Chapter 232 - Treasured Sword (5)

At first, the question sounded petulant. He could have passed for an adolescent boy in the throes of youthful rebellion.

Not to anyone with any sense.

Even Gal Dojin, standing some distance away, recognized an unfathomable feat. He could swear that So Yurang had not attacked. In an instant, the wooden cup had simply scattered into the air from the uninvited guest’s hand.

'He did that with internal power...? Surely not.'

If that trick had been accomplished through martial skill alone, it was a technique so sublime that its principles defied imagination. Perhaps such things could be seen only within the great sects where immortals were said to dwell. Even exceptionally pure internal energy would struggle to produce that sight.

'There are no distinctive markings on his clothes. Not on the sleeves beneath his cloak, either. Did he deliberately dress in plain garments?'

A colorless gleam flashed through the eyes of Gal Dojin, the Chivalrous Sword. Someone with such extraordinary skill and presence could not be a mere wanderer. He had to be a member of an illustrious sect concealing his identity, not some ordinary unaffiliated martial artist.

By then, his sworn younger brother was making dazed noises of astonishment.

“Uh, uh.”

The evil and unorthodox paths were said to follow the law of the strong devouring the weak.

So Yurang was gifted enough to learn the Zhongnan Sect’s divine technique. He had successfully entered the discipline recorded in the secret manual plundered by the Tyrant Sword Tribe and the Lingering Spirits. He certainly lacked no comprehension, and his judgment was swift. Fully accepting what he had just witnessed, however, was another matter.

“Just now...?”

So Yurang’s heel twitched. He almost stepped back, then stopped. He could scarcely react at all.

Such was the martial world of the evil and unorthodox paths: straightforward and crude. The weak lived or died entirely at the pleasure of the strong. So Yurang, too, had lived by that rule, however briefly.

'But I didn’t feel any qi fluctuations. Could it have passed too quickly...?'

The world was vast enough to merit the word boundless. For all the Desolate Fortress and the many great sects in Murim, they amounted to a mere handful across the continent. It was rare to encounter someone powerful enough to look down on the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect. He had enjoyed his life of taking from others to the fullest.

What about now? Was he the weak one?

It had been a single move from someone his own age. Seated as casually as could be, the boy had performed a dreamlike feat. The wooden cup had vanished without a trace.

Could he be certain it was not some bizarre sorcerous martial art? And even if it was, what difference would that make? The result was the same.

While So Yurang, the Young Hero of Xi’an, wavered over how to conduct himself, Jung Yeonshin spoke from his seat.

“You. I heard you’ve learned Eclipse of the Nine Suns.”

So Yurang and Gal Dojin had the same thought. Was that what he had come for?

Anyone might have. Eclipse of the Nine Suns was a sword discipline left behind by an unrivaled master of a previous generation. It had been perfected by the Sword Ancestor, who was said to have survived receiving the Desolate Fortress Master’s sword. Though it was a secret art from outside their own lineage, the Zhongnan Sect had set aside its pride and made it their successor’s discipline.

A footstep sounded.

Gal Dojin narrowed his eyes as he slowly approached.

'Which sect? The Whiteburn Gate? I’ve heard of no young master like him.'

Greed for secret martial manuals transcended seniority and sect affiliation. Any sect might send anyone.

Xi’an covered an enormous area, with countless sects jostling for position. Since Zhongnan’s annihilation, all manner of people had been flocking in. Having been granted Eclipse of the Nine Suns, the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect was a tantalizing prize to the other unorthodox sects.

The Lingering Spirits’ secrecy had kept the matter from becoming widely known, but many had entered the city seeking Zhongnan’s secret manuals, spiritual herbs, and secret training methods. People of every description had settled in Xi’an, from sects of the evil and unorthodox paths to unaffiliated martial artists. It was a world apart from the martial world outside.

Gal Dojin abruptly spoke.

“May I ask which school you belong to, esteemed sir? I am Gal Dojin of the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect.”

“I heard that fellow learned Eclipse of the Nine Suns.”

