Chapter 124 - Act 18. Cheong Un, the Sword of Small Defeats (4)

“What is this? Let go!”

The Cultivators coldly shook off the woman’s hands as she crawled over and clutched at their trouser legs.

“Tsk. Drunk on spirit wine in broad daylight? What lunacy...”

“Please, just hear me out! Please!”

Despite her desperate cries, the Heavenly Ice Palace disciples brushed off their robes as though they had touched something filthy and hurried away. The woman remained kneeling there, staring blankly for a long while.

Yise slowly approached her.

“Could you tell me more about that?”

The woman slowly raised her head. Beneath the dust, her face was utterly bloodless. Her cheeks were hollow, as though she had not eaten for days.

Her gaze quickly swept over Yise’s attire: white robes of no identifiable affiliation, rather than those of the Heavenly Ice Palace. But when her spirit sight discerned his Dharma-Transformed Dantian, her expression changed in alarm.

A Foundation Establishment Cultivator.

Normally, she would not even dare speak to someone of that realm without permission.

“... Are you a Cultivator of the Heavenly Ice Palace?”

Yise quietly shook his head. The faint hope that had appeared on her face faded away.

“Then I’m sorry, but please leave. I have nothing left for anyone to take. I won’t be deceived again.”

Her voice bristled with thorns. She must have suffered a great deal to act like this despite the difference in their realms. Someone with nothing to lose had nothing to fear.

Rather than try to soothe the wary woman, Yise sent a message talisman summoning Ryu Seonghan. Told to come to the main gate immediately, Seonghan came rushing out a watch later. The woman’s head shot up at the sight of a Heavenly Ice Palace Cultivator.

“Whew, Senior. What is it?”

- This woman seems to be another survivor of the Essence-Draining Ghost-Demon Valley’s attacks.

At Yise’s Voice Transmission, fire flashed in Seonghan’s eyes. Yise immediately added:

- Don’t mention what happened to you. Just in case.

Seonghan nodded. Yise used a Soundproofing Talisman to shut out the surrounding noise, then spoke.

“This friend of mine is a Heavenly Ice Palace Cultivator. I brought him because I heard something I couldn’t simply ignore. Tell him what happened.”

“Thank you. Thank you...”

Bowing her head repeatedly in gratitude, the woman slowly began to explain.

“This humble Daoist—a Cultivator’s self-effacing form of address—is Sin Yeoran of the Sin Clan of Hwaeum City.”

What followed was a story they knew all too well from experience.

She was the Sin family head’s only daughter. Like most rural cities, theirs had enjoyed peaceful days. Then one day, a neighboring Foundation Establishment city attacked without even declaring war. As defeat grew certain, the family head abandoned the battle and fled, determined to save at least his daughter.

His final words were, [“This is a ritual implement from the Essence-Draining Ghost-Demon Valley. They must be involved.”] Then he used the city’s sole Foundation Establishment talisman, an Escape Talisman, to send her flying beyond its walls.

Despite countless hardships, she had struggled desperately to survive and finally reached this place—to report the truth behind her clan’s extermination to the Heavenly Ice Palace, the dominant power of the Northern Continent.

After hearing her out, Yise asked, “Do you happen to have that ritual implement?”

“... No. It was taken from me.”

Yise felt no disappointment. A single ritual implement would not serve as evidence anyway.

“For now, stop doing this and leave. If the Essence-Draining Ghost-Demon Valley hears what you’re doing, you’ll die.”

Sin Yeoran’s eyes widened almost to bursting when he appeared to believe her. Even as she told her story, she had thought no one would believe it.

Yise gave her the name of an inn near his lodgings and told her to stay there. Her face abruptly darkened.

“I’m sorry, but... I have nothing left. A Cultivator tricked me by promising to introduce me to someone from the Heavenly Ice Palace...”

At a jerk of Yise’s chin, Seonghan sighed and handed her some spirit stones.

After Sin Yeoran thanked them and left, Seonghan asked Yise, “It matches what happened to me exactly. What do you think? Will she be of any help?”

