“…You can laugh like that?”

Jeon Il-bi looked at me with a puzzled expression.

That was a bit much.

For a moment, I felt an urge to argue, but instead of words, I chose to respond with my sword.

Thud!

I steadied my stance with a sharp step, regaining my balance after my sword had been deflected.

Drawing power from my legs, waist, back, and arms, I lifted my sword in an upward slash.

“You sure are impatient.”

Jeon Il-bi countered calmly, his sword moving with precision.

However, because he hadn’t yet fully recovered from his last strike, his blade was still positioned low.

No matter how fast his sword was or how versatile his techniques were, completely blocking this attack would be difficult.

He would have no choice but to retreat, and that would allow me to seize the initiative.

As I considered how to continue my assault—

Jeon Il-bi’s sword suddenly flicked upward and tapped the spine of my blade.

No, tapped wasn’t the right word.

What followed was another relentless exchange, not much different from before.

A true contest of swordsmanship, a battle of pure technique.

My judgment wasn’t lacking, nor was my ability to execute my decisions.

But as our swords clashed again and again, the gap in depth became clear.

For a moment, I seemed to hold my ground—only for my sword to be deflected or redirected yet again.

A distance that felt just within reach, yet he always remained a step ahead.

It was frustrating, yet at the same time, awe-inspiring.

No matter how I tried to exploit openings, his sword never faltered.

Like a stream of light, his swift and fluid swordplay adapted seamlessly.

Even when I boldly attempted to break through, the outcome remained the same.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t as if my attacks weren’t landing.

At times, I managed to thrust my sword at just the right moment, or force him into a defensive position with a deep slash.

Under normal circumstances, I would have broken my opponent’s momentum, cut off their escape routes, and slowly cornered them—until I severed their breath entirely.

But against Jeon Il-bi, all my attempts were absorbed into the overwhelming flow of his sword.

Even when I disrupted his rhythm, he effortlessly incorporated the break into his own movement, as if it had never happened.

No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop his flow.

Inevitably, the more exchanges we made, the more I found myself being pushed back.

It felt as if I had been caught in a massive whirlpool, completely trapped—yet I had no way to escape.

I finally understood.

The person I was fighting wasn’t just Jeon Il-bi.

I was facing Wudang itself.

What I was truly up against was the legacy of Wudang’s martial arts, which had begun with the Quanzhen Sect and evolved over countless generations.

It was a technique refined by the hands of many masters, honed and perfected over time—and now, it was being wielded through Jeon Il-bi.

He wasn’t the one swallowing my sword.

It was Wudang.

If even a Wudang Elder was at this level, I couldn’t begin to imagine how strong the Sect Leader must be.

It was suffocating.

Yet, at the same time, exhilarating.

How long had it been since I was this completely immersed in swordplay?

Still—if this continued, I would soon lose.

Which meant it was time to show him something.

Wudang’s martial arts were indeed remarkable.

But my sword—my life embedded within it—was not so fragile that it could simply be swept away.

Just in case, I decided to warn him first.

“I hold no resentment toward you, Elder.”

“…What’s this about all of a sudden?”

“It’s simply the nature of my martial arts. Please understand.”

Gripping my sword tightly, I unleashed the killing intent I had been suppressing.

A thick wave of murderous energy spread across the training ground.

An ordinary person would struggle to even breathe under its weight.

For me, however, it felt like a breath of fresh air, as if an oppressive seal had finally been lifted.

“This… What in the world…?”

Jeon Il-bi’s face twisted in shock.

But his composure quickly returned.

He had spoken with Ghost Shadow Thief, so he must have already known that I practiced a technique steeped in killing intent.

What he hadn’t expected was this level of it.

“…Such a sinister aura. Who in the world taught you this swordsmanship?”

“No one.”

“If no one did, then what in the world turned you into this?”

“I’ll show you now.”

With eyes wide open, I charged toward him.

I used the same vertical slash I had demonstrated before, fully embodying the principle of Adherence.

As expected, Jeon Il-bi moved to parry, disrupting the trajectory to redirect my strike.

However, this time—

I altered my attack at the last possible moment, slightly twisting my sword’s tip.

Through my killing intent spread like a mist around us, I sensed his movement an instant earlier.

That tiny adjustment was enough.

I couldn’t fully maintain the force behind my strike, but it also disrupted his ability to deflect it cleanly.

Boom!

For the first time in our duel, our swords clashed head-on, unleashing a deafening explosion of force.

Jeon Il-bi’s eyes widened.

A split second later, a sharp shock coursed up my arm.

If I had been even slightly careless, I might have dropped my sword entirely.

I clenched my grip tightly, forcing myself to endure it.

A damp sensation spread across my palm.

Blood—probably from a slight tear in my flesh.

But that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that, for the first time, Jeon Il-bi had shown a true opening.

He had been forced to block an attack head-on, disrupting his stance ever so slightly.

Even in that unstable position, his sword remained swift and precise.

He immediately retaliated, slashing toward my face.

He intended to use my reaction time to reset his stance.

So—I stepped forward.

Deeply.

Lowering my upper body until it was nearly parallel to the ground.

Executing Iron Bridge Stance mid-charge.

A technique that required impeccable balance and strength—if I slipped, I would fall, completely exposing myself.

But as long as I didn’t make a mistake, it would be fine.

Sswhaeek!

The cold steel blade sliced just above my nose.

And the moment it passed—

I straightened my posture and lashed out with a lightning-fast thrust.

But Jeon Il-bi wasn’t just a master of swordplay.

With perfect footwork, he stepped just out of my sword’s range.

His upper body remained completely stable, allowing him to transition seamlessly into his next technique.

A rising diagonal slash from below.

If I dodged or blocked, the endless chain of swift strikes would resume.

So this time—I neither dodged nor blocked.

Instead, I gripped the bottom of my sword’s hilt like a hammer—

And slammed it down onto his incoming blade.

Thud!

Jeon Il-bi’s sword struck against the broad side of my blade and was driven straight into the ground.

Had I been even a fraction too slow, or had my aim been slightly off, this duel would have already ended.

But I had succeeded, and that was all that mattered.

After all, merely responding to his techniques in a conventional manner would only result in me being devoured by the flow he created.

Thus, I had no choice but to deny his sword.

A rejection purely for the sake of rejection.

I continued to swing my blade relentlessly, at times throwing my entire body into the attack.

A scene of utter recklessness.

But that was my

sword.

It didn’t need to be elegant or refined.

I could bear any number of wounds as long as I didn’t die.

The only thing that mattered was ensuring that my opponent perished first.

I took pride in my swordsmanship, but in the end, my blade was merely a tool for efficient slaughter.

As my killing intent surged, it naturally converged upon Jeon Il-bi.

At first, as befitting a supreme martial artist, he showed little reaction to the overwhelming bloodlust.

But as it built up—again and again—it eventually began to weigh on him.

And then, for just a fleeting moment—

The tiniest hesitation crept into Jeon Il-bi’s swordplay.

He didn’t stop. His speed didn’t slow. He didn’t even swing in the wrong direction.

But for a brief instant, there was a flicker of doubt within his strikes.

His first true opening.

I clenched my teeth and lunged forward.

Fiercely. More fiercely.

Like a starving wolf that would die if it didn’t feast.

Like a rabid beast, baring its blood-stained fangs.

Jeon Il-bi’s sword was still blindingly fast.

His techniques still flowed endlessly, seamlessly connected.

But I no longer allowed myself to be swept away by them.

Even as wounds accumulated across my body, I thrashed and clawed my way toward his throat.

There was no longer a single dominant flow dictating the battlefield.

Instead, the training ground was now a battleground between two forces—

One, an endless stream of sword light, weaving a web of small whirlpools.

The other, a storm of chaos, raging violently against it.

The more I swung my sword, the sharper my focus became.

At that moment, the only things that existed in the world were myself and my blade.

How many times had I lost myself to this instinct, to the rhythm of the fight?

“Enough!!”

Suddenly, an overwhelming surge of sword energy erupted from Jeon Il-bi’s blade.

A sword aura that would have normally flickered like heat haze—

Now layered upon itself over and over, until it burned like a raging inferno.

With a mighty swing, he drew a clear line between himself and me.

And just like that, it was as if I had been yanked from the depths of water, forced to take a breath.

My heightened focus shattered.

Half-submerged in the trance of battle, my mind now fully resurfaced.

At last, I took in my surroundings.

The hushed stillness of the training ground.

My own body, covered in cuts and bruises.

And Jeon Il-bi, standing across from me, his robe slightly nicked by my blade.

Pointing at the faint tear in his garment, he smirked.

“This is enough. Surely you’re satisfied now?”

I stared at the mark I had left before exhaling deeply.

Then, sheathing my sword, I clasped my hands together and bowed in respect.

“Thank you for your guidance.”

“Haha! It’s been a long time since I’ve had such an exhilarating match.”

And with that, the duel was over.

Of course—

“Brother Cheon. A word with you, please.”

Standing with her hands on her hips, half-worried and half-scolding, Tang Sowol was still waiting for me.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep