Seomun Kyung’s bloodshot eyes burned with rage.
“You can see through all my sword strikes because you’ve stolen our Sect’s Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams Formation!”
“I don’t know any formations. Never learned them,” Bu Eunseol replied.
“What?”
“You’ve honed your swordsmanship but never fought a real battle,” Bu Eunseol said, casting a scornful glance. “You quickly mastered the sword techniques you were taught, earning the title of sword prodigy. As a scion of the Seomun Sect, you avoided dangerous real combat, focusing on practice drills instead.”
Seomun Kyung flinched, visibly shaken. How could this man know his past so thoroughly?
“Otherwise, why would you mix such feeble footwork with a sword technique that demands full commitment?” Bu Eunseol continued.
“I didn’t mix swordsmanship with footwork—I combined the strengths of different martial arts!” Seomun Kyung shouted.
Bu Eunseol’s lips curled into a smirk.
“That’s something only those who’ve endured countless real battles can claim. Not a greenhorn who can’t unleash the true power of their swordsmanship in combat.”
“Greenhorn?” Seomun Kyung echoed, trembling with fury.
“Mastering sword strikes and forms doesn’t mean you’ve mastered swordsmanship. Only when you can perfectly execute your techniques in life-or-death battles can you claim true mastery.” Seomun Kyung’s body shook at Bu Eunseol’s words.
From childhood, he had been hailed as a sword prodigy, carrying the expectations of the Seomun Sect’s leader. But perhaps those expectations were too great. Instead of gaining real combat experience, Seomun Kyung had focused on learning various sword techniques from renowned masters.
“Learning swordsmanship is good, but why not venture into the martial world?”
The Sect leader’s advice had been met with Seomun Kyung’s confident reply: “Once I perfect supreme swordsmanship that no one can defeat, then I’ll go.”
The Sect leader had always smiled and patted his shoulder at such words.
“Kyung, if you become an outstanding swordsman, the martial world will call our Sect unmatched in both scholarly and martial arts!”
Recalling the past, Seomun Kyung lowered his head.
‘Was I just a frog in a well?’ Had he experienced real battles, he would never have combined the Nine Palaces and Eight Trigrams Formation with the Thirteen Meteor Sword Forms.
“But…” Seomun Kyung raised his strange sword overhead, letting out a thunderous roar. “I won’t lose to you!”
Swish!
Dozens of sword shadows erupted from the ground where Bu Eunseol stood. Seomun Kyung had unleashed the final technique of the Meteor Heart-Piercing Form, Moonlit Stars Fade.
Flash!
At that moment, a brilliant light burst from Bu Eunseol’s hand.
Whoosh!
The light split into dozens of radiant points, shattering Seomun Kyung’s sword shadows and continuing to surge toward him.
Crackle.
As Seomun Kyung desperately blocked the light, sparks flew.
Clatter.
The blade of his strange sword shattered into dozens of pieces, scattering across the ground.
“Moonlit Stars Fade… a fitting technique for defeat.” Moonlit Stars Fade. When the moon shines brightly, the stars grow dim.
In other words, when a supreme hero emerges, others must quietly fade away.
“I… lost,” Seomun Kyung said, tossing aside his broken sword and leaving the arena with his head bowed.
—To think Seomun Kyung, a favorite to win, was so utterly defeated…
The spectators were dumbfounded. Seomun Kyung had been hailed as a sword prodigy, his reputation resounding widely. Though the rumors originated from the Seomun Sect, the many renowned masters who trained him had confirmed they were no empty boasts.
—Seomun Kyung wasn’t weak.
His performance in the Jeongmu Tournament proved he was a swordsman far beyond the average martial artist. It was just that Bu Eunseol was slightly stronger.
“…” Though the victor was decided, the plaza remained deathly silent.
“The winner is Bu Eunseol, Young Master Bu!” Cho Mucheon shouted, but no sound came from the stands.
***
Within Dongpyoseorang, numerous pavilions stood.
At the Golden Flower Pavilion.
In the guest hall of a building adorned with a gold-leafed sign, a boy in black robes sat. It was Black Leopard, who had contracted with Bu Eunseol for three years.
Across from him sat a middle-aged man in luxurious robes. Though his appearance was refined, his face was fleshy and greasy.
It was Ok Hobang, the Money Ghost, who managed all of Dongpyoseorang’s finances.
“You made a contract with that man, Bu Eunseol?” Ok Hobang asked.
“Yes,” Black Leopard replied.
