Chapter 328
Chapter 328
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 328
Chapter Title: Scaling Mount Tai
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Even if one boldly steps forward with Scaling Mount Tai, that doesn't mean swinging the sword without a thought.
Hyeon-gong eyed Heavenly Defeat Gwak Jidal with a serious expression.
There was good reason for Hyeon-gong to introduce himself as the Hyeon-gong of Mount Wudang.
He figured that while Heavenly Defeat might not know of Victory Dragon Sword or the moniker Justice Word, as a martial artist, he surely knew of the Wudang Sect.
The declaration "I am the Hyeon-gong of Mount Wudang" also served as a warning: "Harm me, and you'll earn the Wudang Sect's enmity."
Yet Hyeon-gong didn't expect much from it. Martial artists had a tendency to draw their swords and forget all about consequences.
Especially someone with a wild moniker like Heavenly Defeat...
...or so he thought, but unexpectedly, Heavenly Defeat Gwak Jidal hesitated slightly.
'Eh?'
A subtle tension flowed between Hyeon-gong and Gwak Jidal.
Gwak Jidal was pondering deeply.
'Mount Wudang? That must mean he's from the Wudang Sect in Hubei.'
'Is he impersonating a Wudang Daoist? His robes look authentic enough.'
'Probably not an impersonator. I don't know whose sect colors those are, but if he were faking, he'd claim Qingcheng or Zhongnan—something prominent. No reason to pick the middling Wudang Sect.'
'No, maybe Wudang's the closest major sect around here, so he's name-dropping it.'
'Nah. With skills like that, no need to impersonate another sect's Daoist. Best to assume he's the real deal from Wudang.'
It took Gwak Jidal three breaths to sort through his thoughts.
Heavenly Defeat Gwak Jidal looked at Hyeon-gong again.
They hadn't clashed blades yet, but the vibe said it all.
This Hyeon-gong guy was a core young talent of the Wudang Sect... no, even more than that. At minimum, he was the sect leader's personal disciple.
The Wudang Sect leader, True Person Youngbo, couldn't walk, but Hyeon-gong didn't think he'd let a disciple like this be killed quietly. He'd seek revenge by any means.
'The situation's gone to hell.'
The problem was, even if Gwak Jidal backed off now, it wouldn't end well.
He'd targeted Tu Hui, and out popped the blue-eyed woman. Target her, and out pops Hyeon-gong. Clearly, all three were in cahoots.
Back down meekly, and they'd surely find some excuse to storm into southern martial arts circles. Gwak Jidal could make excuses and retreat, but his subordinates would eye him with suspicion.
After brief deliberation, Heavenly Defeat reached the exact opposite conclusion from what Hyeon-gong hoped.
'Killing this punk is still the cleanest way. No witnesses, who knows who did it?'
It wasn't just cold calculus. His lingering obsession with Tu Hui was a major factor too.
'Kill this bastard, embrace Tu Hui and the blue-eyed one once each, then hold Tu Hui until I'm sick of her, and finish her off.'
Without warning, Gwak Jidal kicked a sharp stone from the cave floor.
Shiiik—the stone flew faster than an arrow, aiming for Hyeon-gong's head.
Hyeon-gong didn't take it lying down and flicked it away with his sword. Thanks to Heavenly Defeat's shift in demeanor midway, Hyeon-gong had anticipated he wouldn't play along as intended.
Hyeon-gong was purely impressed.
'Ambushing even a junior without hesitation... No ordinary guy. Something to learn from.'
The stone kick was just the opener.
A feint to create an opening—now came the real assault. Gwak Jidal savagely swung his blade, aiming to finish Hyeon-gong before he could reset his stance.
Metallic clashes rang repeatedly between the two swords. But contrary to Gwak Jidal's expectations, Hyeon-gong parried and deflected with precarious yet remarkably steady defense. No room for counterattacks, though.
'Trouble.'
Hyeon-gong grew uneasy. Heavenly Defeat's vast inner energy, too hard to gauge, made his gut churn. A prolonged fight would almost certainly lead to internal injuries.
No matter how solid Hyeon-gong's guard, he lacked confidence holding out against Gwak Jidal's onslaught once wounded.
