Chapter 355: Kunlun (4)
I felt a slight sense of pride at standing alone on equal footing with five Flowering Stage martial artists, but I did not forget what needed to be done.
“Show me how far you can go."
I curled the corners of my lips upward and began swinging my sword without rest.
I did not use spatially severing sword techniques, nor petty tricks of dispersing the opponent’s willpower with concentrated killing intent. I did not wield multiple swords with the Formless Sword, nor did I even wrap myself in protective qi.
Just a single sword held in both hands. The White Sword glowing white-hot above. And the overlapping, flickering Formless Sword—that was all.
There were no grand abilities. No mysterious techniques. I simply aimed for vital points with a sharp and solid blade.
Between the brows, the nape, the wrists, the solar plexus, the groin, the heart, the eyes.
The storm of sword strikes targeted the most vulnerable areas without a shred of hesitation.
And the Sword Demon’s sword was no different from mine.
A dark crimson blood sword, as if dripping with blood. The Formless Sword flickering above it was closer to condensed killing intent than pure will toward the sword, but the result was the same.
Ka-gak, chaeng!
There was no explosive sound of qi clashing and repelling each other.
Only the metallic ringing of sword striking sword echoed out.
Strictly speaking, it was indeed qi colliding… but this must have been because the will contained within it was that of the ‘sword.’
Because, to both me and the Sword Demon, a sword was a blade made of steel.
And so I kept swinging.
At times we pressed our blades together in a contest of strength, at times we slid past each other, deflecting and scattering sparks, at times we twisted our bodies slightly to evade—yet all we did was swing our swords.
The same martial art. The same enlightenment. And even the same combat logic.
A strange sensation, as if facing a mirror. Amid the pure clash of swordsmanship, a thread of exhilaration bloomed.
Even when I exerted my full power, the opponent accepted it as if it were only natural.
Likewise, even as the opponent tried to cut me down with everything he had, I naturally deflected it.
Martial artists who had reached such a realm could understand each other through exchanging martial arts.
Then what would happen if one were to clash martial arts with oneself?
I did not know what to call this feeling. But if I had to name it, perhaps it was a sense of unity.
Clearly, it was a clash of swordsmanship filled only with killing intent meant to kill the opponent, devoid of any profound teaching.
And yet, the harmony was so perfect that for a moment, it felt less like swordsmanship and more like a sword dance.
Suddenly, the Sword Demon’s swordsmanship began to change.
“Uh??”
He charged where he shouldn’t, swung where he shouldn’t, and instead of blocking where he should, he forcibly evaded, accepting minor wounds.
The originally aggressive Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art became even more offensively driven.
The perfectly aligned rhythm broke apart, and the metallic resonance of clashing swords turned into dissonance.
Little by little—but unmistakably—I felt myself being pushed onto the defensive.
It was only when I found myself swinging more to deflect incoming strikes than to cut him down that I realized.
“So that’s how it is.”
The decisive difference between me and the Sword Demon.
He wasn’t simply insane. Nor was he merely intoxicated by his own killing intent.
The same martial art. The same enlightenment. The same combat logic.
But the heartscape contained within was different.
The realization I gained upon reaching the Flowering Stage was my true intention. The fundamental reason I wielded the sword was not to kill enemies, but to protect what stood behind me.
But the Sword Demon was different. He wasn’t just rampaging after inheriting my Heart Demon and losing his sanity…
“Has he completely accepted the demonic path?”
The Heart Demon, the boiling killing intent, the curse toward the world, the ever-growing rage—
He hadn’t merely swallowed all of that. He had made it the very foundation of his martial art.
If I had never met Tang Sowol, or if I had not corrected so many things through regression—
If I had stepped beyond the boundaries of orthodox and unorthodox into the demonic path—
Then I would have surely become like the Sword Demon before me.
The Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art was already aggressive enough to thrust one’s head into danger.
But that was only possible because there was calculation ensuring one would not suffer fatal injuries.
One inch.
An inch was enough to take a life, and conversely, no matter how vital a point was struck, if even an inch was not yielded, one would not die.
Thus, all intervals of the Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art operated on that minimum standard of one inch.
But for the Sword Demon, such a standard did not exist. No—it did, but it was completely different from mine.
If it meant killing the opponent, it didn’t matter if he himself suffered fatal wounds.
Kill. I will kill. Even if I can no longer use martial arts, I will kill. Even if my life ends, I will kill you.
That blatant killing intent thickened, pressing down on me.
I was no stranger to killing intent, so it didn’t cause any particular issue… but the fact that I had lost momentum, lost the initiative—that was the problem.
Chaeng! Chaeng!
With loud clashes, the Sword Demon advanced closer. Meanwhile, I had no choice but to retreat step by step.
A diagonal downward strike. If I swung as is, I could surely carve deeply into his chest. In exchange, a hole would open in my heart.
A vertical rising slash. If I executed it, I could split him from abdomen to heart—but at the minor cost of my neck separating from my body.
Forcing such choices again and again, the Sword Demon gradually gained the upper hand.
And somehow, it felt familiar.
Devouring and eroding the opponent’s martial art little by little, until delivering an inevitable strike that could neither be dodged nor blocked.
Wasn’t this my preferred method?
“I have no intention of just taking this.”
Before I completely lost control, I drew in a deep breath. Then came a thunderous roar.
Kwa-reung!
It wasn’t the sound of swords clashing. It was the sound of my body forcibly tearing through the air, unable to withstand the shock.
Thunderclap Sword.
