“Heh heh heh. I wondered who was scouring Buljeong Mountain like a dog chasing fleas… a Southern Palace member, huh?”
Wang Jeong’s words, as he eyed the Golden Needle Sword, prompted the masked man to puff out his chest and declare loudly, “That’s right. I am Namgung Un.”
Namgung Un.
The youngest son of the Southern Palace’s patriarch, he was notorious around Anhui Province as a wastrel. Rumored to indulge in wine, women, and song, he was said to frequent high-class brothels almost daily. His antics were so extravagant that people whispered the Southern Palace’s vast wealth—reputed to be the greatest in Jiangnan—would be squandered by him.
Why would Namgung Un, treated as the clan’s black sheep, suddenly appear in Buljeong Mountain?
“You’re Namgung Un?” Wang Jeong sneered, then nodded as if realizing something. “Kicked out for being a wastrel, I presume. Heh heh heh.”
His words struck a nerve, and Namgung Un’s eyes shifted beneath the mask.
As Wang Jeong had guessed, Namgung Un had been unable to grow out of his reckless ways past his twenties, and his exasperated father, the clan patriarch, had finally banished him with a thunderous decree: “Don’t even think of returning until you’ve earned a respectable title in the martial world!”
In truth, despite his reputation, Namgung Un’s martial skills were exceptional. His laziness stemmed from his prodigious talent in swordsmanship, and the clan patriarch, aware of this, had forcibly sent him into the martial world to temper him.
“If you were kicked out, you should’ve begged at the clan gates. Why venture into the treacherous martial world?” Wang Jeong taunted.
Namgung Un squared his shoulders, a cold smile on his lips. “To take down scum like you.”
“How amusing.”
Even facing a direct descendant of the illustrious Southern Palace, Wang Jeong showed no fear, only mockery. “You think you can take me? Heh heh heh.”
“Hmph. You seem smug about poisoning me,” Namgung Un said, leisurely pulling an orange pill from his robes and swallowing it. “Poisons like this are common in the martial world, so antidotes are just as plentiful.”
Shing.
Drawing his Golden Needle Sword again, Namgung Un spoke coldly. “Now, I’ll sever your head and restore justice to the martial world.”
“Hahaha!” Wang Jeong suddenly burst into wild laughter. “This is truly hilarious! Hahaha!”
“What’s so funny?” Namgung Un demanded.
Wang Jeong stopped laughing abruptly, fixing his gaze on Namgung Un. “Greenhorns with no martial world experience often think everything can be solved with martial skill alone.”
“Greenhorn? I—”
“You don’t know that an antidote’s effects take a quarter of an hour to kick in, do you?”
Unless one circulated their inner energy to hasten the antidote’s effects, it would take time to work. Namgung Un, having never used an antidote before, was unaware of this.
“And if you had proper martial world experience, you wouldn’t have fallen into such a trap. Chasing a retreating enemy is the most dangerous moment.”
Digging a pit trap was something even a three-year-old could do. But Wang Jeong had cleverly designed this trap to exploit the overconfidence of young masters chasing their foes, targeting those lacking martial world experience.
“That changes nothing,” Namgung Un said, gripping his Golden Needle Sword tightly, biting his lip. “Once I kill you, it’s over.”
To silence Wang Jeong’s taunts, Namgung Un unleashed his sword technique.
Wang Jeong dodged the sword strikes with ease, a sinister smile on his face. “In a fight between masters, inner power and mental fortitude determine victory. You’ve lost both.”
“Stop talking nonsense!”
“If you were a proper martial artist, you’d have retreated to fight another day. But your pride made you draw your sword.”
It was true.
The toxic powder had sapped twenty percent of Namgung Un’s inner power, and Wang Jeong’s cunning words were eroding his momentum.
Whoosh!
Wang Jeong finally unleashed his blade technique. Namgung Un, as if waiting for this, infused his sword with inner power. The Sky-So-aring Sword was a technique that overwhelmed foes with rapid, ever-changing strikes. But as Namgung Un pressed his attack, his expression hardened.
Wang Jeong’s broadsword moved like a fish slipping through a net, effortlessly countering the Sky-So-aring Sword.
I… can’t beat him?
Namgung Un’s face contorted as he swung his sword.
In terms of pure martial skill, his swordsmanship surpassed Wang Jeong’s blade technique. But this was Wang Jeong’s home turf.
Namgung Un, inexperienced in psychological warfare and improvisation, was no match for a seasoned martial world veteran like Wang Jeong, who had fought countless life-or-death battles and killed without hesitation.
This disparity left Namgung Un unable to exert his full strength, instead being overwhelmed.
Slash!
A sharp sound rang out as blood spurted from Namgung Un’s forearm. Wang Jeong’s broadsword had cut deep, not just through skin but into muscle.
“Hmph.”
Namgung Un quickly switched his sword to his left hand, and Wang Jeong chuckled. “They teach left-handed swordsmanship in the Southern Palace too?”
“Shut up!”
Enraged, Namgung Un summoned all his inner power. His Golden Needle Sword blazed with radiant light.
Cloud-So-aring Swallow—a deadly move from the Sky-So-aring Sword technique, unleashed with full force.
“Fire!” Wang Jeong shouted.
The twenty warriors, thought to have fled, had returned and were now firing a volley of steel bolts.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
The sudden interference disrupted Namgung Un’s technique, like a kick to the legs of someone about to leap. The Cloud-So-aring Swallow required expelling stagnant energy and drawing forth new power. The external disruption threw off the technique’s precision.