“For three years…” Ok Hobang said, examining the contract on the table before shaking his head. “I can’t allow it.”
“I don’t care. I’m going with him,” Black Leopard said.
Something felt off. The way Ok Hobang looked at Black Leopard was warm, like a father gazing at his child, not a superior addressing a subordinate.
“Do you resent me?” Ok Hobang asked.
Black Leopard remained silent.
Ok Hobang knew full well that Yeop Hwa had been committing depraved acts for years. Yet he hadn’t intervened because of Dongpyoseorang’s rules. As long as someone did their job well, their personal circumstances and secrets were not to be judged.
“Dongpyoseorang is merely a collective of mercenaries, not a righteous sect. Most mercenaries have unsavory pasts,” Ok Hobang said.
“That’s just an excuse,” Black Leopard said, biting his lip. “Many mercenaries have left their dark pasts behind to start anew in Dongpyoseorang. Yet you allow those still committing crimes to roam free…”
“Most of our mercenaries are from unorthodox or demonic paths. Yeop Hwa was one of them,” Ok Hobang said.
“Are you confusing that with being outright evil?” Black Leopard retorted coldly. “To expand Dongpyoseorang’s power, you’ve taken in people the martial world condemns.”
“Most mercenaries have pasts that invite scorn. Those who’ve lived uprightly are the rare ones,” Ok Hobang countered. “Especially Bu Eunseol—his identity and purpose are still unclear. It’s strange enough that someone so young possesses such high martial prowess, but to join the Jeongmu Tournament the moment he enters the martial world? That’s suspicious.”
Pausing briefly, Ok Hobang continued, “I’ll personally cancel your contract with him. If I offer double compensation, he’ll be satisfied.”
“No need,” Black Leopard said firmly. “I’m going with him.”
“Haaya,” Ok Hobang sighed.
“Don’t call me that!” Black Leopard snapped. “I’m Black Leopard of Dongpyoseorang.”
In truth, Black Leopard was Ok Hobang’s illegitimate son. Ok Hobang had abandoned his lover and child in his youth, achieving success in Dongpyoseorang but regretting his past. When his son joined Dongpyoseorang as a mercenary, he was overjoyed.
But Black Leopard had cast aside his real name and harbored hatred for Ok Hobang. Because he was abandoned? Partly. But the main reason was that Ok Hobang had turned Dongpyoseorang into a den of villains.
Originally, Dongpyoseorang’s leader was a martial artist of great skill and justice. But four years ago, when he entered seclusion, he entrusted full authority to Ok Hobang—a grave mistake. Since then, Ok Hobang had hired ruthless mercenaries focused solely on profit, like Yeop Hwa.
“How long will you hold a grudge against your father?” Ok Hobang said, grinding his teeth. “If you keep this up, I’ll send Dongpyoseorang’s masters to deal with him!”
“Who? Young Master Bu?” Black Leopard asked.
“Yes.”
“Heh heh heh,” Black Leopard laughed. “Go ahead and try.”
“What?”
“If you want to see Dongpyoseorang obliterated, be my guest.”
“Haaya!”
“To stop him, you’d need the leader himself to come out of seclusion,” Black Leopard said, turning sharply and striding away.
Ok Hobang stared after him before shouting, “Ma Young!”
A young warrior standing outside bowed. “Your orders, sir.”
“Still no progress on investigating Bu Eunseol?” Ok Hobang demanded.
“Well…” Ma Young hesitated.
“Which sect is he from? Why did he join the Jeongmu Tournament? You still don’t know?”
Ma Young lowered his head. “I’m sorry. It seems someone is deliberately blocking information.”
“What?”
“It’s as if he appeared out of nowhere. No trace of his past.”
“There must be some information!” Ok Hobang insisted.
Ma Young, looking troubled, said, “The only Bu Eunseol of his age was a young mortician from Pyeongan.”
“A mortician?”
“Yes, but it can’t be him,” Ma Young said. “This Bu Eunseol not only has exceptional martial skills but also immense inner energy. Otherwise, he couldn’t have cleaved Young Jiwi’s treasured sword with an iron blade.”
“True, inner energy isn’t cultivated overnight,” Ok Hobang nodded. “No helping it, then.” After a deep breath, he said, “Assign Mu Samrang to him.”
“Mu Samrang… that man?” Ma Young asked.
Mu Samrang was one of the warriors Ok Hobang had secretly contracted for the Jeongmu Tournament.
The Yeongsasin Sword was merely bait to elevate the tournament’s prestige, with the intent to reclaim the prize through these hired warriors.
