Chapter 268
Chapter 268
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 268
Chapter Title: Opening
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Qingcheng Sect, Zhongnan Sect, Huashan Sect, and even Wudang Sect.
Dang Mujin and his friends were making their way toward the Kongtong Sect, mingled among Daoists from all four sects.
Travel was always tedious. The only diversions were scattered thoughts and idle chatter to fend off the boredom.
Hyeon-gong approached Hong Geolgae and asked,
"Last night, what did you and your master talk about all night?"
Dang Mujin and Nangong Myeong perked up their ears and sidled closer, pretending nonchalance.
There were plenty of Daoists in the world, but very few who could wield actual Daoist arts. A conversation with one of them was bound to be fascinating.
Nangong Myeong eyed Hong Geolgae, sniffed the air dramatically, and said,
"It wasn't talk. This guy's been drinking."
Hyeon-gong shot back,
"Alcohol smell? Isn't that just the usual booze clinging to you? You've been at it steadily lately."
"No. Take a good look."
Nangong Myeong tapped the gourd hanging from Hong Geolgae's waist.
It swung with considerable heft, and the sloshing inside was so full it barely made a sound.
Booze didn't fall from the sky, so he'd clearly stopped by a tavern or inn.
"Besides, even if he was drinking, he wouldn't have done it in total silence like some silent meditation retreat. It's been ages since you two met—you must've talked about something."
How much should he share?
Hong Geolgae pondered for a moment before replying.
"He said this fight's going to be tight. Seemed to think even among the experts, plenty would die or get hurt."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
The four walked on, each lost in thought.
They'd started out together, but the distance gradually widened. Unable to endure the boredom, Nangong Myeong and Hong Geolgae subtly drifted toward the junior disciples of Zhongnan and Huashan Sects.
Hyeon-gong, however, kept his distance from them.
The juniors from Zhongnan and Huashan were already subconsciously wary of Hyeon-gong, which suited him just fine. A proper distance could blur into respect.
'I'm the next sect leader of Wudang. Time to set the tone early.'
As Dang Mujin and Hyeon-gong walked in silence, someone approached them. It was Elder Yeongheo.
Elder Yeongheo asked Dang Mujin,
"Tang Clan Head. Not nervous?"
"A bit tense, yes."
"Honest, aren't you."
Elder Yeongheo gave a faint smile and said,
"I'm here because I have something to discuss with you."
Elder Yeongheo glanced at Hyeon-gong beside Dang Mujin, subtly hoping he'd step aside.
But Hyeon-gong walked on calmly, showing no reaction. His personality suggested he was fully focused on this, yet he remained impassive.
In the end, Elder Yeongheo nodded slightly.
"If anyone else heard, it'd be awkward, but Victory Dragon Sword has a steady temperament—no issue there."
"Why so cautious about what you're going to say?"
"First, let me ask you something. Tang Clan Head, have you ever felt slighted by Qingcheng Sect Daoists up to now?"
"Never."
Dang Mujin answered immediately, prompting Elder Yeongheo to press further.
"Think a bit more seriously—and honestly."
Dang Mujin pondered.
The Qingcheng Daoists he was closest to numbered two: Branch Leader Yellow Spirit Master and Chief Instructor Jin Song.
Both were good men, through and through.
He had no grudges with any others in the sect. Barely any contact to begin with. If anything, Qingcheng Sect had almost always aligned with Dang Mujin's views.
"Never. Not empty words."
"Good."
Hearing this, Elder Yeongheo visibly relaxed.
Now Dang Mujin turned the question.
"May I ask why you're inquiring?"
"When Daoists train for ages chasing immortality, their minds sometimes open up a bit."
Dang Mujin glanced at Hyeon-gong.
Definitely a mind that had opened—though in a slightly odd direction.
"Supernatural powers?"
"Not quite supernatural... insight, maybe? No, that's too grand. Anyway, it happens. You start seeing more than before. Maybe it's not the Daoist training—could just be age piling up."
"I see."
As Dang Mujin nodded lightly, Elder Yeongheo continued with his usual easy smile.
"Let me say this upfront: I don't think this will end easily."
But the words carried heavy weight, mismatched to his expression.
Dang Mujin recalled what Hong Geolgae had relayed from the Great Wind Beggar. The overlap deepened his unease.
"Why do you think that?"
