Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: People on the Precipice
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"...Two of them?"
"The one at the front, leader of the Medical Sword Sect. And a bit behind him, the guy with the spear. That one doesn't look first-rate."
Accurately gauging an expert's level through senses alone wasn't easy. Dang Mujin hoped his intuition was wrong.
Unfortunately, though, the Three Old Swordsmen recognized the spearman's face.
"...Isn't that Jo Gwan?"
"Flat nose and short jaw—yeah, looks like him."
"And he's wielding a spear, to top it off."
The Three Old Swordsmen knew who Jo Gwan was, and even Namgung Myeong seemed to, but it was a new name to Dang Mujin.
"Who's Jo Gwan?"
"A warrior from the Mount Shang Jo Clan, famed for one of the world's three great spear arts. Truth be told, most folks leave out the Mount Shang Jo when they talk about the twin walls of the Yang Clan Spear and O Clan Spear... Anyway, Jo Gwan reached first-rate at a young age, so it wouldn't be surprising if he's crossed into peak realm by now."
The plan had gone awry right from the start.
Dang Rang's face twisted as if he'd already sensed defeat.
The approaching Medical Sword Sect Leader waved cheerfully with a bright, crisp expression.
"Fancy seeing familiar faces here. Must be about twenty years since we last met?"
Just looking at the Medical Sword Sect Leader's face made the Three Old Swordsmen's stomachs churn.
Pyochung, Dang Rang, and Sanjeo—their cliffside lives had become tangled because of him.
Long ago, if they hadn't crossed paths with him at the Medical Village, they could have finished their first foray into the martial world ordinarily and returned to Wudang Sect. They would have lived peaceful lives as Daoists.
But the Three Old Swordsmen had been swept into the Medical Sword Sect Leader's schemes and committed a grave sin.
It was a sin so heavy they couldn't return to Wudang Sect.
That was when they discarded their names and titles. Having done what no human should, they called each other bug, mantis, and wild boar.
The three Daoists had failed to complete their first martial excursion even after thirty years. They probably never would, not even at the moment of death.
After a long moment of thought, Pyochung replied.
"...It's been more than twenty years."
"Is that so? Good to see you anyway. I'll wrap this up and come back—then we can catch up. Mind stepping aside?"
"Who ever blocks a path thinking they'll just step aside?"
With the plan derailed, the proper course was to regroup and discuss countermeasures.
But Pyochung didn't ask Dang Mujin or Namgung Myeong's opinions. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't back down.
The Medical Sword Sect Leader asked.
"You lot think you can stop us with your skills?"
"Of course we can handle the likes of you. Isn't that why you brought Jo Gwan—because you're scared? Figured as much when you showed up late."
The Medical Sword Sect Leader's lips curled slightly.
"People don't call that fear. They say deep thinking and prudent action. Like how you climbed to first-rate and picked a second fight, it's only natural to assume you've got some backup for a third round."
The Medical Sword Sect Leader glanced at Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong, then smirked.
"But this ploy is a real letdown. Pinning your hopes on just those two youngsters? I expected at least one peak expert."
"..."
"And I didn't bring Jo Gwan because I was late. This guy held me up."
The Medical Sword Sect Leader tossed something round toward Pyochung.
Pyochung caught it and checked. It was the head of a familiar bandit.
He stared at the face wordlessly. Complex emotions boiled up.
The Medical Sword Sect Leader sneered.
"Too thrilled for words? Guess you really like the gift."
Pyochung felt a droplet hit his forehead. The rain hadn't started yet, but the scent of it filled the air, and soon it poured down. It didn't seem like a brief shower.
Pyochung gazed silently at the sky, set the bandit's head down, and drew his sword.
"Your head won't come off that cleanly."
"Naturally. It won't be coming off at all."
In the next instant, the two figures on the plank road shot upward.
The Medical Sword Sect Leader and Jo Gwan leaped off the plank road and cliff protrusions, flying over the group to land in a wide open space. Dang Mujin's party was now surrounded on both sides.
In other words, Jo Gwan and the Medical Sword Sect Leader could ignore them and race straight for the cloud bridge if they wanted.
But they showed no such intention. As martial artists, they wouldn't turn their backs on inferiors and flee.
This much was as expected. Except that the one securing their rear wasn't just the Medical Sword Sect Leader.
'The variable's a bit big, but...'
They'd come this far—there were no other options.
Dang Mujin alone blocked the plank road ahead, while the other four faced the Medical Sword Sect Leader and Jo Gwan.
With the youngest-looking Dang Mujin standing alone in front, a warrior sporting a ornate scabbard spoke incredulously.
"What? You gonna block this whole thing by yourself?"
"Narrow path, so yeah—one's enough."
Dang Mujin gauged the skills of those on the plank road.
No peak experts, of course, but at least three or four first-rates. The man right in front was definitely one.
The ornate-scabbard warrior snorted.
"Short on brains, long on bravado. Sure, it's a path one can block alone—but you're alone too."
"I know. And my confidence comes from not seeing anyone here who can break through me."
