“I’m sorry, Grandfather.”
The Poison Emperor spoke to his youngest grandson, who approached and bowed his head.
“Why are you apologizing to me? There’s no need for that expression. Just realizing your own shortcomings is a great achievement. That’s the whole point of the Orthodox Grand Tournament, after all.”
“Yes…”
“Keep watching closely. See how far the opponent who defeated you goes. See how he fights other martial artists. If you managed to gain experience without losing your life in your first appearance, then that alone is a success.”
At those words, Dang Ho-cheon bowed his head and returned to the Tang Clan’s VIP seats.
*Doesn’t look like that advice really got through to him.*
The Poison Emperor shook his head at Mujin’s telepathic message, his eyes fixed on the back of Dang Ho-cheon, who was walking away with slumped shoulders and a deeply disappointed expression.
*He had his hopes up too high. When he wanted to participate in the tournament at nineteen, his father stopped him, saying he wasn’t ready. He trained for five years, only to be eliminated in the first match of the main event… It would have been better to let him try five years ago, win or lose.*
*At his level and age, the first taste of defeat must be bitter. His opponent was just too strong. He lost so one-sidedly that it’s hard for him to reflect on his own shortcomings.*
The Poison Emperor nodded at Mujin’s words. If he had narrowly lost to someone slightly weaker or on par with him, it would have been an opportunity to blame his own inadequacies and strive to do better. But suffering such a one-sided defeat, the martial artist known as the Sword Dragon of Wudang, Cheong Mu-hak, was likely to become a lifelong wall for Dang Ho-cheon.
*It’s something he has to overcome on his own. There’s always someone stronger. Even if you help him up after he falls, it’s useless if he doesn’t learn how to get up by himself.*
Mujin nodded.
In the past, he would have never cared about the feelings of lesser fighters or the walls they faced.
He had trained with the goal of becoming the Strongest Under Heaven, a title of which there was only one in the Central Plains, and upon entering the martial world, he had proven he achieved that goal by fighting the Nine Great Sects.
To the Divine Demon, Jeongcheon, the despair of lesser fighters or the walls they encountered were none of his concern.
But things were different now.
Mujin’s gaze turned to Soyeon and Dojin, who were watching the dueling stage with sparkling eyes, their attention completely focused.
Seeing the two children growing faster than he had expected, he naturally found himself thinking about the growth of martial artists and the obstacles that would stand in their way.
*They’re children who will grow up just fine on their own. It’s a shame, but they’re cut from a different cloth than my youngest grandson.*
As if reading Mujin’s mind, the Poison Emperor sent the telepathic message.
Mujin nodded and turned his attention to the new match that was beginning.
*So, are you really not going to tell me? What’s so special about the Seomun Family’s maids?*
*They are special. Children harboring demonic energy are serving as maids in an orthodox martial family.*
At the mention of demonic energy, the Poison Emperor tilted his head.
*Demonic energy? You say demonic energy? I don’t feel any hint of malevolent energy at all.*
*There’s no way I wouldn’t recognize the demonic energy I’ve lived with my whole life. They’re hiding it well, but it’s definitely demonic energy.*
The energy was hidden far more securely than even No-sak’s, but it couldn’t deceive Mujin’s senses.
The Poison Emperor’s mind grew complicated as he wondered why demonic practitioners would disguise themselves as maids of the Seomun Family to infiltrate the Shaolin Temple.
*Just pretend you don’t know. It’s not the Tang Clan’s business anyway.*
*Right.*
Throughout the final day of the seven-day Orthodox Grand Tournament, both the New Beauty and the Nine Beauty of the Central Plains remained by Mujin’s side.
On the fifth day, during the round of 32, Jeong Su-ae was defeated by a disciple from the Azure Point Sect, forcing her to wait for the next tournament.
Even after losing her match, she descended from the stage with an unchanged expression and approached the seat next to Mujin.
*”What on earth are they talking about?”*
*”She lost her match, so he’s probably comforting her.”*
*”The Nine Beauty and the New Beauty must be having a war of nerves, right?”*
People were now curious about what Mujin and the two renowned beauties of the Central Plains were talking about.
