<Namgung Myung’s Despair>

Every martial artist of the Demonic Cult was watching Tang Mujin’s every move. They saw clearly when he struck the bottom of the needle case, sending countless needles flying into the air. Yet, no one immediately grasped the significance of his actions. What kind of bizarre behavior was this? That was all they thought.

But in the next moment, the needles that had been flung into the air did not fall back to the ground. They hovered, suspended in the sky.

“Floating in midair?”

Even this wasn’t particularly threatening. There were a lot of needles, but if they were light, their weight wouldn’t be significant. A martial artist of high skill could easily lift them, and those with exceptional inner strength could manage to hold them aloft.

However, curiosity about this strange act quickly turned into a sense of foreboding as they witnessed a bizarre phenomenon.

Like a fan slowly unfolding, the needles spread out in the air, creating space between them. It wasn’t just about distance. The countless needles aligned with precision, like tiny soldiers in formation. Some sharp-eyed martial artists even noticed the needles subtly shifting, as if each one was targeting a specific mark.

By now, every martial artist of the Demonic Cult realized something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“Ten Thousand Blossoms Rain.”

With those words, the needles traced their own paths, swirling like a summer storm.

This was not a spectacle that could be explained by the level of martial arts achievement. It was more akin to something out of an ancient legend, closer to an act of supernatural power than martial prowess.

It was truly an astonishing sight, but the martial artists of the Demonic Cult had no time to marvel. The grotesque needles glinted in shades of blue, green, and black. They desperately swung their weapons to fend off the poisoned needles.

Each needle moved erratically, like a living wasp. They abruptly changed course to dodge weapons, and those that missed their mark turned back to attack again.

It was as if a swarm of metallic white wasps, smaller and faster than any real wasp, with venom potent enough to incapacitate with a single sting, was enveloping them.

“Gather! We need to form a tight defense!”

Some suggested a wise strategy, but it was not one that could be easily followed by those struggling to hold their ground.

The orthodox martial artists watching the battle were speechless.

They were ready to intervene, waiting for Tang Mujin, Namgung Myung, or Hyun Gong to call for help. They intended to step in if the situation became more dire, as it would be problematic if key figures were killed or injured.

But now, every orthodox martial artist stood in stunned silence, watching the bizarre phenomenon unfold. It was clear they didn’t need to intervene. The power of Murong Hueng, the head of the Murong family, would be enough to resolve this.

“This is… what on earth…”

Those with lesser martial skills couldn’t comprehend the scene, while those with greater skills could only vaguely understand it.

Hwayeonshin had tracked it, but understanding it with the mind was one thing; accepting it with the heart was another.

‘Tang Mujin, you weren’t lying.’

Tang Mujin had told Hwayeonshin he would show a skill no one else could imitate. And he had promised it would be realized.

He was right a hundred times over. Even the renowned martial artist Young Bojin, or the deceased Jang Sanbong or Bodhidharma, couldn’t replicate this skill.

Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong were just as bewildered. Perhaps even more so than those outside.

“What is this…?”

However, unlike those who could only watch Tang Mujin’s back, Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong could turn around and see him.

Tang Mujin was moving his arms slowly, like large flags, but his fingers were a blur, directing the movement of the poisoned needles. From a distance, it might have been an impressive sight.

But unfortunately, to Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong, Tang Mujin’s condition was far from normal.

Namgung Myung spoke with concern.

“Hyun Gong! Doesn’t Tang Mujin seem… a bit off?”

Tang Mujin’s eyes and body were convulsing.

Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong instinctively knew.

‘He’s done something reckless.’

Tang Mujin hadn’t become the greatest martial artist in ten days to display such a skill.

Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong targeted the vital points of the fallen. The nape, the heart, the lower abdomen’s dantian. They didn’t care where they struck as long as it incapacitated or killed their opponents.

Some might call it dishonorable, but they didn’t care. Honor was a luxury for evenly matched numbers.

