardrums.
At this rate, he wouldn’t even notice if someone approached from behind.
“Hah.”
Heon Yang was charging. He had poured so much internal energy into his sword that it was taking form, despite his lack of a proper realm.
Of course, he couldn’t block it. Bai Dong-il rolled on the ground.
With a ripping sound, his clothes tore, and his skin was bruised by the stones, marking him with welts.
‘Just one more time.’
Once, Bai Dong-il pursued life. Then he saw Bai Cheong-il slung over Ouyang Jue’s shoulder.
Death was something so light it could be carried on another’s shoulder.
“What’s the big deal? I just have to die.”
Why had he always run from it, never facing it head-on? Bai Dong-il rolled on the ground once more.
“To resort to rolling around like that, and you dare have ‘Sword’ in your title!”
Despite Heon Yang’s enraged shout, Bai Dong-il didn’t answer.
He just calmly watched for an opportunity. His wounds were no longer an obstacle.
He would die if he stayed like this anyway.
All he needed was enough stamina to execute one sword technique.
Then, while still lying down, Bai Dong-il shot out his right foot.
He was aiming for Heon Yang’s ankle, intending to break his stance.
Heon Yang’s face flushed red.
“I thought you had some value worth respecting… to resort to such alley-thug tactics!”
But in other words, didn’t this mean Bai Dong-il had no other options?
Heon Yang’s premonition became certainty. A hint of arrogance crept into his sword.
“Hah!”
The Plum Blossom Sword stabbed downward. It was aimed to split Bai Dong-il’s ankle and sever the bone.
At that moment, Bai Dong-il’s eyes flashed. He forcibly tensed his moving muscles. Because of that, his entire right foot cramped.
Commonly known as a cramp, it was a critical phenomenon where muscles contract, losing function for a short time.
But right now, it was a blessing. He had saved his stamina.
Schlick!
Heon Yang’s sword cut Bai Dong-il’s ankle and sliced all the way up his thigh.
Blood shot up, painting the sky. His entire vision instantly turned red.
Even in that moment, Bai Dong-il gritted his teeth. One of his eyes had been red for a while anyway.
‘If I’m going for victory, it’s now.’
The blade in Bai Dong-il’s hand thrust upward. All he had to do was cut through the curtain of blood and take Heon Yang’s life.
He didn’t know what would happen after that.
If he was lucky, he could find a physician nearby and survive, even with one leg.
If that happened, he could just come back here. Bai Dong-il gathered every last bit of his remaining stamina.
“Kraaaah!”
He himself didn’t know if it was a scream of pain or a battle cry.
He just thrust. His entire being was focused on this one movement.
Right at that moment.
A voice was heard from close by.
“Wait.”
Clack, thud.
Bai Dong-il’s sword was deflected in an instant. Though he was utterly exhausted, it had clearly been a strike with all his might.
To block it so easily… what kind of master was this?
Bai Dong-il stared blankly at the newcomer.
He was in pristine condition. Not wretched like himself, stained with blood, or Heon Yang with his torn robes.
Like a white heron soaring freely in the sky.
Was he a genius of a different breed, a talent chosen by the heavens?
Seeing the sword aura coalesced on his blade, Bai Dong-il couldn’t contain his rage.
“Who… Who the hell are you!”
“…”
He didn’t answer. He simply looked back and forth between Heon Yang and Bai Dong-il.
Then he asked Heon Yang.
“Who is this man?”
“He admitted to being Bai Dong-il, the second son of the Black Dragon Gang Leader. But that bastard…”
Heon Yang pointed to the bodies of the Taoists. Only then did the man sigh.
“Another bloodbath has occurred.”
“Didn’t I ask who you are!”
The man laughed at Bai Dong-il’s shout.
“What good would it do you to know? Even if you recover, your body is in no state to be involved in the affairs of the martial world any longer.”
“I will curse you.”
Bai Dong-il drove his sword into the ground and forced his upper body up.
“As long as this body lives, I will curse Mount Hua. I will never let you prosper…”
“How amusing.”
The man who cut him off said.
“Why does one who arbitrarily provoked Mount Hua and tried to kill the sect’s Senior-most Brother dare to speak of curses? Are those the words of a martial artist?”
Foolish. The man laughed again as he looked at Bai Dong-il.
“Isn’t that something your kind says so easily? That the way of the world is to have many grudges and no gratitude. So why do you focus only on the harm done to you?”
“…”
Now, it was Bai Dong-il who fell silent.
The man looked at him with pity.
“So you won’t be lonely on your journey, I will at least tell you my name.”
The man raised his sword.
“I am Liu Zhangming, second senior brother under the esteemed Sect Leader of the Mount Hua Sect, Bai Duanxian.”
“…Ah.”
Bai Dong-il stared at the tip of the blade, his mouth agape.
He recalled the face of Ouyang Jue, whom he had met in Chang’an a month or two ago.
‘That bastard’s senior brother.’
Then his eyes slowly closed.
He wanted to rest now, just for a little while.
Snap.
The tiger skin ornament attached to Bai Dong-il’s sword snapped and fell limply.