And they paid close attention to which of the two beauties Mujin would choose.
While all sorts of predictions were being made about the three of them, in reality, Mujin hadn’t exchanged a single meaningful conversation with Jeong Su-ae.
Jeong Su-ae didn’t really ask Mujin anything, and likewise, Mujin didn’t either.
Jeong Su-ae simply sat beside Mujin and entertained Dojin and Soyeon, who chattered away to her.
It was a mystery why she would come here and insist on keeping her seat if this was all she was going to do, but no one could fathom the thoughts behind her perpetually similar expression.
And so, on the final day of the Orthodox Grand Tournament.
All that remained were the two semifinal matches and the final match.
“Sister. Who do you think will win?”
“Hmm. I think Master Cheong of Wudang and Young Master Jin of the Azure Point Sect are the most likely candidates.”
Jin Yu-bong, the only first-generation disciple of the Azure Point Sect to reach the semifinals, had shown outstanding skill for a swordsman making his debut in the tournament this year.
Soyeon was inwardly impressed with Jeong Su-ae for picking Jin Yu-bong, the one who had defeated her, as a potential winner.
Having experienced the Young Dragon Ascension Tournament, Soyeon knew well that not letting personal feelings linger after a match was easier said than done.
“Monk Bo-un of the Shaolin Profound Fist and that young master from the Namgung Family also seem strong…”
Dojin trailed off, looking at Jeong Su-ae.
“They are strong. But I don’t feel they’re strong enough to defeat those two.”
Mujin and the Poison Emperor naturally nodded at Jeong Su-ae’s assessment.
*The girl has a good eye for her skill level.*
Mujin agreed with the Poison Emperor’s telepathic message.
*Indeed. The young monk from Shaolin clearly lacks experience, and that scoundrel from the Namgung Family got this far purely on luck. His skills are clumsy.*
*…Your assessment of the Namgung Family’s third son seems a bit harsh. Sounds like there’s quite a bit of emotion behind it.*
*It’s probably just your imagination.*
*Do you still hold a grudge against the Namgung Family?*
*…That’s from my past life. I killed every last one of the bastards I held a grudge against before I died. I don’t have any lingering resentment.*
*I see. It must have been my imagination.*
The Poison Emperor replied as such and didn’t press the matter further.
As Namgung Cheong-su began to climb onto the stage for his match, a great number of spectators started shouting his moniker.
*”Gentleman Sword!”*
*”Amazing! Gentleman Sword! Don’t lose to some nameless newcomer!”*
*”Gentleman Sword! Win!”*
Namgung Cheong-su, who had made quite a name for himself in Anhui with the moniker “Gentleman Sword,” was twenty-six years old, making this his last Orthodox Grand Tournament.
His opponent, Jin Yu-bong, a first-generation disciple of the Azure Point Sect and a first-time participant in the tournament, also began to climb onto the stage.
*”Blind Swift Blade! Don’t lose!”*
*”Blind Swift Blade! I bet on you! You can’t lose!”*
*”Blind Swift Blade! Win!”*
Jin Yu-bong, who had earned the moniker “Blind Swift Blade” during this tournament, glanced at the cheering crowd shouting his name and gave a slight bow to show his respect.
This made the crowd even more excited, cheering him on.
He had earned the moniker “Blind Swift Blade” just two days prior when he faced the New Beauty of the Central Plains, relentlessly pushing her back with his swift swordplay without holding back a single move, ultimately defeating her.
It was a playful nickname, suggesting he was blind to his opponent’s beauty, but behind the jest was a measure of respect for a man who did not confuse public and private matters and gave his all as a true martial artist.
The two men drew their swords, staring at each other with eyes full of fighting spirit.
*”Begin!”*
No sooner had the martial monk shouted from the center and stepped back than the two martial artists began to clash.
From the very beginning, their clash was fierce, sword energy scattering every time their blades met.