Internal injuries weren't the only issue.
Hyeon-gong's defense had reached a high realm—like a boulder in a river current, steadfastly blocking and diverting Heavenly Defeat's strikes.
But a boulder could only endure; it couldn't swim upstream or shield neighboring rocks from the flow.
Hyeon-gong couldn't afford to just protect himself. Before Heavenly Defeat's torrent turned toward Tu Hui Wi Jinhyang and Seolhwa, he had to find a way.
In the end, Hyeon-gong shouted loudly.
"Heavenly Defeat! Retreat while I give you the chance! If Namgung Myeong and Gyuchoe-gae show up, you're done!"
Hyeon-gong hoped Gwak Jidal would abandon the fight and flee. But Gwak Jidal judged the opposite.
'Namgung Myeong—that's the Namgung family heir. And Gyuchoe-gae must be that new transcendent master in the Beggars' Sect.'
'Bluffing? Probably a bluff. But can't ignore it outright.'
Gwak Jidal took Hyeon-gong's words as a time limit.
'Kill him quick anyway. Safer that way.'
As a result, instead of fleeing, Gwak Jidal ramped up the aggression with his Celestial Precipice Crimson Sword Technique. Hyeon-gong's vision darkened.
'...Why won't he back off? Does he think Wudang will retaliate?'
'Can't promise no retaliation anyway. He wouldn't believe it, and it might just ease his mind instead.'
'When are Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae coming back?'
It suddenly struck him that since Dang Mujin left, Namgung Myeong and Hong Geolgae's behavior hadn't been exactly exemplary.
Those two had pretended to forage for herbs and poisons, only to nap in hiding—and Hyeon-gong had caught them multiple times. No reason today would be different.
'...I have to handle this myself.'
Hyeon-gong hadn't realized it himself, but anxiety and impatience seeped into his swordplay.
Gwak Jidal didn't miss the waver. His sword was fast; Hyeon-gong's reaction, slow.
Yet in the end, Gwak Jidal's blade pierced Hyeon-gong's defense and flew toward his shoulder. To avoid losing an arm like Namgung Myeong, Hyeon-gong belatedly twisted his upper body.
Gwak Jidal's sword sank nearly three inches into Hyeon-gong's left shoulder.
"Hngh!"
Scorching agony. Hyeon-gong stifled the groan that escaped involuntarily.
Blood streamed from his shoulder. The situation worsened.
Hyeon-gong's instincts whispered again.
'Actually, perfect. This decides the winner. Time to retreat?'
'Shoulder slashed, internals damaged. Spit some blood dramatically and pull back—no one'll call me a coward. Bite my tongue a bit?'
His situational assessment ended in an instant, as always. No need for prolonged debate.
One problem: his legs refused to retreat.
Hyeon-gong lacked the courage to fight to the death, but he had the grit to hold out a bit longer.
He steeled himself and repeated inwardly.
'Just a little more. Right when I try to flee, Namgung Myeong or Hong Geolgae might appear.'
Faint optimism. Those two killed time hiding; they wouldn't stroll back to the village casually.
Hyeon-gong gripped his sword with his right arm and endured. Of course, enduring solved nothing.
But it was all he could do. His defense was masterful, worthy of legend, but his offense lacked the edge to threaten Heavenly Defeat.
As Hyeon-gong swung desperately seeking an opening, a voice reached his ear. Low for a woman.
—First, gaze into the eyes of the one you face. Gauge your breaths against his, align your breathing to his.
The voice wasn't unfamiliar, and few here could send a transmission now.
Hyeon-gong glanced at Tu Hui. Her acupoints still sealed, limbs limp and unmoving.
But reason had returned to her eyes. The madness had subsided amid the chaos.
—Once you've read his breath, engrave his movements in your mind's eye. Motion begins at the toes—gauge where his feet point and tread.
Tu Hui's words weren't mere advice.
They were an oral formula. One distilled from long agonizing over a rigid, terse manual.
Hyeon-gong sensed thick reluctance in Tu Hui's voice.
That reluctance spoke volumes: this wasn't a technique from the Wi family.
What technique would evoke such regret in Tu Hui?
The answer came instantly.
The art Wi Jinhyang had once challenged and failed. The art that consumed a lifetime without mastery.
