Chapter 305
Chapter 305
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 305
Chapter Title: Heavenly Spirit Cover Hong Gyeon
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Hong Geolgae was grabbed by the collar by Du Jinpung and thrown to the ground in front of a crowd of people.
But few paid any attention to Hong Geolgae. Most were focused solely on the heated argument between the furious Du Jinpung and the flustered announcer.
However, when two first-rate warriors—not even low-tier ones—suddenly appeared glaring beside the announcer, Du Jinpung had no choice but to clutch his aching chest and turn away.
"Damn it, you dog!"
Only after Du Jinpung had left did Hong Geolgae stealthily rise from his spot.
Naturally, people's gazes shifted back to him.
Hong Geolgae glanced around with panicked eyes for a moment, then puffed out his chest and stepped out of the sparring arena.
Hyun-gong, seeing this, stuck out his tongue in amazement.
"Did you see that just now?"
"See what?"
"Hong Geolgae. Didn't you see what he did?"
"...He just got up and slipped away, right?"
Frustrated by Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong's reactions, Hyun-gong thumped his chest.
"No. It was more than that. Normally, in a situation like that, anyone would slink away all hunched over. Even I thought it would end that way until he looked around."
"It wasn't?"
"No! He didn't stop there—he puffed out his chest and deliberately took big strides. But his eyes couldn't meet the crowd's, trembling anxiously as they wandered in the air."
"...What does that mean?"
"It was a delicate portrayal of forcibly squeezing out confidence to protect his self-esteem in front of everyone—a desperate struggle of the weak. Hong Geolgae... what a scary guy..."
Dang Mujin decided to ignore Hyun-gong's ramblings.
By then, the next group had been called, filling the arena with twenty new faces.
But Hyun-gong kept muttering about how scary the guy was, staring at the door through which Hong Geolgae had exited.
*
The next day, the tournament shifted to one-on-one matches.
This was where the true sparring competition began. Group battles were ambiguous at best.
As if it were the most natural thing, gambling tables opened up. Simple bets on the participants' wins and losses.
Namgung Myeong got excited.
"Honestly, the prize money is secondary. From here on, we can make a fortune just gambling."
But contrary to Namgung Myeong's expectations, the situation wasn't ideal for raking in big money. They simply didn't have much spare cash.
After deducting lodging costs, they had barely four silver taels left.
Namgung Myeong muttered regretfully.
"Should I... borrow some money, just for a tiny bit?"
"Huh?"
"It's a sure win. Grab a few gold taels from a rich house, bet them, win the money, and return the loan. We could multiply our gains in an instant."
Dang Mujin calmed Namgung Myeong down.
"We're not here to win a fortune. Besides, even with a small stake, we'll make more than you think. No need to rush."
However, against Dang Mujin's expectations, the odds weren't favorable.
"...Even if Hong Gyeon wins, it's less than triple?"
"His opponent must be some nobody. Probably got lucky in the group stage."
"Sigh."
Hong Gyeon's first opponent was a barely second-rate warrior.
Decent for a nobody, but lacking as a proper martial artist.
Gamblers who could gauge skill levels avoided betting on underinformed participants, while the clueless ones took risky bets for fun.
It was no surprise the odds on Hong Gyeon were underwhelming.
Still, at these rates, they could upgrade from noodle soup and dumplings to stir-fried dishes for dinner.
The group watched Hong Gyeon's match leisurely, while other gamblers watched with more desperate expressions.
Hong Gyeon pretended to struggle immensely against the sword-wielding man, sticking purely to defense before seizing one chance to attack—tripping him by hooking his leg and shoving lightly.
The opponent tumbled across the arena floor, clueless as to how it happened.
He jumped right back up, but the announcer didn't hesitate.
"Winner: Hong Gyeon of Zhuul Village!"
Hong Gyeon thrust his fist high into the air as if he'd achieved a monumental victory.
The spectators roared back at him.
"Good job, Hong Gyeon!"
"How does a weaponless bum beat a swordsman? That doesn't make sense!"
"It was just a momentary slip! Resume the match!"
In an instant, the stands turned into pandemonium. But Hong Gyeon ignored it all, hopping around childishly in every direction to express his joy.
*
The next match followed after a day off.
The atmosphere inside the arena was much the same, but the stands had grown intensely serious. After the first round of the main draw, skilled gamblers were starting to flock to Hong Gyeon's matches.
People gathered in groups, sharing information to predict outcomes.
Dang Mujin's group pretended nonchalance while perking up their ears to eavesdrop.
"Did Hong Gyeon beat the Yeochuk from Namtong? What was Yeochuk's skill level?"
"Second-rate, from what I know."
"Anyone see yesterday's match? How big was the gap?"
"I did. Hong Gyeon was on the defensive the whole time, then got lucky tripping Yeochuk."
"So it was luck. Still, he might have second-rate skill. But this opponent is Ganyu Supreme Sa Donghum. That kind of luck won't work against a first-rate expert..."
The term "first-rate expert" sounded utterly foreign.