As their sharp swords clashed and energy flew in all directions, the four martial monks stationed on each of the four sides of the square stage struck down the incoming energy with their staves, dissipating it.
*”Woooooah!!!”*
Compared to the previous matches, this was clearly a contest between high-level martial artists, and the spectators roared with excitement.
After exchanging over seventy blows, the two men briefly separated, their eyes locked on each other as they began to change their stances.
As if the clash so far had been a mere probing exchange, streams of sword aura began to flow from both of their blades.
As the two masters prepared to fully display their mastery of projecting aura, four Shaolin elders leaped to the four sides of the stage, preparing for any potential disaster.
*”Hah!”*
*”Hyah!”*
As the two martial artists shouted and flung sword aura at each other, flying back and forth across the stage, the audience stared in a daze, their mouths agape.
No one found it strange that the continuous roar of the crowd had stopped, replaced by silence.
Everyone had become completely absorbed in the spectacular duel, the likes of which they had never seen before.
In truth, the Orthodox Grand Tournament strictly prohibited the use of killing moves and projected aura, except for the semifinals on the final day.
The main event of the tournament brought together martial artists of widely varying skill levels, from those who had earned their spots through the Young Dragon Ascension Tournament to those who had passed the preliminaries in small counties of various provinces.
Therefore, lifting the ban on killing moves and projected aura would inevitably result in fatalities.
For blood to be shed and grudges to form at the Orthodox Grand Tournament—a festival meant to identify the future pillars of the orthodox path—was contrary to its original purpose.
Thus, the restrictions on killing moves and projected aura were lifted only from the semifinal matches on the final day.
So it was no wonder that ordinary people, who knew nothing of martial arts and had only seen restricted matches, would be mesmerized upon witnessing a true battle between masters with everything unleashed.
Watching the masters leap around the stage like springs, showing off their mastery of projected aura from a distance, Mujin covered his mouth and yawned.
“Haaah.”
*You look bored.*
Mujin nodded at the Poison Emperor’s question.
*Very. I think it was more interesting when killing moves and projected aura were forbidden.*
*They’ve probably never fought seriously after achieving the state of projecting aura. It’s not surprising that the fight would turn out this way.*
Those ignorant of martial arts were captivated by the sight of them fighting from a distance, unleashing sword aura, but to the eyes of true masters, it was an utterly boring fight.
It felt like watching children throwing stones at each other in a rough game.
A fight where they held the stones and rushed in to smash each other would have been far more dynamic.
However, it was rare for young masters who had achieved the state of projecting aura to have much experience fighting enemies with actual killing moves.
Disciples and children of prestigious sects always devoted themselves to training within the confines of their clan’s walls.
After flinging sword aura at each other for a long while without landing any proper hits, the two young masters realized after another fifty exchanges that the match wouldn’t be decided this way and began to close the distance again.
As they rushed toward each other, still launching sword aura, a tense battle finally began anew.
*Clang!*
*Clash!*
The Shaolin elders enveloped the sword energy and aura flying in all directions with their sleeves, dissipating them.
The martial artists watching up close were more impressed by the Shaolin elders’ technique than by the two masters’ fight.
As the duel reached its climax, the Azure Point Sect master’s sword forms began to change.
“Sun-Piercing Sword.”
No sooner had the words left Mujin’s mouth than Jin Yu-bong’s sword—which had been pressuring Namgung Cheong-su with the varied forms of the Prismatic Sword Art—transformed into a straightforward, swift sword that thrust rapidly toward a single point.
Mujin had quickly identified his opponent’s sword art from just a minor change in the sword’s momentum.
It was only natural, as he was the man who had faced the martial arts of the Nine Great Sects more than anyone else in the Central Plains.
Once the Sun-Piercing Sword Art was unleashed, the match was decided surprisingly, almost anticlimactically, quickly.
*Shhhk!*
Pushed onto the defensive by the simple yet threateningly fast Sun-Piercing Sword, Namgung Cheong-su had his shoulder slashed and was sent flying off the stage in one fell swoop.
