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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: cyno
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The rules of the seven blossom tournament were simple.
“Do not use killing techniques.” That was all.
This was not merely a martial arts competition but a gathering to foster harmony among orthodox sects and exchange martial skills.
However…
‘This—this insane woman!’
Seolhwa of Emei could clearly sense murderous intent emanating from Okhwa before her.
With each reckless sword strike, it was as though Okhwa cared nothing for her own life—let alone Seolhwa’s.
And Seolhwa was not the only one who noticed.
Whoosh—!
“Guhhk…!”
Okhwa’s Void-Slaying Dragon Sword surged toward Seolhwa with terrifying sharpness.
The aura imbued in that blade was starkly different from what the Void-Slaying Dragon Swordom was originally meant to embody.
Far more ferocious. Far more overwhelming.
And not only that—it carried a rage and bloodlust that had no place in a friendly spar.
So blatantly that even spectators could sense it at a glance.
Because Okhwa’s mind was in utter disarray.
To those unaware, it simply looked like Okhwa was ruthlessly overpowering Seolhwa, who was far weaker.
‘Just why… why the hell are you here, Sword Saint?!’
Okhwa’s blade grazed Seolhwa’s throat by a hair’s breadth.
Panicked, Seolhwa couldn’t even muster Emei’s graceful sword techniques—she could only flee.
Unfazed, Okhwa continued her relentless assault with violent movements.
Despite her frenzy, her swordsmanship remained nearly flawless—a feat only possible for someone of her caliber.
‘Sword Saint! I warned you—if we ever met again, I’d kill you!’
But despite her perfect execution, her mind was in complete turmoil.
‘Sword Saint! Sword Saint!! Sword Saint!!!’
Rage?
No—fear.
‘Swoooord Saaaaint!!!’
A primal terror toward an enemy stronger than herself.
The fear of the Sword Saint, whom she had spared out of fear that he might vanish forever—only for him to recover and return as an even greater nightmare.
She tried to disguise it as anger and panic, but the dread and terror she felt gradually morphed into impatience, manifesting clearly—
Just like now.
Swiish—!
Okhwa’s sword descended vertically.
Seolhwa, unable to counter with her mediocre skills, raised her sword horizontally to block head-on.
Craaack—!
“Grrrgh…!”
Okhwa’s blade, locked in a contest of strength with Seolhwa’s, suddenly surged with overwhelming internal energy.
Seolhwa poured her own inner force into resisting, but—
‘Sword Saint—!!!!!’
Like a cornered beast baring its claws, Okhwa crushed Seolhwa with her full power, as if facing the Sword Saint himself.
Grrind—
Seolhwa’s knees slowly buckled.
The stone beneath her feet began to crack.
Yet Okhwa didn’t relent, and a blue haze of sword energy—Hyunggi (現氣, manifest aura)—spread like mist from her blade, filling the arena.
The fact that the aura, which should have been sky-blue, was now deep blue showed just how consumed Okhwa was by her emotions.
“Disappointing.”
“Huh? What is?”
Byeolak clicked her tongue softly as she watched Okhwa.
“I heard she was in seclusion, yet she hasn’t improved at all.”
“Really? To me, she just looks dazzling.”
“With her talent, she should have progressed—yet she’s regressed. A master of her level shouldn’t lose control like this. If Seolhwa had a bit more insight, she wouldn’t be struggling so helplessly…”
“Umm… I-I don’t see anything either…”
“You’re still young, my lady. Don’t worry. By the time you reach Okhwa’s age, you’ll have far surpassed her.”
“Hehe… Y-You promise to stay by my side until then, right…?”
“Is… that really what matters right now?”
Unaware of the conversation between Byeolak and Jin Gayeong, Okhwa only intensified her pressure.
Seolhwa’s knee was now fully on the ground, and a trickle of blood dripped from her nose—a result of recklessly engaging in an internal energy clash.
Craaack—!
“Gaaah…! I-I won’t back down…!”
But in the end, the pride of Emei was shattered—
Snaap—!
“……!”
Her sword, an extension of a martial artist’s very being, broke—the ultimate humiliation.
Yet that wasn’t the real problem.
Swiish—!
Even after cleaving through Seolhwa’s blade, Okhwa’s sword continued downward due to inertia.
“Ah…?”
Okhwa tried to stop it, but a sword once unleashed is not easily controlled—especially one carrying such monstrous force.
Whooosh—!
Finally, Okhwa’s blade halted—
Tap—
—just before touching Seolhwa’s forehead.
“Well, it seems the match is decided.”
Cheonjon had intervened at the last moment, catching Okhwa’s sword.
Drip, drip—
Splat—
Blood from Cheonjon’s torn palm stained Seolhwa’s face, but he only chuckled.
“The victory goes to Kunlun’s Okhwa. Though Seolhwa has lost, she displayed Emei’s remarkable swordsmanship. Let us look forward to her future performances.”
“……”
It was hardly a consolation for someone who hadn’t even properly showcased Emei’s techniques, but Seolhwa silently descended, wiping her face with a cloth handed by her senior disciples.
