The Hidden Dragons Emerge (1)
Arena 120.
“……”
“Ugh……”
“Hah……”
Sighs, laments, and gasps of astonishment filled the arena.
They were all staring at their fallen disciples.
Just moments ago, they had been congratulating the disciples who passed the first preliminary round.
But the moment the second preliminary round began, something unbelievable happened.
They had expected a gap in skill, of course.
But this was…
“This is too much!”
At Yonghabang, the largest dojo in Gansu, Master Choi bellowed in outrage.
He was a fairly famous martial artist from Gansu.
A peak expert at that.
And in terms of sheer size, Yonghabang could rival even the Nine Great Sects.
His disciples were renowned early on for their excellence in Gansu—a reputation that had spread as far as Qinghai beyond the castle walls, leaving no room for doubt.
Even compared directly to the disciples of the great sects here at the Namgung Clan, they didn't fall short.
In fact, they had their advantages.
So why…
“Why do my disciples have to lose?!”
If they had slacked off, lacked martial prowess, or invested too little effort, he might have accepted it humbly.
But none of that was true.
The people around him shot him sympathetic looks as he wailed.
They felt the same gut-wrenching pain, their insides torn to shreds.
They just weren't showing it outwardly.
Guess this is their first time dealing with something like this.
The only difference between them and Master Choi was that they had already given up the moment they entered the arena.
That must be the kid from Gansu who's so famous.
Excellence is relative.
A young man stood tall on the sparring platform, the very reason everyone had surrendered.
There were probably few in this arena—or even in the Central Plains martial world—who surpassed this youth.
“They're weak.”
The young man on the platform spoke calmly to Master Choi, who was at least four times his age.
He seemed accustomed to speaking casually, and no one in the arena took offense.
“Of course they'd lose. Why get mad? If it were me, I'd use that time to train instead.”
Namgung So, the third son of the Namgung Clan.
One of the finalists from Arena 120 and, publicly acknowledged, one of the top contenders for victory in this Sawangjeon tournament.
In the Sawangjeon, luck is part of skill.
Their misfortune was drawing the same group as Namgung So out of 120 groups.
Among those now collapsed were some with enough skill to advance to the main tournament.
Master Choi's disciple was one of them.
But they had encountered Namgung So.
That was all.
Soon, Namgung warriors dragged the raging Master Choi out.
He thrashed about, but as a mere peak expert, he was powerless and hauled away helplessly.
“Boring.”
Namgung So stepped down from the platform.
That day, Arena 120 produced only one finalist—an unprecedented result.
* * *
Arena 119.
“Amitabha.”
Wudang's second-generation disciple Woo-gija remained here, his senior brothers having vanished somewhere suddenly.
Sigh.
Some things never change with these irresponsible elders.
Just thinking of those two gave him a headache, but as he watched the platform, a smile never left his face.
“Haha! Senior Brother~! I won!”
A young Taoist priest waved excitedly at him.
He might seem immature, but this kid was still Wudang's top disciple.
Dohoo Goo-gija.
His name was similar to Woo-gija's, making him feel all the more endearing.
“Good job.”
Woo-gija praised his disciple, who had endured the second preliminary, then glanced at the opposite side of the platform.
Unlike the exuberant Goo-gija, a young man descended calmly.
One wrong move, and it could've been dangerous.
The youth's skills in the second preliminary against Goo-gija were astonishing.
Enough to pressure Goo-gija, who had inherited all of Wudang's essence.
Fortunately, they seemed to have agreed to eliminate the remaining eighteen instead of fighting each other.
The youth paused before a Taoist and bowed briefly.
Woo-gija murmured inwardly.
Amitabha, that must be Qingcheng's top disciple this time.
Arena 118.
Hwasan and the Beggar's Sect laughed; the rest wept.
Arena 117.
Moyong Clan and the Hebei Paeng Clan laughed; the rest wept.
Arena 116.
Arena 115.
……
* * *
The finalists had been decided.
Those who stayed remained; those who left prepared to depart.
The Nine Great Sects and Five Great Families all produced finalists—a remarkable achievement.
Some mid- and small sects also broke through the fierce competition to advance.
Even disciples of hidden masters were among them.
Only Arena 1 had yet to decide its finalist.
Those who had already passed gathered there.
After the first preliminary, a short rest was given for recovery—about the time it takes to burn a joss stick.
Meanwhile, people kept streaming in through the entrance.
The Nine Great Sects' powerhouses naturally gathered around Ilseon Dosa.
The Daegalbak.
Their faces were all bright.
“Heh heh heh, great minds think alike, huh?”
Daegalbak 33ho Wanggae chuckled, having rushed here after confirming a Beggar's Sect disciple advance from Arena 23.
No answer came.
Wanggae hadn't asked expecting one anyway.
He just wanted to voice his thoughts.
The Daegalbak's eyes were glued to the platform.
Wanggae stared piercingly too.
Their sects advancing mattered, but the top priority was Namgung Daeso's qualification.
Because to them, he was like a disciple.
The twenty late disciples who passed the first preliminary climbed the arena.
“Young master! Finally, we can clash. I'm thrilled!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I brushed off I-gwon's words with a laugh.
“But you don't have to smash the others?”
I didn't think I'd lose to I-gwon, but just in case, I asked.
It'd be a hassle if we did match up.
Plus, he seemed to have trained a lot in the time we hadn't seen each other.
“Why?”
I-gwon looked puzzled.
“Shouldn't I smash the others? There's the one guy here I wanna smash most?”
Crazy bastard.
Just as I expected.
Then.
“The second preliminary begins! Only the last two standing advance to the main tournament. Rules same as the first round. Begin!”
At the signal from the Red Blood Group's leader, everyone took their stances.
Their auras were all above average, for sure.
Some seemed to be hiding more…
I looked at I-gwon.
“Huff! Huff! Smash!”
No one's crazier than this guy.
I-gwon breathed roughly like a bear, stomping the ground thud-thud.
Those wary only of me now included him in their sights.
Soon, I-gwon moved.
His target was, naturally, me.
Fast and concise.
Fewer wasted movements than five months ago.
And an indescribable heaviness besides.
A faint golden energy flickered over his body then vanished.
The phenomenon when qi moves naturally with the body's reactions.
Geumgang Bulgoe Singong has almost fully taken root now.
His mastery of the divine art must have advanced too.
But that wasn't all.
Mixed in the golden energy was a warmth encompassing the battlefield, distinct from the diamond-like hardness.
Damn bald grandpa!
Daeseung Beomcheon Banya Simgong.
I quickly retreated.
I-gwon pursued.
As my foot touched ground and I stepped with the next—
“Hup!”
I-gwon roared a ki shout filling the arena, thrusting his fist.
A natural strike exploiting the gap.
Just this one move made me think I-gwon might have progressed even beyond my expectations.
I glanced back with a grin.
Sneer.
Just before his fist reached me, I flipped backward into the air.
The attack and evasion flowed so seamlessly.
The late disciple right behind me thrust his sword in panic at I-gwon's incoming fist.
No slouch himself, having passed the first round—the qi in it was no joke.
But.
Crack-crunch.
A dull sound of metal snapping.
The disciple's face twisted in shock.
His sword shattered to pieces.
“Wha……”
He stared blankly at his blade, experiencing this for the first time.
Heh heh, if you haven't seen it before, you'll panic for sure.
Thwack!
The disciple took I-gwon's fist to the face and flew off the platform.
I-gwon panted, advancing on me again.
Like a beast that lost its prey.
And.
I felt the other late disciples tense, guessing my intent.
Definitely different.
His senses for reading the situation were sharp.
I leaped into the air again, calling to them.
“So, what're you gonna do about it?”
Limited space.
One beast unleashed within.
To advance, you needed not brains, but the power to survive the beast—or stamina to evade its grasp!
For the past five months, I'd run and run.
Even duck-walking.
Strapped with heavy iron, still running.
Then duck-walking again.
I was confident no one could match my footwork.
Thwack!
Crack!
Someone's bone breaking.
Thwack!
Whoosh-crash.
Someone slamming into the wall.
Thwack!
Just getting hit.
Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack!
Uh……
Four hits in a row.
I-gwon was getting annoyed now.
Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack!
Hey…… ease up.
I offered silent condolences to the nameless late disciple.
Thwack!
Amitabha.
Thwack!
Muryangsubeol.
Thwack!
Guanyin Bodhisattva!
Thwack!
Uh…… nothing left.
In an instant, only three remained on the platform, including me.
The last late disciple besides I-gwon and me gleamed with intent.
Face looks familiar?
Where'd I see him……
Jin Hwi of the Southern Barbaric Beast Palace had hidden among the other late disciples, conserving energy while watching Namgung Daeso's antics.
I win.
He was certain.
“Using such shallow tricks—disappointing.”
He'd expected something special from the direct heir of the world's top clan.
To Jin Hwi, Namgung Daeso was just a warrior with quick legs.
Daeso hadn't stopped moving once since earlier.
The bald monk chasing him was the same.
How can they be so stupid?
Both had been going all-out since the start, in Jin Hwi's view.
Moving nonstop to the point any normal person would tire.
Meanwhile, he'd preserved his stamina maximally.
One more elimination, and I'm in.
Finally, Jin Hwi revealed his true power.
Young Palace Lord Yeong-gong of the Southern Barbaric Beast Palace clenched his fist.
Smart kid!
A strong warrior wasn't just brute strength.
That Shaolin disciple was pure idiocy.
Charging mindlessly at the Namgung youngest from the start, without tactics, overexerting himself—and even knocking out the others on the platform.
Even stupidity has limits.
Still panting, unsatisfied at Daeso dodging every which way.
And moving again.
His stamina was bottomless.
But even he couldn't hide his roughening breath.
Daeso, focused only on dodging, was burning even more energy.
The reason Daeso only evaded was obvious.
He can't block it.
Attacks with that destructive power.
A bare fist snapping a sword.
Who'd want to clash head-on?
And.
Now it's who tires first.
If the Shaolin disciple fatigues first, the youngest will counter with his speedy footwork.
If the youngest tires, he'll fall to that fearsome strike.
The elder's eyes gleamed.
Well thought out, Young Palace Lord!
Jin Hwi, the Beast Palace's young lord, had pierced it perfectly.
More importantly, those two overlooked something.
In the Beast Palace, Jin Hwi had the best stamina of all.
Palace disciples grew up romping in forests and swamps from birth.
Even famed Central Plains martial artists lose stamina quickly to the crumbly soil and humid air of the South.
He'd lived there nineteen years.
Jin Hwi moved.
The elder was convinced.
I win!
That was when.
“Pissing me off.”
I-gwon suddenly stopped.
“Pissing me off!”
He stomped thud-thud.
The platform shook from the force.
Then he assumed a stance.
A few in the arena swallowed gasps inwardly.
That’s!
One of Shaolin's 72 Supreme Arts.
Baekbo Singwon.
I-gwon stood firm at the platform's center.
Intentionally or not, everywhere on the platform was within a hundred paces of him.
No more running.
I-gwon thrust his fist.
Baekbo Singwon flew.
At that moment, a presence lunged from behind.
The strongest aura he'd faced in this Sawangjeon so far, excluding I-gwon.
Oh really?
Attacking me, not I-gwon?
Over the past five months, I'd thought and thought.
What did I need to beat Third Brother?
Endless stamina? Rock-solid legs? Sturdy upper body? Deeper martial insight?
Many things came to mind, but what I focused on most wasn't any of those.
Shing.
The first time drawing my sword since the match began.