Chapter 7. Grudge (2)
Had they been shocked by the sight of me deflecting a dagger mid-flight and taking down a black-clad assassin in an instant?
The attackers, who had been focused solely on Tang Sowol while barely sparing me a glance, now turned all their attention toward me.
Their expressions were filled with undisguised astonishment. It was likely hard for them to believe that someone who barely looked old enough to reach the age of majority had handled a first-class assassin in one swift move.
"Why are you surprised, Tang Sowol?"
"I just realized once again that if you had really intended to kill me that day, I wouldn't be standing here right now."
"That's an unnecessary worry."
"Yes, because there's no way Cheon Hwi-da would do that… right?"
Tang Sowol smiled slyly, and without warning, one of her hands, which had been hidden inside her wide sleeve, suddenly moved.
Paaang!
"Guaaagh!"
One of the attackers, who had been cautiously retreating as if sensing danger, suddenly clutched his eye and dropped his weapon.
It wasn't a hidden weapon from the Tang family. A small stone, no larger than a fingertip, had lodged in his eye—leaving him alive but incapacitated.
In a situation that wasn't overly dire and against an opponent who wasn't particularly dangerous, that was more than enough.
"Don't worry about the small fry. I'll handle them somehow."
"Then I'll just take care of the big ones, right?"
As I grinned and fixed my gaze ahead, the remaining three first-class martial artists—excluding the assassin—flinched. They must have instinctively realized that they couldn't match me in a fight.
Watching the situation for a moment, the self-proclaimed Hundred-Kill Saber let out a low hum and waved his hand.
"I'll handle this young one myself. The rest of you, deal with the Tang family wench in the meantime."
"Hehehe… Knowing your intentions, how could we dare take the lead in avenging you?"
The hunchback croaked obsequiously. In response, the Hundred-Kill Saber unsheathed his saber and spoke in a dry voice.
"I won't repeat myself. You don't need to defeat her, just keep her from interfering with me."
"Y-Yes, understood!"
The hunchback nodded hastily and retreated. After whispering something to the others, they rushed at Tang Sowol simultaneously.
I tightened my grip on my sword, prepared to let none of them escape.
At that moment, the Hundred-Kill Saber had already closed the distance and was swinging his saber toward me.
Rather than dodging, I stepped forward. I aimed to block his saber before it could reach its full momentum.
Chang!
The root of his saber clashed with the tip of my sword, causing it to bounce back.
Though the difference in strength and internal energy was clear, if I struck with my full force at the exact moment when he was at his weakest, I could manage to hold my ground.
The problem was speed. While it wasn't overwhelmingly in his favor, I was undeniably at a disadvantage in that regard.
As I gauged the gap between us, the Hundred-Kill Saber smiled faintly and said,
"Young man, you'll have to keep me entertained for a bit."
"I'm not interested in men."
"Come on, don't be like that. Try this on for size."
Without waiting for a reply, his saber swung toward me. It was a pure, straightforward exchange of techniques, devoid of any additional force, as if he wanted to test my level.
Chang! Cha-chang!
Sword and saber clashed several times, ringing out noisily with each impact. Occasionally, my clothes would get nicked, leaving small scratches on my body, but the rhythm of the exchanges remained the same.
Whenever the Hundred-Kill Saber launched an attack, I would sever his flow by exploiting his weaknesses. Conversely, whenever I attempted a counterattack by exploiting his openings, my sword would inevitably get deflected by his sheer strength.
Perhaps realizing that this stalemate wouldn't end anytime soon, the Hundred-Kill Saber pulled back to create some distance, adjusting his stance while narrowing his eyes.
"You still seem to be at the first-class level, yet your swordsmanship… it's quite remarkable. It's hard to believe someone your age has achieved this much."
"A sword doesn't care about age. No matter how young or old, if it's a good hit, anyone can be sent to the afterlife."
"That's true enough. Still, it's a pity. Since you're this skilled, I can't afford to hold back."
Muttering as if lamenting something, the Hundred-Kill Saber's aura began to swell. Soon, a hazy red energy enveloped his well-maintained, albeit old, saber.
The reddish saber energy, a hallmark of a Flowering Stage master, radiated a chilling sharpness that sent shivers down my spine.
"Since this is your choice, please don't resent me for being ruthless."
"What nonsense."
He didn't want to be resented despite intending to kill me? How convenient.
A true martial artist facing life-and-death combat shouldn't hesitate. If you don't want to offer your neck willingly, then you must be prepared to kill, even if it means being resented.
I gathered my internal energy, intending to teach him that simple truth.
Wooong—
The energy of the Wave-Breaking Death Art surged from my dantian, coursing through my entire body like an unbridled horse. Its violent force sent a chilling sensation down my spine, as if a blade had been pressed against the back of my neck.
But that was fine. Killing doesn't require much—just a piece of sharpened metal that can pierce a vital point. No matter how dangerous it feels, I wouldn't die from something like this.
If someone had to die, it wouldn't be me—it would be the enemy standing in my way.
"What the…??"
The Hundred-Kill Saber faltered, momentarily startled by the shift in my aura. It was a natural reaction.
I had survived countless brushes with death, where it was either kill or be killed. I had always emerged victorious, and at the end of that bloody path, I had reached the pinnacle of martial arts—the Flowering Stage.
The Wave-Breaking Death Art was the culmination of that brutal life, a technique I forged through my experiences.
Killing intent is simply the will to kill, imbued into one's internal energy. The stronger the will, the more potent and domineering it becomes.
In terms of sheer destructive power, I could confidently say that this technique rivaled the Ascending Heart Sutra, a skill I had long coveted in the past.
Of course, there was one major drawback to the Wave-Breaking Death Art.
Just as those who train in Taoist or Buddhist martial arts develop serene temperaments, those who practice this art become so consumed by killing intent that they lose control.
However, for me, this wasn't a drawback. The killing intent imbued in the Wave-Breaking Death Art originated from within me. There was no way I couldn't control my own impulses.
"Phew…"
I took a deep breath, condensing my killing intent into a single point.
The killing intent, once honed to perfection through my former experiences at the peak of the Flowering Stage, combined with the power of the Wave-Breaking Death Art, amplifying it further.
A cold bead of sweat trickled down the Hundred-Kill Saber's forehead as he faced my heightened aura head-on.
"Young man, you're more dangerous than I expected."
"Well, coming from someone who drew his saber's full energy against a junior, I'd say that's a compliment."
"That's fair enough. Then, let's see how dangerous people like us fare against each other."
With a fierce grin, the Hundred-Kill Saber took a large step forward.
The Hundred-Kill Saber lunged at me with a diagonal slash aimed at my neck. The speed of his saber hadn't changed much from earlier, but the concentrated saber energy surrounding it had undoubtedly multiplied its destructive force several times over.
Even though I had enhanced the durability of my sword using the Eogi Defense Technique, it wouldn't hold up against that saber energy for long.
If I tried to block him head-on, my sword wouldn't last more than a few exchanges before being cleaved in half.
In other words, I couldn't afford to directly clash with him.
As the saber rapidly closed in on me, I took a half-step diagonally forward. This naturally shifted my body, allowing the blade to narrowly graze past my neck, drawing a faint, thin line in the air.
The blow was far more threatening thanks to the enhanced saber energy, but his body, weighed down by my oppressive killing intent, was noticeably stiffer and slower than before.
Meanwhile, I poured all my remaining internal energy into my body without holding back, letting it flow freely. This allowed me to keep up with his movements, despite my earlier exhaustion.
Ignoring the stinging sensation at my neck, I swung my sword upward from below, aiming for his arm.
At that moment, the Hundred-Kill Saber had fully extended his arm in a thrusting motion, making it impossible for him to block in time. My strike was perfectly timed to exploit his vulnerability.
To further pressure him, I sharpened my killing intent and directed it straight at his neck. From his perspective, it must have felt like my sword was simultaneously aiming for both his neck and arm.
A normal person would have instinctively prioritized defending their neck, but…
The Hundred-Kill Saber wasn't like most people.
Though his body flinched for a moment in response to my killing intent, he quickly realized it was a feint. Without hesitation, he forcibly altered the trajectory of his saber, bringing it down toward my waist in a wide arc.
Since he had changed the direction of his saber mid-swing, both his momentum and accuracy were greatly diminished, but the sheer destructive power of the blow remained more than enough to cleave me in half.
Crack.
I heard a sharp, bone-jarring noise from somewhere inside my body.
His saber didn't make contact—he had struck me with his arm instead. Despite the awkward angle and his weakened grip on the weapon, the impact was still enough to send a wave of pain through my torso.
If I had been trained in external martial arts, I might have been able to endure the blow better, but I wasn't, and my body paid the price.
Still, I hadn't taken the hit for nothing.
My rising slash had seamlessly transitioned into a thrust, and the tip of my broken sword pierced straight through his forearm.
"Kuheuk…! Get off me!"
A flame of fury erupted in the Hundred-Kill Saber's eyes as he raised his knee to strike my stomach.
It was too close to dodge. I braced myself and, instead of resisting, allowed my body to follow the force of the blow by throwing myself backward.
Thud!
The sound was akin to someone hitting a leather drum. Even though I had done my best to minimize the impact, it felt as though my internal organs had been rattled.
But the Hundred-Kill Saber hadn't emerged unscathed either. Blood poured freely from the wound on his forearm, and his arm hung limp by his side, unable to maintain a proper grip on his saber.
Under normal circumstances, he could have stopped the bleeding by applying pressure to his acupoints, but he knew the risks. With only one good arm remaining, exposing himself in a defenseless position would be akin to offering his life on a silver platter.
In the end, he had no choice but to stand there, saber in one hand, watching me warily.
We exchanged glances in silence, no words necessary. We both understood what came next.
As if by mutual agreement, we moved at the exact same time.
Our blades swung through the air in unison, neither making contact as they sliced through empty space.
This time, both of us had abandoned defense altogether, focusing solely on evasion and counterattack. Each exchange left new slashes on our clothes, and thin lines of blood traced across our bodies.
Though there was no sound of metal clashing, the tension in the air was palpable, unchanged from when we first crossed swords.
