Chapter 147

Chapter 147
Chapter 147
Chapter Title: Duel with Hyeongsan Eumblood

As it turned out, Hyeongsan Eumblood chose not to advance alongside the others. Flanking him were four peak-tier experts of the Hyeongsan Sect, accompanied by just over ten first-class masters.

“Adu! If Seol-ha and Brother Gu manage to hold those villains off—ten geun of rice cakes, that’s your reward!”

“T-Ten geun?!”

Adu’s eyes blazed bright as he wiggled his fingers, mentally tallying the prize.

“Uwoooooh!”

Dawn had barely broken; the world lay shrouded in dim, lingering darkness—until suddenly, a radiant golden glow swelled, as though the sun itself had leapt above the horizon.

Taking on this entire force alone would be impossible, but with Gu-ak, the Baek Clan’s elite warriors, and Je-gal Seol-ha lending their strength, victory was well within reach.

“Do you truly believe those mongrels can stand against the cream of our sect?” Yang-hui lifted one corner of his mouth in a smirk at Hyeongsan Eumblood’s biting question.

“Mongrels? Poor Adu’s listening—he’s nearly in tears over that.”

-Bwooooong!

A low hum, like the steady beat of a bee’s wings, resonated from Yang-hui’s blade. The vibration quickly intensified, its pitch climbing higher and higher.

Along with that sound, true energy surged forth in a powerful tide.

-Kiyaaaaah!

It was the distinctive resonance of Eagle Cry Resonance taking form.

“I’ve heard tales of this art—your skill is genuinely impressive.”

“Ah, unlike certain lowborn rabble, I had the good fortune to study under a true master.”

Irritation hardened into fury on Hyeongsan Eumblood’s face. His past as a destitute wanderer of the black paths, scraping for every scrap of survival, remained a tender, raw spot he could not bear to have touched.

“You—who once begged more pitifully than any beggar—dare cast stones at others?”

“Ah, that? I simply ran away from home. Truth be told, my real birth parents are living in great comfort and plenty.”

“Spare me your jests, you insolent whelp.”

How much longer must this drag on? Yang-hui channeled Harmonious Heaven Immortal Energy from his dantian, releasing it through the Yongquan acupoints on the soles of his feet.

Ghostly Thousand Steps—swift, swifter, swiftest of all.

Yang-hui closed the distance in a blinding burst of speed and brought his sword sweeping down. Hyeongsan Eumblood raised a hand to block, flesh meeting steel with a sharp, ringing clang as though two metals had collided.

“Not half bad, you little rascal—you’ve got a solid defense.”

“Solid? My hands are harder and sturdier than common iron. More than strong enough to carve your belly wide open.”

Hyeongsan Eumblood was a master of hand techniques—a grandmaster who had scaled the very heights of mastery with fists, palms, and claws. Fist-wreathed energy enveloped his hand, more than sufficient to halt Yang-hui’s sword in its tracks.

Kaduk!

Indeed, that force was pressing inward, piercing through the sword’s own energy to bear directly upon the blade itself. His grip strength was no mere trick of the light.

And that was far from all. The instant their limbs made contact, a bone-chilling yin energy seeped through, carrying an insidious penetrating essence that rode the length of the sword to assail Yang-hui’s acupoints. Hyeongsan Eumblood bore that ominous moniker not merely for his cruel disposition—it stemmed chiefly from his unparalleled command of yin palm arts.

Very well—if heavy hand skills are your game, I am no slouch in that arena either.

-Kiyaaaaah!

The sword trembled violently as Eagle Cry Resonance hummed through its steel. Hyeongsan Eumblood’s brows drew together in a heavy frown.

“So this is more than a cheap yin-scheme after all?”

“Had you not realized? You ought to have done your due diligence. Know your foe as you know yourself, and you shall prevail in every battle.”

“Fine words from someone who has already let my hand touch his person.” Hyeongsan Eumblood poured still more internal energy into their locked standoff, and the pressure striking Yang-hui’s acupoints deepened.

But—

“Forgive me—I walked into this with my eyes wide open.”

“Hmm?”

Up until this moment, Yang-hui had never prioritized rushing through realm breakthroughs. Instead, his single-minded focus had lain in refining and fortifying his physical form. And what did perfecting the body truly mean? Merely toughening muscles and bones until they grew dense and resistant? Not at all.

“Let us see whose acupoints prove the hardier.”

For martial artists, bodily refinement extended well beyond flesh and bone. For practitioners of the internal arts, it meant above all tempering the acupoints—not simply clearing blockages, but broadening and reinforcing the very channels through which internal energy must flow.

Yang-hui made no move to shake off Hyeongsan Eumblood’s grip. Far from drawing his sword back, he flooded it with even greater stores of internal energy, meeting penetrating essence head-on against sheer power—two things a younger fighter was traditionally taught never to match against a senior.

-Kiyaaaaah!

“…You insolent brat…!” Hyeongsan Eumblood bared his teeth in a snarl. Contrary to all expectation, Yang-hui was not being overpowered in either regard. Penetrating essence? Granted—the boy was a once-in-a-generation prodigy, wielding skill far beyond his years. But how could someone not yet even in his twenties command such vast reserves of internal energy?

“You must have stumbled across a great many lucky treasures.”

“Ah—those chosen by heaven are fated to meet with such good fortune at every turn.”

This was no time for jest. Looking back, every remarkable encounter he had weathered might well have been guided there by higher, transcendent powers. In any case—irrelevant now.

“Drawing only from my lower dantian, I shall not yield to you.”

“A bold claim. However—”

The moment Hyeongsan Eumblood’s eyes flashed, Yang-hui lunged forward in the Four Directions Dark Eyes stance, then quickly pulled back out of reach.

“Not so fast—I’ve not even fully opened my dantian yet.”

True masters of the peak realm could draw upon more than the lower dantian, tapping the middle and upper wells as well—each granting extraordinary abilities he could ill afford to let turn against him.

“I see this old cur has only partially opened his as well.”

“…Did you gauge my power output solely to determine that?”

“Precisely. What—did you mistake confidence for arrogance?”

Yang-hui had taken his opponent’s measure. If the peak realm ascended in ten distinct stages, Hyeongsan Eumblood had climbed at least seven—yet three more remained untraversed.

This is a level I can face. Risky, certainly—but if I stake everything, I can kill him. I shall carry wounds, yes, but the Tang Clan’s medicines combined with Harmonious Heaven Immortal Energy shall see me whole again in short order.

“I am done holding back. Steel yourself, old man.”

“Those are my words to you.”

Hyeongsan Eumblood’s hand, sheathed in roiling energy, struck toward vital points upon Yang-hui’s frame. A glancing blow alone would strip flesh away; worse still—should Yang-hui permit sustained bodily contact, the internal damage would be catastrophic, dropping him where he stood.

Speed is the key to this fight. Keep him at bay. Wear him down. Outpace this ancient monster and seize command of every inch of distance between us. It will not be easy—but it is achievable. That is why, unlike in his past life, he had advanced steadily, building every step upon solid ground.

Heaven-Covering 108 Swords, Sixth Form: Wind Swift Eagle Return.

The winds swirled to shape the eagle’s descent, and the blade swept upward from below, crashing into Hyeongsan Eumblood’s forearm—aiming just short of the nape he sought.

Kang!

His defensive energy is remarkably dense. Even striking the forearm rather than his energy-wreathed hand—no mark is left. The blade’s searing light meets layered, reinforced protection.

The technique has been neutralized; now it is Hyeongsan Eumblood’s turn. Yang-hui dropped his stance and twisted aside; the claw reaching for his neck tore through nothing but empty air and stray strands of hair. Not enough—the old man spread his fingers, seeking even the lightest touch upon any acupoint.

Fist energy stretched outward, seeking to engulf Yang-hui’s torso.

“Ugh!”

To reshape manifested energy so freely marked him as no ordinary adversary. Such fluid adaptability was the hallmark of supreme mastery.

“Heh, heh—are you trembling now?”

His alarm must have shown plain upon his face.

