Chapter 449: Every Treasure Has a Sad Legend (10)

Still, the Lesser Death-Reaping Saber Oh Sanchu felt a certain sense of relief.

Because his thoughts went like this—

If they meant to kill him, they would’ve done it already.

Why bother breaking his arms and legs, then rolling him up snug in a blanket?

It could only mean they either planned to hand him over to the authorities, or that they were afraid of future reprisal from his father—Profound Realm master Death-Reaping Saber Oh Daean—so they wrapped him up to keep him from further injury.

And wasn’t the atmosphere rather decent?

This was precisely the survival technique Death-Reaping Saber Oh Daean had passed down to his son, fearing that his personal grudges might spill over onto him.

If you’re captured by the enemy, no matter what, keep talking.

Strangers kill easily, but once they know your face and name, they hesitate.

And act friendly.

Don’t show your grudges; converse as if with a close comrade.

Human nature is to be more lenient toward someone you know; once you’ve spoken with a person, it becomes far more difficult to harm them.

Of course, he’d said not to show resentment, not to abandon it.

So Oh Sanchu simply swallowed his hatred inwardly.

That damned bitch. Just wait and see.

Even if he had to wander the world for the rest of his life, he would repay this humiliation in full.

He would seize every one of her family, kin, and friends, flay them strip by strip right before her eyes, and cram the flesh into her mouth.

This, after all, was how a man of the Demonic Path paid back his grudges.

Anyway, with a gag in his mouth, he could no longer chatter, so he contented himself with imagining the day of vengeance yet to come.

How would that bitch scream?

No, he wouldn’t kill her outright—he’d sever her limbs and keep her alive, forcing her to regret ever being born through unending humiliation and agony.

The fantasy of revenge was sweet.

At least until Qing, without the slightest hesitation, shoved a blazing torch under the blanket wrapping his third sworn brother.

“Mmmph!”

A blanket is soft.

Once your limbs are broken and you’re rolled up in it, no matter how you thrash, all you can manage is a pitiful squirm.

And blankets burn very well.

The flames spread in an instant, engulfing the human larva, the human roll of bedding.

“Mmmph! Mmmph!” “Mmmph!” “Mph! Mph!”

Why!? Wasn’t she sparing us?

Crazy bitch! How can someone wearing a human face try to burn people alive!

Such desperate meaning leaked out through strangled breaths pressed down by the gag.

“Go on, then!”

Qing kicked the burning third brother.

And of course, with leg strength three times greater than her arms, the third brother’s body lifted off the ground and crashed down upon his sworn brothers.

Oh Sanchu, on the far end, desperately rolled away.

But soon—thud.

The soft blanket seemed to lift him up, and the world spun, suddenly hurling him back toward his burning comrades.

Six human rolls in flames.

Qing calmly watched the sight.

Then—chiiiik, the sound of fire dying down.

One of the bodies, rolling and rolling, had touched a puddle of blood seeping out from the heap of villagers’ corpses.

At once, they all took on frantic expressions and rolled toward the corpse pile.

Even bound in blankets, with their broken limbs crushed and tormenting them with terrible pain, they still struggled desperately to live.

To think they would grovel into the very corpse heap they themselves had massacred, just to survive.

Qing watched a moment, wondering if any of them might actually succeed in extinguishing the fire.

But really, how much blood could pool on a dirt floor?

It’s said that those with full-body burns lie face-down on their knees and elbows in the sickbed.

Because the agony of any wound touching a surface is unbearable, they force their bodies into a posture that minimizes the area of contact.

Wasn’t this a fitting end, then, for the ones who slaughtered villagers—people who had come only to survey the lay of the land?

Though perhaps she should’ve removed their gags?

Rolled up tight in blankets, no matter how they raved, all they could do was writhe and roll; unable even to scream, it somehow spoiled the mood.

Ah. She wanted to hear their screams.

But if things got too noisy, her Master might come out. Or Jangmyeong might.

Not a scene for the old (not really) or the young (not really) to see.