Then, Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong exploited the gaps of those unaccustomed to blocking neck strikes. The Demonic Cult martial artists had to keep their eyes high to fend off the remaining needles. Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong crouched low, stabbing underarms and flanks, slicing throats.

Even those who had survived Namgung Myung and Hyun Gong’s full assault couldn’t withstand their relentless attacks. The two continued to claim lives, their clothes stained red with blood. Their garments clung to their skin, sticky with gore.

Soon, the needles that had been slicing through the air fell to the ground, lifeless.

Hyun Gong turned to look back. Tang Mujin had collapsed.

The time of Tang Mujin’s Ten Thousand Blossoms Rain hadn’t been long. But now, among the Demonic Cult martial artists on the battlefield, only the Left Guardian remained unscathed.

Hyun Gong thought.

‘In such a short time, he’s amassed an incredible kill count…’

The Left Guardian’s survival wasn’t due to his defense but because Tang Mujin’s needles had largely ignored him.

Hyun Gong wiped the blood from his sword and approached the fallen Tang Mujin, speaking to Namgung Myung.

“You take care of the Left Guardian.”

It was Hyun Gong’s way of showing consideration. He hoped Namgung Myung could settle his debts by personally dealing with the Left Guardian.

“If you need help, just say so.” “That won’t be necessary.”

Namgung Myung swung his sword to shake off the blood and approached the Left Guardian. The Left Guardian sat on the edge of the porch, looking defeated. He didn’t appear ready for a fight.

“Pick up your sword.”

Namgung Myung commanded, and the Left Guardian asked an unexpected question.

“Have I fulfilled my role?”

“Your role?” ”…Being by their side.”

Someone would have to lead the Demonic Cult martial artists in the absence of the leader, and the Left Guardian would return to the capital following the leader’s orders. Namgung Myung had predicted this, and indeed, the Left Guardian had appeared in the capital in place of the leader and the Great Guardian.

But there was one thing Namgung Myung hadn’t anticipated. The Left Guardian hadn’t returned to the capital on the leader’s orders.

The leader had wanted the Left Guardian to stay by his side. But for the first time, the Left Guardian had refused the leader’s wishes and returned to the capital of his own volition. He knew he would likely die at the hands of the orthodox martial artists, yet he chose to return.

Namgung Myung sneered with a face full of disdain.

“Is it so important to be by their side when you can’t even help?”

”…I wonder…”

The Left Guardian, Yeon Sa-wook, recalled old memories.
A bit slow, but a martial genius.
Surpassing his master at a young age.

A master who couldn’t be proud of him, lacking the capacity to appreciate his talent.
A master who couldn’t overcome his disillusionment with martial arts and vanished, leaving the once-great sect to crumble.

Elders who thrust the position of sect leader upon him simply because he was the most accomplished in martial arts.
Elders as irresponsible and small-minded as his master.

Taking on the unwanted role of sect leader at twenty-two.
Struggling to keep the crumbling sect alive for years, trying to maintain its legacy. But among the many skills a sect leader needed, Yeon Sa-wook only had martial arts.

If just one elder had fulfilled their duty, how different things might have been.
If someone had stayed by his side, or at least told him to lay down his burdens and leave, how different things might have been.

The Left Guardian sighed deeply, his voice filled with renewed conviction.

“Yes, I was meant to be here.”

Of course, Namgung Myung didn’t know the Left Guardian’s life story, nor could he understand his thoughts.
Namgung Myung spoke again.

“Pick up your sword.”

Reluctantly, the Left Guardian picked up his sword.
At first, his stance was awkward, but as Namgung Myung watched silently, the Left Guardian eventually assumed a proper stance.

Namgung Myung was about to strike the Left Guardian when he realized he needed to ask an important question.

“Where are the leader and the Great Guardian?”

The Left Guardian answered immediately.

“I don’t know.”

Namgung Myung scoffed.

“Do you know? There’s not a single person Tang Mujin couldn’t make talk.”

