Chapter 80
Chapter 80: Third-rate Martial Family Becomes the Best Under Heaven
The instant his hotheaded son climbed onto the dueling platform, the Jeongwol Sect leader could not help but press a weary palm to his brow.
To think this boy bears the mantle of young sect leader…!
An only child granted to him in his twilight years. Perhaps because the boy had been coddled and shielded from hardship his entire life, he remained hopelessly naive and shallow, even if blood bound them together. To succumb so easily to such blatant baiting…
Entirely unaware that Yanghwi had provoked him through sound transmission, the father could do nothing but inwardly despair over his son’s lack of restraint.
What had begun could no longer be turned back.
Channeling his qi, the sect leader projected his voice directly to his son.
— Myeonggun. Since matters have reached this point, failure is not an option.
— Put your mind at ease, Father. I will wipe that smug smirk clean off the little imp’s face.
The reply came brimming with boundless self-assurance.
If only reality would conform to the boy’s lofty boasts. The sect leader did not even dare entertain visions of an outright triumph. Forcing a draw would be more than enough. Failing that, a respectable loss after an honorable, grinding contest would preserve some grace.
The Sword Dwarf’s repute… is certainly no fabrication.
The sudden, aggressive rise of the Baek Estate had begun encroaching heavily upon the sphere of the Jeongwol Sect. Three names spearheaded this surge: Baek Muryang, known as the Dual Peerless Chivalrous Sword; Gu Ak, celebrated as the Master of One Chivalrous Deed a Day; and Baek Yanghwi, the young Sword Dwarf.
Those two elders have reached the apex realm, so their dominance is only natural. Yet a boy barely turning fifteen commands equal stature.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with cultivators of the apex realm implied that his deeds and prowess far exceeded mere blade work—whether driven by exceptional cunning, persuasive rhetoric, or other hidden arts. Even so, his martial skill could by no means be ordinary. After all, the jianghu, the great martial world, had never once harbored genuine respect for the weak.
Therefore, my son, even should you fall, avoid humiliation at all costs. The prestige of our Jeongwol Sect rests on your shoulders.
Though twenty-five and somewhat sheltered, having matured like a hothouse blossom, the young man was not bereft of talent. His martial foundations were sturdy enough to earn the respect of a sect master. Thus, a sliver of hope lingered.
Just a sliver.
…A hope that was utterly dismantled moments later.
“Brace your stance, Young Hero Sword Dwarf. That is, unless you intend to forfeit the very first opening I have granted you.”
“I am ready. Whenever you please.”
“I expected you to bare your steel.”
Hearing those words, Yanghwi still made no motion toward his scabbard.
“It hardly seems appropriate to employ a blade while instructing an unarmed combatant. It matters not, so make your move.”
A thick vein throbbed violently along Jeong Myeonggun’s temple.
“Are you implying you will face me, a dedicated hand-to-hand practitioner and the young sect leader of the Jeongwol Sect, with bare palms?”
“Your hearing serves you well.”
— My weapon is reserved for opponents of actual consequence, not a nobody like you.
“…….”
Jeong Myeonggun shook with suppressed indignation.
“I will ensure you swallow those words in bitter regret.”
The signature heritage of the Jeongwol Sect, the Moon Trace Fist Technique, was designed to follow the ethereal wake of moonlight, true to its poetic designation. It was a discipline heavily rooted in unpredictable, fluid footwork patterns.
Gliding forward with steps as elusive as shifting lunar shadows, Jeong Myeonggun charged directly at Yanghwi.
“Haaap!”
His closed fist tore toward Yanghwi’s jaw with vicious intent. Yet Yanghwi did not flinch, remaining stationary until the blow hovered an inch from his features.
A surge of triumphant delight flared within Jeong Myeonggun. An opponent incapable of tracking his strike—the terrifying mantle of the Sword Dwarf was clearly an empty myth.
Just as I suspected!
He could already visualize his rising glory after grinding this presumptuous boy into the dirt. Just as an arrogant grin began to spread across his face—
— Keep dreaming, simpleton.
Smack.
Yanghwi’s open palm caught the flying fist cleanly. The ferocious thrust of the punch ground to a complete, effortless halt, robbed of all force.
“What…?”
Dumbfounded bewilderment washed over Jeong Myeonggun.
A mocking curve touched the corner of Yanghwi’s mouth.
“Did I not concede the opening exchange to you?”
Enraged by the open contempt in his foe’s eyes, Jeong Myeonggun whipped his free arm around in a second punch. Yet—
Smack!
Both of Jeong Myeonggun’s wrists were now ensnared in Yanghwi’s iron grasp. From the outside, the posture resembled two men engaging in a firm, mutual clasp of hands.
— What now? Are we clapping along to a children’s rhyme?
“Urk!”
Jeong Myeonggun strained violently to wrench his wrists away, but the hold remained immovable, biting down like shackles forged of solid iron.
Where does he get such monstrous strength…!