Qing watched the blazing human rolls with a satisfied expression.

Back in her homeland, wasn’t this called fire-gazing?

Indeed, just staring into flames made her heart settle, made her worries feel trivial.

Right—she wasn’t some heavenly agent, not some apostle of justice, not the punisher of all evil. She couldn’t kill every villain in the world.

But the foul things in her sight, the villains her hands could reach—she could burn them one by one.

Then suddenly—gurgle. Her stomach let out a thunderclap of a growl, and Qing’s expression went slack.

Her eyes crumpled, her brows curved into 八, and her mouth hung open. Ah. I’m hungry.

Anyone watching might have felt the bizarre urge to study her from near and far, like some peculiar specimen.

****

The man’s sword carved the air again and again.

Each stroke was sharp, each swing weighty, with a crushing force that split the air with shweeeek after shweeeek.

Then suddenly, his left hand shot forward.

A fine move, plugging the gaps in his sword path.

Yet the man froze in that posture, his brows twitching, his face twisted in agony.

Hadn’t he resolved to achieve greatness through the sword?

Why, then, was he reaching out for something improper, something base and cowardly, instead of the sword?

For reference—the thing he had reached with was his own left arm.

And so Namgung Sinjae, who in that instant had made his left arm into something base and cowardly, was tormented.

A true swordsman speaks only through the sword!

But was it right to stubbornly insist on what the entire world called wrong?

Or was it simply because he was no genius, no Sword Prodigy, that he could not present such a truth to the world?

Suddenly, an image of Sword-Friend flashed in his mind.

Sword-Friend, eating with his blade, pointing idly with that same careless air.

Sword-Friend’s voice replayed in his ears like a hallucination.

—“Supreme Realm, you call yourself Sword-Friend? Hey, it’s embarrassing, so could you maybe go swing your sword outside? Watching the so-called sword of a Supreme kills my appetite.”

“Ghh.”

Infuriating! Infuriating enough to make him want to smack the bastard!

But with Namgung Sinjae’s level, such a thing was a far-off dream.

The visions and voices continued.

A half-transparent Sword-Friend, wearing a vile smirk, held up a dagger.

—“Namgung Sinjae, you’re more suited to being a sword lackey than a Sword-Friend.”

And with that vile, hateful expression, he stuck out his tongue, dragging it up the dagger’s edge—then, “Ack!” nicked himself, spraying blood.

“Mmm. Serves you right.”

Namgung Sinjae nodded, pleased.

Were anyone to see, they’d say the Namgung Clan’s eldest son had fallen deep into qi deviation, now seeing and hearing phantoms, muttering to himself.

Luckily, he was in seclusion training.

But then—hm?

Namgung Sinjae’s eyes flew wide.

Come to think of it, wasn’t Sword-Friend the one who trained in that bizarre way, using a sword in place of a hand?

A sword instead of a hand. A hand replaced by a sword?

And then—like a lightning strike—it hit him.

Yes!

If one truly pursued only swordsmanship, then simply take up a sword in the left hand as well, and wield swordsmanship with both!

This—this was Two-Sword!

Twin Sword arts use two blades as one, weaving them into a single martial style.

But if one held a sword in each hand and used a different technique in each?

Swordsmanship is always right, always good.

And adding good to good?

That makes it extremely good!

How had he not realized such a simple truth until now?

He had sworn to walk the sword’s single path, to become a true swordsman unlike any other, yet he too had been shackled by worldly preconceptions.

Ordinarily, the reason weapons aren’t wielded in both hands at once is because they inevitably entangle.

Most leave one hand free to supplement with punches, palm strikes, grappling, and the like.

Styles such as Twin Sword Arts, Twin Sabers, or Left-Saber Right-Sword are martial arts created from the outset on the premise of dual weapons.

But outside of such arts, to take identical weapons in both hands and employ different techniques with each is judged an act of sheer stupidity in the martial world.

Why? Because martial arts are manifestations of the heart.

One cannot swing Quick Sword with the right hand and Illusion Sword with the left.

Because the mind cannot keep up.

Draw a square with your right hand while drawing a triangle with your left—you’ll see at once.

But someone could do it!

It isn’t impossible—merely difficult.

If even one person can achieve it, then it isn’t impossible at all, only hard.

Namgung Sinjae’s trembling left hand stretched out.

At last it closed on an ebony wooden sword.

It nestled into his grip as if to say, Why only {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} now?

In that instant, every shred of his accumulated sword experience erupted at once.

The true embodiment of all the sword he had studied in mind and body.

Late Supreme Realm!

The Namgung Clan’s sword is the Emperor’s Sword.

But was that the only sword of Namgung?

There was also the sword that stretched endlessly, roaming the limitless heavens.

The Sword of the Boundless Sky.

Indeed.

Namgung’s sword was never just one.

The reason Namgung had two arms was to hold Emperor and Boundless Sky in each hand!

Suddenly a great wall rose before his eyes.

Yet Namgung Sinjae’s body was already floating upward, soaring into that vast sky.

But then—something seized his ankle. No, a sword path did.

—You must not rise lightly. The Emperor is one who guards his seat, lofty as a mountain, blocking the sky, becoming the heaven itself. A heavy presence that always keeps its place. How dare you flit up into the sky!

Namgung Sinjae lamented.

How could one clan’s sword arts hold such utterly opposite images?

The elders said that only by first savoring the freedom of the Boundless Sky Sword, only by enjoying it, could one later, at the right moment, feel the full weight of the Emperor’s Sword.

But Namgung Sinjae’s face was firm.

No—Boundless Sky is also my precious sword art.

Then I shall be a Free Emperor!

—That is impossible!

“Who dares to speak of impossibility!”

—You will walk a path harder than any other!

“Difficulty is already the same as life to me! If I wanted an easy path, I would’ve broken my vow to live as a swordsman long ago!”

Namgung Sinjae stomped his foot.

And leapt.

The sky boundless in every direction.

And he realized—he had passed beyond the wall.

A terribly messy enlightenment.

But enlightenment for a martial man is always personal.

The wooden swords in his right and left hands now glimmered faintly with blue, with starlight.

This was Strong Qi. Could it be—the power of Absolute Realm?

Namgung Sinjae flung open the training hall doors.

It was time to declare before all under heaven that the Namgung Clan’s heir had reached Absolute Realm. But—

It seemed only the Chief Steward was there to welcome him.

“Congratulations on your great achievement, Young Clan Lord. However, the Clan Lord and the Madam have departed for Sichuan.”

“Hm? For what reason?”

“They said simply they were going on a trip. Left all affairs in your hands. Truly outrageous.”

“Hm. Then I may soon gain a sibling near my own age. By the way, why was the Boundless Sky Pavilion training ground empty? Something happened?”

“There was a strange rumor of a Shin Clan treasure appearing in Shandong, so they set out there.”

“Shin Clan treasure? With the Shin surname, there’s only one thing worthy of being called a treasure, isn’t there?”

“Precisely why the Boundless Sky Pavilion couldn’t just sit and wait for news of whether it’s real or fake.”

“Hm. True.”

Namgung Sinjae stroked his chin.

His parents were away, so there was no one to report his breakthrough to.

The Boundless Sky Pavilion’s martial men were gone, so no one to spar with either.

Then he might as well return to closed-door training.

At that moment, the Chief Steward fixed him with a lewd smile.

“Ah. Since you’ve achieved your great success, Young Clan Lord, it is now time for you to begin handling the Clan Lord’s duties in earnest.”

“Hm? So suddenly?”

“The Clan Lord shielded you before, saying you must first reach Absolute Realm. But now you have. So you must now be prepared to lead the clan in truth.”

“Hm. Hm.”

Namgung Sinjae nodded gravely, thinking—

At this rate, forget training, I’ll just end up stuck handling Father’s duties while he runs off to play.

Hm. I’ll just have to run away from home first, then think it over.