326. Martial Duel Journey (3)
Cheon Hwi’s sword, which had certainly been black, began glowing pure white.
A pale white faintly tinged with blue. Even in broad daylight, its brightness was unmistakable, yet strangely, it didn’t hurt the eyes.
A soft light closer to moonlight than sunlight. Yet the result that white sword brought forth was anything but soft.
“Keuaaa! Sword wind?! How can sword wind—!”
“Wh–Why! The formation is still active…!”
“Abandon the injured! Combine it with the Three-Claw Formation!”
Each time Cheon Hwi’s sword swept through the air, the formation of the Conquering Asura Gate collapsed, and the warriors making it up were scattered like fallen leaves.
Considering that most were second-rate to first-rate, a handful were Peak Stage, and only two besides the Left Guardian were Sub-Perfection, it was natural that a formation of such warriors would crumble before the realm known as Flowering Stage—an absolute master.
It was natural… but—
“Isn’t his sword not even touching them…?”
Twin-Ghost Killing Sword hadn’t expected this.
The sword didn’t even touch them, yet they were shredded like weeds cut by a sickle.
Once he confirmed no disaster was about to strike, Twin-Ghost Killing Sword’s stiff shoulders finally relaxed.
Tang Sowol looked satisfied, smiling proudly.
“Hehe. Did you know? When a warrior reaches the Flowering Stage, their heartscape blends into their martial arts and forms a unique property.”
“Yes. For the martial arts they’ve mastered, they can force their own rule—one that surpasses common sense.”
A heartscape blending with martial arts.
Easy to say, impossible to fathom.
A heartscape didn’t tangibly exist—it was purely mental.
But martial arts were executed with the physical body.
To say a heartscape blends into martial arts meant one could use martial arts as a medium to manifest something nonexistent—or originally impossible—into reality.
That was why only Flowering Stage warriors who awakened willpower could achieve it.
If inner energy allowed the body to do more, willpower allowed the body to do the impossible.
“I heard the reason the Pavilion Master’s spear never misses is also because of this. But isn’t White Moon Sword Lord’s willpower embodied in that white sword?”
Twin-Ghost Killing Sword remembered clearly—the terrifying strike of One-Saber Asura, vicious as though the world itself bared its fangs.
Had he faced it, he wouldn’t have resisted at all—he would’ve been torn limb from limb.
But Cheon Hwi took it. No—he cut through it.
An impossible sharpness.
If martial arts at the Flowering Stage embodied heartscapes, then how sharp must Cheon Hwi’s heartscape be to produce such killing edge?
As a swordsman, he felt not just awe, but reverence.
But—
“Hehe. That’s not his true profound art. It’s only one of his techniques.”
“…What???”
Inner energy, no matter how condensed, usually only flared like wavering flame.
Using willpower to further condense and harden that energy resulted in hardened energy—aura.
But Cheon Hwi condensed that aura yet again.
To call that “just a technique” made Twin-Ghost Killing Sword’s eyes tremble.
‘Lady Poison Phoenix may be close to White Moon Sword Lord, but she’s not a swordswoman, so she wouldn’t know…’
Muttering internally, he replied in a calm voice:
“To call that merely a technique… such refinement and willpower surpass my imagination. Anyone watching can feel its cutting edge.”
“Yes, yes. But those were his own words.”
No matter how immense the enlightenment or the amount of willpower poured into it, in the end, it was still just a sword.
To Cheon Hwi, a sword was hard and sharp—a tool for cutting down enemies and protecting his people.
In that sense, the White Sword was simply a technique—not something he sought to become like Sword Demon, who aimed to embody the sword itself, but something he used to achieve results.
In truth, the White Sword did nothing on its own except embody what Cheon Hwi believed a sword should be—hard and sharp.
“For him, the White Sword is no different from drawing a treasured sword from his waist. You don’t assign profound meaning every time you draw your sword and wrap it in sword aura, do you?”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
“Since this martial tour will soon spread his name anyway, I’ll tell you in advance. His heartscape—and his willpower—are not rooted in the sword itself. They lie in how he swings it.”
“In how he swings it?”
“Yes. You’ll see soon.”
Twin-Ghost Killing Sword stared blankly at the “fight”—though calling it a fight was generous. It was a massacre—Cheon Hwi overwhelming the field entirely alone.
His sword energy split the center of the formation.
No one was injured, yet the formation lost its effect and collapsed.
Those of lower realms were crushed under killing intent; those who endured took internal injuries or slowed drastically.
It was as though the sword cut the formation itself, not the people.
