Chapter 213
Chapter 213
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 213
Chapter Title: Wuchang
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"Great Hero Jeong, please let him go."
"You're talking nonsense."
The middle-aged monk wearing a bamboo hat dismissed Hyeon-gong's request as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Jeong Taeryeong endured the pain and tried to escape the grasp of the bamboo-hatted man, but he couldn't move a muscle.
Dang Mujin watched the scene and thought to himself.
'Wui is at the pinnacle of peak level? Or transcendent? Hard to tell yet. At least he's not being ruthless, which is a relief.'
When an inferior martial artist attacks a superior one without recognizing them, they pay with their life for that sin. As long as there's solid evidence and witnesses, even righteous sect warriors killing each other isn't made into a big issue.
To have attacked someone of that caliber and only end up with a broken wrist could be considered getting off cheap.
'But who the hell is this guy?'
Dang Mujin had no idea who the bamboo-hatted man was. Moreover, he couldn't fathom why someone with that level of skill would need the Storm Plum Blossom Needles.
It was true that the Storm Plum Blossom Needles were powerful. But a master like that had no reason to fear them or need them. Swinging a sword would be far more effective.
At that moment, Hyeon-gong spoke to the bamboo-hatted man.
"Could you be the Blood Rain Guest?"
Tension tightened in the jaw revealed beneath the bamboo hat.
Then, as the man called the Blood Rain Guest leaned his body unsteadily forward, Dang Mujin lost sight of him. In the brief moment his focus wavered while thinking, the Blood Rain Guest had vanished from view.
But Hyeon-gong didn't lose track of his opponent. He immediately drew his sword from his waist and tilted the blade sideways.
A metallic clash followed. The Blood Rain Guest's sword was already blocked by Hyeon-gong's.
"Coming at me with your sword right away. You're quite impatient."
Hyeon-gong responded as calmly and politely as he could, but his tension was plain to see. The Blood Rain Guest's lightness skill and swordsmanship were on another level.
Only after witnessing that footwork and sword strike did Dang Mujin gain certainty. The Blood Rain Guest had entered the transcendent realm.
Yet he still didn't know who the Blood Rain Guest was.
There were six transcendent masters in the righteous sects.
Sword Ghost Namgung Jincheon of the Namgung family.
The divine monk of Shaolin Temple.
The Wandering Immortal of the Beggars' Sect.
The Three Treasures Venerable of the Wudang Sect, Youngbo the Daoist.
Spiritless One of the Qingcheng Sect.
Yu Jingwang of the Jingeong Sect, who had subdued Infinite One of the Kongtong Sect and ascended to the six venerables.
Dang Mujin was acquainted with all six except the Qingcheng Sect's Spiritless One.
And the Blood Rain Guest didn't seem to be the Spiritless One. Meaning he wasn't one of the six righteous venerables.
That left three possibilities.
A demonic cultist, an unorthodox warrior, or someone straddling the line like the Blaze Fairy.
'He didn't kill outright, so probably someone in between righteous and unorthodox.'
The Blood Rain Guest spoke to Hyeon-gong in a voice laced with anger.
"Whoever told you the moniker Blood Rain Guest clearly didn't mention that I hate it."
"I'd heard rumors."
"If you knew and still said it, that just shows how shallow your thinking is."
"No such thing. This is exactly the situation I wanted."
While Hyeon-gong held the Blood Rain Guest's attention with their conversation, Namgung Myeong quietly moved to rescue Jeong Taeryeong, the innkeeper, and the waiter. Fortunately, the innkeeper and waiter were just knocked out, not dead.
Along with Jeong Okryeong and Wang Jincheong, that made five. Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong evacuated everyone who couldn't join the fight from the inn.
The Blood Rain Guest let out a hollow laugh.
"Fine. You're not as thoughtless as I thought. But that's only if you can handle the aftermath."
"I won't go down easily."
Dang Mujin lowered his voice and asked Namgung Myeong.
"Who is that guy?"
"The Blood Rain Guest is a transcendent master from the unorthodox sects. He hides his face with a bamboo hat and wanders alone without forming a gang. He's famed among unorthodox warriors for the finest lightness skill and swift sword. First time meeting him myself."
"Unorthodox?"
"Yeah."
Dang Mujin realized a bit late.
Wuchang was a city along the Yangtze, and south of the river was strong unorthodox territory, so an unorthodox warrior popping up wasn't strange.
Instead, Dang Mujin had a somewhat pointless question. Why did the Blood Rain Guest hate his own moniker?
It was distinctive and powerfully evocative, so by Dang Mujin's standards, it was a damn cool nickname. There were people out there with weird ones like Weirdo Dog or whatever.
The Blood Rain Guest lowered his sword and said.
"I'll teach you some manners."
In the next instant, Hyeon-gong straightened his sword, twisted its angle, and blocked the Blood Rain Guest's blade three times. It was a swift sword strike that no one but him could have parried.
The key point was that those three blocks created a small opening in the Blood Rain Guest.
Namgung Myeong, Dang Mujin, and Hong Geolgae didn't miss it, unleashing their techniques toward him.
Two swords and one staff struck simultaneously at his upper, middle, and lower guards, as if by prior agreement.
But the Blood Rain Guest, just as he had when approaching Hyeon-gong, tilted his body unsteadily and displayed his bizarre lightness skill. The three attacks sliced futilely through empty air.
The Blood Rain Guest muttered.
"So, you all want a turn getting disciplined too?"
"Would we abandon a friend to die?"
". . . Friend."
For some reason Dang Mujin couldn't fathom, he sensed the Blood Rain Guest growing angry.
The Blood Rain Guest unleashed fiercer sword strikes at Dang Mujin's group.
They blocked what they could on their own. But whenever a situation looked dire, Hyeon-gong would thrust his sword in to intercept the Blood Rain Guest's blade instead.
Even focusing solely on defense, the situation was overwhelming, so Hyeon-gong hadn't swung his sword offensively once.
Instead, Namgung Myeong minimized his defense and attacked the Blood Rain Guest in Hyeon-gong's stead.
Sensing Namgung Myeong's sword as a threat, the Blood Rain Guest seemed careful not to clash blades head-on.
The Blood Rain Guest muttered.
"Taiji Sword and Imperial Sword Form, huh. What about the other two?"
Unlike Namgung Myeong and Hyeon-gong, who swung ceaselessly, Dang Mujin sheathed his sword again. He never forgot that the sword wasn't his strongest suit.
Dang Mujin planned to handle the offense like Namgung Myeong, but there was a huge difference between them.
While Namgung Myeong handled his own minimal defense, Dang Mujin entrusted all his defense—and his life—to Hyeon-gong.
Dang Mujin's palms faced upward toward the ceiling.
It was a stance unseen in any fist technique, so even the Blood Rain Guest couldn't guess his intent. Of course, Dang Mujin had no intention of using a fist technique.
'This isn't the time to test things out while fighting.'
Dang Mujin's fingertips reached toward the ten needles Jeong Taeryeong had fired. The ten needles, thin as silk thread and light as feathers, floated up into the air.
Dang Mujin's long fingers whipped elegantly through the air. The ten needles followed his hand movements, darting like insects toward the Blood Rain Guest's vital points.
*
Even the Blood Rain Guest, who had been handling Hyeon-gong and Namgung Myeong with ease, couldn't help but falter before Dang Mujin's skill. Even with his vast experience, he'd never encountered anyone fighting this way.
The Blood Rain Guest's expression turned serious.
Intent on ending it quickly, he unleashed even more dazzling and rapid lightness skill, probing for openings in Dang Mujin's group.
Most attacks targeted Dang Mujin, of course. Neutralizing the greatest threat first was basic combat sense.
Yet his sword rarely reached Dang Mujin.
Hyeon-gong specialized in defense, Namgung Myeong wielded swift strikes that threatened even transcendent masters, and Dang Mujin kept the needles flying endlessly, distracting attention and seeking gaps.
The three men's skills were superb, belying their ages. Their roles were perfectly divided. It could pass for a bizarre formation array.
At that moment, the Blood Rain Guest felt a strong sense of incongruity.
One of them. One who didn't quite fit.
'. . . So what's that Beggars' Sect disciple's role?'
Compared to the others, his skill seemed notably inferior.
That made him all the more suspicious. There was no way such a guy was tagging along without reason.
Moreover, the occasional staff thrust was threatening enough not to ignore. The way he sometimes assumed a stance like the Dragon Soaring Eighteen Palms was burdensome too.