As Dang Mujin spoke and drew his sword, the man in front burst into laughter.
"You think a punk like you can stop me, the Hyungmun Quick Sword?"
Instead of answering, Dang Mujin countered.
"Hyungmun, right? Town name? The one a few days east of here."
"Yeah."
"My master always said guys with town names in their nicknames are never any good."
The man who'd introduced himself as Hyungmun Quick Sword twitched his eyes, then without warning, unleashed a swift sword strike at Dang Mujin. It was a quick-draw worth boasting about.
Any ordinary warrior would have parried and exchanged blows, but Dang Mujin chose a simpler method.
His most confident technique: Pierce.
Pierce had always been his strongest. But this Pierce was different from before. Trapped underground in the Golden Well Pavilion, endlessly repeating the observation of Blue Phoenix Fist, he'd gained enlightenment in thrusting.
Before the swung blade could reach him, Dang Mujin's sword pierced the opponent's brow.
No special reason. He was simply faster. The purest form of striking second but arriving first.
Those lined up on the plank road couldn't clearly see what happened up front.
Only one—the man behind Hyungmun Quick Sword—saw the sword tip slightly protruding from the back of his head.
Dang Mujin withdrew his sword, and Hyungmun Quick Sword's body slumped, tumbling off the plank road.
'The mountain beasts will eat well today.'
Dang Mujin flicked the gunk off his blade and said.
"If anyone's here because they bought into that nonsense about exterminating bandit scum, you can turn back now—no one's stopping you. The folks on Nokgun Mountain aren't the bandits you think they are."
But the warriors didn't retreat.
One death wasn't enough to scare off their numbers; the reward from the Medical Sword Sect Leader was too tempting; and none wanted the stigma of cowardice.
The sole exception was the man right behind Hyungmun Quick Sword. He'd lost all will to fight the moment he saw that sword tip.
The problem was the crowd behind him had no intention of making way.
He desperately wanted to leave, but couldn't very well ask them to step aside.
"...Fuck it!"
Entrusting himself to luck, he thrust out his sword—and soon followed Hyungmun Quick Sword off the cliff.
"Guess that's a no on retreats."
Dang Mujin exhaled slowly and deeply.
The man closest to him felt a chilling murderous intent in that breath.
Not immediately life-threatening, but enough to sense something gravely wrong.
In a grim voice, Dang Mujin said.
"Anyone running should hurry."
Shrouded in faint murderous aura, Dang Mujin slowly stepped onto the plank road.
None of the affable physician's demeanor remained. This cold figure resembled his master.
*
Unlike Dang Mujin, who easily pushed back the many, the rear fight was grueling.
Pyochung barely blocked the Medical Sword Sect Leader's horizontal slash. Metal scraped with a grating screech.
As the swords parted, a burning sensation hit his shoulder, followed by something trickling down. At least it wasn't fatal—small mercy.
Unlike blocking equals or inferiors, the Medical Sword Sect Leader's sword didn't bounce off easily; it clung stickily to his blade. A sword art that suited the damp weather and the man's slimy nature.
The Medical Sword Sect Leader said.
"Your skills have improved quite a bit. Must've trained diligently."
"Enough to take your head."
Pyochung sounded spirited, but inside, he felt bleak.
'...It's hopeless.'
Three Old Swordsmen, three swords. For every swing of the Medical Sword Sect Leader's blade, they could swing three times. Or at least twice.
Yet he was always the aggressor; all they could do was block and dodge lethal blows.
They could even manage that because they'd always envisioned him during training.
Endless repetition let them move as one, barely holding off his sword. Minor wounds piled up, though.
And with the Three Old Swordsmen tied to the Medical Sword Sect Leader, Namgung Myeong faced Jo Gwan alone.
Naturally, Namgung Myeong's situation was far more precarious.
Shiiik—
Namgung Myeong twisted like a madman, and Jo Gwan's spear grazed past his temple. Something—rain or cold sweat—trickled down his back.
'...That was really close to death.'
Unlike the Three Old Swordsmen, who occasionally counterattacked, Namgung Myeong hadn't landed a single proper strike.
It was the gap between one beyond the wall and one stuck against it; between armed and unarmed.
"You're slippery as hell. Just trained lightness skill instead of fists? Not like you're some thief."
Jo Gwan retracted his spear, grumbling. But his voice brimmed with leisure.
"...Senior, go easy, will you?"
"Fast or slow, you die either way."
In the brief clash, Namgung Myeong's hand gripped his waist several times.
Where his sword hilt should have been.
A year without a sword, yet his body hadn't forgotten.
He was fairly confident in bare-hand arts too—enough to overpower most late-stage disciples with them.
But that didn't mean he could fight a peak expert with fists.
No—he'd have died already if he hadn't grown up watching countless peak expert spars.
'If I could just close in...'
But he couldn't get inside.
Sword practitioners often neglected footwork; spear users invested more in it than spear arts.
Maintaining a distance to attack unilaterally without retaliation—that was the beginning and end of spear work.
'If only I had a sword. Won't anyone lend me one?'