“Is it that obvious?”

Save your pretense of calm. Next year shall mark your death anniversary.”

One misstep, and he would pass straight into the realm of the departed. Yet fear had never been what brought him down this path.

Then I must push beyond my limits.

He faced the truth squarely: at his current level, there would be no clean victory over Hyeongsan Eumblood. But if he accepted injury as the cost—then he could win.

Faster. Harder.

“Hah… hha…”

The instant Yang-hui’s eyes blazed with renewed resolve, Hyeongsan Eumblood shouted in disbelief.

“A power burst? Have you lost your senses?! No—how is this even possible?!”

“Heh, heh, heh. Let us see who falls first.”

Peak masters commanded three distinct reservoirs: the lower dantian held internal energy; the middle, primal energy; the upper, divine energy. Primal energy was nothing less than the very essence one was born with—innate potential woven into the soul itself.

“How can a whelp barely touching the peak realm unleash a power burst?!”

What made peak masters truly formidable was not the ability to manifest sword energy—it lay in the opening of all three dantians. That was what decided contests between masters of equal standing.

The Ren and Du meridians… I have scarcely touched them. It would be far safer to proceed with caution—but when the stakes are life and death, caution must sometimes be cast aside. Force it open. The cost shall be great, yet in this life, with mastery over primal energy, recovery remains possible.

Thump. Thump.

A rhythm like heavy hammers striking bedrock—or a heart beating against the ribs—echoed deep within his chest. This was one of the gifts granted by unlocking the middle dantian: a power burst.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, yet Yang-hui smiled fiercely as he struck.

Heaven-Covering 108 Swords, Seventeenth Form: White Feather Crush. Divine Variation: Heavenly Wing Crush Peak.

Infused with the deepest secrets of the Heavenly Dull Sword, the blade plummeted from above, its surrounding fire burning tenfold the length of the steel itself.

Kwaaaang!

Hyeongsan Eumblood caught the blow directly—yet Yang-hui’s assault was never the sword alone. It was as swinging a blazing torch against a wall: impact sent a thousand burning sparks scattering outward.

The blade unfolded like wings. Where they spread, countless feathers took flight—each a lethal cutting edge.

“Ungh!”

In but a moment, crimson soaked Hyeongsan Eumblood from shoulder to heel. Without his protective barrier, he would already be crushed pulp upon the earth.

Yang-hui laughed, wild and unyielding, and struck again.

“You wretched old gourd—you never should have spoken so of my father.”

-Kiyaaaaah!

Every tremor running through the sword sent waves of feather-shaped fire cutting through the air.

“How dare you utter such filth?!”

Kwaang!

“You? A hollow, insignificant thing with nothing noble within your breast?!”

Kwaang!

Yang-hui coughed blood between strikes; forcing open the middle dantian inevitably exacted its toll. Still—the enemy bled freely. If only he could sever that head cleanly… the exchange would be worth every drop lost.

-Kiyaaaaah!

The eagle’s cry rang out sharp and clear; great wings unfurled, radiant and terrible in their beauty. Hyeongsan Eumblood poured every reserve he had into defense, yet it was not enough.

“I shall carry this to the end. If you value your life—unleash your primal energy. Let us fight until our qi runs dry.”

Kwaang!

Something deeper than mere fear settled over Hyeongsan Eumblood’s countenance.

“Heh, heh—who trembles now?” Yang-hui tossed the old man’s own words back at him and swung once more.

Heaven-Covering 108 Swords, Second Form: Twin Wing Fold Slash.

Two converging arcs of energy closed in from both sides, narrowing upon Hyeongsan Eumblood. Flee now, or lose your head.

“Ungh!”

Though no Daoist, he had worn his hair bound in a topknot beneath his cap; the strike severed both, and locks spilled loose as he scrambled backward.

Yang-hui pressed forward without mercy, sword already raised anew. And that was when it happened.

“Burst forth!”

At Hyeongsan Eumblood’s desperate command, savage, roiling auras erupted all around them.

So this is your true intent? Typical of black-path refuse—utterly contemptible.