Chapter v13c9

“What? You cripple, where do you think you’re going?”

A disciple from the Gun ung hoe shoved Hyo-ryong, who was trying to push past the crowd. He didn’t like Bi Ryu-yeon or his gang. To the Gun ung hoe, Bi Ryu-yeon was someone they had to tolerate, someone they couldn’t kill.

But the man couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Why don’t you finish what you were saying?”

There’s nothing stronger than a woman in love, they say.

The man shuddered at the chilling aura emanating from the two swords pointed at his throat, their tips gleaming menacingly. He could only shake his head, his face contorted in a grimace. It was a valuable lesson, a reminder of the consequences of speaking carelessly.

‘Have I neglected her for too long?’

Dokgo Ryeong shook her head in disbelief, watching Yi Jin-seol’s fierce behavior. She had always been sweet and cheerful. Environment shapes a person, they say. She suddenly felt worried about her junior sister.

But the old man with the silver beard simply smiled and nodded, seemingly approving of the young woman’s courage. Jang Hong, who had been standing nearby, ready to punch the man in the face, relaxed his fist.

“Do you want to try?”

“…”

Hyo-ryong didn’t answer. He simply drew one of the twin swords strapped to his back. He was driven by a voice in his head, an irresistible command. It was the voice of an old man.

“He’s going to fail! What can he do when he can’t even control his own body?”

A mocking voice came from behind. But it was just an empty sound to Hyo-ryong. It only angered his friends.

Hyo-ryong swung his sword.

It was a sword strike performed in a trance. And it unleashed a hidden martial art technique from the depths of his being.

A crimson sword energy flashed, and a long sword mark appeared on the black wall.

A glint of surprise appeared in the old man with the silver beard’s eyes.

“What was that blood-red light?”

Even Jang Hong, who was always with Hyo-ryong, had never seen such sword energy before.

The Saber Emperor’s words were also significant.

“A sword used for saber techniques… What an interesting young man!”

Yong Gyeong-ui examined the sword mark Hyo-ryong had left. He had no intention of letting him pass if his skill was lacking.

“Hmm…”

The Saber Emperor stared at the mark for a long time before finally speaking.

“You’re still far from being ready!”

A wave of disappointment washed over the crowd. Yi Jin-seol, who had been cheering him on in her heart, was the most disappointed. She knew it would be difficult for Hyo-ryong in his current state, but she had been praying for his success, invoking the names of all the gods in heaven.

Then the Saber Emperor spoke again.

“But for someone his age, he’s quite impressive. He’ll be useful with some more training.”

“S-So?”

Yeomdo asked. The Saber Emperor nodded.

“He passes!”

Cheers erupted.

Bi Ryu-yeon, seemingly uninterested in the commotion, continued to stare at the black wall, as if trying to see through it. He acted as if the results didn’t matter to him.

He muttered in a low voice,

“This is impossible…”

Someone saw him. It was Yong Gyeong-ui.

His eyes widened suddenly.

He had seen a shadow overlapping Bi Ryu-yeon’s back as he reached out to touch the Scarred Wall of Tribulation. A shiver ran down his spine.

‘This is impossible!’

He quickly dismissed the thought. It couldn’t be. He must have been mistaken.

**The Third Trial**

– The Sword Graveyard

“They’re trapped in the shackles of the past.”

Na Yerin said as they walked towards the third trial, leaving the second trial behind.

“…”

Bi Ryu-yeon, walking beside her, didn’t answer. It was unusual for him to be so quiet. There were times when he seemed to consider silence a sin.

“What are you thinking about so intently?”

Na Yerin was surprised by her own question.

She was asking him. Why? The answer came quickly. Because she was curious! Curious? Why? Because she wanted to know! Know what?

‘…His thoughts?’

Was this curiosity?

Curiosity was a strange emotion to her, something she was still getting used to.

“The sky is so blue, isn’t it?”

Bi Ryu-yeon changed the subject. A hawk soared through the blue sky, its wings strong and wide, its feathers blue. It was a thunder hawk.

“Ryu-yeon!”

She raised her voice slightly, a warning. And she was surprised to find herself trying to force him to talk.

Was this also driven by curiosity?

“…Puzzle…”

“What?”

His first word was too faint to hear.

“I was thinking about a puzzle… a puzzle that can’t be solved! Or maybe it has to be solved…”

“…?!”

And then he fell silent again. For the first time, Na Yerin felt a wall in his heart, a solid wall that refused her entry.

A pang of sadness, for no reason, stabbed at her heart.

The abundance of autumn, a season of harvest, had enveloped the entire mountain, but this place seemed to be excluded from its blessings.

What should she call this place? A wide clearing, where the steep slope suddenly ended. It was a barren wasteland, devoid of any vegetation. An ominous feeling… But there was one thing that grew here, over a hundred of them.

Grow?

They didn’t know what they were at first. They thought they were just small trees, defying the barrenness of this desert-like landscape. But they had no branches or leaves.

They took a closer look. Their eyes widened. They finally realized what they were.

They had clearly been here for a long time.

Yi Jin-seol reached out and touched one of them. The dirt and dust that had coated it like skin fell away with a soft crackle. A bright light flashed.

“Ouch!”

She quickly withdrew her hand. Hyo-ryong’s right eyebrow twitched, but that was all.

Na Yerin and Dokgo Ryeong rushed to her side. Her face was contorted in a grimace. Her eyes, like jewels, stared at her slender, white finger. A drop of blood, like a ruby, welled up from the cut.

Their gazes, along with Bi Ryu-yeon’s, shifted to “it.” A sharp blade, gleaming in the sunlight. It was a sword. A peerless sword, its edge unblemished by the ravages of time. It couldn’t have belonged to an ordinary person. They looked around.

‘Are these all swords?’

But the swords were incomplete. They were broken in half, embedded in the ground. Like tombstones…

“Do you like the desolation of this graveyard?”

An old man approached them. When had he arrived? He was clad in a faded robe, his beard reaching his chest, his hair long and white. The Saber Emperor’s eyes were fiery and intense, like the sun. This old man’s eyes were cold and calm, like the night.

His right sleeve was empty. Just like the Saber Emperor’s. It wasn’t a fashion statement. A few of the innkeepers, who had looked at the old man’s face, quickly turned away with gasps of horror. His face was covered in gruesome scars, as if dozens of snakes, their scales replaced with blades, had crawled across it. It was a terrifying sight, a face that made their blood run cold.

“Senior, who are you?”

Binggeom bowed respectfully. He sensed a powerful sword energy emanating from the old man. He didn’t have a sword in his hand, but he had a sword in his heart, a sharp, gleaming sword. Binggeom could feel it, his skin tingling. He was polite, but he didn’t let his guard down.

“Me? I’m just a humble gravedigger, guarding this graveyard!”

Binggeom looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Graveyard? Where’s the graveyard?”

He looked around, but there were no mounds of earth, no tombstones.

“This entire land is a graveyard. Can’t you see all those swords embedded in the ground?”

Of course they could see them. Swords of various shapes and sizes, weathered by time, stood like silent sentinels, some slanted, some straight, each unique.

“There are exactly one hundred and eight swords here. And a hundred years ago, they all had owners.”

It was a simple statement, but it carried an ominous weight.

“T-Then…”

A sword was a martial artist’s life. No sane swordsman would abandon their sword in such a remote place. There was only one reason why a martial artist would lose their sword. And if all those swords were broken in half, there was no need for further explanation.

“…Countless lives were lost here.”

The atmosphere suddenly turned somber. They were all martial artists who had risked their lives to protect the world. Was peace and happiness only possible through sacrifice? No one could answer that question.

“Senior, may I ask your name?”

Yeomdo asked politely, vowing not to be surprised, no matter who the old man was.

The old man replied,

“I don’t know if knowing my insignificant name will be of any help, but if you must know, my name is Seop Un-myeong! …Some people call me the Sword Maniac.”

“Gasp!”

Yeomdo couldn’t keep his vow. But he was still better than Binggeom, who had shouted, “No way! Damn it!”

Seop Un-myeong, the Sword Maniac.

His nickname meant “a fool obsessed with swords.” But no one dared to call him a madman.

A hundred years ago, he had challenged countless sword masters and even the best swordsman in the world, armed with nothing but a crudely carved branch. His nickname, “Heaven-Turning Branch,” was a testament to his skill. Anyone who called him a madman was a true fool.

A legend of the sword, a man who had left behind countless tales of heroism a hundred years ago!

“If the Saber Emperor, Yong Gyeong-ui, is the master of the saber, then Seop Un-myeong, the Sword Maniac, is the master of the sword.” That was a common saying in the martial world at the time. But when comparing the two, people always favored Seop Un-myeong. This was before Mo Yong Jeong-cheon, the Sword Saint, the leader of the Three Heavenly Martial Saints, had made a name for himself.

A hundred years! It was enough time for countless swordsmen to fade from people’s memories, and they had indeed been forgotten. But even now, Seop Un-myeong’s skill was often compared to that of Mo Yong Jeong-cheon, the Sword Saint. It was a testament to his greatness.

‘Am I still alive?’

Yeomdo grumbled. He had met too many people who should have been dead.