From an ordinary person's view, though, a first-rate warrior was certainly worthy of the title. They could claim to be the top martial artist in most towns.
One gambler cautioned restraint.
"We can't completely let our guard down. I heard once that matches between below first-rate can turn on luck."
"Even so, these odds are fine. If we can pocket one tael five mace, a little risk is worth it. Backing out here wouldn't make us gamblers."
"True enough."
Meanwhile, Dang Mujin's group had six-to-one odds. Of course, their stake was still pocket change.
Soon, Hong Gyeon's second match began.
"Hong Gyeon of Zhuul Village! Versus—Ganyu Supreme... Sa! Dong! Hum!"
As the announcer drawled Sa Donghum's name syllable by syllable, Sa Donghum raised his right arm high.
The stands erupted in cheers. He had more recognition than expected.
Sa Donghum glanced at Hong Gyeon and smiled leisurely.
"Hong Gyeon, was it? If you don't want serious injury, forfeit smartly. You've done well enough for your level."
"...It's too early to give up."
Hong Gyeon clenched his fists and glared at Sa Donghum. From the stands, they could clearly see him trembling faintly.
Dang Mujin found Hong Gyeon utterly repulsive.
Sa Donghum snorted at the response and drew his sword—a blunted practice blade, sharp enough to tear skin.
"Is that so? Let's see how long that lasts."
He struck a flashy pose.
"Ganyu is a town of over a thousand households. I'm the top man there. Can you fathom the weight of the title 'Ganyu Supreme'?"
The gamblers cheered wildly. Sa Donghum's confidence seemed to promise their one-tael-five-mace payout.
To Dang Mujin's group, who knew the truth, nothing could have been funnier.
Hong Gyeon replied.
"I've heard length is proven in direct comparison."
"Fine. You'll cry when you see. At least count yourself lucky to face me here."
The announcer signaled the start.
Sa Donghum charged—not quite lightning-fast, but quick—and swung a slash that was rough and fierce in description only, somewhat sloppy in execution.
Hong Gyeon barely ducked under the blade.
A follow-up downward chop.
Hong Gyeon hopped back from his crouched position, evading perfectly as if he'd read the trajectory. Sa Donghum showed no tension.
In martial arts, you see only as much as you know.
"Pathetic, scrambling just to dodge. How long can you last?"
Sa Donghum unleashed a flurry of strikes; Hong Gyeon weaved desperately, barely avoiding them.
His clothes tore bit by bit, thin bloodlines appearing where he didn't dodge fully.
'...Does he need to deceive his opponent so earnestly?'
The match dragged longer than expected, but it looked overwhelmingly one-sided. Gamblers and spectators shouted.
"Sa Donghum! Sa Donghum! Finish him quick!"
"One slash and done—why drag it out!"
But Sa Donghum wasn't as relaxed as he seemed. This Hong Gyeon was dodging surprisingly well.
His breath reached his throat, yet he remained confident of victory. The opponent's breathing grew ragged too, and he'd inflicted minor wounds.
Then, an unexpected shift.
Hong Gyeon's expression grew dazed, and he began dodging Sa Donghum's attacks with surprising ease.
Occasional palm strikes lashed out. Sa Donghum and the gamblers felt a thick unease.
"N-No way, that!"
A gambler with third-to-second-rate skill yelled. He was considered something of an expert among them.
Others pressed urgently.
"What? You know something?"
"Enlightenment—it's the moment of enlightenment!"
"Enlightenment?!"
"I was a third-rate nobody once. But the day I fended off five thugs alone, I awakened and became second-rate!"
Whether true or not, it sounded ominous to the gamblers.
Bad premonitions never miss.
As if proving the claim, Hong Gyeon widened the gap from Sa Donghum's sword. His palm strikes targeting openings increased.
One thought crossed the gamblers' minds.
In fights, momentum is half the battle. And clearly, it had swung to Hong Gyeon.
"Damn it, Sa Donghum! Pull through! You can do it!"
Such cheers only made him more frantic. His strikes grew shaky.
In that instant, Hong Gyeon's palm to the ear disrupted Sa Donghum's balance. He barely stayed upright but ended up kneeling before Hong Gyeon.
Hong Gyeon gazed at him with serene eyes.
"Good match."
Sa Donghum smiled hollowly yet satisfied.
"Impressive. To witness a butterfly spreading its wings..."
"Surrendering?"
"No."
"...Good match."
Hong Gyeon clenched his fist and smashed the knuckle side onto Sa Donghum's crown—the spot commonly called the Heavenly Spirit Cover.
Struck there, Sa Donghum slumped unconscious.
Hong Gyeon scanned the surroundings with the wild elation of a fresh first-rate warrior.
But a first-rate's bravado couldn't overwhelm the gamblers who'd lost money.
"Ugh!"
"Get lost, beggar!"
Hong Gyeon basked contentedly in their glares and resentment as he left the arena.
*
The next day, and the day after, similar matches unfolded.
Hong Gyeon faced a decent first-rate opponent, dragged out a tense-looking bout, and knocked him out with a fist to the Heavenly Spirit Cover.
