The Limits of Humanity

The mountains surrounding Sichuan are so high and treacherous that they rarely allow human footsteps. It’s no wonder the poet Li Bai wrote “The Hard Road to Shu,” capturing the arduous journey into Sichuan.

Of the paths leading into Sichuan, two are most traveled: one through Hanzhong, the other through Chongqing.

For Hua Yeon-shin, whose face was as rigid as Tang Mu-jin’s, a native of Sichuan, it was because of this very reason.

Chongqing, one of the two gateways into Sichuan, was where Hua Yeon-shin had spent nearly half her life. Beggars, courtesans, sailors, murderers—most people she knew were in Chongqing.

Clutching a small jade pendant tightly, Hua Yeon-shin thought, “The leader should have entered Sichuan through Hanzhong, avoiding Chongqing…”

She was confident her reasoning was sound. Hanzhong was much further north, making it more natural for the leader to bypass Chongqing.

But her hopes were soon dashed. People carrying a child on a cart were approaching from the direction of Chongqing, not Hanzhong.

Yoo Jin-kwang stopped a passerby to ask, “Why have you brought the child all the way here?”

“A wicked serpent appeared, killing people indiscriminately. So many died, and the village was devastated. We had no choice but to leave our home.”

Eom So-ul was at a loss for words. When he first heard that the leader was heading towards the temple, he had a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the leader was regaining some sanity. He was so excited that he almost forgot his own predicament and tried to strike up conversations with others.

But now, the leader’s actions were crushing Eom So-ul’s expectations, veering to the opposite extreme. Not only people but animals, too, seemed unable to escape the wrath, their bodies strewn about in horrific states.

Namgung Jin-hyeon briefly examined the animal carcasses by the roadside and remarked, “It seems they weren’t killed long ago. We’re almost caught up.”

Yet, until they reached Chongqing, the group did not encounter the leader.

On the day they finally arrived in Chongqing, snow began to fall from the sky—large, white flakes rarely seen in the city. Hyun-gung gazed at the snow, recalling the distant Northern Sea Ice Palace.

Without slowing down, the group raced towards the heart of Chongqing. Corpses were visible here and there, but not much snow had settled on them, and the snowflakes that touched them quickly melted.

“They died just recently,” someone noted.

The group followed the most visible path, moving from one scattered body to the next.

And there, in the middle of a wide avenue, they found the person they had been searching for. A man in tattered clothes, holding a black sword in his right hand. Blood dripped from the tip of the sword like tears, leaving red footprints on the snow.

On the other side stood the leader, alone.

Despite the leader’s formidable skills, the group thought they had a chance given their numbers. They believed they could gauge the outcome by engaging in battle. At least, that was the thought until they met the leader.

But now, Tang Mu-jin felt only one emotion: despair. He wasn’t alone in this feeling. Namgung Ryeong, standing beside him, muttered softly, “He seems different from the last time we saw him, doesn’t he?”

“He looks even more formidable than the beggar sect leader. The leader isn’t getting stronger by devouring others, is he?”

Reaching a new level often brings explosive achievements, a common experience for martial artists. And it seemed this was no exception, even beyond the realm of the supreme.

However, the leader’s method of achievement wasn’t through sparring or training with advisors. It was simply by tempering his sword with endless bloodshed.

Hua Yeon-shin approached the leader, glancing at the bodies strewn around. Most were unfamiliar, but a few faces she recognized.

She growled, “Will you slaughter people because you can’t overcome your madness? Or will you kill for your meager achievements?”

The leader looked at Hua Yeon-shin and gave a hollow smile. A smile as innocent as a child’s, yet the laugh of a madman unbound by anything.

The Great Luo Wisdom Sword.

The martial arts of Shaolin are rooted in movements for practicing Buddhist teachings. In contrast, the martial arts of the Emei sect were initially intended to suppress methods that harm people.

Thus, unlike Shaolin’s martial arts, Emei’s techniques are steeped in killing intent. The Emei’s most representative sword techniques, the Subduing Tiger Sword and the Seven Killing Sword, are such examples.

However, the aura contained in the Great Luo Wisdom Sword was different from any martial arts Hua Yeon-shin had shown before. The killing intent was noticeably faint, yet its weight was incomparable to any Emei sword. It felt closer to Shaolin’s martial arts.

In an instant, Hua Yeon-shin pressed the leader. After exchanging a few moves, they both simultaneously retreated, creating a gap between them.

At that moment, Hua Yeon-shin held her sword with her right palm facing the sky. The sword, which should have lost balance and fallen, remained steady on her palm.

Then, Hua Yeon-shin spoke, “Take this as well.”

The Chaotic Wind Sword.

The sword that had rested on Hua Yeon-shin’s palm accelerated on its own, shooting forward like an arrow released from a bowstring. Its speed was terrifyingly fast, and its movements were anything but simple. The sword darted forward, its tip trembling erratically, concealing its target.

A truly formidable technique, yet so bizarre it was difficult to evade. For a moment, people thought Hua Yeon-shin’s sword might pierce the leader’s and end the fight.

But that didn’t happen. The leader countered Hua Yeon-shin’s complexity with an even deeper complexity. His left hand moved gracefully through the air, creating an invisible flow before the approaching sword.

‘That…’

What Tang Mu-jin could comprehend was that the flow contained the profoundness of a master.

Tang Mu-jin didn’t have time to fully understand. The sword Hua Yeon-shin had unleashed moved according to the leader’s guidance, smoothly landing in his left hand.

Effortlessly dismantling Hua Yeon-shin’s ultimate move, it seemed as if the leader had seized her sword.

A clear look of bewilderment appeared on Hua Yeon-shin’s face. She had expected the leader to block the Chaotic Wind Sword, but she hadn’t anticipated losing her sword so naturally.

“Interesting, but insufficient,” the leader remarked, twirling the sword in his left hand.

Hua Yeon-shin hid her surprise and replied, “Don’t be arrogant. This is just the beginning…”

But as she drew a new sword to attack the leader again, something even more incomprehensible than the self-propelled Chaotic Wind Sword occurred.

The sword, spinning fiercely in the leader’s left hand, suddenly stopped, pointing firmly at the sky. Yet, the leader’s left hand wasn’t touching the sword’s hilt.

The sword Hua Yeon-shin had thrown was suspended in mid-air.

Hyun-gung murmured, “That is…”

Though the sword showed no particular movement, everyone was engulfed by an ominous premonition.

At first glance, it seemed like a simple trick of levitation. However, it was a martial art that far surpassed mere levitation. A martial art no one had ever seen, but every martial artist had heard of.

At the leader’s gesture, the sword flew on its own, piercing his enemies.

For the first time since the passing of the great master Zhang Sanfeng, the art of Sword Control was displayed.

Sword Control isn’t merely the skill of moving a sword without using one’s hands. Its essence lies in transcending limits.

The most fundamental limit of all martial arts: wielding a sword. The limit that the sword is held by the human body. Sword Control is the only way to transcend that limit.

Mastering Sword Control means being able to wield a sword at speeds beyond human capability and strike at angles impossible for the human body. Moreover, it means that the moment surpasses the limitations of flesh and blood, leaving no weaknesses.

The leader had thus transcended the limits of the flesh.

Though he hadn’t cut anyone down, his prowess left everyone in despair. Yet, Tang Mu-jin’s group wasn’t entirely helpless.

While none had transcended the limits of the flesh like the leader, there were those who had slightly surpassed the limits of the human mind.

Tang Mu-jin turned around and shouted, “I’m sorry, I can’t assist with that.”