"Unorthodox warriors lack cohesion, but they're not idiots. They know full well the orthodox sects are coming. They didn't gather at Kongtong Sect expecting to lose easily."
"Still, they couldn't have anticipated Qingcheng Sect joining the fray."
"True... but whether that's enough is the question."
"If you're that worried, shouldn't we pull back now?"
"No. Time won't bring a better chance than this. Didn't something come up with the Peng Clan in Hebei too?"
Elder Yeongheo paused for a breath before continuing.
"What I really want to say is something else."
"What is it?"
"I hope the Tang Clan Head maintains smooth relations with Qingcheng Sect going forward. Not that you need to be chummy or brotherly. Even distant is fine. Just no clashes—that's all I ask."
"Pardon?"
Dang Mujin stared at Elder Yeongheo.
But the elder wore his usual relaxed smile, revealing nothing in his eyes.
Elder Yeongheo explained.
"The rise and fall of any sect lies in the hands of its people. Your future is the Tang Clan Head's, and Qingcheng's is those spirit and true elder Daoists like Gong Lingzi or Yellow Spirit Master. The generation after, it'll be the Jin generation Daoists leading Qingcheng."
"Probably."
"They're no slouches. But still, a bit of regret lingers."
Elder Yeongheo was comparing Qingcheng's next generations to Dang Mujin. Clearly, he saw the spirit and true elders falling short.
Rise and fall in people's hands meant the Tang Clan's prestige might one day surpass Qingcheng Sect.
Elder Yeongheo seemed concerned about the Tang Clan warring with and crushing Qingcheng.
Not the sort of admission a major sect leader made lightly before outsiders.
Dang Mujin closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
"You should say that to Gong Lingzi, not me."
"No."
Elder Yeongheo shook his head slightly.
"Always exude confidence. That's the leader's prime virtue. Even if doubt gnaws at you, even if your heart burns black inside, you must appear assured before your subordinates."
"Is that possible?"
"Of course, fail like that and posterity calls you a fool or idiot. But leaders can't show uncertainty. Before Gong Lingzi or Jin-hae, I must be the man certain Qingcheng will be the Central Plains' top sect."
Now Dang Mujin understood Elder Yeongheo's constant easy smiles. Not from leisure, but to project it to those below.
He got it now—as leader of the Tang Clan himself.
If Elder Yeongheo said this to Gong Lingzi or Jin-hae, they'd resent Dang Mujin and the Tang Clan, or cower preemptively. The elder saw that as harmful.
With a voice full of conviction, Elder Yeongheo said,
"Qingcheng will be a good neighbor to the Tang Clan. Be the same for us."
"...I will."
Elder Yeongheo smiled a touch deeper.
*
After two full days of marching, the group reached the outskirts of Pingliang County.
Rather than enter straightaway, they sat at a suitable spot, rubbing sore legs and resting.
"When do we head to Kongtong Mountain?"
At Dang Mujin's question, Elder Yeongheo replied,
"We need time to shake off the travel fatigue, so tonight's best."
Shaking fatigue was vital, but also a convenient excuse.
Winning a fair daylight fight would be ideal.
But starting with a night raid clearly offered the edge.
Elder Yeongheo had cleverly provided cover to minimize losses.
The other orthodox warriors raised no objections. They valued righteousness and uprightness, but knew to bend pride when lives hung in the balance.
Only at nightfall did the group ascend Kongtong Mountain.
Low chirps of grasshoppers masked footsteps, while trees and shadows hid their forms.
No one spotted them until they reached a point overlooking the Kongtong Sect.
But easy movement ended there.
Unlike before, guards now patrolled the perimeter in numbers.
Four were visible right away, paired in twos. Their scant movement made gauging skill impossible.
They weren't slacking idly, either.
As if certain someone was coming, they scanned alertly without relaxing.
With just three or four guards, they might've scaled the walls unseen. But near a hundred warriors couldn't without detection.
Charging in recklessly wasn't ideal, either. Even swift kills would leave screams.
Elder Ilseon muttered regretfully,
"Have to raise a ruckus already? Wanted the first strike advantage."
The orthodox warriors quietly drew swords from sheaths, covering blades with hands to avoid moonlight glints.
Dang Mujin, however, left his sheathed.
"Hold on a moment."
"Tang Clan Head. Some clever ploy?"
"There's a way. Worst case, we break even—so wait just a bit."
Dang Mujin asked his friends,
"Hong Geolgae. Think you could block my flying rings?"