Gamblers who'd bet confidently lost each time, countless faces glaring at Hong Gyeon with hatred.
The following day, the stands filled to capacity for his match.
Incredibly, the first sellout crowd at the Wuchang Sparring Tournament belonged to Hong Gyeon.
The unusually large turnout was because his opponent was no pushover: Falling Moon Blade Jeon Wi-ryang.
Unlike previous foes, even his nickname omitted a region.
It meant his fame transcended local bounds.
Indeed, Jeon Wi-ryang had recently broken through to the peak realm.
He eyed Hong Gyeon with calm eyes.
Yet his face looked suspiciously weathered for under thirty.
Hyun-gong whispered.
"That guy looks way closer to forty than thirty, no matter how I see it."
"I think so too. But nothing we can do."
Age limits in sparring tournaments depended mostly on the registrar's eyes—about eighty percent.
If they looked under thirty, entry was allowed; over, denied.
Even with similar apparent ages, higher skill and fame led to leniency.
Few registrars would sternly turn away a peak-level bladesman.
Plus, with his prematurely aged look, Jeon Wi-ryang could pass for around thirty.
Namgung Myeong assessed.
"This'll be the ugliest matchup in the tournament."
A faker of age versus a faker of skill.
And once things turned ugly, the ugly winner fared better than the loser.
Jeon Wi-ryang smiled at Hong Gyeon.
Anyone could see Hong Gyeon's first-rate level.
Even as the now-famous "Hong Gyeon of Zhuul Village," he couldn't breach the peak wall, Jeon was certain.
Feeling a twinge of guilt for his age lie and crushing a junior, he drew his blade.
'Sorry about this. But you can enter the tournament a few more times. For me, faking age is at its limit...'
But Jeon Wi-ryang didn't know one fact.
His opponent harbored even greater guilt.
Sure enough, the fight followed a familiar pattern.
Zhuul Village's Hong Gyeon on the defensive. Jeon Wi-ryang pressing but unable to finish quickly.
When Hong Gyeon's clothes were bloodstained here and there, Jeon felt an odd intuition.
'...No way?'
Hong Gyeon's movements shed excess, his aura intensifying.
Jeon couldn't suppress his panic.
"Y-You bastard, don't pull that nonsense! You became first-rate three days ago! How already—!"
The stands didn't grasp it immediately.
But a few warriors there panicked and shouted.
"He already broke through the peak wall? How?!"
Faces filled with shock.
Casual spectators marveled at witnessing a genius's awakening; gamblers despaired at four straight losses.
Déjà vu gripped them as they howled.
"Foul! That's cheating!"
"Hey, beggar scum! Have some conscience—stop it! Please!"
"Three times was enough loss! Why keep screwing us?!"
Some gamblers, seized by anxiety, wailed like children.
They vowed never to gamble again.
Five breaths later, Hong Gyeon's fist smashed Jeon Wi-ryang's Heavenly Spirit Cover—his signature finisher.
As Jeon crumpled, the few who'd bet on "Hong Gyeon of Zhuul Village" exulted. Today's odds nearly recouped three days' losses.
Bold gamblers bellowed.
"Heavenly Spirit Cover Hong Gyeon! Heavenly Spirit Beggar Hong Gyeon!"
Hong Gyeon spread his arms wide, reveling in the explosive attention.
He was in ecstasy.
*
That evening, Dang Mujin's group enjoyed an oily feast at the inn.
The tastiest chicken hindquarters all went to Hong Gyeon. After all, wasn't this lavish meal thanks to his exploits?
As the meal neared its end, an unfamiliar presence approached—clearly footsteps of a martial artist.
The five excluding the two physicians simultaneously turned to the entrance.
The physicians startled, asked the group.
"What's wrong? Something happen?"
"Just watching someone approach."
The inn door creaked open cautiously.
A familiar face, but someone they'd never spoken to: Namgung Hyeon, participant from the Namgung family.
Hong Gyeon hurriedly straightened his face. Fortunately, his disguise was off.
Namgung Hyeon politely cupped his fists toward Namgung Myeong.
"Brother. Long time no see."
"Ah, Hyeon. I should have visited first. No idea why you're here, but sit down anyway. Eaten?"
Namgung Myeong welcomed him warmly enough.
But Namgung Hyeon only approached slightly, clearly still awkward around him.
'Why come if he's so uncomfortable?'
Namgung Hyeon hesitated, then said to Namgung Myeong.
"Brother. I desperately need your help. Could we talk somewhere private?"
Namgung Myeong replied.
"We can talk here. Everyone's trustworthy..."
He trailed off slightly, gaze landing on Hyun-gong.
But he finished.
"...folks, so nothing leaks out. Unless that's not enough?"
Namgung Hyeon glanced at the others, then shook his head.
"No. If you say they're trustworthy, that should be fine."
"Good. Why'd you come?"
Lowering his voice, Namgung Hyeon asked.
"...Advice before fighting Hong Gyeon."
Hong Gyeon choked on his food, coughing harshly.