“Are you sure? If this goes wrong, not only will he be furious, but Dongpyoseorang won’t escape unscathed,” Ma Young warned.
“You don’t understand,” Ok Hobang said with a low chuckle. “Mu Samrang is a master sent directly by the city lord.”
Narrowing his eyes and sneering, Ok Hobang added, “No matter how formidable that man is, he can’t possibly defeat Mu Samrang.”
***
“The Jeongmu Tournament semifinals will now begin!” Cho Mucheon’s shout was met with roars from the crowd.
This was the true start of the Jeongmu Tournament. The remaining masters possessed rare and exquisite martial skills. Many had traveled to far-off Guizhou just to witness the matches from the semifinals onward.
“This match is Bu Eunseol, Young Master Bu, versus Mu Samrang, Warrior Mu!” Cho Mucheon announced.
Whoosh.
A black shadow ascended the arena first—Mu Samrang. With a robust build, clad in glossy black robes and a dark cape, and wearing a black mask, he looked like a ghostly figure from a distance.
“Mu Samrang has consistently defeated opponents with ordinary techniques,” Black Leopard whispered to Bu Eunseol. “His true martial skills are likely beyond imagination. Be careful, young master.”
“Understood,” Bu Eunseol replied, stepping onto the arena.
As his eyes met Mu Samrang’s, a strange expression crossed his face. Having deeply mastered Nangyang’s practical martial arts, he could gauge the depth of a warrior’s skill just from their stance.
‘A true master.’ Only upon locking eyes with Mu Samrang did he realize the man was a master capable of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
‘Not unfamiliar… but familiar.’ Having worked as a mortician for years, Bu Eunseol could remember a person’s skeletal structure and stance as clearly as their face.
Mu Samrang’s frame, posture, and gaze felt strikingly familiar.
“Let the match begin!” Cho Mucheon shouted.
Bu Eunseol drew his sword.
Shing.
For the first time in the Jeongmu Tournament, Bu Eunseol drew his sword first. That was how formidable Mu Samrang was.
“Hm.” But Mu Samrang’s demeanor was odd.
He stood with arms crossed, silently staring at Bu Eunseol, showing no intent to fight.
“If you won’t come, I’ll go to you,” Bu Eunseol said, gripping his sword hilt.
‘I must use my true power.’
Until now, Bu Eunseol had won with ordinary techniques and martial skills. But the time had come to unleash his full, hidden strength. Raising his sword to a mid-level stance, Bu Eunseol prepared to unleash his swordsmanship.
“I forfeit,” Mu Samrang said in a low voice, arms still crossed. “I’ve lost.”
The martial artists in the plaza couldn’t hide their shock. Mu Samrang was a leading contender, rivaling Bu Eunseol. Why would he suddenly forfeit?
“Warrior Mu, are you truly forfeiting?” Cho Mucheon asked.
Mu Samrang nodded without hesitation and turned to leave.
Tap.
As Mu Samrang flew off with his movement technique, Cho Mucheon had no choice but to point to Bu Eunseol.
“With Warrior Mu’s forfeiture, the winner is Bu Eunseol, Young Master Bu!”
Buzz, buzz.
The crowd of martial artists, unable to comprehend the situation, erupted into loud chatter. The same disbelief gripped Ok Hobang as he faced Mu Samrang at the Golden Flower Pavilion.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ok Hobang demanded.
“What do you mean?” Mu Samrang replied.
“You broke our agreement!” Mu Samrang, still masked, looked down at Ok Hobang.
“Didn’t you agree to forfeit in the finals of the Yeongsasin Sword in the Jeongmu Tournament?”
“Yes.”
“Then why abandon the match midway, and in the semi-finals at that? Isn’t that breaking the agreement?”
“I didn’t break it,” Mu Samrang said, narrowing his eyes as Ok Hobang gaped. “As long as he wins the tournament as planned, my absence changes nothing.”
“True, but… why did you suddenly give up the fight?” Ok Hobang pressed.
“Because he was once part of the same place as me,” Mu Samrang replied.
Ok Hobang flinched, shaking his head. “You mean… he was one of those masters?”
“I said once,” Mu Samrang clarified.
Ok Hobang frowned at the cryptic response. “What does that mean? Are you saying he’s some kind of demonic sect leader?”
“Ten Demon Warrior,” Mu Samrang said, his cold gaze fixed on Ok Hobang.
“He is the Ten Demon Warrior of Nangyang.”
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