Namgung Myeong glanced desperately sideways. But the Three Old Swordsmen battling the Medical Sword Sect Leader looked too pressed to spare one.
He could almost snatch one reaching back—but even he knew that was insane.
As both fronts worsened, Dang Rang made a radical play.
He didn't dodge the Medical Sword Sect Leader's sword flying at his gut—he took it head-on.
Puk.
No warning, no explanation. Pyochung cried out in shock.
"Dang Rang!"
But Dang Rang pressed on, sword in his belly, toward the Medical Sword Sect Leader. Each step twisted the blade inside him.
The Medical Sword Sect Leader laughed.
"In the end, that's all inferiors can think of against superiors: mutual destruction."
As he tried to pull his sword free, Dang Rang's hand curved softly, seizing his wrist. High-level Empty Hand art.
Dang Rang grinned.
"Wudang's Ten Brocade Sash is unrivaled under heaven."
In that brief restraint, Sanjeo acted bolder.
He lowered his stance and charged like a wild boar at the Medical Sword Sect Leader and Dang Rang, sword still undrawn.
His intent was clear: drag them—and his fellow disciple Dang Rang—off the cliff together.
As the Medical Sword Sect Leader sensed danger and tried to pull away, potent inner energy surged from Dang Rang. He'd summoned his primal true qi.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The Medical Sword Sect Leader's elbow struck Dang Rang's jaw, but he held consciousness and gripped tighter.
Then came a dull thud at his waist. Sanjeo had rammed them.
'Damn it—'
Flung outward, the Medical Sword Sect Leader desperately tore free of Dang Rang's arm.
Kicking off Sanjeo's body midair, he barely grabbed a small tree midway down the cliff.
'Didn't expect both to go for mutual destruction at once.'
He turned to see Dang Rang and Sanjeo plummeting. Their eyes held only anguish. Those two were done for—dead on impact.
The Medical Sword Sect Leader scanned around. Protrusions everywhere; smart bounces could get him back up.
And thankfully, Pyochung above had no way to attack him below.
'Turned out for the best, in the end.'
As he scrambled up the cliff, things shifted up top.
*
"Dang Rang!"
At Pyochung's shout, a plain sword appeared beside the desperately sword-seeking Namgung Myeong. Dang Rang had thrown it before his suicidal charge.
Namgung Myeong snatched it reflexively, without grasping the situation.
The long-lost feel of the hilt was both alien and intimate.
Jo Gwan sneered at the sight.
"Think grabbing a sword changes anything for a bare-hand hack?"
Jo Gwan thrust again.
Namgung Myeong thought to extend and block, but his body wouldn't move the blade.
A year without his lifelong companion made it feel utterly foreign. He didn't know how to unleash the Namgung sword arts he'd drilled endlessly.
He twisted away arduously; the spear tip grazed his thigh, slicing flesh.
But Namgung Myeong felt no pain. He was breathless instead.
All the techniques he'd thought as natural as breathing approached strangely. It felt like every martial art he'd learned was shattering apart. No—not disassembling meekly. Exploding.
Every Namgung art he'd cultivated exploded, then reassembled meticulously in his mind. Enlightenment—is this it?
But his epiphany stalled. His father's voice echoed.
'The moment I hear you've touched a sword, I'll sever your arm.'
Fear of his father blocked his path. He felt he should drop it now.
Then Jo Gwan's spear tip pierced his left shoulder.
Puk—
Lost in thoughts, frozen—that was fatal. Pain blazed clear now.
"Aaaagh!"
Namgung Myeong thought: What the hell am I supposed to do, damn it!
Father now? Arm now? Fussing over his arm would get his throat pierced! Shoulder already holed—losing the left arm wouldn't feel like much loss!
In that instant, Namgung Myeong realized why he'd stagnated.
Burdened by not betraying expectations.
But leaping walls freely, he'd shed burdens and obsessions bit by bit.
Deeply ingrained familiarity had held his ankle.
Yet a year swordless had shaken off that inertia.
Finally, fear and pressure from his father.
He cast them off with this pain and resolve.
Arm severed or not—whatever happens, happens.
His right arm trembled faintly. He could do it.
He could unleash the most familiar Namgung sword art—Proud Celestial Dance Sword, pinnacle of the family's pride—at its highest mastery ever.
'No—unleash the most familiar?'
The answer after shedding familiarity couldn't be familiarity.
That thought expanded his vision and senses into new realms.
He felt 'something,' saw beyond the steadfast wall.
'Over the wall... no, the barrier.'
Namgung Myeong knew what sword art to use.
The one his father said to learn after reaching peak realm.
One he'd never learned. Just stolen glances at elders wielding it.
'Of course you'd steal an art beyond your grasp.'
All the better. Excitement surged inexplicably.
An unlearned sword art unfolded through his blade. Utterly unlike his ruler-straight precision strikes.
Overwhelming power no righteous warrior's sword should hold. Sword art at tyranny's apex: Imperial Sovereign Sword Form.
The emperor's sword crushed Jo Gwan.