She seemed to be in shock, as if she had just glimpsed the afterlife.
“You brat! At least show some courtesy before leaving!”
“Ugh…”
The Emei Sect Leader scolded her, but no one else criticized Seolhwa’s behavior.
Because they had all seen it—
Okhwa’s ferocity.
Not a single cheer followed the match’s conclusion for the same reason.
“……”
Silence. Deafening silence.
Amidst it, Cheonjon forced an awkward smile and whispered to Okhwa.
“Okhwa.”
“…Cheonjon.”
“You didn’t recite a single sword technique’s name during the entire match.”
“My apologies.”
“No need to apologize to me… Collect yourself. At least you didn’t unleash Sword Qi Manifestation—that would’ve been disastrous.”
“……”
Fully aware of her own mistake, Okhwa offered no excuses and quietly stepped down.
That day, her gaze remained fixed on Byeolak—whether the matches continued or not.
“Ahem. Despite the… incident, the first match concludes with Okhwa’s victory.”
Having stopped the bleeding from his palm, Cheonjon calmly resumed the proceedings.
He knew blood incited excitement, and excitement bred chaos—so he acted swiftly.
“Now, will the Namgung Family’s Nohwa and the Hua Shan Sect’s Baekhwa please step onto the arena? Before ascending, don’t forget to circulate your qi once to prepare.”
At Cheonjon’s call, Nohwa (Namgung Sua) and Baekhwa ascended from the same direction.
Thanks to the Dang Family’s seating arrangements, the Namgung and Hua Shan factions had been placed side by side.
Thus, the two climbed the steps together, side by side.
Baekhwa leaned in and whispered to Namgung Sua in a voice too low for others to hear:
“How shameless. To stride up here so boldly despite the father you have. I’d have left in disgrace.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Know your place. Brat born from a traitorous mother.”
“……”
Namgung Sua paid Baekhwa no mind, but Baekhwa held a deep grudge against her.
Because she had always loathed Sua’s mother, Yoo So-eun.
According to Hua Shan’s rules, formal disciples—unlike secular disciples—were forbidden from leaving the sect.
If one attempted to descend the mountain—or more accurately, change allegiance—
Their limbs would be crippled, and their dantian destroyed under the pretext of preventing martial secrets from leaking.
This was not unique to Hua Shan but a fundamental rule across all orthodox sects.
Yoo So-eun was an exception—
Because she was the Sect Leader’s daughter.
“My mother has no reason to endure such words from you.”
“You—!”
“Time isn’t something to waste so carelessly. Let’s go.”
Baekhwa couldn’t bring herself to say: “I had to sell myself to learn martial arts, while your mother married into the mighty Namgung Family—I envy her.”
All she could do was nitpick.
Meanwhile, Namgung Sua had already ascended the steps, setting foot on the arena.
“You’ve got no manners. Is this how you usually speak? A brat like you…”
“I was merely following the Namgung Family’s code: courtesy to outsiders at all costs. If you found me rude, I apologize.”
“Wha—? A-Apologize?”
Baekhwa was taken aback—she hadn’t expected Sua to yield so easily.
But—
“Hm, both of you seem ready. Then let us begin. Please take your positions at opposite ends of the arena.”
Cheonjon, sensing the tension, quickly mediated.
(You won’t leave here unharmed today.)
Baekhwa smirked viciously, sending a sound-transmitted message.
(I’ll break at least one of your limbs—prepare yourself.)
Whether Sua heard it or not, she only furrowed her brows slightly, showing no reaction.
“Namgung, Nohwa.”
“…Hua Shan, Baekhwa.”
Sua’s respectful bow clashed with Baekhwa’s perfunctory one.
All eyes in the Wudang gathering turned to them.
“Ah, will we finally see the Emperor’s Sword Form and the Lone Nine Swords in this match?”
“The world’s greatest swords will be decided here!”
“Unfortunately, the Lone Nine Swords won’t be shown. It’s only taught to the Grand Disciple, and Hua Shan’s Grand Disciple isn’t here.”
“Ah! Right… Still, the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Swordplay versus the Emperor’s Sword Form won’t disappoint!”
Many wondered how long the prodigious but fifteen-year-old Nohwa could last against Baekhwa, who was taller and more experienced.
The previous match had been about how much Okhwa would hold back—so while people were interested in Okhwa herself, the fight itself was dull.
(The Namgung girl, Nohwa—Namgung Sua.)
Of course, exceptions like Jin Gayeong, who was solely focused on Sua, existed.
(I absolutely—absolutely cannot lose to her!)
“Now, both of you, draw your swords.”
Schiiing—
Shhk—
Namgung Sua’s heavy sword and Baekhwa’s feather-light blade faced each other.
“Then—let the match begin!”
Cheonjon’s booming voice echoed.
And in that instant—
BOOM—!
“……!”
Namgung Sua’s sword slammed into Baekhwa’s with overwhelming force.
At that moment, everyone present saw it clearly—
Craaack—!
Baekhwa’s sword was pushed back two inches by the sheer weight of Namgung Sua’s strike.
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