'Dragon Soaring Eighteen Palms . . . One of the Wandering Immortal's disciples, huh. Annoying.'
As he pondered while swinging his sword, the Blood Rain Guest detected a faint herbal scent creeping into his nostrils. An aroma of vegetation unfit for an inn.
'Poison.'
He could dodge the needles probing viciously for openings somehow, but if poison filled the inn's interior, even he had no escape.
The cramped inn was already uncomfortable. Like most swift lightness skills, his Shadowless Phantom Step couldn't shine in tight spaces.
The Blood Rain Guest glanced at the door leading outside. Dang Mujin's group had blocked the entrance as if by design.
'Playing dirty tricks.'
Without hesitation, the Blood Rain Guest swung his sword at the wall beside the door. The wooden inn wall was neatly sliced into a square, forming a small exit. He leaped out immediately.
*
"What? He ran?"
"Don't dawdle—chase him!"
If it were just the four of them, Dang Mujin's group might not have bothered pursuing the Blood Rain Guest.
But the situation was different now. Outside were the Jeong siblings and Wang Jincheong.
'No way he's taking hostages, right?'
Fortunately, the Blood Rain Guest showed no such intent. As Dang Mujin's group emerged after him, the people who had gathered around the inn raised a cheer.
Few things in the world were as entertaining as watching a fight. Especially one involving someone who could slice through an inn wall like tofu.
As soon as Dang Mujin's group appeared, the Blood Rain Guest pressed his assault once more.
He'd feint a frontal slash only to appear from behind, his sword's trajectory bending grotesquely, repeatedly leaving thin bloodlines on skin.
"Damn it!"
The Blood Rain Guest toyed with Dang Mujin's group using his overwhelming prowess.
Even when he could have taken a throat, he left only a light scratch on the nape. Even when he could sever an arm, he inflicted just a suitable wound.
With such leisure, he even whispered softly into Namgung Myeong and Hyeon-gong's ears.
"Feeling awake now? Starting to think you bit off more than you can chew?"
"Nonsense!"
The situation was so perilous that Dang Mujin finally had to abandon half his needles and draw his sword with his right hand for defense. They'd survived so far because the Blood Rain Guest hadn't gone for killing blows, but that mercy wouldn't last.
He was a vicious unorthodox warrior, after all.
With Dang Mujin drawing his sword too, even the Blood Rain Guest couldn't easily overpower them.
Their three-way defense was solid, so he circled around them frantically, hunting for gaps—like a cat batting at a hedgehog.
But Dang Mujin's group knew the fight's outcome was all but decided. The cat would eventually find the hedgehog's weakness, but the hedgehog's quills couldn't pierce the cat's heart. Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong's attacks couldn't breach the Blood Rain Guest's superior lightness skill.
However, the onlookers around the inn didn't notice Dang Mujin's group was losing ground. At a glance, the fight looked evenly matched.
The crowd gaped in awe at the battle between Dang Mujin's group and the Blood Rain Guest.
People would marvel at tournament matches between competitors as clashes of masters.
But the fight unfolding before the inn was beyond that. The recent thrilling tournament bouts now seemed like child's play.
Even laymen could see the vast skill gap.
"The swordsman in the bamboo hat . . . It's the Blood Rain Guest!"
And quite a few recognized him.
To the people near Wuchang, where unorthodox warriors were common, the clues of overwhelming lightness skill and bamboo hat made it obvious. Failing to recognize him would be the strange thing.
Attention shifted from the Blood Rain Guest to Dang Mujin's group.
"The Blood Rain Guest is a transcendent master! How can three young warriors hold their own against him?"
"They all look young—why aren't they in the tournament?"
"Who knows."
Dang Mujin's group overheard the spectators and realized something.
'Three young warriors?'
One was missing. Even after the battlefield moved outside, Hong Geolgae hadn't emerged.
'What the hell is he doing in there?'
Just then, Hong Geolgae appeared through the inn door. His eyes subtly unfocused, thick with the smell of alcohol.
The Blood Rain Guest looked at Hong Geolgae with utter disbelief. He hadn't planned to kill anyone here. But he had no intention of letting such an insolent fool walk away unscathed.
'Gonna have to lop off an arm or so.'
He tilted his body obliquely and unleashed his Shadowless Phantom Step.
*
Hong Geolgae knew how to view himself objectively. Or rather, he didn't even need objectivity. How many years had passed since his friends had left him behind and strode ahead?
Yet they'd never given him a dirty look for it.
They'd always traveled together as if it were natural. Teasing him whenever an opportunity arose.
Contrary to others who thought it too harsh, Hong Geolgae knew it was their way of showing care.
The torment for someone with an inferiority complex isn't when friends tease playfully.
It's when they fear hurting you and stay silent, glossing over it. Realizing that is when the heart truly wounds.
But his friends' consideration wasn't enough. Over time, Hong Geolgae felt himself shrinking bit by bit.
He saw himself as akin to the unripe fruit of the eucommia, the bitter yanfuzi. The kind where buying a bundle of ripe ones gets you extras for free.
He'd been of little help to Zhuul Village folks, little help on his friends' journeys.
Even staying at the Dang Clinic, he'd had no real role. No one demanded anything of him. No need to achieve. It had always been thus.
Yet Hong Geolgae knew such days couldn't last forever.
He'd reached the wall of peak realm a bit slower than his friends, but faster than ordinary folk.
But he wasn't standing still—he was backpedaling, inch by inch.
More techniques or deeper internal energy wouldn't solve it.
Hong Geolgae knew. Before too much time passed, one day he'd have to gamble. And he knew he was lucky.
But luck doesn't win every dice roll. Ten throws, six wins. Four losses to accept. Fearing those losses, he'd stood frozen, avoiding the game.
But now, he had to move forward.
Hong Geolgae tossed away his staff.
It was a fine weapon, too good for him.
But what he needed to trust now wasn't such a weapon. What mattered was a single strike to pierce the guard of an overwhelmingly superior foe—not a sturdy club.
For that alone, he surrendered to the alcohol.
Amid the heavy intoxication, Hong Geolgae focused his mind with all his strength.
'No. This isn't it.'
With a short sigh, he released all tension from his body.
If focus were the goal, he wouldn't have drunk. Between razor-sharp concentration and drunken looseness, he found a hazy balance.
Unobsessed, unafraid. He entrusted himself to the vague optimism unique to the drunk.
Hong Geolgae staggered toward his friends.
Three steps forward, then a reeling step back. Sometimes seeming about to topple.
But in every spot his foot touched, he saw Master Damjeongseon's footprints. The faint prints left in the soil without snapping the haeran grass stems.
In those loose steps, he discovered the path. A pure sensory realm beyond reason, hiding a single path.
Yet its end held nothing. No metaphor—truly, the path ended in empty air.
But Hong Geolgae resolved to reach for it.
'Screw it, whatever happens.'
His hand extended toward the void. Like a tiny hole crumbling a great dam, could one gesture topple a wall? Who knew.
In that instant, the Blood Rain Guest's form flickered into view.
Hong Geolgae thought his hand would sever his path. No mortal danger, but enough to claim an arm.
His fingertips flinched in fear. But with heedless optimism, the hand extended again.
'If I don't reach the end of this path, I'll regret it forever. Losing an arm's no big deal.'
He had a perpetually cheerful one-armed friend. Friends who accepted that one-arm as natural. One or two one-arms in the group changed nothing. So Hong Geolgae felt no fear.
Confidence settled in his fingertips.
Hong Geolgae's fingers curved slyly along the path he'd glimpsed earlier.
Where no one had been when he began the motion, now the Blood Rain Guest's chest loomed. As if the Blood Rain Guest had leaped into Hong Geolgae's swing at empty air. The Blood Rain Guest's eyes widened.
He twisted away belatedly, but couldn't fully evade the palm. Hong Geolgae felt the solid, heavy contact, the sensation of a wall crumbling.
Intoxication swirled through his body. Limbs numb, spine tingling.
Years of pent-up resentment washed from his chest.
"Did you see? See it? I finally did it!"
Hong Geolgae cried out in ecstasy.
But his friends' reactions were far from normal.
"Hey, you idiot! Snap out of it! To the side!"
Hong Geolgae looked aside. The Blood Rain Guest, having twisted to dodge the lethal blow, had instantly regained his stance and charged again.
And as the scabbard in the Blood Rain Guest's left hand swung, Hong Geolgae felt a dull pain at the back of his neck.
With an expression of having gained the world, Hong Geolgae passed out.