Chapter 210
Chapter 210
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: Flawless
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Three days later, the group watched as Jeong Taeryeong ascended the sparring platform.
"Is the treatment all done?"
"I've fixed all the twisted qi and blood. But that leg wound will take a while to fully heal."
Fevers or nausea—those were issues a physician could handle.
But setting broken bones or growing new flesh over wounds? That was beyond a physician's skills.
The best they could do was apply plenty of golden sore medicine and watch to ensure no infection set in.
"At least it won't fester."
"That's fortunate enough."
Warriors with severe wounds usually died in one of two ways.
First, the wound was so deep they died on the spot.
Second, days later, infection set in, fever raged, and they succumbed.
So many died the second way that life-or-death duels often ended as death-death verdicts. The loser died, of course—but so did the winner.
In that sense, Dang Mujin's group considered themselves extremely lucky.
As long as they didn't bleed out right then and there—whether from a severed arm or a gutted side—they could survive.
At that moment, Jeong Taeryeong and his opponent climbed onto the platform.
Every time his left leg touched the ground, Jeong Taeryeong's balance shifted slightly. He could walk slowly, but footwork for swift movement was out of the question.
Jeong Taeryeong's opponent was a man named Han Gyun.
Unlike the previous foe, Song Ji-hak, he wasn't using a spear—a small mercy. But eight darts were tucked into Han Gyun's belt.
It was clear: if things got dicey, he'd widen the gap with the leg-impaired Jeong Taeryeong and finish it from range.
Han Gyun called out to Jeong Taeryeong.
"Your leg doesn't look right. No thought of forfeiting?"
"Of course not."
"Don't blame me if things go south."
"Naturally."
The announcer signaled the start of the match and swiftly descended from the platform.
Jeong Taeryeong and Han Gyun glared at each other, then slowly closed the distance. Han Gyun apparently had no intention of hurling darts right away.
Hyeon-gong, watching the bout, remarked.
"Left-hand sword."
"Indeed."
The left-hand sword style.
It seemed like a minor difference, but facing it was a nightmare.
Timing of techniques. Distance of strikes. Time for the blade to reach its mark.
Everything differed just enough from right-hand swordplay to demand constant vigilance. Most martial arts were designed around facing right-hand styles, making it all the more awkward.
With so many advantages, some unorthodox fighters and black path warriors learned left-hand sword despite being right-handed.
Jeong Taeryeong held his sword straight out in front, waiting for Han Gyun to approach. Han Gyun advanced, thrusting to target Jeong Taeryeong's shoulder.
"Hup!"
It looked like a simple probe, but it was bait to disrupt balance and set up the follow-up.
So Jeong Taeryeong didn't just block. He deflected the blade, laying his sword flat to seal Han Gyun's next move. No need to shift his legs—a perfect, unassailable defense.
After three swift exchanges, Namgung Myeong expressed admiration.
"Oh. Not bad."
"Naturally. Look who taught him."
Hyeon-gong replied with evident pride.
Jeong Taeryeong had always favored defensive swordplay, and over the past three days, he'd trained under Hyeon-gong, whose defense was second to none. Progress was inevitable.
Jeong Taeryeong smoothly parried Han Gyun's assaults, seeking an opening for a counter.
But without agile footwork, subduing his foe was a distant prospect.
A delicate stalemate formed between the unyielding defender and the frustrated attacker.
Watching Jeong Taeryeong's solid guard, Dang Mujin recalled Wudang's sect leader, Immortal Yeongbo.
"I wonder if Immortal Yeongbo was like that in his youth."
The reply came not from Hyeon-gong, but from Namgung Myeong.
"Maybe as a child, but not in his youth."
"Why not?"
"At Jeong Daehyeop's age now, Immortal Yeongbo was already at the Six Venerables level."
"What?"
Dang Mujin's head snapped sideways. Namgung Myeong explained calmly.
"Immortal Yeongbo broke through to peak realm at eighteen, and before thirty, he'd reached the Six Venerables."
"Peak to transcendent in just over a decade?"
"Why not? Hero Yu reached transcendent in a similar timeframe."
"Hero Yu was at least late thirties. Still, transcendent in one's late twenties? That's odd."
"Not even sure it was late twenties. That's just when Father confirmed Immortal Yeongbo had broken through."
All eyes turned to Hyeon-gong.
He was the only one present who might know exactly when Immortal Yeongbo had surpassed transcendent.
Hyeon-gong chuckled.
"The sect leader never said outright, but the elders claim it was around twenty-six."
Namgung Myeong was twenty-six now, Hyeon-gong twenty-seven. Transcendent at twenty-six? Possible?
"Does that even make sense?"
"Think of it this way: with such overwhelming talent, even a crippled Immortal Yeongbo became Wudang's leader. He's renowned as the unmatched talent among the Six Venerables."
Hyeon-gong spoke nonchalantly, but pride for Wudang and Immortal Yeongbo rang clear in his voice.
"Still feels off. Too fast."
"The jump from peak to transcendent is pure enlightenment—no telling how long it takes. Take the Sword King of the Je Yuan Baek family, dead now. He broke peak past forty, but reached transcendent the next year."
Hong Geolgae's ears perked up. First-rate this year, transcendent next?
He drifted into pleasant fantasies: breaking through first, then lording it over his friends.
Namgung Myeong picked up the thread.
"Anyway, last time I met Immortal Yeongbo, it crossed my mind."
"What thought?"
"If his cultivation advances further here, maybe he'll shed his mortal form like in legends—regrow perfect legs. Wouldn't the Three Treasures Venerable just become a full Venerable then?"
Dang Mujin waved it off.
"Ridiculous. Shedding the mortal form is legend territory. Higher cultivation doesn't remake the body."
"I thought so too at first. But we saw Fairy Huayeon—rejuvenation's possible. Why not shedding the mortal form?"
Fair point. Both defied common sense. A new body? No real difference.
As the group chattered, blood splattered the platform in spots. Han Gyun, forcing his way through, had taken a minor cut instead.
Seemingly resolved, Han Gyun stepped back and declared.
"Don't feel hard done by."
"You swung that sword like a proper swordsman till now. So you're ditching pride for tricks?"
"Such stubbornness is outdated. When you face demon heads or black path scum later, think they'll fight fair?"
Even saying it, Han Gyun flushed red with shame.
Words were done. Action remained. Han Gyun retreated, hurling two darts. No novice clumsiness.
Jeong Taeryeong deflected one with his sword. But the other grazed his thigh.
He could've dodged normally, but the unstable leg betrayed him.
"Ooh!"
"Coward!"
The crowd erupted.
Some cheered Han Gyun's dominance, but most rooted for the clear underdog, Jeong Taeryeong.
People always back the disadvantaged—and the one who seemed honorable.
But Jeong Taeryeong stayed calm, reaching into his robe for a black tube.
It was dark and compact—small enough for a woman's hand.
Han Gyun paused mid-throw, backing off a few steps.
'No edge. Some kind of tube? Looks like it holds poison... Talks of pride, but corners him and pulls the same stunt.'
Poison couldn't be parried with a sword, but distance and caution would suffice.
Tournament rules meant no lethal venom—killing disqualified you.
'He can spray once at most.'
Han Gyun edged toward the platform's rim.
But contrary to his expectation, Jeong Taeryeong assumed a strange stance. He raised the tube beside his head, end pointed at Han Gyun.
No one would mistake it for poison spray or thrown projectile prep.
'What the hell is that thing?'
Jeong Taeryeong spoke.
"Hey, Hero Han."
"What?"
"You sheathed your sword and ran first."
Sudden unease gripped Han Gyun. Jeong Taeryeong's voice brimmed with confidence beyond confidence—eager thrill.
As if he'd waited for this exact moment.
"What're you planning?"
Jeong Taeryeong just grinned, silent.
He didn't know the Violent Rain Pear Flower Needle's internals, nor could he comprehend them.
But he knew what pressing this button did.
His thumb pressed the small protrusion on the black tube's back.
*Click.*
Through thumb and palm, he felt something inside spring and spin.
The next instant, Han Gyun sensed something streaking toward him like light.
More precisely, not "coming"—it had already passed. Before he could react, the invisible thing had whizzed by.
All that remained: faint air vibrations tickling his ear hairs.
'What was that?'
Han Gyun's heart pounded wildly.
No idea what, but he'd nearly been hit. Lucky miss. His dart hand clenched.
'Dodged it. Heaven helps me!'
His turn now. He raised a dart.
But as he drew it, Han Gyun beheld something bizarre. Jeong Taeryeong's right hand still hovered by his head, gripping the black tube unchanged.
Han Gyun couldn't process it.
Fire an arrow? Nock another.
Throw a knife? Grab a new one.
Hurl a stone? Pick up another.
Shoot or throw, and you reloaded.
Universal truth, common sense.
Until Dan Seol-yeong disagreed.
The key difference between the Heavenly King Needle Tube and Violent Rain Pear Flower Needle: firing capacity.
The Heavenly King fired all at once; the Pear Flower launched thirty needles in three bursts.
Of course, Han Gyun had no way to know it was three—or ten.
Jeong Taeryeong's thumb moved indifferently again.
*Click.*
Unknowing what he dodged, Han Gyun hurled himself across the platform, rolling desperately.
'Something passed again!'
Despite the heat, gooseflesh erupted on his back and arms.
He whipped his head toward Jeong Taeryeong.
'Surely done now?'
But Jeong Taeryeong held the same pose, gazing back—with a faint smile.
His thumb stirred once more.
*Click.*
Unable to rise, Han Gyun felt a sharp prick on his calf. Minor pain.
'Needles?'
Thin as animal hair—five embedded.
He yanked them frantically, then sensed poison creeping up his leg.
'Poison? I can endure this mu—'
Thought unfinished, Han Gyun collapsed unconscious.
*
Dang Mujin watched the platform scene with satisfaction.
'Dan Seol-yeong would've loved this. Shame she missed it.'
Only he stayed so composed.
His companions couldn't hide their shock.
They knew it fired needles. Knew they were venom-coated. But not how blindingly fast.
For ordinary folk unaware even of its existence?
Silence blanketed the platform area.
Hundreds gathered, yet neighbors' breaths were audible. No one spoke.
They couldn't grasp what they'd witnessed.
Had Jeong Taeryeong sprayed poison from the black tube, or flung something sharp to draw blood—understandable.
But he'd just held the small tube, twitching his thumb a couple times. And the match ended.
Beyond comprehension.
Reactions polarized.
"Eek!"
Some, terrified by the inexplicable, shrieked and fled.
Most surged forward to see, turning the area into chaos.
"What? What happened?"
"Don't push!"
Hyeon-gong observed the pandemonium.
"Mujin."
"Yeah?"
"Next year's Chang'an tournament will probably ban hidden weapons."
No one disagreed.