A technique that, true to its name, unleashed a strike faster than thunder and as fierce as lightning with a sword swung at full power.
As I unleashed it consecutively, the Sword Demon responded in kind, using the Thunderclap Sword as well.
Kwaang! Ka-gak! Kak!
The metallic clash of swords grew dull under the excessive force.
A swift sword even I couldn’t fully control. As a result, my control over the blade temporarily dropped.
The sword that lost its precision could no longer pressure me as before and instead devolved into a simple contest of strength.
This bought me a little time.
But to fundamentally resolve this, I needed to approach it differently.
The method was simple.
“Everyone, now!”
There was no reason to stubbornly cling to this fight alone.
At my shout, those who had been staring blankly began to move one by one, launching a combined assault.
Had he realized poison was meaningless?
Tang Jincheon leapt high and unleashed all his hidden weapons at once—far more than before.
Myriad Flower Rain.
Countless hidden weapons filled part of my vision as they rained down toward the Sword Demon.
True to his title as Poison King, Tang Jincheon was more skilled in poison arts. Though it seemed slightly lacking—even to my eyes—
Myriad Flower Rain was still Myriad Flower Rain.
More than enough to shred a person apart, beyond merely turning them into a pincushion.
At the same time, the Illusory Illusion Witch also unleashed her ultimate technique.
In one hand she held a Daoist ritual tool, while the other formed intricate hand seals.
Yet the words spilling from her mouth and the energy flickering in her eyes were utterly sinister.
Her gaze flashed, and for an instant, it felt as if night had fallen around us.
Thanks to the Heavenly Insight Eye, I could tell—it was the secret technique she had shown me before when I told her to use any evil method she had.
At some point, she had planted ritual implements around us.
It posed no real threat to me—I could even cut through it if I wished.
But for a brief moment, it would erase one’s senses entirely, exposing an opening.
No real power—but perfectly timed for this situation.
Perhaps they had been informed beforehand. The three who had been pushed back earlier immediately unleashed their own ultimate techniques.
The Murim Alliance Leader’s staff descended straight down.
But the power contained within was anything but ordinary—an uncompromising strike meant solely to crush the opponent.
Jeong Hyeon instead of striking, brought his palms together.
For a moment I wondered what technique required such a stance—
Then golden energy surged from between his joined palms.
Even though it wasn’t aimed at me, I could feel the profound Buddhist aura.
The radiant energy gathered and then burst forth as twin palm strikes.
That was an attack that could not be blocked—only evaded.
Not to be outdone, Seo Mun-Hwarin clenched her fist tightly.
Unlike the others, her stance was simple—feet shoulder-width apart, fists at her waist.
But there was a reason a straight punch was called a straight punch.
Power drawn up through a stomp, rotation added by the waist, shoulders driving forward—
All of it gathered into a single clean punch.
A bright red qi, lighter than the Sword Demon’s, flared around her small fist, enlarging it.
While I held him back, Tang Jincheon and the Illusory Illusion Witch created an opening.
And into that gap surged world-shaking attacks.
He could neither dodge nor block. He still had to deal with my Thunderclap Sword.
This was the end. No matter that he was created based on me—he couldn’t overcome this.
Five Flowering Stage martial artists—and me on top of that.
Everyone thought so.
We all thought so.
Within the black flickering shadow, the Sword Demon’s eyes alone burned red.
A red line trailed beneath them—like tears of blood.
At the same time, he abandoned blocking my Thunderclap Sword.
Slash.
His side was deeply cut open. A wound that would have spilled entrails—yet only black shadows poured out.
Freed from me, the Sword Demon staggered for a moment under the Illusory Illusion Witch’s technique.
But his body kept moving. Guided not by senses, but by killing intent.
He swung his sword like a madman while guarding his centerline, blocking Tang Jincheon’s hidden weapons.
No—could this even be called blocking?
Shoulders, thighs, back, abdomen, forearms—
He simply let himself be hit in places that wouldn’t kill him instantly.
The same went for the combined attacks that followed.
Using the speed of the Thunderclap Sword, he barely twisted his body.
The Murim Alliance Leader’s staff shattered his left shoulder and collarbone. He would never hold a sword with that hand again.
His right-hand strike shot toward Jeong Hyeon’s twin palms.
A sharp blade against a precise thrust—
It pierced into the profound Buddhist energy, splitting the unified force into two and weakening it.
Still, it was no light blow.
Crack.
Caught in the aftermath, his ribs shattered—more broken than intact.
Finally, Seo Mun-Hwarin’s straight punch.
With no way to twist his body or swing his sword, the Sword Demon chose footwork.
Internal energy burst through the Yongcheon point, launching his right foot upward.
He blocked her punch with his foot—
And then, following the principles of Thunderclap Step, he exploded internal energy again.
This time, with reckless force, uncaring if his own foot was destroyed.
Kwa-reung!
Amid the thunder, something shattered.
The Sword Demon threw himself backward to reduce the impact.
After flying back and rolling across the ground, he slowly lifted his head.
Thunk.
He stabbed his sword into the ground and used it to pull himself up.
One arm hung limp. His leg was shattered, leaving him limping. His ribs were broken, making even breathing difficult—
And yet, the Sword Demon still lived.
Alive—and emitting even more vicious killing intent.
“...Ah.”
That was right.
I had always been someone who grew stronger in the face of danger.
“I didn’t expect to gain enlightenment here of all places.”
…Though experiencing it myself felt pretty damn unpleasant.