Could such a thing really be possible, even for a Flowering Stage master?
Twin-Ghost Killing Sword could not answer.
Even a seasoned Sub-Perfection master would never imagine that Cheon Hwi could actually see the flow of inner energy.
But whether understood or not, Cheon Hwi’s strikes continued.
There was no grand technique.
He simply drew clean lines in the air, like performing the most basic Three Talents Sword Art.
Yet that alone destroyed the formation, and the warriors fell, clutching arms or legs in groups of five or six.
Even the few Sub-Perfection warriors—the Left and Right Guardians—fared no different.
They held out a bit longer, but soon rolled across the ground.
And just as he promised, no one died.
Even those bleeding heavily had no fatal wounds—they would recover with proper treatment, good food, and rest.
Cheon Hwi conquered the entire Conquering Asura Gate without taking a single step—just by swinging his sword a few times.
Even One-Saber Asura, who hadn’t expected much to begin with, stared in shock, eyes rolling.
Only after witnessing all this did Twin-Ghost Killing Sword truly understand:
The White Sword was impressive, yes—but not the core of Cheon Hwi’s true martial path.
His improved version of Sword Demon’s ultimate technique had been closer to the truth.
Cheon Hwi nodded with satisfaction at the warriors scattered like gold nuggets dropped on the ground—then suddenly spoke in an awkward voice:
“You coward! How dare you send your subordinates into the duel in your place!”
“…What?”
One-Saber Asura blinked in bewilderment.
He couldn’t understand a word—especially when everything happened in a single blink.
Cheon Hwi grinned, as though he had waited for this very moment.
“You refused the offered wine and chose punishment wine.”
“I never received any offered wine!”
“I will defeat you and set the banner of the Unorthodox straight.”
“A righteous sect brat talking like that?!”
“Ahem. According to the laws encouraged by the Black Lotus Sect, one should prioritize a duel of leaders over full warfare to reduce casualties.”
“No one follows that— wait. How do you know that?!”
“Well, because I’m traveling on a duel tour after receiving the Black Lotus Sect Lord’s request—no, recommendation.”
“That bastard Spear King…!”
After cursing for a long while, One-Saber Asura sighed deeply and spoke in a calmer tone.
“Listen well, White Moon Sword Lord. Even if I lose, my defeat is against you. Not the Black Lotus Sect Lord.”
“Hm??”
“The one I will bow to is not Twin-Conqueror Spear King—but you!”
“…Is that so.”
Unlike Cheon Hwi’s lukewarm answer, One-Saber Asura was sincere.
If he lost yet survived with his life, then only two choices remained:
Throw away his life refusing to bow, or kneel to the man who defeated him.
The Black Lotus Sect Lord wasn’t even part of the equation.
A righteous sect man wouldn’t understand this logic, but One-Saber Asura was born in Zhejiang and lived as an unorthodox warrior his entire life.
The winner gets everything.
That was how he rose, and how he would someday fall.
The reason he never cooperated with the Black Lotus Sect despite joining it was that he had never lost to the Sect Lord.
To him, the Black Lotus Sect Lord was a business partner— not a superior.
A fierce will ignited in One-Saber Asura’s eyes.
He had survived countless battlefields, risking his life each time.
And now, once again, the moment had come to stake his life.
“I’m coming…!”
Even among Flowering-Stage warriors, the gap varied.
No—once one touched the extremity of their path, the gap only grew wider.
Fancy techniques or feints were meaningless.
Cheon Hwi was simply far superior.
Thus, One-Saber Asura chose to unleash his ultimate technique in a single stroke.
His body leaned forward as if about to explode into motion.
His saber rose high in an upper stance.
No thought of retreat.
He poured his entire existence into this moment.
Perhaps because that resolve was so raw, the crimson aura rising from the blade shone brighter than ever.
A single saber that had carved through countless life-or-death moments—his true strike.
Cheon Hwi smiled faintly and nodded.
“Good.”
The atmosphere felt as though he would leap forward and split a giant boulder in one stroke.
Cheon Hwi, on the other hand, took a simple stance.
Feet shoulder-width apart.
Sword hand relaxed and hanging low.
The epitome of natural stillness—no trace of a technique.
Until now, he had relaxed his entire body to focus power in an instant. But this time, it was different.
There was no intent.
He simply held the sword down naturally.
Yet this did not mean he would take the coming strike lightly.
He recalled the essence of Namgung Jong’s Boundless Sky Sword—the idea that the most ordinary sword was the most perfect.
He interpreted it in his own way and used it spontaneously.
Namgung Dowi’s sword was remarkable, but mismatched with him.
