Camellia 109

Clang! A blast of frost-like sword aura swept across the field. Tang Yujae spun lightly and launched another killing strike.

The pinacle of swordsmanship, the Forty-Eight Forms of the Flashstorm Sword, descended. Only a warrior trained in the Murong clan would be able to clearly recognize the forms unfolding before them.

Thunderstrikes Scattering the Clouds.

The sword slashes down like lightning, driving the clouds apart. The scattered clouds descend as mist, while the shards of lightning split through the air, like they’re hunting the remnants.

This flow evoked by the Flashstorm Sword’s Forty-Eight Forms, had a classical splendor. It was the technique most dearly held by Murong swordsmen. Martial arts change over time, even within a clan, but this one, this one was pride itself, kept in its original form.

Namgung Wook winced as the frigid Qi grazed his skin. What a magnificent sword technique. Sword energy traced an intricate path through the air, filling his entire vision.

A storm of sword energy like drifting clouds.

Even seeing it with his own eyes, Uk couldn’t believe what was unfolding. Though he knew he was taking internal damage, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the form the opponent had created.

When the rogue perfectly executed Thunderstrikes Scattering the Clouds, Namgung Wook’s legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. His sword clattered to the floor. The blade, striking the ground directly, snapped clean in half. Namgung Wook let out a breathless laugh.

His wrist, which had clung to the hilt like his life depended on it, was already a wreck. If the bone wasn’t broken, that would be a mercy.

Looking shaken, Namgung Wook parted his dry lips.

“…May I ask where you come from, Swordmaster?”

He had always preferred books over sword training, yet for the first time, he felt what it meant to be overwhelmed by martial skill.

Even in bouts with famous masters, he’d never experienced this kind of thrill. Only now, in front of this man, did he begin to understand.

“Your sword aura… it felt like a living creature. It moved with intention, like a sacred beast that exists only to serve its master and devour the world on his behalf.”

Blood dripped from his lips. He looked lightly injured on the outside, but the truth was his body had been battered by sword Qi. Crimson blood kept trailing down his chin. His lower abdomen burned, his danjeon was probably damaged.

Namgung Wook wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked with reverence.

“…Would you tell your name to a lowly student of the martial world?”

At a certain point, some masters grow so great that merely witnessing their swordplay leaves others crushed by defeat. In that flash where inner forces collide, one realizes the other stands at unreachable heights, and despair follows.

Namgung Wook felt the same right now, even if he had never shown zeal for martial arts.

No matter how unsuited to it his temperament might be, He was still a martial artist of the murim. His instincts couldn’t help but respond to the swordsmanship that had just unfolded. A sword that seemed to carry the truths of the world. If it was this, he might trade the Analects without complaint.

While Namgung Wook sat bleeding and dazed, the referee quickly called the match. One glance at the upper dais showed the atmosphere had gone icy enough to freeze a man alive. No wonder the referee’s face had gone deathly pale. The first match of the day, and the Namgung family’s warrior had suffered a crushing defeat.

The crowd fell silent, stunned. No cheers, no applause.

“…Did, did everyone just see that? Lightning cracked, and then the stage just split open…?”

The commoners who had come for light amusement now looked unwell. Sword Qi from top-tier fighters rarely had positive effects on bystanders.

“It felt like the ceiling of the arena turned into the heavens themselves…”

Only when the man beside him spoke in a trembling voice did Seolyeong manage to come to his senses. Having grown up under the Murong clan’s care, the shock was worse for him than most.

Even the heir of Murong, Murong Wi, couldn’t easily manifest the full Forty-Eight Forms of the Flashstorm Sword, yet the sect leader had just done it. And done it perfectly.

“…This can’t be.”

To master the Flashstorm Sword required chasing lightning itself, training again and again to predict where it would strike, and arriving just ahead of it. Only then could you begin to mimic its speed and weight.

This method was passed down in secret within the Murong clan. For an outsider to achieve mastery was nearly impossible.

“Then how…”

Seolyeong whispered. He and the sect leader locked eyes just as the man stepped down from the arena. His black eyes that had always remained quietly indifferent lit up the moment they met Seolyeong’s. Seolyeong gulped as his eyes gently curve .

He could no longer deny it. That man had truly reached the state of unity between sword and self.

This wasn’t mimicry. The way he embodied the Flashstorm Sword, it was like he was at a level that was on par with the creator.

Seolyeong’s heart pounded. He wanted to run over and demand how the sect leader had learned the Murong clan’s secret techniques. How he could wield them even better than the Murong swordsmen themselves.

It was too far beyond envy. He had never been passionate about this tournament, but now he made up his mind. He would face Tang Yujae in a duel, no matter what.

Eyes gleaming with energy stirred by the sect leader’s display, Seolyeong stepped onto the stage for his match.

He was still thrilled by what he had just witnessed. He still hadn’t shaken off Tang Yujae’s cryptic words, but his chest replayed only the duel.

Sword drawn, he looked to his opponent the way the sect leader had looked at his. He locked eyes and struck. In a single exchange, the match was over.

Clang! The plain sword slammed into his opponent’s abdomen. The man dropped silently, foaming at the mouth.

“…Ah. I forgot to hold back.”

The crowd burst into cheers, caught between awe and disbelief.

“Wow─!”

Compared to long matches with complex exchanges, nothing won the crowd over like a one-hit knockout.

Calming his Qi, Seolyeong stepped down from the arena. He glanced toward the upper dais. He had a hunch he’d be facing the sect leader next.

With rogues hogging the spotlight when orthodox champions should be rising, the authorities probably wanted one of them eliminated quickly. It wouldn’t be strange if they arranged for the two to clash early.

“Wait! Please, wait!”

Still surrounded by commoners offering gushing commentary, Seolyeong raised an eyebrow when he saw Namgung Wook chasing someone.

Even limping, the man pushed forward with urgency. It must’ve been someone he couldn’t afford to lose.

Brushing off the men asking to treat him to a round of bamboo leaf liquor, Seolyeong casually followed.

Of course. Namgung Wook was chasing after Tang Yujae.

“I wanted to ask… why you mentioned my father’s dawn departures. Or more than that, why you kept sending me sound transmissions during the match. Was it because that information shouldn’t be revealed…?”

Namgung Wook eyes held no malice, only admiration.

Tang Yujae, descending the marble steps, turned his head slightly. His blank gaze drifted past Wook and landed on Seolyeong, watching from a distance.

He spoke calmly.

“Figure it out yourself. Or ask him. I don’t talk to losers.”

And with that, the brute dumped a devoted admirer straight into his wife’s lap and disappeared into thin air.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Seolyeong scratched his cheek and laughed with a stiff expression.

‘Damn it. Why do I have to clean up his mess?’

He had no interest in playing the sect leader’s errand boy, so he used the Namgung Wook’s moment of hesitation to vanish with a sudden burst of gyeonggong.

Watching the silhouettes disappear into the sky, Namgung Wook puzzled face turned pensive.

The flight patterns they left behind reminded him of the swordplay he had just seen.

He thought to himself, perhaps he shouldn’t slip out of this tournament midway. Something told him this year’s matches might etch a new chapter into the orthodox martial world.