“Ugh.” Namgung Un groaned, biting his lip.
The interrupted technique caused his stagnant energy to block his meridians, inflicting significant internal injuries.
“You… bastard…”
Clutching his chest, Namgung Un gritted his teeth. Wang Jeong seized the moment, striking his pressure points.
Thud.
Namgung Un collapsed, powerless, as Wang Jeong nodded with satisfaction. “Heh heh heh. This is what happens when a greenhorn challenges me.”
To incapacitate a Southern Palace master without lifting a finger was a triumph Wang Jeong could revel in.
“A pity, but I’ll have to dispose of you quietly.”
Killing a Southern Palace member could bring Wang Jeong great fame, but it would also invite relentless pursuit from the clan. He had no choice but to eliminate Namgung Un discreetly.
“Mmgh!” Namgung Un tried to shout, but with both his movement and speech points sealed, only hoarse sounds escaped.
“Next time, know your place before acting out.”
Wang Jeong, glaring down at the immobilized Namgung Un with murderous intent, raised his broadsword. “Farewell. I’ll give your corpse a proper cremation!”
“Mmph, mmph!”
As Wang Jeong’s blade descended toward Namgung Un’s neck, a whoosh pierced the air. A throwing dagger shot down from the sky.
“Hmph! This pathetic thing?” Wang Jeong sneered, swinging his broadsword to deflect the dagger.
Whoosh!
But the dagger’s speed suddenly doubled, becoming nearly invisible.
“What the—?” Startled, Wang Jeong leaped back as the dagger embedded itself in the ground where he had stood. “This…”
Wang Jeong’s eyes trembled as he stared at the dagger. If he hadn’t instinctively dodged, it would have pierced his skull.
“Who’s there?” he shouted.
A low voice answered from above as a figure descended from the cliff—Bu Eunseol.
“Not bad for a bandit leader,” Bu Eunseol said, nodding as he looked down at Wang Jeong. “Injuring a Southern Palace swordsman with just words.”
Wang Jeong eyed Bu Eunseol warily. His vast martial world experience told him Bu Eunseol had been hiding on the cliff, observing unnoticed.
He’s confident. He must be a master above me, Wang Jeong thought, calculating his odds.
Bu Eunseol smirked. “No need to rack your brains. This time next year will be your memorial day.”
The line was a jest once used by Tang Gon, deputy master of the Blood Poison Valley, which Bu Eunseol had taken a liking to and now echoed.
“Ugh.”
Wang Jeong swallowed a groan but remained composed. He had faced countless masters while dominating Buljeong Mountain, including stronger righteous sect members. His survival stemmed from exploiting their predictable habits.
“Very well. I surrender,” Wang Jeong said, tossing his broadsword before Bu Eunseol, finding no openings in his stance. “I’ll go quietly, whether to the Martial Alliance or the authorities.”
He raised both hands as if surrendering, but it was a ruse.
Whoosh!
From his armpits, poison-coated feather needles shot toward Bu Eunseol. The close range and raised arms made the attack unpredictable.
“Hmph.”
But Bu Eunseol had anticipated it, already standing behind Wang Jeong. “Predictable.”
Boom!
Bu Eunseol’s punch struck Wang Jeong’s back, sending him crashing to the ground. It was the first move of the Seven Demon Fists, Demon Fist Manifestation.
“Gah!”
Trying to rise, Wang Jeong spat blood. What kind of punch is this heavy?
Fear filled his eyes as he staggered up. The seemingly light punch felt like it had shattered his spine. Bu Eunseol’s fist technique and profound inner power were undeniable.
“Fine, fine! I won’t try tricks like that again!” Wang Jeong said, raising his hands with a sincere expression of surrender.
But his eyes remained sharp, and a faint smirk lingered. To escape this gorge, he’ll have to pass that spot.
Every exit from the gorge was rigged with traps. Even if Bu Eunseol was a master, Wang Jeong was confident he could escape. But then—
Boom! Crash!
Explosions echoed from the gorge’s exit paths, and a small figure descended from the air.
“All taken care of, young master,” Black Leopard said.
On Bu Eunseol’s orders, he had destroyed all of Wang Jeong’s traps around the gorge, including a Disorienting Extreme Formation designed for escape. Wang Jeong’s jaw dropped. How had this unassuming boy found and dismantled his meticulously crafted traps and formations?
“Argh!” Wang Jeong screamed as Bu Eunseol gripped his shoulder tightly.
“Scum like you seize any chance to pull tricks,” Bu Eunseol said, yanking out dozens of hidden needle tubes from Wang Jeong’s shoulder area. “Your whole body’s a trap device.”
“I get it! I won’t resist anymore! Spare me!” Wang Jeong pleaded, trembling.
Bu Eunseol smirked. “Take off your Murder Star Tang Shoes before saying that.”
Crunch!
Bu Eunseol crushed Wang Jeong’s foot, revealing a poison-coated blade hidden inside.
“You… you’re not from a righteous sect,” Wang Jeong said, trembling as he met Bu Eunseol’s cold gaze. “Where are you from? The Green Forest? Is this because I didn’t join their alliance?”
His words were cut off. A burning pain erupted at his life-gate point on his back, followed by agony as if his blood were boiling.
“Urgh!” Wang Jeong spat blood, his eyes wide.
His sclera turned red, and he collapsed. The powerful fist energy that pierced his life-gate point had surged through his poison vein, causing fatal damage.
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