Defying the Heavens Scholar - Chapter 9

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Reversed Heaven Scholarly Life, Episode 9

Episode 9. Where Earth Meets Heaven.

Wind swept low across the cliff face. An elderly man in a blue long robe swept his gaze across the stone wall, then stopped.
Eul Hae, First Sword of Huashan.
Gyeong A Seong, blocking his path, nodded with a subtle smile.

“Now then, Eul Hae.”

His voice was low and measured.

“This place is under the Imperial Court’s watch. Without the Emperor’s decree, no one may enter. Such is the prohibition.”

Even at these words, Eul Hae nodded without so much as a flicker across his face.

“When did the Imperial Court begin meddling in the private affairs of the Martial World?”

His expression seemed serene, yet his tone carried a sharp edge beneath the surface.
Feeling the weight of that undertone, Gyeong A Seong straightened his shoulders slowly and lifted his head.

“Those of the Martial World in Zhongyuan are, after all, the Emperor’s subjects. Why speak as though they are not?”
“Heh.”

At Gyeong A Seong’s words and bearing, Eul Hae smiled faintly and turned his gaze toward the cave entrance.

“I sense breath within. Two presences—one aged, one young.”

Then he added calmly,

“I have something to confirm.”

As he stepped forward, Gyeong A Seong’s aura gently seized his ankle.

“Do you truly mean to enter without the Imperial Court’s permission?”

It was a clear obstruction.
Yet, true to his title as First Sword of Huashan, Eul Hae dispersed the restraining aura with serene composure.
But the words that followed were sharp and menacing.

“Does the Imperial Court dare obstruct my path?”
“The Imperial Court—dare you!”

At Gyeong A Seong’s flare of anger, Eul Hae turned slowly, nodding with deliberate calm.
In that moment, a subtle wave rippled outward from his frame. Something had clearly struck a nerve.

“Excellent. Let me speak plainly. Someone stole the Jayeon Hwagyeong, the Huashan School’s secret art, and the trail leads here. And how convenient—this very place watches over by the Imperial Court? Could the Crown be involved in this?”
“Do not presume to speculate so recklessly. No matter who you are, I cannot abide such insolence.”

Gyeong A Seong’s brow furrowed tightly. His right hand had already moved to rest upon the sword sheath at his belt.
At this sight, anger began to seep into Eul Hae’s expression. Then came a sharp declaration.

“What exactly is the Imperial Court scheming!”
“What did you say?”

One spark away from conflict.
The wind that had been drifting across the cliff face transformed in an instant into blade-sharp currents, beginning to rake across all sides.

“Are you saying you’d dare face me now?”

The question cut straight to the point.
Gyeong A Seong fell silent for a moment, caught in deliberation.
Eul Hae. A master of the martial world like himself, ranked among the Top Ten Martial Artists, known as the Foremost Swordsman of Huashan.
Though they had never had the chance to test their skills against each other, if a clash erupted here, it could only end in one man’s death.

“I serve the Emperor. Should there be one who opposes the Imperial will… then so it must be.”
“Hah… one who opposes the Imperial will? Yet aren’t you yourself a man of the martial world? And now you’d become a lapdog of an empire that won’t last a hundred years, to stand against me?”

At Eul Hae’s mockery, Gyeong A Seong’s beard quivered.

“Even from one like you, I find I can bear no more of this.”

Eul Hae, too, had exhausted his patience.
What was the relationship between the Martial World and the Imperial Court?
Through the rise and fall of countless dynasties, the Martial World had endured, maintaining its independence and existing as its own realm.
Because of this, even the dynasties themselves tacitly acknowledged the Martial World and avoided open interference.
In short: oil and water.
But now, to interfere? It was something he could neither accept nor condone.

“Bear no more? Then am I to bear what the Imperial Court has done in secret?”

At Eul Hae’s words, Gyeong A Seong’s trembling beard stilled.

‘He knew.’

If Eul Hae already knew that the Imperial Court had been scheming against the Martial World for some time, the situation would spiral like a snowball.
If the Martial World were to unite and rise in rebellion, the unprepared Imperial Court would ultimately kneel before them.