Namgung Jong, however, despite being of lower realm, had a philosophy somewhat aligned with Cheon Hwi.
Techniques need not contain profound mysteries.
What mattered was simply striking the intended place.
Whether it was a strong sword or a swift sword was secondary.
A brief silence.
A silent signal exchanged by their eyes.
Both warriors moved.
Paaang!
One-Saber Asura kicked the ground hard enough to crack it—his footwork far faster than before, propelling him instantly before Cheon Hwi.
His saber fell with heavy destructive power, its edge exuding the oppressive presence of a giant boulder plummeting from the sky.
Rush, strike, overpower.
Simple, brutal, practical—the essence of unorthodox martial arts taken to its utmost limit.
But it didn’t end with that.
There was a reason he was called One-Saber Asura.
The enlightenment he gained from reaching the Flowering Stage manifested—creating movements that defied reason.
His face twisted into a demonic sneer, and the single saber began splitting into many.
Not physically splitting—the aura swelling from the blade created new trajectories on either side.
Being cut by these would be no different from being severed by an actual saber.
He had abandoned defensive aura in exchange for offensive dominance—a saberstroke equivalent to three Flowering Stage masters striking at once.
Facing three simultaneous Flowering Stage-level attacks,
Cheon Hwi swung a half-beat slower.
And—
Kwarung!
With a thunderous boom, the white-hot sword traced a half-moon arc.
There had been no hint of preparation.
One moment it simply was.
And naturally, it carved through all three sabers.
A lightning strike from clear sky.
An improved Thunderclap Sword.
Thunk—
The broken fragments of the saber spun in the air and embedded into the ground.
The two sabers made from aura dissipated shortly after.
Only a portion of the original blade glimmered weakly in sunlight.
One-Saber Asura stared blankly at his broken saber—then bowed his head deeply.
“I lost. From this moment on, I and all warriors of the Conquering Asura Gate will follow you.”
“Your saber arts suit your title well. It was splendid.”
Cheon Hwi sheathed his sword with a calm voice.
One-Saber Asura spoke to the young swordsman who had taken his sect:
“So? What do you want me to do now? You devoured us because you wanted something, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
Cheon Hwi smirked lightly.
One-Saber Asura swallowed nervously.
Money? Women? Fame? Military force?
Or perhaps the influence the Conquering Asura Gate built up?
Cheon Hwi looked up at the sky and said:
“Your life.”
“..!”
“I spared you. So use your life for me.”
“Anything else—”
“I don’t need anything else. The Conquering Asura Gate collects fees, but you don’t run businesses. You're not rich.”
“Isn’t this already quite a lot of profit?”
“The money I earned for the Tang Clan could buy five or six Conquering Asura Gates.”
“…What.”
“That’s how unorthodox sects are. Individuals may live in luxury, but once it comes to collective power and wealth, you can’t surpass the orthodox.”
Even considering the vast difference between the Tang Clan of Sichuan—one of the Five Supreme Clans—and the newly founded Conquering Asura Gate, his words were accurate.
One-Saber Asura still looked confused—having lived his whole life in unorthodox lands—but Cheon Hwi merely shrugged.
“So my life is enough…?”
“Yes. A great war is coming. When it does, don’t act like a bat. Fight under my command. After that, you can go.”
“That much is fine.”
One-Saber Asura nodded, accepting defeat cleanly.
Satisfied, Cheon Hwi patted his shoulder.
“Now, here is your first order.”
“…What is it?”
“Drink poison.”
“...?”
“I’ll give you an antidote every month. Don’t worry.”
“What happens if I don’t take it?!”
“Your organs will melt. It was exhausting making a poison that works even on Flowering Stage warriors.”
“Y–You insane brat…?!”
One-Saber Asura jumped back in shock.
“Weren’t we having a good moment?! I already accepted defeat! Why poison?!”
“Ridiculous. Only the victor decides whether defeat is acknowledged. A loser declaring defeat means nothing.”
“What kind of—”
He faltered, overwhelmed by Cheon Hwi’s sheer madness.
But to Cheon Hwi, it was only natural.
Before regression, One-Saber Asura agreed to fight together, but betrayed him the moment he sensed possible defeat.
He couldn’t trust mere words.
As Cheon Hwi flicked his hand, Tang Sowol stepped forward with an awkward smile—carrying an unmistakably terrifying poison rippling in her palm.
“…Um… please take care of us from now on?”
Though her expression was gentle, the poison swirling on her hand was anything but.
Realizing his fate, One-Saber Asura squeezed his eyes shut.