The uninvited guest answered calmly, repeating what he had said before. His slightly raised chin looked imperious—a manner that oddly suited his handsome features.

“I asked you a question. Speak.”

An outright command. His voice echoed softly along the walls that kept out the cold wind. He scarcely seemed to regard the two martial artists as human. For a moment, all movement around them ceased.

“...”

The lantern light illuminating the inn seemed quieter than ever. Something the people of Xi’an could hardly have imagined was happening.

The Remnant-Revering Earth Sect served the Lingering Spirits, one of the Thirteen skies, and was a formidable sect in its own right. Here in Xi’an’s Lantian County, it wielded greater influence than the factions serving the Tyrant Sword Tribe. Even fairly powerful regional noble clans were crushed beneath its authority.

“What in the world...?”

“An assassin from the Whiteburn Gate? Here to strike at the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect, I mean.”

Several patrons began talking. Xi’an had always drawn martial artists of every description. Even the common people who ventured out were famous for being remarkably fearless. They had merely kept their heads down for a time beneath the tyranny of the evil and unorthodox sects that had entered under the banners of two of the Thirteen skies.

“An assassin? What assassin walks in that openly?”

“They say it’s an assassination if no witnesses survive. Killing everyone to silence them, you know.”

“I’d sooner believe he was the Shadow of Xi’an.”

“The Shadow? That fellow’s merely managed to avoid capture so far... Isn’t his martial prowess woefully insufficient to take on a branch of the Thirteen skies? It won’t be him.”

“This is nerve-racking...”

The swords of the evil and unorthodox paths had supplanted the Great Ming Code. That order had become firmly entrenched in a very short time. Such was the present reality of Xi’an’s Murim.

Now a strange wanderer had intruded, sending curious ripples through it like a stone thrown into a lake.

“... How uncivilized.”

Gal Dojin regretted the words the instant he said them. That was hardly something a martial artist of the evil and unorthodox paths should say. He sounded like an idiot.

The uninvited guest’s peculiar presence had overwhelmed him. Gal Dojin, the Chivalrous Sword of Xi’an, furrowed his brows and cursed himself. Damn it.

The faintest curve formed at the guest’s lips.

“Is your throat sturdy?”

Seated in the old chair, he looked slightly up at So Yurang as he asked. Though his pitch-black eyes were turned upward, he somehow gave the impression of looking down on him. Few could carry themselves that way unless arrogance was in their very nature.

Gal Dojin considered the possibility that the guest was a disciple of the evil and unorthodox paths. Not someone of ordinary standing, but a young noble.

'They say the Blood Flame Cult’s Apostles have black hair. Judging by his disposition, he might be from the Ming Cult or the Heaven’s Zenith Sect. I wouldn’t have thought someone from the Thirteen skies would come in person, but...'

While he was thinking, Jung Yeonshin murmured quietly.

“I’ve asked two questions, and you haven’t answered either.”

He slowly rose. So Yurang, standing close by, and Gal Dojin, still approaching, both flinched.

The long black folds of the cloak he had changed into to conceal his identity spread out. Its rustling rang distinctly through the room.

Jung Yeonshin spoke with the Blood Flame Cult’s masters and the Supreme Flame Dragon in mind. He could not afford to remind anyone of the Desolate Fortress’s Radiant Demon Squad captain here.

“You would force a young lord such as myself to observe Xi’an’s laws.”

He deliberately spoke with haughty disdain. Strangely, the words felt comfortable in his throat. The thought that the Supreme Flame Dragon’s poppy scent might have rubbed off on him made him vaguely uneasy. He also suspected his maternal grandfather might be to blame. He let none of it show.

'There are far too many arrogant people around me.'

Resolving to beware the corrupting influence of his company, he put those thoughts aside and spoke again.

“Worthless things.”

These men thought nothing of slaughtering common people. Their martial prowess was paltry compared with their conduct.

Keeping his qi fluctuations concealed, Jung Yeonshin raised his right arm. He suppressed the radiant wheel qi that sought to spiral from his heart into the fine meridians of his arm. It took only an instant.

The internal power constantly present in the pressure points throughout his body bolstered his muscles. That was the effect of the Movement Art.

His black sleeve—not a Desolate Fortress robe—blurred as he suddenly struck.

GRAB!

He seized the back of So Yurang’s head. A thick mass of hair filled his grip. The fellow who had spoken of crushing his throat had not been able to follow his right hand. His eyes merely widened in belated horror.

WHOOOSH!

Wind swept outward, briefly swaying the lanterns hanging from the ceiling. To Jung Yeonshin, the aftereffect scarcely qualified as martial force.

The others apparently disagreed.

“A master...!”

Gal Dojin kicked off the floor. His orange garments snapped loudly as he charged, using advancing footwork like a lightness skill.

Was it because this was the martial world of the evil and unorthodox paths? He seemed to believe that having a vital spot seized put the fellow’s life in danger. The sight of him hastily attacking as though to save his younger brother stirred a peculiar feeling in Jung Yeonshin.

SHING!

The trajectory of his draw was remarkably straightforward for someone of the evil and unorthodox paths. He extended the blade in a straight line and thrust.

The dark-red stains on its tip stood out. He seemed to treat his sword as nothing more than an expendable tool.

Jung Yeonshin tightened his grip on the struggling fellow’s head while watching Gal Dojin’s attack. The struggling stopped at once. Presumably, So Yurang had felt a grip stronger than his faint protective force qi. He was utterly faithful to the law of the strong devouring the weak.

By then, Gal Dojin’s single-point thrust had reached him, aimed at his throat. His clothes flapped noisily. He was a man who had trained his martial arts properly.

Jung Yeonshin swung the back of his left hand. Air parted between his five fingers, escaping in a drawn-out hiss.

CLANG!

He struck the flat of the sword precisely. A ringing impact traveled from the back of his hand through the blade. The sword lurched outward. Gal Dojin, who had somehow kept hold of the hilt, was now right before him, unable to overcome the momentum of his charge.

His bewildered face filled Jung Yeonshin’s vision. Just as expected.

The limitations of a lesser fighter’s mindset and forms gave a master something close to foresight. That held true for a Black-ranked supreme master concealing his true arts.

“Look up at me from below, you cur.”

Core energy exploded from the Yongquan point in the sole of Jung Yeonshin’s right foot. It was a kicking technique.

The end of his leg distorted into a black blur, kicking Gal Dojin in the abdomen like a sword flashing from its sheath. The man had managed to cross both arms low, but the faint barrier of internal energy rising from him was crushed beneath the toe of Jung Yeonshin’s leather shoe.

It happened in an instant. With a sound like a sheaf of paper tearing, the kick buried itself in the exact center of Gal Dojin’s abdomen.

BOOOM!

“Ghurk!”

A tremendous impact raced up through his blood vessels. The properly released wave of force from the Movement Art traveled extraordinarily fast. Jung Yeonshin felt it all through his toes, right up until Gal Dojin opened his mouth wide and vomited bright-red blood.

He immediately withdrew his leg, narrowly avoiding getting his clothes dirty.

To the onlookers, his movements looked exquisitely elegant. Inspiration flashing like lightning from his Baihui point had allowed him to foresee every motion.

He was swift without seeming hurried. His disposition was the same. Everything about him suggested a master of refined bearing.

“...”

Shock gripped the inn. Astonishment spread in surging waves. Some dropped their cutlery; others stood openmouthed. A few hurriedly gathered their belongings, apparently intending to leave.

“They say fights between lesser fighters are refreshing. Hm?”

Jung Yeonshin chose to ignore the words that had slipped out. He slowly turned his gaze, glancing at the fellow trembling beneath his right hand.

Despite having faced him for some time, the man showed no sign of guessing his identity.

That confirmed the usefulness of his change of clothes. In the vast martial world, there were indeed few who memorized every likeness of the great factions’ members. Another factor was surely that portraits of the supreme masters at the very pinnacle of Murim were virtually classified documents.

The Desolate Fortress’s branch warriors, with their connections to the authorities, did not perform their duties carelessly. Nor had he used any martial arts that marked him as Lightning Genius.

