Chapter 67 : The Number One Blade of the Unorthodox Path

Chapter 67: The Number One Blade of the Unorthodox Path

Jin Seong-un swung the jet-black straight saber several times, familiarizing himself with its weight.

Since he had mostly used a sword after learning martial arts, it felt a little awkward.

The reason he had always used a sword was simple: there had always been one nearby. This time, the saber just happened to be within reach, so he picked it up for the same reason.

Sa Ryeong-geuk watched Jin Seong-un with strange eyes. Having spent his entire life mastering the saber, Sa Ryeong-geuk could recognize from just a few light swings that Jin Seong-un was far from unskilled.

“Were you a bladesman?”

Jin Seong-un glanced at Sa Ryeong-geuk once and ignored him. From this moment on, conversation held no meaning.

Sa Ryeong-geuk’s face flushed at the disregard, but Jin Seong-un soon nodded with a satisfied expression. At last, the weight and balance of the saber fit snugly in his hand.

It was certainly different from a double-edged sword, but the unfamiliarity was not unpleasant.

Jin Seong-un tightened his grip on the saber with his right hand and stared forward. The two stood in silence, gazing at each other.

Then it happened.

A sudden gust of wind swept across the field.

At the same moment, both figures vanished.

Clang—!

They clashed precisely at the center.

Their blades struck lightly, sparks scattering in the air.

Sa Ryeong-geuk’s eyes narrowed.

‘An unorthodox saber technique?’

He had suspected it even before the clash.

Saber arts were generally divided into heavy sabers and swift sabers. The martial artists of the orthodox sects usually used heavy, domineering styles.

The best example was the Hebei Peng Clan, the family of the Saber King.

In contrast, martial artists of the Unorthodox Path mostly employed swift and sharp techniques. The reason was simple—they often lacked the inner strength to wield heavy styles.

Unlike the orthodox disciples who were nurtured from youth with solid inner cultivation, spiritual medicines, and structured training, those of the unorthodox sects often picked up scraps of martial arts from alleys or learned piecemeal from acquaintances.

For them, a swift saber that could kill quickly without requiring great inner power was most fitting.

‘This is a true saber art.’

Of course, the saber style Jin Seong-un was using belonged to the Unorthodox Path, but it was not a technique anyone could easily encounter.

The more exchanges they shared, the deeper Sa Ryeong-geuk’s eyes became.

The aura, the form of the techniques, the flow of the saber—all unmistakably unorthodox. And not just any unorthodox saber art—this was one of the highest order.

Others might not have recognized it, but Sa Ryeong-geuk, himself an unorthodox bladesman, could.

There were very few saber arts of this level in the current era.

As if by agreement, the two pulled back, then clashed again.

“Who taught you?”

The question came naturally.

For swift sabers, distance was everything.

They aimed to achieve the greatest efficiency with the least inner strength. That required precision in distance, speed, and force.

Thus, well-trained bladesmen would often retreat briefly before striking again, to adjust their sense of distance.

The fact that they both did so at the same time meant—

‘His saber art is at least on par with mine.’

By now, Sa Ryeong-geuk was completely absorbed in the fight.

He forgot about the threat of the Poison Lord, forgot about the traitor Master of Twilight Pavilion, forgot even about the Hwa-un Trading Company.

He concentrated as if only Jin Seong-un and himself remained in the world.

The night was deep and dark.

Their blades continuously tore through the moonlight with dazzling arcs.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clash—!

From a distance, it looked like a dance. True swift saber arts always carried a flowing elegance.

Jin Seong-un found himself intrigued. The saber had a charm distinctly different from the sword.

Every motion and breath had to be controlled with delicate precision, as if fighting on a tightrope.

Slash—!

Sa Ryeong-geuk’s straight saber came crashing toward Jin Seong-un’s brow.

Jin Seong-un tilted his head back to avoid it.

At the same instant, he slashed upward.

Their movements intertwined naturally within a single breath.

‘Interesting.’

To Jin Seong-un, it felt much like running an inn. In every situation, there was only one proper place—putting the saber exactly there.

That was the principle of the saber arts he sensed.

He didn’t channel his full inner power. The saber had belonged to a third-rate unorthodox martial artist, and it might shatter if he did.

Thus the duel centered on techniques alone.

It was a contest of eyesight, speed, breathing, and experience.

Clothes were torn, hair ends sliced off.

When the moonlight struck just right, they would speed up deliberately, making their movements appear even faster.

The longer the fight dragged on, the heavier Sa Ryeong-geuk’s expression became. Eventually, his face looked as though sinking into a deep mire.

‘How can this be possible!’

Sa Ryeong-geuk felt a wall. Not just one of strength.

The wall of genius.

He had never put faith in genius.

Though he had been born with decent talent himself, the martial world was full of so-called geniuses.

And they had all died.

As he rose to become the Vice Leader of the Heavenly Poison Alliance, gaining wealth, fame, and power, he had witnessed countless prodigies die.

Some perished from poison, some were torn apart by stronger geniuses, some were stabbed in the back by lesser men.

Most geniuses ended up dead.

But he had survived.

He survived through meticulous calculation, preparation, adaptability, and battlecraft.

He survived by any means necessary, until he finally became the Vice Leader of the Heavenly Poison Alliance.

That was why he believed genius meant little.

He even mocked the arrogance of such people, for most of them died because they overestimated that arrogance.

Yet now, the beliefs he had built his entire life were crumbling. With each clash of blades, cracks spread through his convictions.

Sa Ryeong-geuk grew increasingly silent.