The art that turned martialdom's most beautiful warrior into a madwoman obsessed with hidden acupoints.
The art that took everything.
Scaling Mount Tai.
—Next, imprint the knee's advancing arc in your mind. Engrave the retreating upper leg's motion. Waist, shoulders, both arms—draw them in your head.
A perilous art. Yet Hyeon-gong's sole hope.
He cleared his mind and absorbed the formula. But even Wi Jinhyang didn't expect Hyeon-gong to master Scaling Mount Tai.
The technique's complexity aside, no art perfected itself from a mere formula.
One must comprehend its meaning and complete endless preparations before claiming readiness.
Preparation alone was daunting; absorbing and unleashing it in this dire moment was a pipe dream.
Busy parrying blows, how could he even grasp the words, let alone master them?
Tu Hui Wi Jinhyang whispered the formula grasping at straws—or to settle her debts and shed regrets.
But she didn't know one fact: Hyeon-gong possessed a peculiar gift.
Even as he frantically tracked and blocked the enemy's sword path, Hyeon-gong calmly absorbed Tu Hui's transmitted formula with serene focus.
As if split into two: one immersed in combat, the other in the formula.
Possible only because of that prior insight on Mount Wudang, when his consciousness seemed to divide.
The transmission continued.
—Once you've imaged your foe in your mind, expand the scope. His weapon, wind's flow. Sun's position. Ground's pebbles and contours, slick moss.
Hyeon-gong listened intently.
Scaling Mount Tai was utterly unique. No fixed paths, no set forms.
A single sword that calculated every environmental variable and adapted flawlessly.
Absorbing the formula, Hyeon-gong understood why Tu Hui had fallen to madness.
Mastering an art demanded total focus on one's sword and self—yet Scaling Mount Tai required grasping foe and surroundings simultaneously.
Weapon, build, style hallmarks, gait, habits, wind, temperature, sun, terrain.
Perfect grasp of every shifting variable, then the flawless killing stroke.
Tu Hui's failure wasn't mere talent. No ordinary person could learn this.
Yet Hyeon-gong felt no incongruity. As if born ready, he grasped every formula effortlessly.
He realized why.
Scaling Mount Tai demanded total environmental awareness. And Hyeon-gong was accustomed to scanning surroundings.
More familiar, even, than self-reflection. Ever since age four, led by his mother's hand and abandoned on Mount Wudang.
Failure to observe and gauge left him anxious. How many found reading people and situations as natural as Hyeon-gong?
Even Wudang's Taiji Sword seemed tailored for Scaling Mount Tai.
Unlike arts prioritizing speed and perfection, Taiji Sword emphasized defense.
Defense mastery meant reading sword paths and habits superbly.
Taiji Sword aligned with Scaling Mount Tai in reading the foe to strike. The difference: Taiji used it for guard, Scaling Mount Tai for offense.
Hyeon-gong thought perhaps his life was arranged to learn Scaling Mount Tai.
—Move your left hand to measure all. If closed eyes see the same as open, your preparation for Scaling Mount Tai is complete.
No need to close them. Half his consciousness imagined Heavenly Defeat's form; the other tracked reality.
After prolonged exchange, his imagined movements nearly matched the real. Subtle discrepancies shrank, until the two images merged as one.
Before fully unleashing Scaling Mount Tai, blood trickled from his nose.
Hyeon-gong considered himself sharp-minded, but his head felt overwhelmed, burning.
Without Tu Hui, nine in ten attempting this would go mad.
His limp left arm. Its fingers began twitching independently.
Following Scaling Mount Tai's guidance, Hyeon-gong used them to divine the optimal strike, the perfect path.
'Done.'
Preparation complete. One lingering concern.
Unleashing Scaling Mount Tai meant abandoning defense, committing wholly to attack.
Fitting his aptitude, yet clashing with his nature.
Hyeon-gong chuckled wryly.
'Suits my talents, not my temperament.'
But he composed himself. No choices left.
Overcome fear, surrender to the sword. Cast himself into Scaling Mount Tai.
Hitherto, he'd hidden weaknesses and leveraged strengths; now, conquer a flaw.
His mind eased.