“Who knows? Another witness would lend credibility to your testimony as a Heavenly Ice Palace disciple. But would that be enough to put even a dent in a faction that’s practically the palace’s left arm? I doubt it.”

“I see...”

“Still, having her around can’t hurt. Let’s keep her safe for now.”

“Yes.”

These repeated entanglements with the Essence-Draining Ghost-Demon Valley did not bode well. It felt as though something kept steering him in a particular direction.

After a moment lost in thought, Yise changed the subject.

“Oh, when is the spell combat tournament?”

“In fifteen days. Tiandogyeong will probably be so noisy that you’ll hear it even while cultivating. They’re building a sparring platform in the clearing behind that market town.”

“I should go watch.”

“I’ll come fetch you that day.”

“Thanks. But it’s a spell combat tournament. Are sword Cultivators allowed to compete when they don’t even use spells?”

“Well, it’s called that because it’s a formal duel between Cultivators... I’ve never actually thought about it.”

Yise shrugged as though it hardly mattered.

“Anyway, I’ll see you then. Look after Sin Yeoran.”

“Yes.”

* * *

For fifteen days, Yise diligently tended his crops while practicing the Life-Promoting Art. The garden in the Living Spirit Abode held ten-year herbs, spirit rice, Frost Jade Grass, and snow ginseng.

Ten-year herbs and Frost Jade Grass were said to be the most fundamental spiritual herbs used in pill refining on the Northern Continent. Snow ginseng could grow for as long as ten thousand years, and its value varied enormously between ten-year and ten-thousand-year specimens.

‘Just how much would this be worth if I raised it into ten-thousand-year snow ginseng?’

Ten thousand years was an utterly unreal span of time. Yet once he reached Great Attainment, he could make it into ten-thousand-year snow ginseng with just a century’s investment.

‘What the hell. Let’s try it.’

Yise resolved to keep this plant for the future, even if he sold off everything else.

He downed a bowl of spirit wine as a drink to accompany his labor, then surveyed the densely planted herbs with satisfaction. There was nothing like sweating through some honest work to feel fulfilled.

Figuratively speaking, of course. It took quite a lot to make him break even a single drop of sweat.

‘If I’d never entered the cultivation world, I would have lived like this, tending crops.’

If he had survived without becoming entangled with the Wadu-Scholar or Bihyeong Rang and been raised by some other villager, this would have been his everyday life. That might not have been so bad.

“Senior. It’s Ryu Seonghan. Shall we go?”

Seonghan’s voice came from outside the Living Spirit Abode.

Yise followed him to the tournament grounds. The clearing on the outskirts of Tiandogyeong was already so crowded that there was scarcely room to stand. A damage-absorbing barrier surrounded the sparring platform, where officiating Cultivators in Heavenly Ice Palace robes were taking their positions one after another.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a crowd like this.”

“Ugh, it’s packed.”

They barely managed to find a spot, but the sheer number of people obscured their view. Had the platform not been raised above the spectators’ seats, the others would have struggled to see anything at all. Yise, of course, had no particular trouble; he could simply watch with his divine sense.

“How many competitors are there?”

“Eight.”

“Not many.”

“There’s an age limit, after all. Technically, you only have to be under fifty, but anyone who fails to reach Foundation Establishment in that time doesn’t deserve to be called one of the promising young talents of the Dao.”

Considering that Yise had only reached Foundation Establishment in his mid-twenties by pushing himself to extremes despite his unusual constitution, it was no easy standard to meet.

‘And there are eight of them.’

The Northern Continent certainly had its share of talent.

The elimination duels proceeded one after another. The first match. The second. The third.

Yise watched with interest.

Their level seemed comparable to that of Daemudo’s Foundation Establishment Cultivators—which meant they were decidedly better than ordinary Cultivators of that stage. Their cultivation methods were quite different, however, making for a much broader variety of spells even within the same realm.

Two competitors stood out in particular.

One was a man named Neung Byeok from the Essence-Draining Ghost-Demon Valley. Clad in blue-gray robes and wielding a heavy black saber, he used spells that hunted his opponents down through relentless encroachment, mercilessly draining their life force. His arts truly lived up to his sect’s name.

Seonghan pressed his lips together as he watched. Here was a Cultivator from the same sect as those who had destroyed his clan. Swallowing that anger could not be easy.

And then there was the other man.

Dressed in bluish robes and carrying only a light longsword, he was Cheong Un of the Tyrant Sword Sect. Yise’s lips curled into a faint smile. It had been a long time since he had last seen that face.

The field narrowed quickly. Six of the eight competitors fell one after another, leaving Neung Byeok and Cheong Un in the final, just as everyone had expected. The two faced each other atop the platform.

Neung Byeok raised his black saber at an angle, twisting his lips into a smile.

“Cheong Un, the Sword of Small Defeats. I think I may accidentally kill you today.”

“How bloodthirsty.”

Cheong Un merely answered with indifference and rested a hand on his scabbard.

At first, the two seemed to be doing nothing more than standing opposite each other. Then blood suddenly spurted from Neung Byeok’s body. The next instant, Cheong Un’s sword was already drawn.

Even Yise doubted his eyes for a moment.

‘When did he cut him?’

A sword strike of unbelievable speed, too fast even for his divine sense to catch.

Neung Byeok had evidently prepared well for the Tyrant Sword Sect’s swordsmanship, for he did not simply stand there and take it. With each swing of his black saber, blue-black Demonic Energy streamed toward Cheong Un like thick smoke.

It was a demonic art that drained the vitality from everything it touched—the same strange art that had left most of the earlier Foundation Establishment Cultivators helpless to respond.

Yet Cheong Un’s swordsmanship was even more wondrous. Sword strikes invisible even to divine sense tore into his opponent. Much as when Yise had first encountered primordial energy, the energy within that sword was difficult to perceive.

Cheong Un seemed to stand still, scarcely moving as he wielded his sword, yet every one of Neung Byeok’s attacks scattered against the faint veil of light at its tip just before making contact.

It was as though he knew Neung Byeok’s next move in advance. Only someone who could predict an action a split second ahead and place sword light in its path beforehand could display such swordsmanship.

‘This is a whole different domain.’

Yise was genuinely impressed. This power felt fundamentally different from that of any enemy he had faced before.

The match did not last long. Gripping his black saber in both hands, Neung Byeok unleashed one final strike. Blue-black Demonic Energy burst along the blade.

The instant that blow reached Cheong Un’s chest, his sword traced a short, almost invisible arc. A moment later, Neung Byeok’s black saber snapped in two halfway along its blade.

“Just what you’d expect from Cheong Un, the Sword of Small Defeats. I knew sword Cultivators were strong, but he feels utterly beyond reach.”

“Yes. He’s strong.”

“Are you going to see him?”

“Yes. Just to say hello.”

“You really do know him, don’t you? It would be embarrassing to go all that way only for him to pretend he doesn’t know you.”

“Well, if that happens, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Honestly, I find it hard to believe you beat him, too.”

When Yise raised his hand axe, Seonghan hastily covered his head.

Cheong Un stepped down from the platform and headed toward the area reserved for the Tyrant Sword Sect’s sword Cultivators. Seven or eight of them surrounded him like bodyguards, for Cultivators from other sects kept flocking over, hoping to introduce themselves or at least offer a brief greeting.

The guards’ expressions plainly said, “Annoying little flies.” As Yise parted the crowd and approached, two sword Cultivators immediately blocked his way.

“Our apologies, Senior. Our eldest brother is tired.”

“I’ve come a long way just to see his face. Don’t be so unwelcoming.”

Before Yise had finished speaking, Cheong Un, who was seated farther inside, turned his gaze toward him. His divine sense seemed to have detected Yise. His expression immediately changed, brightening with recognition.

“Oh, you?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Everyone, let him through.”

Apparently, Yise was not the only one on whom their encounter had left a lasting impression.