Had he not retreated, his heart might have been pierced instead of his shoulder, so it was a clear defeat for Namgung Cheong-su.
Defeated by a swordsman from the Azure Point Sect younger than himself, Namgung Cheong-su frowned, glanced at his bleeding shoulder for a moment, then pressed on his acupoints to stop the bleeding before conceding defeat.
“I have lost.”
Jin Yu-bong cupped his fist to the bowing Namgung Cheong-su and descended from the stage.
Then the next match began.
When Hae Bo-un of the Shaolin Profound Fist and the Sword Dragon of Wudang, Cheong Mu-hak, stepped onto the stage, many people began to watch with anticipation.
However, contrary to their expectations, the match ended anticlimactically quickly.
As soon as the match began, Hae Bo-un tried to pressure Cheong Mu-hak by unleashing fist energy, but Cheong Mu-hak neutralized the incoming attacks with his sword aura, rapidly closed the distance, and subdued Hae Bo-un in a mere thirty exchanges.
Pushed onto the defensive from start to finish and defeated so futilely, Hae Bo-un had no choice but to admit defeat with a frustrated expression.
But even as his opponent conceded, Cheong Mu-hak was casting a fervent gaze toward Mujin.
*”The final match will begin in two hours!”*
At the martial monk’s announcement, amplified by his internal energy, the venue began to buzz with the mixed voices of the crowd.
A break began out of consideration for the finalists, and Hwajeong Peak grew noisy as people started predicting who would win.
*Gurgle.*
Mujin quietly watched the stage where the Sword Dragon of Wudang had just been, pouring tea into his cup.
The path of his sword, which had completely blocked the Shaolin Profound Fist’s techniques, remained in his mind.
“What are you thinking about so deeply?”
At the Poison Emperor’s question, he suddenly looked down to see his teacup overflowing.
“It’s nothing.”
Mujin replied, raising the brimming cup to his lips.
*Did Cheong Mu-hak’s attitude bother you?*
*Not really.*
*Then what were you thinking about so intently?*
*Seeing the Taiji Wisdom Sword made me think of the old days.*
*The old days?*
*Thirty years ago, the Sword Immortal who pierced my heart and then had his neck snapped by my own hands was quite skilled with the Taiji Wisdom Sword. It reminded me of his Taiji Wisdom Sword, the one he used after leading a bunch of Daoist masters to form the Demon-Subduing Formation.*
Even though he had killed him himself, how could he forget the sword art that had pierced his own heart?
At Mujin’s words, the Poison Emperor stared at him for a moment with surprised eyes.
*Are you talking about the Sword Immortal of Wudang, Daoist Master Jin-hye, who was the sect leader?*
*Is there another Wudang sect leader who died at my hands?*
*Heh…*
Mujin set down his teacup and continued.
*That bastard had the exact same look in his eyes back then. The way that hook-nosed punk is glaring at me with so much fighting spirit is just too similar. And on top of that, he’s using the same Taiji Wisdom Sword.*
*That doesn’t mean you can kill him.*
*Kill him? What do you take me for, some kind of killing fiend?*
…
The Poison Emperor didn’t answer.
In his fifteen years as the Divine Demon, the number of martial artists from the Nine Great Sects who had died at Mujin’s hands was in the triple digits.
He had killed so many people that it was difficult to count them all, so it was hard to say no.
Mujin glanced at the Poison Emperor for a moment before sending a telepathic message.
*As long as there’s no grudge, I don’t go around killing people just for acting up a little, so don’t worry.*
The moment the Poison Emperor nodded, two of Seomun Jin-hui’s maids brought over a cloth-covered basket and began distributing light snacks to the people around them.
Watching the maids hand out peaches and rice balls, Mujin carefully examined their fingertips.
The maids’ hands looked similar to those of ordinary servants, rough and chapped.
But in those hands, Mujin found traces of the martial arts they had practiced.
*’Claw arts? Which demonic practitioners use claw arts?’*
Despite their rough, chapped, and cracked hands, their uncannily neat fingernails and subtly thickened knuckles convinced Mujin they practiced claw arts. A few demonic practitioners famous for their claw arts flashed through his mind.
But none of them seemed to be connected to these women.
While lightly filling his stomach and talking with the others, Mujin continued to observe the two maids in his spare moments.
He missed nothing, from the shift in their center of gravity and their gait, hidden beneath their long skirts, to their smallest actions and expressions.
Time passed, and finally, the last match of the Orthodox Grand Tournament began.
On the stage were the Sword Dragon of Wudang, Cheong Mu-hak, and the Blind Swift Blade, Jin Yu-bong.
It was a battle between Wudang and the Azure Point Sect, but most people predicted a victory for Cheong Mu-hak, the great disciple of the Wudang Sect.
This was because Cheong Mu-hak’s skill, displayed without restriction in his previous match against the Shaolin Profound Fist, had been so overwhelming.
*”Take special care not to harm yourselves or your opponent. Now, the final match of the Orthodox Grand Tournament. Begin!”*
*Clang!*
The moment the match started, the two rushed at each other, and sparks flew with bursts of energy from their extended swords.
*”Sword Dragon of Wudang!”*
*”Blind Swift Blade!”*
The audience, shouting the monikers of the two fighters as they exchanged blows, watched the match with sweaty palms.
Jin Yu-bong, who scattered killing moves without hesitation, was truly a disciple of the Azure Point Sect.
His Sun-Piercing Sword, said to aim for the most practical martial arts among the Nine Great Sects, contained not a single wasted movement.
In contrast, Cheong Mu-hak countered the Sun-Piercing Sword with the Taiji Wisdom Sword, a style where the principles of softness had reached their zenith.
The martial principles embodied in their swords were complete opposites, so Mujin watched the duel with an amused expression.
Not only Mujin, but all the martial artists watched with interest as the two men displayed their differing sword intents.
*Clang! Clang! Craaang!*
As the clash of their swords, which had been rapid, began to slow, Mujin shook his head and spoke.
“It’s over.”
In less than thirty exchanges, Jin Yu-bong was being drawn into the flow of Cheong Mu-hak’s Taiji Wisdom Sword. He couldn’t properly execute his own Sun-Piercing Sword.
Once he was drawn into the Taiji Wisdom Sword’s art, which subtly deflected his own sword path as it attacked, he couldn’t break free from its flow.
*Clang!*
The moment his own sword, locked with his opponent’s, was sent pointing toward the sky against his will, Jin Yu-bong’s eyes widened at the sight of Cheong Mu-hak’s blade resting just inches from his neck. He barely managed to speak.
“I… have lost.”
Sheathing his sword, Cheong Mu-hak moved to the edge of the stage and looked directly at Mujin.
Mujin met the gaze of the man who had walked to the spot directly opposite him, looking back with an annoyed expression.
*’What’s with this bastard, constantly…’*
Just as he had that thought, Cheong Mu-hak shouted, his voice filled with internal energy.
*”Yeomhwa Family! Head Hwa Mujin! I request the Young Dragon’s Path to Ascension!”*
Cheong Mu-hak’s voice echoed thunderously across all of Hwajeong Peak, causing the audience to cover their ears and grimace.
“The Young Dragon’s Path to Ascension?”
As Mujin tilted his head, the Poison Emperor burst into laughter.
“Khahahaha! I knew it! I knew this would happen!”
*What’s the Young Dragon’s Path to Ascension?*
The Poison Emperor replied to Mujin’s telepathic message, his smile never fading.
*The winner of the Orthodox Grand Tournament can choose any senior martial artist and request a lesson. Usually, out of respect for the Shaolin Temple, which hosts the main tournament, they choose one of the high monks for a guidance match… But occasionally, you get a guy like this. Someone who steels his resolve and picks an opponent for his own selfish desires or to boost his fame.*
Mujin nodded at the Poison Emperor’s explanation and asked back.
*So, that bastard is basically… asking for a beating, right?*
