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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: cyno
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Long, long ago—
In the ancient era of the martial world, thousands of years in the past, when Bodhidharma founded Shaolin and Zhang Sanfeng established Wudang—
There existed a lone swordsman.
When he swung his sword, mountains were carved away. When he struck down, seas split apart.
And when his blade split into nine paths, the entire martial world held its breath in tension.
They called him the Sword God
The Sword God sought the strong—not because he wanted someone stronger than himself, for he knew no such person existed.
He merely wished for a worthy rival, someone who could stand as his equal.
Thus, he became the first to embark on a journey of duels
The origin of what would later be known as the Hundred-Duel Pilgrimage
Years passed. After meeting every renowned master in the world, the Sword God finally realized:
There was no one left in this vast world who could rival him.
By then, people called him the Lone Sword God —a fitting title for a man who wandered alone, taking neither disciples nor lovers.
He liked the name. It suited his sword art, the Nine Swords —Lone Nine Swords . The sound, the meaning—it was perfect.
But even the Lone Sword God had regrets.
“I should’ve visited Bodhidharma before he entered Nirvana.”
“I should’ve gone to Wudang before Zhang Sanfeng ascended to immortality.”
“Had I met Lü Dongbin before he joined the Seven Immortals, perhaps I would’ve found the rival I so longed for.”
Such regrets.
The Lone Sword God considered them demons of the mind, troubles of the heart.
From then on, he devoted himself to self-mastery.
“If the world holds no equal for me, then I shall become my own rival.”
He secluded himself on Mount Hua, a mountain of breathtaking scenery and pristine waters.
Yet the martial world would not let him go so easily.
They revered him. Worshipped him. Respected him.
Those who admired him most began emulating his training.
When he meditated beneath a waterfall, they meditated beside him.
When he scaled cliffs, they silently followed.
The Lone Sword God said nothing. To be precise, he paid them no mind.
He simply focused—on his battle against himself.
For the rest of his life.
Even after his death, those who revered him continued his legacy.
And thus was born the Hua Shan Sect, one of the Three Great Orthodox Sects alongside Shaolin and Wudang.
Now, a descendant of that very Hua Shan Sect was being overwhelmed—shamefully so—by a young genius of the Namgung Family.
BOOM—!
By a mere child.
“……!”
Whoosh—!
Namgung Sua’s movements held no refined technique—just one slash after another.
Each stroke embodied the essence of Heavy Sword—neither excessive nor lacking.
The problem?
Every single one carried crushing weight.
Even Baekhwa, nearly a decade older, struggled to withstand them.
“Boundless Sky Sword.”
With a murmur barely audible, Namgung Sua unleashed a relentless barrage.
The Boundless Sky Sword—a simple yet profound technique embodying the essence of Namgung swordsmanship—unfolded flawlessly.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Each strike fell in perfect rhythm, driving Baekhwa back.
“Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Swordplay !”
Baekhwa countered, even summoning Purple Mist Divine Energy to coat her blade in violet sword aura.
A long, thin sword beam extended from Hua Shan’s slender blade.
“Falling Petals Scatter !”
Desperation seeped into her voice as she called out the technique’s name—proof of how cornered she was.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Shockingly, despite using every skill at her disposal, Baekhwa could only barely hold her ground.
Gnash—
Baekhwa bit her tongue. Even after unleashing Purple Mist Divine Energy and Sword Aura, she still couldn’t overpower Sua.
‘What… what is this?!’
This was a child. A girl nearly ten years her junior, barely in her teens.
Her frame was smaller, her stature incomparably shorter.
Yet—
‘How is she so immovable?!’
Namgung Sua swung her sword mechanically.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Each strike carried the weight of iron, the solidity of Mount Tai.
No feints. No tricks. Just pure, unrelenting force—the polar opposite of Hua Shan’s swift, deceptive swordsmanship.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
‘Tch…!’
Baekhwa’s eyes burned with venom. But nothing changed.
The more energy she poured in, the harder Namgung Sua pushed back.
She couldn’t advance. She wanted to break through the hail of heavy strikes, close the distance, and showcase the brilliance of her swift sword—but she could barely hold on, let alone counter.
It shattered her pride.
Being forced back by a junior so much younger, after boasting she’d break at least one of her limbs—it was infuriating.
And worse—
‘Why… why won’t she use the Emperor’s Sword Form?!’
Nohwa was a direct descendant of Namgung. She could use the Emperor’s Sword Form, the clan’s ultimate technique.
Unlike Baekhwa—who had to sell her body to learn the Lone Nine Swords, forbidden in public duels—Sua had no such restrictions.
That thought enraged her.
‘Are you… looking down on me?!’
Inferiority.
The kind that gnaws at a person.
Baekhwa was being eaten alive by it.
‘I… I didn’t sell myself! You were born into a great family, pampered and spoiled from birth!!’
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
‘So why?! Why are you stronger?! Why won’t you even use the Emperor’s Sword Form?!’
Inferiority. Jealousy. Resentment.
Baekhwa wanted Sua to use the Emperor’s Sword Form.
Since she couldn’t use the Lone Nine Swords here, she wanted to lose to Namgung’s ultimate technique.
Then, at least, people would say:
“If Baekhwa had used the Lone Nine Swords, she would’ve won. It’s the difference in martial arts.”
Not—
“Nohwa is stronger than Baekhwa.”