His arms began to feel heavy.

It was the one weakness of the swift saber. Because it demanded extreme focus, prolonged battles brought severe mental fatigue.

This was why the orthodox chose heavy sabers. Swift sabers grew increasingly disadvantageous with age.

Only when one’s focus and bodily reflexes were at their peak could a bladesman of the swift saber enjoy true glory.

That was why the orthodox, seeking strength that accumulated with time, chose the heavy saber.

The momentum of speed was slipping away to his opponent.

His movements were growing half a breath faster with every exchange.

At the beginning of the battle, Sa Ryeong-geuk would attack, and Jin Seong-un would respond.

But now, wherever Sa Ryeong-geuk tried to thrust his saber, Jin Seong-un’s blade was already waiting.

The momentum had shifted.

The force was so overwhelming that Sa Ryeong-geuk could not take it back. He was dragged along helplessly.

At first, when he had witnessed Jin Seong-un’s martial prowess, he had felt shock. Then he had felt powerless before the youth’s genius. At the end of those emotions, he felt anger.

That anger weighed down more and more on the slender blade in Sa Ryeong-geuk’s hand.

His momentum became brutally aggressive.

Kang—!

Even the sound of the sabers clashing grew heavy and coarse.

Jin Seong-un faltered for an instant and stepped back.

The flow of speed shifted back to Sa Ryeong-geuk. His ferocity was so dreadful that he was worthy of being called a Fiend God of Slaughter.

‘Was the Vice Leader of the Heavenly Poison Alliance always this strong?’

Even the Poison Lord, who had been watching, re-evaluated Sa Ryeong-geuk and, at the same time, felt a flicker of concern for Jin Seong-un.

Sa Ryeong-geuk swallowed down the metallic taste rising in his throat and swung again.

Clang—!

Jin Seong-un was forced another step back by the suddenly heavier attacks.

But Sa Ryeong-geuk’s eyes were fixed not on his opponent’s blade, but on his feet.

A man who had swung a saber for decades was measuring the perfect distance for a single decisive strike.

Sa Ryeong-geuk spun his body and suddenly stepped forward. At that same moment, Jin Seong-un raised his straight saber vertically and chopped down.

Sa Ryeong-geuk retreated half a step, and Jin Seong-un pressed forward, unwilling to let him slip away.

In that fleeting instant—

A sliver of time, split again and again—Sa Ryeong-geuk’s eyes shone.

‘Got it.’

The perfect distance.

For his ultimate technique, not even the smallest error could be tolerated.

Sa Ryeong-geuk was a man who only reached his decisive strike after the most thorough calculation and preparation.

His momentum shifted in a heartbeat.

He could not afford to waste this rare chance. If he failed now, such an opportunity would never come again.

His killing intent pressed down heavily on the surroundings, as though the space between them was collapsing in on itself.

Extreme Flash One Saber (極閃一刀).

The single saber tore straight through the air with overwhelming presence.

Puk—!

The saber’s edge drove into Jin Seong-un’s chest, then pierced straight through his heart.

Ecstasy flashed across Sa Ryeong-geuk’s face—then quickly turned to confusion.

He had felt the sensation of piercing something, but it was different from the countless hearts he had pierced in his life.

It was strange. Disgusting, even chilling.

Then he realized the truth.

He had not pierced Jin Seong-un. His senses—sharper than sight, sharper than touch—had been deceived.

What he had struck was not flesh, but a mass of condensed qi.

And then that qi scattered.

In that moment, the world seemed to slow.

Sa Ryeong-geuk’s gaze shifted to the side.

His saber pierced only air. Half a step away, Jin Seong-un looked down at him with dry, indifferent eyes.

Sa Ryeong-geuk’s face twisted. Those who knew him would have been shocked by such a grotesque expression.

It was The Technique of Exchanging Two Forms (二形換位)—the secret art of the Divine Thief. It had perfectly deceived even the senses of the Vice Leader of the Heavenly Poison Alliance.

Jin Seong-un’s straight saber descended.

Black Flash Thunder (黑閃雷). The Black Wolf Saber Art of the Merchant King.

In that moment, Sa Ryeong-geuk realized.

The man once called the greatest bladesman in the history of the Unorthodox Path.

Long ago, he had only read of that man’s saber art in texts—but the technique before his eyes was identical.

Yet, as the blade fell toward the top of his skull, his astonishment quickly faded.

Another, stronger sensation took hold of him.

‘I’m going to die.’

As if the world had frozen, countless thoughts and emotions rushed through him. But unlike the “glorious deaths” many dreamed of, this was nothing like that.

There was no dignity, no detachment, no regret, no peace, no enlightenment. All his thoughts and emotions reached only one conclusion.

‘I want to live.’

Sa Ryeong-geuk opened his mouth in desperation.

“Wait—!”

Slash—!

At that moment, Sa Ryeong-geuk’s body was cleaved in two. His corpse and blood spilled onto the ground.

It was a pitiful end for the man who had ruled the Unorthodox Path of Sichuan alongside the Heavenly Poison Alliance Leader.

It was simply death. Nothing more, nothing less.

A dreadful silence fell over the field.

Even Tang Tae-san, the Poison Lord, wore a grim face as he replayed the scene in his mind.

Jin Seong-un exhaled lightly.

The swift saber arts demanded precise control of breath, so he had held it in throughout the fight. It had been suffocating.

Crack, crackle—

The straight saber in his hand crumbled like an old wall.

It had been far too ordinary a weapon to withstand a saber art called the greatest in the history of the Unorthodox Path.