'My age is the problem. I’ll have to make sure they can’t connect me to him.'

After his mission had been decided, he had received a letter from Ma Jin containing advice.

—It would be best to avoid wearing a human-skin mask. It would only draw the attention of sharp-eyed masters. You have no need for one anyway. Be a little bolder in your words and conduct, and people will take you for a young noble of an unorthodox faction like the Thirteen skies. Your grandfather and I were the same. I have many thoughts on the matter... but since a mission is at stake, I will confine myself to the facts. Having watched over you as both your uncle and your captain, I suspect you are not so different, Yeonshin. In any event, it is a disposition well suited to a warrior of our fortress. I wish you success.

Those words had made him inwardly tilt his head. He did not quite understand them, but he could hardly disregard advice from the previous captain of the Radiant Demon Squad.

'As I please.'

The uninvited guest naturally raised his chin, revealing its slender line. The lantern’s vermilion light settled beautifully upon it from above.

“Name.”

“So... So Yurang, sir.”

The Young Hero of Xi’an answered with trembling lips. His sworn elder brother, who had seemed so powerful, lay sprawled before him, while the indifferent voice of a boy his own age pierced his ears.

“So Yurang of the Remnant-Revering Earth Sect. Report how you came to learn the Zhongnan Sect’s Eclipse of the Nine Suns.”

“... If you came alone, you will not escape death. You mustn’t do this. Xi’an’s unorthodox martial world is enormous, and everyone is on edge over the spoils left by Zhongnan’s destruction. They may fight among themselves, but they react keenly to incursions by outsiders. The masters of the evil and unorthodox paths will unite against you.”

So Yurang was a gifted disciple of an unorthodox sect. Rather than merely cower, he sought another means. He thought of an approach those rigid orthodox fools would never consider.

Persuasion.

Calming his twitching lips, he slowly continued. His voice grew clearer as he spoke.

“Esteemed... sir, you have made a mistake. Only unrivaled masters can walk the martial world alone. That is especially true in Xi’an’s Murim. Even a supreme master of some ability could not hold out alone. Even now, it would be safer to join our sect as an honored guest...”

He was not wrong.

Even after reaching lofty realms, founding masters generally settled in favorable locations and established sects. Few took only a small number of disciples. It was difficult to survive alone in the wilderness that was the martial world. That was also why the Sword Star, once an unaffiliated wanderer, had been kept at arm’s length by the Martial Alliance in Hanzhong despite attaining a supreme realm.

The martial world, too, was a world of people. One’s sect affiliation mattered as much as one’s personal strength.

It was then.

“I let this go on because it was entertaining, and now some worthless little bastard...”

The mutter came from outside the inn. Anger seeped through the languid voice.

SHHHHRAAAK!

A section of wall began to grind away in the shape of a person. It was a tremendously powerful wave of force, as though someone were raising sword qi from their entire body.

The thick wooden wall, built under the influence of iron-race craftsmanship, shattered in an instant. There was scarcely even a violent tremor. Only a cloud of pale dust billowed up.

The smell of liquor suddenly wafted through the room.

A footstep sounded, and a man walked through the wall.

Though his silk martial robes bore not a speck of dust, he looked bedraggled. His long hair hung carelessly about him. With dark shadows beneath his eyes, he looked utterly wrecked.

He slowly smacked his lips as though something were missing from his mouth, the gesture betraying something almost compulsive. Irritation with no apparent outlet seeped from him.

The Supreme Flame Dragon slowly spoke, smirking at the sprawled Gal Dojin and So Yurang held in one hand.

“You’ve had yourself a little brawl too, Chief.”

“...”

WHOOOOM!

The aftereffects of the qi circulating through his entire body were terrifying. The inn’s dishes rattled, and the surrounding lanterns knocked against one another.

Even with the ceiling open at the center, a brief clamor resounded. The commotion, almost frivolous at first glance, forced everyone around him into silence.

Those seated at the rows of tables and those leaning against the upper-floor railings shut their mouths. They stopped moving, too.

Into Xi’an’s firmly entrenched martial world, the Radiant Demon Squad had arrived.