She wanted to console herself:
“If it were a private duel, if I could use the Lone Nine Swords, I would’ve won.”
But Namgung Sua refused to use the Emperor’s Sword Form.
As if saying—
“This is all you’re worth.”
That arrogance, that disdain masked behind courtesy—
It shattered Baekhwa’s composure.
“Plum Blossoms Span Ten Thousand Miles !”
Suddenly, a faded plum blossom fragrance erupted from Baekhwa, enveloping the arena.
Her sword traced a wide arc, releasing a circular sword beam.
Plum Blossoms Span Ten Thousand Miles—the final technique of the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Swordplay, said to embody the pinnacle of Hua Shan’s martial arts.
“RAAAAAH—!”
“……!”
WHOOSH—!
Faced with the furious assault, Namgung Sua leaped back, creating distance.
A brief lull fell over the duel.
Baekhwa seized the moment to send a sound-transmitted message, laced with venom:
“Why… why are you looking down on me?!”
Her desperate voice echoed in Sua’s mind, unheard by others.
“Why won’t you use the Emperor’s Sword Form?! You preach courtesy, yet you ignore me?!”
Shame forgotten, Baekhwa continued:
“Where’s the respect for your opponent?! Give it your all! That’s the Namgung way!!”
Namgung Sua calmly adjusted her grip and replied without hesitation:
“This is respect.”
“What kind of respect is that?! True respect is giving your best!!”
“Respect for martial arts.”
“…W-What? Martial arts?!”
“To use the Emperor’s Sword Form against you—”
Sua’s next words plunged Baekhwa into despair.
“—would be disrespectful to the art itself. And to the Namgung Family.”
“Grrrrk—!!”
“…Not to mention, to my father, who taught me.”
Inferiority.
It consumes a person.
Baekhwa, forgetting she was in the middle of a duel, was being devoured by it.
Her guard—wide open.
An obvious gap.
Namgung Sua didn’t miss it.
SLAM—!
“Guhk…!”
The pommel of Sua’s sword struck Baekhwa’s temple.
A perfect strike—just the right force, no wasted motion, no excess speed.
A technique honed through relentless training, the kind only a genius could achieve.
Whoosh—
Thud—!
Baekhwa’s eyes rolled back as she collapsed.
It was over.
Nohwa had defeated Baekhwa.
A fifteen-year-old girl of the Namgung Family had toppled one of Hua Shan’s Seven Flowers.
“……Wow.”
“Whoa……”
“Incredible……”
The spectators, who had been holding their breaths, erupted.
“WAAAAAAAAH—!!”
As if on cue, they rose as one, cheering wildly.
What excites people more than blood?
The rise of a hero—a new star.
“WAAAAAH—!! Nohwa! Nohwa! Nohwa!”
“Amazing! That’s the Namgung spirit!”
Even those who had mocked Namgung Sua moments ago now chanted her name.
Martial artists were like that—they worshipped strength, revered those who surpassed them.
Of course, not everyone was impressed.
“Tch. Like father, like daughter—she inherited that bastard’s talent.”
“What’s the point? She’ll grow up just as rotten.”
“No doubt she’ll end up like the Sword Saint. Damn bloodline.”
Envy and scorn existed too.
But they were drowned out by the cheers.
Jin Gayeong, watching the duel, was among those cheering.
“Wow…! Did you see that, Mister? What did you think?”
“Well done.”
“Aah… Nohwa is even more incredible than I heard. Wait—didn’t you train her too?”
“Yes. I personally taught her all of Namgung’s martial arts.”
“Then if I ever fight Nohwa, it’ll be a battle between your disciples, right?”
“…Since when was I your master?”
“Huh? Just because I haven’t bowed formally doesn’t mean I’m not your disciple!”
“……”
As Byeolak floundered at her sudden declaration, Jin Wuyong’s teasing voice echoed in his mind.
“Perfect timing.”
‘Master…’
“As your father-in-law, I entrust our descendant to you, dear ‘son-in-law’.”
‘Ugh…!’
While Jin Wuyong teased Byeolak, Cheonjon—standing atop the arena—glanced toward the Taiyuan Jin Family.
Perhaps due to the auspicious energy in the air, he wore a rare, warm smile.
(Though it vanished the moment he saw Byeolak.)
“Sword Flower, it is now your turn. Only your duel with Heavenly Flower remains.”
Hearing Cheonjon’s call, Jin Gayeong turned to Byeolak.
“Mister… do you think I can win against Heavenly Flower?”
Her voice trembled slightly.
Even for someone as bold as her, standing before the entire martial world in the Chilhwajeon was nerve-wracking.
Byeolak smiled faintly and replied:
“Do your best. If you awaken to your martial arts, victory will follow naturally.”
“Hmm, but just doing my best won’t be enough, right…?”
“Haha. Defeating Heavenly Flower isn’t the true victory. The real victory is overcoming the walls within yourself.”
His cryptic yet oddly convincing words made Jin Gayeong nod. She slowly removed the heavy Moonlight Sash from her waist and stepped toward the arena.
“I’ll remember that, Mister. And also…”
Scrrrrape—
The sound of her sash dragging against stone drew the crowd’s attention.
“Once the Chilhwajeon ends… I have something very important to confess to you.”
Her heart pounded as she forced herself to steady her voice.
“So… you have to stay by my side. It’s extremely important. Understood?”
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