He unleashed his internal qi to pry himself loose, yet he could not force a millimeter of leeway. It was an unmistakable realization: the younger boy surpassed him not only in raw bodily vigor but also in internal dantian reserve. It was an outcome that defied every ounce of logic he possessed.
A mere fifteen-year-old…!
He had lived twenty-five years, spending an additional decade refining his meridians and building internal reserve. To be suppressed so utterly…
Suddenly.
“Up.”
Yanghwi threw one arm straight toward the sky. Bound to it, Jeong Myeonggun’s arm was yanked forcefully upward.
“And up!”
Yanghwi shoved his other palm skyward as well. The second arm followed involuntarily.
In an instant, both stood facing one another with their limbs hoisted high, as if cheering in unison. As it happened, Yanghwi stood roughly half a cheok taller than his adversary. The difference left Jeong Myeonggun’s feet dangling aimlessly above the stone floor.
“Holding you like this makes me feel as though I am entertaining a little nephew.”
“Insolent brat!”
Jeong Myeonggun kicked violently toward the boy’s midsection. Yanghwi twisted his frame with infuriating composure, letting the attack whistle through empty space.
“Kicking around like a tantrum-throwing child only deepens your embarrassment, you know.”
“Be quiet!”
He tried to strike again, but despite their tangled proximity, Yanghwi slipped past every thrashing leg with absolute precision.
“Far too sluggish.”
“Curse you!”
“Still slow.”
“I’ll slaughter you!”
“Can an earthworm truly threaten a man’s life?”
“Aaaargh!”
Blood surged into Jeong Myeonggun’s neck and face, his complexion darkening as though his meridians were on the verge of rupturing from qi deviation. Yanghwi let slip a quiet chuckle.
Time to conclude this warm-up.
Putting weight into his arms, he flung Jeong Myeonggun backward across the arena. Proving that his martial conditioning was not entirely hollow, Jeong Myeonggun completed a clean rotation in the air and touched down neatly on both feet. Yet—
My, what grim expressions they have.
Yanghwi wondered if the young sect leader had taken note of the sour, rigid scowls darkening the faces of the watching Jeongwol Sect elders behind him. Had he noticed their disgust, his blind rage might have withered instantly.
“Step forward once more. Let me grant you your guidance.”
“You impudent worm!”
Yanghwi shifted his balance, initiating Vessel Thousand Steps. He channeled sheer velocity and illusory mirages through the forms. Blurring forward at staggering speeds, he slipped beneath Jeong Myeonggun’s swing and swept low against his balance.
“Khk!”
Rather than capitalizing on the off-balance opponent, Yanghwi glided smoothly backward, restoring the gap.
“Restrain your wrath, Young Sect Leader. Surely you do not plan to claim you were defeated simply because you fell for petty banter?”
“…….”
“I shall grant you a moment to steady your breath. Calm your thoughts, then strike with true intent.”
“…You will rue those words.”
Drawing in a harsh breath, Jeong Myeonggun sank into his combat posture once more. Across from him, Yanghwi stood with easy looseness, as though ambling through an afternoon fair.
“Step forward. Your first lesson begins.”
“Haaat!”
Moon Trace Fist Technique, Moon Path Strike. A direct lunge harmonized with dazzling steps.
Well, when executed with focus, the art is respectable enough. Though it remains worlds away from touching me.
Drifting on the fluid shifts of Vessel Thousand Steps, Yanghwi ducked neatly beneath the path of the blow. As their bodies crossed, Jeong Myeonggun’s unguarded jaw and cheek swung directly into range. Having that ridiculous title ‘Sword Dwarf’ thrown in his face so many times was grating—perhaps a hard slap across the mouth was in order?
No, restrain the impulse.
Far too many prominent figures were observing the platform. Clueless though he was, Jeong Myeonggun stood as the young sect leader of an established orthodox sect. Delivering an open-handed slap to such a personage, even within the confines of a challenge, crossed a line. In this setting, he needed to maintain the composed, dignified poise expected of the eldest young master from an upright house.
“Take note of the first principle, Young Sect Leader. A warrior’s foundation must be anchored like stone.”
All the more so for an art relying on elaborate foot maneuvers like the Moon Trace Fist Technique.
Thrust!
“Khhk!”
Yanghwi snapped a spear-hand forward, stabbing his fingertips deep into the meat of Jeong Myeonggun’s thigh. Even with minimal cultivation behind the blow, his fingers sank an inch into the muscle.
“Your foundation is flaccid. How could power possibly originate from such weak footing?”
Raising his voice so that every onlooker could hear, Yanghwi declared,
“The sword is my true art! You stand ten years my senior, yet you cannot even compel me to unsheathe my weapon?!”
Murmurs of shock rippled through the gathered crowd at his challenge. The scowls on the Jeongwol Sect elders darkened several shades further. Jeong Myeonggun’s expression stiffened completely.
“…I will grant that your cultivation surpasses mine. But I shall prove the unyielding resolve of the Jeongwol Sect, Young Hero Sword Dwarf!”