Perhaps having learned from his previous experience, the Hundred-Kill Saber refrained from using brute force and adopted a calmer, more calculated approach.
He aimed for my vital points—my throat, my wrists, and even my heart. On one occasion, he pretended to go for my chest, only to suddenly target my groin.
It was a ruthless and insidious style of combat, fully dedicated to exploiting vulnerabilities, the hallmark of unorthodox martial arts.
I found it… familiar.
A style designed solely to kill, without any regard for honor or beauty, wasn't that different from my own approach.
However, his saber lacked depth.
The previous Hundred-Kill Saber had been a talentless brute, and the current one, despite his skills, lacked the necessary killing intent and ingenuity.
It didn't take long for me to fully analyze his technique.
"Alright, I've seen enough."
"What…?"
Lowering my sword slightly, I took a bold step forward.
Caught off guard, the Hundred-Kill Saber instinctively swung his saber toward what appeared to be an opening.
But before his blade could fully descend, I had already read its trajectory—both from his killing intent and from the patterns he had displayed so far.
I moved a split second earlier, my sword cutting through the air.
This time, it wasn't my clothes that were torn—it was his.
"Urgh!"
Sensing something was wrong, the Hundred-Kill Saber tried to retreat, but I didn't give him the chance.
I pressed forward relentlessly, chasing after him without pause. His tattered clothes flapped in the wind, and blood sprayed with every cut I inflicted.
Though he clenched his teeth and retaliated with wild bursts of saber energy, it made no difference.
Each exchange left him with fresh wounds, forcing him further back, until his posture finally began to crumble.
"This… This is impossible!"
Desperate and cornered, he unleashed his remaining internal energy in one final, all-out attack. The saber energy surrounding his weapon flared brightly, enveloping the entire blade in a crimson glow.
It was clear what he intended—he no longer cared if he got wounded. He was going to ensure that I died, even if it meant being cut down in the process.
Without hesitation, he charged at me.
Seeing this, I couldn't help but chuckle.
"I've been waiting for this moment."
"What…?"
The Hundred-Kill Saber's eyes widened in confusion. Even as he bore down on me with his full strength, he didn't falter, determined to cut me down.
He was betting everything on this final strike. No hesitation, no holding back.
But that was exactly what I had been counting on.
Thwack!
Slaaash!
The sharp wind from his saber tore through my upper garment, while the edge of his weapon grazed my torso.
However, it failed to reach deep enough to cause fatal damage.
Because just before his saber could fully descend, I had struck the side of his blade with my broken sword, deflecting it slightly.
Though the recoil snapped my sword in half, it was enough to divert his attack and create an opening.
And that was all I needed.
Puk.
The shattered tip of my sword drove deep into his chest, piercing his heart.
"Guh… I… I…"
Ignoring the blood seeping from his own hands, the Hundred-Kill Saber clutched at the broken blade embedded in his chest.
He alternated his gaze between me and Tang Sowol, his lips moving wordlessly, before finally collapsing to the ground.
For a moment, I stood there, staring down at his lifeless body, blood dripping steadily from the long gash on my chest.
My entire body was soaked in crimson, and though the wound was shallow, it was large enough to result in significant blood loss.
I discarded any unnecessary sentiment as I pressed down on my acupoints to stop the bleeding.
After steadying my breath, I turned to look at Tang Sowol.
Her situation wasn't good.
Though she was still throwing things nonstop, they were nothing more than stones—she must have long since run out of proper hidden weapons.
Even the stones seemed to be running low, as anxiety was written all over her face and in her movements.
Her loose Tang clan robes clung to her sweat-drenched body, and her labored breathing suggested she was nearing her limit, both in stamina and internal energy.
Under normal circumstances, she would have easily dealt with such enemies. It seemed that the lack of her poison arts had affected her more than I expected.
Meanwhile, the attackers surrounding her looked relatively unharmed.
Though half a dozen lay dead on the ground, the remaining ones had only sustained minor injuries.
But that didn't matter anymore.
Standing before the line I had drawn at the start, I gripped my broken sword tightly.
The attackers, realizing I had defeated the Hundred-Kill Saber, flinched. But upon noticing my tattered state, their confidence seemed to return.
The brutish ax-wielder, who had been leading the charge, shouted in a booming voice.
"Don't be afraid! Look at his sorry state! Sure, he got lucky and defeated the old man, but that brat's half-dead already! Fight! Let's wash away our grudge and the elder's death with blood!"
"Waaaahhh!"
The attackers roared in unison, tightening their grips on their weapons as a renewed sense of determination filled the air.
"Hah…"
Admittedly, out of everyone here, I was in the worst condition.
My clothes were in tatters, my body drenched in blood, and my exhausted body trembled involuntarily, no matter how much I willed it to stop.
On top of that, my internal energy was nearly depleted, and my sword was broken in half. The term "half-dead" wasn't entirely inaccurate.
And yet, despite everything, I didn't feel like I was going to lose.
I tapped the ground lightly with my toes where I had drawn the line, then raised my head to face the oncoming attackers.
As they charged at me, I spread my sharpened killing intent wide, blanketing the area around me.
"Come."