“I’m not hiding anything. I truly don’t know. I didn’t ask the leader or the Great Guardian where they were going. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have told you easily…”

The Left Guardian didn’t seem to be lying. But Namgung Myung wasn’t about to overlook even the smallest possibility.

“If we can subdue him and make him talk, we might get some information.”

Jwa Hobum gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, raising it high above his head in the classic stance known as the ‘Mountain Crushing Pose.’

It was a stance he hadn’t shown during the fight on the ship. Jwa Hobum was skilled at wielding his sword while simultaneously using martial arts techniques, so he rarely used both hands for his sword.

But now, his presence was anything but trivial to Namgung Myung. With broad shoulders and a solid build, Jwa Hobum’s martial prowess and formidable aura were a perfect match.

‘Is this a hidden technique?’

Namgung Myung didn’t back down. Though he had mastered swift and stealthy swordplay, he was more confident in powerful, deliberate strikes. After all, the Namgung family was renowned for their strong, heavy sword techniques rather than quick ones.

Namgung Myung also raised his sword high, ready to unleash his ‘Emperor’s Experience.’ He planned to counter strength with strength.

Jwa Hobum leaned back slightly and advanced first, bringing his sword down with a clean, powerful arc. Yet, it seemed there was little variation from the Mountain Crushing Pose.

Namgung Myung remained vigilant. True martial arts reveal their worth when swords clash. He responded immediately with his ‘Emperor’s Experience.’ In a duel of strong swords, the outcome often hinges on the subtleties of technique.

‘When our swords meet, I’ll momentarily withdraw my strength and move to the next strategy. First, I need to force Jwa Hobum’s sword off balance…’

But Jwa Hobum’s actions defied Namgung Myung’s expectations. His sword suddenly accelerated, slicing through the air.

‘A quick strike?’

In a clash of strong swords, suddenly increasing speed could wound the opponent first. Strong swords often don’t prioritize speed, so it was a logical move.

However, few would dare such a tactic. Ignoring the opponent’s strong sword to inflict a minor wound could leave one’s upper body exposed, risking death.

‘A master like Jwa Hobum surely knows this.’

Was there a way to strike first and naturally withdraw? Or was he hoping Namgung Myung’s sword would falter?

Normally, Namgung Myung would have retreated hastily. But now, he was different. He was here for revenge, willing to risk serious injury to kill Jwa Hobum.

So Namgung Myung matched his opponent’s speed without hesitation. Instead, he steadied his stance, channeling more strength into his arms, bracing his legs against the pain.

“Take the Poison King quickly and treat him…”

Namgung Myung shouted fiercely.

“Raise your sword!”

Jwa Hobum muttered in response.

“I’m sorry for killing your friend. Looking back, it wasn’t necessary…”

“Raise your sword!”

But Jwa Hobum didn’t look at Namgung Myung. Instead, he gazed at the fallen Dang Mujin and the loyal Hyun Gung by his side.

The light faded from Jwa Hobum’s eyes. He stared blankly at the sky, murmuring.

“Poison King, Jeong Eon, have I repaid even a little of my debt…?”

Those were Jwa Hobum’s final words. Yet Namgung Myung couldn’t grasp the meaning behind them.

Jwa Hobum’s grip loosened, and his body slumped to the ground. It was a rather anticlimactic end for a renowned master.

Namgung Myung watched Jwa Hobum’s lifeless body, then ruffled his hair in frustration. He had avenged Hong Gyeolgae, but his heart remained unsettled.

‘Why didn’t I just swing my sword and cut Jwa Hobum’s throat earlier, even if it meant getting hurt?’

He pondered whether to take Jwa Hobum’s body back to the Namgung family but shook his head.

Hong Gyeolgae wouldn’t have wanted someone else’s head at his funeral.

Instead, Namgung Myung took Jwa Hobum’s sword.

“I’ll give you a proper burial. The righteous warriors of the martial alliance will all pray for your soul.”

Revenge was complete. Yet Namgung Myung turned away with an even more melancholic expression.