“With that kind of martial art, you’ll never reach the Flowering Stage.”

Hwangbo Yeongcheon’s path was flawed.

Though I’ve never personally reached the Flowering Stage, this much I can say with certainty:

Those who attain the Flowering Stage are, without exception, people who look to the end of their own path.

No one claims to have reached the ultimate end, but at the very least, they stand on a road that is undeniably their own.

But from Hwangbo Yeongcheon, I can feel no such path.

Though he himself likely refuses to admit it.

“Nonsense! The reason I failed to reach the Flowering Stage despite my relentless training over the decades is due to the declining bloodline of the Hwangbo Clan! The talent passed down has weakened with each generation!”

“If you’ve lived that long, surely you should’ve realized something by now while watching the affairs of Murim. Talent doesn’t guarantee enlightenment.”

Yes. Those who are called geniuses have always been like that. They never know how to look beneath their feet, or how hard others are struggling to climb.

“Are you saying I don’t know what it means to struggle?”

My entire life has been a struggle. From the moment my father died and my mother had to serve our enemy, through the time I died at the hands of the Heavenly Demon and was given a second chance—

Not once have I stopped struggling.

To save those I once couldn’t, and to someday stand against the Heavenly Demon.

A dry laugh escaped me. But perhaps Hwangbo Yeongcheon mistook it for mockery.

“How dare you! I’ll tear that mouth of yours apart!!”

Hwangbo Yeongcheon charged forward with a roar, as if he no longer intended to listen to anything I had to say.

Despite the Mountain Empty Poison draining his internal energy, it seemed his reserves—accumulated from devouring who knows how many people—still showed no sign of depleting.

But perhaps because he couldn’t properly control the energy constantly leaking from his body—

Thud! Thud!

The ground shook with each step. The rough, cracked footprints he left behind were like tails dragging through the dirt.

All signs of wasted strength.

Sure, his internal energy still overflowed, and his temporarily rejuvenated body was powerful.

But what of it?

Unfocused power is no different than swinging a sword like a club.

In other words, Hwangbo Yeongcheon couldn’t properly wield his own martial arts.

I twisted the corner of my mouth into a crooked smile and this time, focused my killing intent squarely on him.

Not to pressure him as usual—but to wrap around his massive frame.

To me, killing intent is also a kind of sensation.

The flow of breath, the subtle twitches of muscle, the shifting gaze of darting pupils, even unconscious habits—

Perhaps because he couldn’t control his own power, Hwangbo Yeongcheon didn’t even try to hide his condition. And so, information about his state poured in like a flood.

Whether he realized it or not, Hwangbo Yeongcheon launched into a series of wide, powerful strikes with fists as large as pot lids.

A heavy punch aimed at my heart. A sweeping leg strike meant to break my legs. And even a shoulder charge meant to turn the tide in his favor—Mountaintop Crash.

Each of his moves carried intense killing intent, making them easy to predict from the slightest signs.

I spun my blade to deflect the punch aimed at my heart, stabbed his thigh before the low kick could begin to twist its path, and narrowly evaded the shoulder charge by moving half a beat earlier.

Then, planting my left foot firmly into the ground, I channeled my qi into my right foot in line with the principle of Thunderclap Step.

Puuhk!

It made a dull thud like striking the ground, perhaps because it wasn’t properly executed, but that was my intention.

The recoil sent my body into a rough spin, and I used that momentum to swing my sword at the back of Hwangbo Yeongcheon’s neck.

“Guh!”

Even with his toughened body, it seemed he couldn’t easily offer up his neck. He panicked and slammed his feet into the ground with greater force.

Fwap.

He still couldn’t completely avoid it, though—a faint line was drawn across his neck, and blood began to bead at the surface.

As he staggered from his broken posture, I was the one to charge in this time.

I swung my sword again. The crimson flames of my blade scorched through the gray qi flame, and the sharp edge continued to carve away at the revived flesh of his former glory.

Without pause, we exchanged strikes over and over.

Sometimes I pressed the attack, sometimes he did—but one thing remained constant through dozens of exchanges.

I read Hwangbo Yeongcheon’s moves every time.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t read mine. And the small wounds he accumulated began to add up.

Eventually, with several sword cuts on his limbs, Hwangbo Yeongcheon shouted in rage.

“Why!? No matter how much of a peerless genius you are, you’re still only at the Sub-Perfection level! I’ve absorbed the talents of so many, and yet I can’t land even a single hit…!?”

“I told you, didn’t I? No matter how great the talent given to you, it changes nothing.”

“That can’t be! No genius can unleash their full potential before they’ve matured! …Wait, this overwhelming killing intent…! Don’t tell me… Your martial talent rivals the Heavenly Martial Body… You’re the Heaven-Killing Star…!”

“Disgusting and slow-witted, too. I can’t imagine how you managed to grow this old. It’s not that I’m amazing—it’s that you still can’t accept that you’ve gone astray.”

From fighting Hwangbo Guang and his escorts, and then facing Hwangbo Yeongcheon, I’ve come to a conclusion—

The martial arts of the Hwangbo Clan were originally upright and honest.

A straightforward punch that sought to shatter whatever blocked its path.

Their ideal form likely resembled Seo Mun-Hwarin’s relentless, unyielding strikes, yet carried a more righteous aura.

A martial art that’s completed entirely within the self.

Which means it’s the sort of orthodox martial art that grows more refined the longer it’s cultivated.

Hwangbo Guang was weak because his training was shallow.

“You’ve added unnecessary trickery.”

“What!?”

The reason Hwangbo Yeongcheon can’t fully utilize his strength is simple: he’s no longer extending his strikes straight and true.