"Eh, maybe once or twice."
Nangong Myeong cut in,
"That's not the point. You know what flying rings are, but they don't. Could you block one coming at an unexpected moment, unexpected spot—even at night?"
Dang Mujin asked Nangong Myeong,
"Nangong Myeong. You think it'd be tough, right?"
"Even if I were there, it'd be hard. Hong Geolgae? No chance."
"What's with the gap between you and me?"
Hong Geolgae grumbled, face sour. As Nangong Myeong and Hong Geolgae bickered in hushed tones, Hyeon-gong pretended to intervene while subtly stirring the pot.
But excluding Dang Mujin's group, no one grasped their conversation.
Finally, Dang Mujin asked,
"Among those visible guards, anyone better than you lot?"
The same answer came back.
"No way."
"Guys like that don't pull sentry duty."
"Got it."
Elder Ilseon asked,
"What's this 'flying ring' business?"
"This."
Dang Mujin lowered both arms, and two palm-sized discs slipped from his sleeves onto his index fingers.
Elder Ilseon saw they were round blades but had no clue how they'd be used. Flying rings suggested throwing.
Dang Mujin raised his hands, twirling index fingers. The rings spun smoothly on them.
He inhaled slowly. Endless practice day and night, but this was his first real combat use.
"Fail here, and it's more than embarrassing."
Dang Mujin smirked at Nangong Myeong's teasing.
"Have to succeed."
His eyes narrowed. Head tilted forward like a beast eyeing prey. Fingers still spun the rings.
Two rings on hands, four targets.
The spinning rings on fingers flicked up, caught between thumb and index.
Still crouched low, Dang Mujin slipped from behind the tree, ducking into brush, and hurled both rings. They skimmed the ground low.
No sound. Only a fleeting moonlight gleam marked their path.
The unorthodox guards never noticed.
As the rings streaked to their sides, Dang Mujin's extended index and middle fingers pointed skyward.
Rise.
The rings shot up like snakes, biting the two sentries' throats.
The guards clutched necks, unaware of what hit them.
"Gurk."
Brief searing pain, then blood poured like a waterfall down their throats.
The rings burst through bloodspray, returning to Dang Mujin's hands. Most Daoists hadn't even grasped what happened.
Dang Mujin's fingers caressed the rings briefly, then launched them anew.
From first throats cut to second launch: barely three or four breaths.
As the rings left his hands again, the other two guards—some distance off—noticed something wrong with their comrades.
But "wrong" was just two guttural hacks, hands at throats.
Blood seeped between fingers, but spotting it in dark night was tough.
'Something happen? Choked on their own grub?'
The two scanned around.
Still nothing visible. No presence felt. Just faint moonlight and cool night breeze.
They missed the rings reflecting moonlight—this time flying far higher than eye level.
Dang Mujin's fingers pointed groundward.
Descend.
The airborne rings dove like hawks spotting prey, slicing the scanning guards' throats.
The second pair crumpled to knees, clutching necks like the first.
All four knelt, staring ahead. Nearly forty paces off, a young man slowly rose.
'That guy? What the hell did he do?'
Situation too bewildering—curiosity outpaced death's terror.
Dying guards looked around, desperate to understand.
Kneeling lowered their view, revealing clues late: metal discs embedded in dirt, razor-thin, impossibly sharp.
Dang Mujin retrieved the two buried rings and stood.
But no one spoke. The scene was utterly eerie. Few had clearly seen what he did.
Most caught fragments.
Discs from somewhere flew off, fingers moved. Two dead.
Discs returned, flung again, fingers moved. Two more dead. That was it.
A chill settled over them.
The young Tang Clan Head's technique was leagues beyond crude assassin tricks.
All wondered the same chilling question.
'Had I been there, could I block those blades?'
No one could say. The heavy mood lingered.
Then Dang Mujin's words to Elder Ilseon snapped the reverie.
"All clear. Let's go."
"Uh... right. Understood."
The Daoists rose quietly, approaching the silenced four.
Such silent deaths.
Without the blood, they'd look asleep.
Dang Mujin recovered the dirt-stuck rings. Orthodox warriors silently opened the Kongtong Sect gates.
Unlike last time's late-night training, the unorthodox seemed quietly asleep.
'Now it begins.'
Under serene moonlight, orthodox warriors exchanged glances and scattered in all directions.