'First art feels familiar—fortuitous encounter. Overcoming weakness with it—another boon.'
Suuup—Hyeon-gong drew a deep breath.
One final step remained.
He sank into inner visualization. Endless darkness unfurled a long path.
Others hadn't noticed, but Hyeon-gong intuited: few could enter this realm repeatedly. Next time might be last—or this one.
Exhaling, he set foot on the path.
'No turning back now.'
Thorns sprouted instantly to ensnare him. But Hyeon-gong wouldn't be caught.
Manryeokseung's old tale surfaced.
Preparation done, no hesitation needed. Sprint full-tilt.
Hyeon-gong dashed toward the path's end, shaking off thorns, racing onward.
The brambles pursued like wild beasts. Unable to fully escape, his body tore in agony.
But he couldn't stop.
At some point, Hyeon-gong realized he'd outrun them. Vision whitened; infinite possibilities unfolded.
Then came ecstasy, rapture, enlightenment.
His fidgeting left hand, gauging endlessly, stilled.
Simultaneously, his ironclad defense crumbled.
Gwak Jidal panicked at the massive opening.
A posture ripe for throat-severing.
Yet ominous. No reason for such sudden vulnerability. His supreme skill wouldn't overlook the incongruity.
'Advance and cut.'
Hesitation here was fatal.
In the end, the one extending the final sword claimed victory.
Gwak Jidal unleashed his ultimate, Dark Fragrance Willow. His blade danced like weeping willow branches along a riverbank, engulfing Hyeon-gong. Dozens had died unable to find a way through Dark Fragrance Willow.
Yet Hyeon-gong's sword perilously navigated the intricate paths, drawing near. Precarious, on the verge of halt, but undeniably threading the narrow lifeline.
Conversely, Gwak Jidal realized he couldn't block Hyeon-gong's sword. No method existed.
Not block— he couldn't even match blades along that eerie trajectory.
A perfect form, executable only after fully reading the foe.
A sword staking all on a razor wire.
Scaling Mount Tai, fully realized.
Puk—
The timid child's all-in strike pierced Gwak Jidal's chest center.
Hot blood sprayed, soaking Gwak Jidal's clothes and Hyeon-gong's face.
Gwak Jidal's options: mutual destruction in that fleeting moment his limbs could move, or accept defeat.
Warriors chose mutual ruin every time. Hyeon-gong instinctively recoiled.
Clang—But Gwak Jidal opened his right hand, dropping his sword. He accepted defeat.
Hyeon-gong asked Gwak Jidal.
"...Why?"
"If there's nothing to gain, no reason to kill the opponent. Right?"
One question answered; now Gwak Jidal's turn.
"That last one wasn't Wudang swordsmanship, was it?"
"Correct."
Gwak Jidal smiled contentedly, pleased at guessing right.
"Seemed that way... ah..."
That was the end of Gwak Jidal's words.
As Hyeon-gong withdrew his sword, Gwak Jidal slumped limply.
Hot blood pooled beneath the corpse, steaming faintly.
Hyeon-gong looked up at Seolhwa and Tu Hui.
Seolhwa stared wide-eyed at Hyeon-gong.
Her face brimmed with faith, as if she'd expected this all along. But she didn't grasp Scaling Mount Tai's power.
Tu Hui, however, gaped in disbelief at what she'd witnessed.
The art that doomed her, now unleashed from Hyeon-gong's hands after mere formulas.
Shock so profound it threatened to reignite her inner demons. Even to Hyeon-gong, Tu Hui's state looked precarious.
Anxious within, Hyeon-gong first released Seolhwa's acupoints. Tu Hui Wi Jinhyang voiced no complaint.
As Seolhwa rose and rubbed her limbs, Hyeon-gong glanced back. Sometime during, fine snow had dusted outside the cave. The season's first.
Hyeon-gong stepped out and gazed skyward. Soft white flakes like warm cotton descended, blanketing him.
Ascending to transcendent realm held one more meaning for Hyeon-gong.
At last, he could stand unshaken, alone.
The four-year-old clutching his mother's hand entering Mount Wudang. The child counting endless twentieth nights awaiting her return.
With utmost relief, Hyeon-gong welcomed the long-awaited twenty-first day.