Does this fellow intend to spit out that infernal title until the very end?
He had briefly weighed the thought of sparing him further public shame, but that consideration vanished.
“Here is your second lesson.”
Pouring layer upon layer of blistering momentum into his stride, Yanghwi activated Vessel Thousand Steps once more. His movement matched the sudden release of a drawn bowstring. Jeong Myeonggun’s eyes failed to track the displacement entirely. In the span of a single breath, Yanghwi materialized at his rear, delivering a sharp rap to the base of his skull.
“Illusions that lack genuine speed become nothing more than pointless parlor tricks.”
To unleash the true potency of misdirection, one had to move significantly faster than the observer.
“A phantom image demands that you outpace your opponent twofold, threefold—even tenfold. Only then do the false openings multiply into genuine threats.”
Consequently, the very root of deceptive movement was raw velocity.
“And where does that absolute velocity originate?”
Speed required advancing before the other party could initiate. In essence, it was action.
“Finding tranquility within turbulence. To move with blinding haste, an unshakeable stillness must first govern the core.”
This was the very philosophy that allowed the Hundred and Eight Heaven-Splitting Swords of his clan to weave together the contradictory paths of lightness and crushing weight. Though appearing completely divergent on the surface, their core truth was entirely one and the same.
“Carry this with you.”
— Focus on strengthening your legs. A man’s true strength springs from the lower half. Understand?
“Phantom steps. Haste. Fluidity. Crushing mass. When stripped down, every path returns to basic fundamentals.”
Striking from the upper leg to the dantian, and driving straight through to the cervical meridians, Yanghwi’s fingers tapped a rapid sequence of pressure points across Jeong Myeonggun’s frame. The entire sequence concluded before Jeong Myeonggun’s forward punch could even reach full extension.
Moments later, rigid as a felled beam of timber, Jeong Myeonggun crashed face-first onto the arena floor. Standing calmly over the paralyzed young sect leader, Yanghwi brought his hands together in a crisp, respectful bow.
“With that, our exchange is brought to a close. I thank you for the instructive match, Young Sect Leader.”
The instant Yanghwi straightened from his salutation, the Jeongwol Sect grounds erupted into an overwhelming roar of voices.
“Incredible! The eldest young lord of the Baek family actually took the match!”
“Is the Jeongwol young sect leader not ten years his senior?!”
“The acclaim surrounding the Sword Dwarf was truly not an exaggeration!”
A vein pulsed irritably upon Yanghwi’s brow at the renewed mention of that name.
Patience. Hold it in. That ridiculous moniker of Sword Dwarf ends forever this very day.
There had been a deliberate purpose behind elevating this hotheaded youth’s impulsive duel into a sprawling spectacle. Dragging the prestige of the Jeongwol Sect through the mud was merely a preliminary step; his true objective was far more significant.
“Sect Leader of the Jeongwol Sect. Your young master appears unable to stand on his own, so pray have your attendants assist him from the stage.”
“…….”
Grind!
The harsh, violent sound of teeth gnashing against teeth reverberated from the leader’s jaw. Several molars had surely shattered under the pressure.
“I will etch the memory of this day into my heart, Young Hero Sword Dwarf.”
Yanghwi offered an easy, pleasant grin.
Sword Dwarf again, is it?
Indeed, ending things here would never suffice.
“If that is so, then I have an earnest request to place before you, Sect Leader.”
Without pausing for consent, he pressed forward.
“A proper exchange of martial wisdom requires both giving and receiving. Since the eldest young lord of the Baek house has imparted his insights to the young sect leader of the Jeongwol Sect, it is only proper that the Jeongwol Sect return the favor.”
Grasping the underlying trap within Yanghwi’s speech, the Jeongwol Sect leader’s eyes flared with sudden fury.
As anticipated of an old sect master, he reads the situation quickly.
Too late to avoid it, however.
“Baek Yanghwi of the Baek family respectfully petitions the venerable elders of the Jeongwol Sect for their esteemed instruction!”
The Jeongwol Sect housed three revered elders, and each one stood as a verified master of the apex realm. In plain terms, Yanghwi had just brazenly issued a formal challenge against a realm elder.
Without a shred of hesitation.
“Hahahahaha! After witnessing such bravado, we can hardly pretend to look away!”
A booming, thunderous laugh resonated across the plaza, saturated with the profound majesty of the unity of intent and qi. Crushed beneath the terrifying weight of that projected aura, nearby onlookers gasped and choked for air, while the Tang siblings and Chudal were forced backward several paces. Just as Gu Ak scowled, stepping forward with his own energy to shatter the oppressive force—
“Forgive me, but…”
With a single, measured stride from Yanghwi, the heavy pressure woven into that roaring laughter dissolved into nothingness.
“It appears that I, too, have touched the threshold of unity of intent and qi.”
Unleashing his internal reservoir and allowing a boundless, commanding presence to surge outward, he raised his voice.
“Which of the three elders will step forward to instruct me?”
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