“Talent doesn’t make up the entirety of martial arts. It’s only the starting line—the initial speed. Those who become intoxicated by talent inevitably lose their way. Just like you.”

He mixes unnecessary flourishes into punches that only needed to go straight.

Each strike sparkled with potential, but potential alone is just a glimmer. A strike that dazzles is not the same as one honed to perfection.

That’s not enough to reach someone like me, who has polished his skills through battle.

The same applied to his other techniques.

His sweeping leg strike, which should’ve dominated a broad frontal area, lost its pressure due to sloppy speed techniques.

His hand technique, used to grab my embedded sword, relied too heavily on fingertip sensitivity, failing to distinguish my feints.

Hwangbo Yeongcheon was ruining a perfectly good martial art with half-baked talents gathered from others.

“No matter how brilliant a genius may be, the legacy a single person can build has its limits.”

I’m confident I won’t lose in swordsmanship, and I am stronger than Namgung Jong in direct combat…

But if you ask me whether my Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art is better than his Boundless Sky Piercing Sword, I would never say yes.

My art is built around my unique traits and killing intent.

It fits me better than anything else—but that doesn’t mean it’s deep.

The strength of a martial artist and the depth of their martial art are two different things.

Why are certain clans and sects revered as prestigious even after centuries?

Why are their martial arts still acknowledged, even if their political power wanes?

The answer is simple: their martial arts are the essence of countless practitioners, refined over generations of geniuses.

The Hwangbo Clan may have declined. Perhaps, as Hwangbo Yeongcheon said, their blood has thinned and talent has faded.

But does failing to reach the Flowering Stage make them all fools?

Of course not. Even Sub-Perfection masters are incredible martial artists.

And the martial arts that the Hwangbo Clan slowly improved over generations? They could only have grown stronger.

Yet Hwangbo Yeongcheon disregarded all that effort and time.

As I watched his needlessly overgrown, misdirected martial techniques, I felt not joy at finding an opening—but a deep, frustrating pity.

“You say you want to restore the Hwangbo Clan’s greatness, yet you’ve lost sight of what your clan’s martial art truly sought.”

“What the hell… what do you think you know!?”

“I know what must never be compromised.”

I wasn’t parroting Seo Mun-Hwarin’s words like a parrot.

The compromise I refer to isn’t being content with where you are—saying this is strong enough or that this is my limit.

I mean the importance of not straying from your path and staying true to it, no matter how difficult.

“Why do you think a martial artist’s presence becomes more defined as their level increases? It’s because they begin to resemble what they pursue.”

So what about you, Hwangbo Yeongcheon?

I’m not asking whether you achieved something. I’m asking: what do you pursue?

“Obviously, I pursue reaching the Flowering Stage…!”

“Is that all? That’s exactly why you’ve failed. A realm is just part of the journey. If you look back on the walls you’ve overcome, it’s easy to see that.”

I didn’t reach the Sub-Perfection stage just to reach it.

I poured vengeance and hatred—left over from losing everything—into my blade until it naturally began to speak for me.

That was the essence of Divine Sword Unity, and the path toward Sub-Perfection.

It was the same when I reached the Peak Stage.

To cut down the opponent before me, I needed a sharper blade.

With my sword chipped and dulled, I honed my qi until it became a blade of its own—that was the moment I became a Peak master.

The Flowering Stage will be no different.

“Hwangbo Yeongcheon. What do you wield your fists for? Don’t say it’s for your clan. You threw away its future—Hwangbo Guang—as bait.”

“I…”

“Exactly. You don’t know. Of course you don’t. You’re just drunk on the fleeting freedom that stolen talent provides.”

Hwangbo Yeongcheon clenched his teeth. But he said nothing. He must’ve felt it too—deep inside, he knew.

“So I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?”

“What you, and the Hwangbo Clan, have lost.”

I stepped forward with my left foot, drawing my right arm and sword all the way back.

My straightened back formed the bow, my fully bent arm the string. It was an extreme stance, designed for a single thrust—and nothing else.

An entirely vulnerable posture, prepared solely for one strike.

Yet, it closely resembled the stance Hwangbo Yeongcheon always took between his techniques.

“No…!”

His eyes widened. Anger began to cloud them, and he mirrored my posture—or perhaps, made it even more complete.

A stance perfect for punching. No visible openings.

His eyes twisted in humiliation. Mine remained calm as our gazes met briefly in the air.

No signal was given, yet we moved at the same time.

A simple, direct thrust with no embellishment.

A decorated straight punch, packed with technique.

The two collided at the point where our eyes had met moments earlier.

Kkwaaang!

The qi flames coating our sword and fist clashed, releasing a deafening roar.

But the balance didn’t last.

Slowly—yet surely—my sword pierced through Hwangbo Yeongcheon’s internal energy.

“H-how…!”

His voice trembled in shock.

But I barely heard it.

My mind was filled with a familiar, yet still inexplicable, exhilaration.

The same sensation I’d felt when I cut down the Bloodflame Fist Demon—and the one Seo Mun-Hwarin called the beginning of Willpower.

What was I thinking, back then?

Nothing.

Only one thought remained—to cut down the opponent in front of me. The sword followed that intention without hesitation.

Now was no different.

Thrust.

That single resolve powered my sword forward, ignoring all obstacles.

Because I wanted to stab. Because I decided to stab.

“Ah…”

A voice, filled with despair and realization, leaked from Hwangbo Yeongcheon’s lips.

And then—

Puuhk!

The blade pierced his massive fist, arm, shoulder—and finally, his neck.

Hwangbo Yeongcheon’s large body began to crumble.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep