While Namgung Un faced Wae Sal, Bu Eunseol, alongside Black Leopard, roamed the battlefield, hurling throwing knives at the assassins mingled among the Blade Tyrant Sect members.
Whoosh!
Bu Eunseol’s knife-throwing technique wasn’t particularly fast compared to the martial world’s renowned hidden weapon methods. But the timing of his throws was exquisite.
“Argh!” Each time his sleeve cut through the air, a flash of white light struck true, embedding knives in the assassins’ throats without fail. As Bu Eunseol passed, screams from Blade Tyrant Sect members and assassins erupted.
“In chaotic battles, how you throw hidden weapons isn’t what matters,” Bu Eunseol said, continuing to instruct Black Leopard while throwing knives. “It’s about throwing them at the right moment, in sync with the battlefield’s flow.”
“Throw in rhythm with the enemy’s movements. Practicing unpredictable timing is more important than mastering renowned techniques.”
Clang!
Hearing the essentials of the Hidden Blade Manual, Black Leopard’s technique began to evolve. Unlike before, his Blood Chain projectiles started hitting the assassins’ bodies. He realized that throwing at the right moment was more effective than executing advanced techniques.
“Ugh!” Even his missed throws disrupted the enemies’ movements, aiding his allies’ combat.
“That’s the way,” Bu Eunseol said.
As Bu Eunseol and Black Leopard dominated the battlefield, the Blade Tyrant Sect’s formation began to collapse. The battle was nearing its end.
Clang! Clang!
Meanwhile, Namgung Un and Wae Sal’s fight reached its peak. Wae Sal mixed handaxes, poison, hidden weapons, whistles, and shouts, alternating between feints and killing strikes. But none of it worked on Namgung Un, who had already grown accustomed to the Valley’s tactics at the Blade Family Manor.
Flash!
The midday sun reflected off Wae Sal’s handaxe, blinding Namgung Un.
“Ugh.” As Namgung Un turned his head, Wae Sal seized the moment, unleashing a killing strike. “Got you!”
But in that instant, Namgung Un, eyes closed, unleashed a lightning-fast sword strike—the Heavenly Self-Forgetting technique, the ultimate move of the Sky-Soaring Sword.
“What?!” Wae Sal gasped.
Namgung Un had anticipated the sunlight reflection, feigning blindness to unleash his sword energy.
Slash!
The killing strike grazed Wae Sal’s chest, and his airborne body crashed to the ground. The Heavenly Self-Forgetting technique had sliced through his heart meridian.
“Urgh…” Wae Sal tried to muster his internal energy to protect his heart, but it was too late. Clutching his chest, he glared with resentment. “Where did this monster come from…?”
His words trailed off, unfinished.
Thud.
Wae Sal collapsed, headfirst, dead.
“Ha… ha…” Namgung Un, panting heavily, used his Golden Needle Sword as a crutch to stand.
Of all his battles in the martial world, this fight with Wae Sal had been the most intense and closest to death.
“If it were before, I’d have died in ten moves,” he muttered. Without the grueling experience at the Blade Family Manor, Wae Sal would have killed him before he could even deploy his sword techniques.
“I chose the right person to follow,” Namgung Un said, glancing at Bu Eunseol.
In the short time he’d followed Bu Eunseol, he’d gained more experience than years of roaming the martial world.
“I may not know much, but I know how to pick people,” he said, turning to watch Bu Eunseol dominate the battlefield.
His expressionless face, moving through the fray, was like a reaper delivering death. Following Bu Eunseol, even at the cost of pride, was a brilliant choice.
“You bastards!” Gwan Dokgun, watching the battle, clenched his fists tightly.
As time passed, the Blade Tyrant Sect’s ranks filled with wounded and corpses. The Valley’s assassins were nearly wiped out, and only their superior numbers kept them holding on.
“Hm,” the masked figure beside Gwan Dokgun, arms crossed, spoke up. “Propose a duel.”
“A duel?”
“Three versus three. The side with the last one standing takes all.”
“Will they agree? The situation’s turning in their favor.”
The masked figure chuckled softly. “Even if they’re ahead, our forces outnumber theirs by more than double. If this continues, both sides will be decimated—neither winner nor loser, just total annihilation.”
Gwan Dokgun nodded lightly. Indeed, even if the Heavenly Tremor Sect won, less than a third of their disciples would survive.
“Understood. Let’s do it,” Gwan Dokgun said, stepping forward with an impressed expression and shouting, “Everyone, stop!” As the Blade Tyrant Sect halted, he parted their ranks and walked toward the Heavenly Tremor Sect’s disciples.
“Continuing like this will only lead to mutual destruction!”
“Gwan Dokgun,” a voice called as the Heavenly Tremor Sect’s ranks parted, revealing an elderly man with neatly combed white hair—Wang Inhwa, the sect leader, who had been in seclusion to heal his injuries.
“For ten years, you’ve encroached on our territory,” Wang Inhwa said, glaring resentfully. “And now you attack without a word. Why have you done this?”
“The martial world is a place where the weak are devoured and the strong devour,” Gwan Dokgun replied brazenly. “I simply wanted to expand my sect’s influence.”
Wang Inhwa asked calmly, “So, now that things have come to this, you’ll retreat?”
“Not at all,” Gwan Dokgun said, baring his fangs as he scanned the surroundings. “I propose a three-versus-three duel to decide the outcome.”
“A three-versus-three duel?”
“Yes. Each side selects three masters, and the side with the last one standing wins.”
He glanced at Gwak Cheon beside Wang Inhwa. “Let the leaders settle this.”
It was a shameless proposal, but neither Gwak Cheon nor the Heavenly Tremor disciples jeered. They almost admired Gwan Dokgun’s keen assessment of the situation, given the heavy losses on both sides.
“Hm,” Wang Inhwa sighed heavily.
Continuing the fight would likely secure victory, thanks to the Human Sword Corps and the mercenaries’ overwhelming performance. But it would leave less than a third of their disciples alive.
“Clever abacus you’ve got there,” Wang Inhwa said. Winning at the cost of most disciples was akin to defeat.
He nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Let’s settle it with a three-versus-three duel. The loser withdraws from Sangyang.”
“A wise choice,” Gwan Dokgun replied.
With the agreement settled, Wang Inhwa conferred with the three corps leaders. With Wang Inhwa still recovering, the Heavenly Tremor Sect’s greatest strength lay in the Heaven, Earth, and Human Corps and their leaders. But Gwak Cheon and Ju Uncheon, leaders of the Heaven and Earth Sword Corps, were injured from the intense battle. Mun Kwang, leader of the Human Sword Corps, was the only one unscathed.
“Corps Leader Mun, you’ll go first,” Wang Inhwa said.
Mun Kwang clasped his hands. “I’ll win all three rounds.”
With bold confidence, he stepped into the open space between the opposing sects, drawing his sword. “Come at me, anyone!”
From the Blade Tyrant Sect, a man wielding a jagged, saw-like blade emerged—Gok Namcheon, the vice-leader.
No formal greetings or rituals were needed. Mun Kwang and Gok Namcheon locked eyes and immediately unleashed killing strikes.
Clang!
Sword and blade clashed, sparks flying. Mun Kwang’s swordsmanship was as heavy as Mount Tai, while Gok Namcheon’s blade work was agile and vicious, like a venomous snake. In terms of martial prowess, Gok Namcheon’s blade technique was superior, but Mun Kwang’s vast martial world experience and adaptability gave him an edge.
Clang! Clang!
After forty exchanges, the skill gap became evident. “Die!” Gok Namcheon, spotting a flaw in Mun Kwang’s technique, thrust his jagged blade toward Mun Kwang’s side.
The move was so precise that Mun Kwang couldn’t dodge.
I won’t lose, even if it costs my life. Instead of evading, Mun Kwang advanced, stabbing at Gok Namcheon’s chest.
Shunk.
With a sickening sound, Gok Namcheon’s blade pierced Mun Kwang’s lung, while Mun Kwang’s sword dug deep into Gok Namcheon’s shoulder, striking the Jianjing acupoint.
Spurt!
As their weapons dislodged, blood sprayed, and both staggered back as if by agreement.
“I lost,” Mun Kwang said, tossing his sword aside with a satisfied smile. Though he hadn’t won, Gok Namcheon, with his Jianjing acupoint struck, couldn’t fight in the next round either.
“I’m sorry, Sect Leader,” Mun Kwang said, stumbling back.
Wang Inhwa quickly supported him. “You did well. Someone, take Corps Leader Mun to the infirmary—”
“I’m fine,” Mun Kwang interrupted, pressing an acupoint near his chest and leaning against a tree. “I’ll take treatment here.”
Seeing the resolve in Mun Kwang’s eyes, Wang Inhwa nodded reluctantly. “Alright. Leave the rest to me.”
Wang Inhwa stepped forward. Despite his lingering internal injuries, he had refrained from using martial arts. But with the sect’s survival at stake, he stepped up, ready to face death.
“Heh, heh, the sect leader himself already?” Gwan Dokgun smirked. “Have your injuries healed?”
Unfazed by the taunt, Wang Inhwa nodded calmly. “Why don’t you find out?”
By martial world etiquette, when a sect leader stepped forward, the opposing leader should respond. But Gwan Dokgun shook his head with a sly grin. “It’s not my time yet. Corps Leader Do!”
He intended to humiliate Wang Inhwa by sending a subordinate.
“Wait,” the masked figure interrupted, pointing to a subordinate standing nearby. “Myeong In, you go.”
“Understood,” Myeong In replied.
Gwan Dokgun looked puzzled. Myeong In had been silent, never participating in battle, merely standing by the masked figure’s side. And now, he was entering this critical fight?
“But he…” Gwan Dokgun began.
“Your subordinate can’t beat Wang Inhwa,” the masked figure said.
Gwan Dokgun frowned. “Wang Inhwa has been plagued by internal injuries for years. No matter how skilled—”
“His injuries come from mastering advanced external techniques,” the masked figure interrupted.
“Advanced… external techniques?” Gwan Dokgun was skeptical, but the masked figure’s words had never been wrong. As a master who moved through the Blade Tyrant Sect like it was his own home, he surely had a plan.
“Alright,” Gwan Dokgun nodded.
Myeong In stepped forward slowly. Barely past his twenties, his eyes burned with intense energy.
Recognizing Myeong In as a formidable opponent, Wang Inhwa extended a hand cautiously. “Come.”
Without a word, Myeong In unleashed a punch so fast that Wang Inhwa instinctively twisted aside. As the powerful strike grazed his shoulder, he reached for his sword to counter.
But Myeong In’s next punch was even faster.
“Ugh,” Wang Inhwa was forced into a defensive stance.
Pop! Pop! Whoosh.
Wang Inhwa tried to draw his sword, but Myeong In’s relentless punches kept him on the back foot.
My mistake. Wang Inhwa bit his lip. Myeong In’s punches were not only swift but seemed to anticipate his sword techniques, preempting his moves.
After forty exchanges, Wang Inhwa was still unable to counter, trapped in a defensive struggle.
“Ugh,” he grew anxious. At this rate, even a hundred moves wouldn’t give him an advantage.
No point hiding anymore.
Wang Inhwa summoned his full internal energy. His hair shot upward, and a powerful shockwave radiated outward.