‘I must kill him. There’s no other way.’

But before that, there remained one question he had to settle.
Whether the Huashan School knew of this matter or not.

“Grant me one question.”

The sudden request made Eul Hae’s expression twist slightly.

“What could you possibly ask at a time like this?”
“Who on earth spread such baseless rumors?”
“Baseless? Ha ha ha! So being the Imperial Court’s lapdog has made your ears dull as well.”

Fury laced his laughter, and the wind grew sharper still.

“I traced this clue myself.”

At that brief reply, Gyeong A Seong’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant.
Eul Hae, sensing the change, slowly withdrew his hands from behind his back and fixed his gaze upon him.

“The Imperial Court, indifferent to the very survival of the Martial World. I have only now come to learn that you are their puppet. Then you must surely kill me—otherwise, all of this will reach the ears of the Martial World.”

A provocation as overwhelming as a tidal wave.
Gyeong A Seong raised his sword before him and nodded.

“If this fight cannot be avoided, then so it shall be.”

* * *

The wind coiled around the sword’s edge.
Between the two fighters, at a distance of roughly half a zhang, ominous forces collided head-on.
The falling stone fragments, caught in that pressure, soon shattered and scattered into dust.

Eul Hae moved first.
His left foot slid half a chi, his body’s axis shifting.
Sword tip low, arms relaxed.
The most orthodox of the orthodox—the Huashan School’s foundational Jeong Sword unfolded with fluidity. It was basic technique requiring no name, yet within that supple current lay the sinews of a seasoned tiger, breathing with each movement.

Gyeong A Seong did not block directly. First, evasion.
His foot traced the grain of the Cliff face, pivoting subtly to the side, while a folding and unfolding of the waist let his blade slip away.
As hip and shoulder angles aligned, his sword tip rose naturally, crossing with the direction of Eul Hae’s wrist.

Crack.

Energies collided, scattering more stone dust on the wind.
Eul Hae’s second strike followed immediately.

If the first three moves had been Establishment, the second was Breakthrough.
Like a dammed river bursting, countless waves of pressure engulfed Gyeong A Seong.
The sword tip shortened fractionally, pressing close enough to graze skin.
Chill traced the nape of Gyeong A Seong’s neck. To block was to be trapped.
He twisted his heels lightly, drove his right knee forward, lowered his waist, and raised his blade vertical.
In that instant, the pressure that had been bearing down scattered in all directions like torn silk.

‘Excellent.’

A faint crease formed at the corner of Eul Hae’s mouth. The old swordmaster’s eyes narrowed, and the rhythm of his technique shifted.

The Plum Blossom Ten Formations.

An ancient and exquisite sword art known as the Huashan School’s combined technique.
Originally, the Plum Blossom Ten Formations required ten masters of Huashan joining their strength to achieve completion.
Yet Eul Hae was deploying it alone, and for Gyeong A Seong, the sight could only inspire awe.
As the sword tip brushed the void, countless afterimages blurred his vision.
The world in all directions filled with plum blossoms, and the rich fragrance pricked his nostrils.

‘Is this truly the Huashan First Sword?’

A sight almost impossible to believe even when witnessed directly.
Yet Gyeong A Seong had to anchor his mind.
Lose his focus to the endless plum petals, and his head would fall at some unknowable moment.

Gyeong A Seong slowly closed his eyes.
At the same moment, his blade began severing countless afterimages of plum blossoms scattered in all directions.

‘The Thousand Swords, they call it…….’

Eul Hae let out a short breath, drawing his spirit deeper still.
He sensed with sudden clarity that one capable of meeting the Plum Blossom Ten Formations head-on could no longer be considered beneath him.

‘Competitive spirit, after forty years…… Heh heh…….’

As the will to win ignited, his very mindset transformed from the beginning.
With it, Eul Hae’s sword stance changed.
Gyeong A Seong clenched his teeth before that suddenly altered current.

‘This is…… Jayeon Hwagyeong……!’

He understood in mere exchanges.
The sword art Eul Hae was now unfolding was the Jayeon Hwagyeong—the very technique against which he had just glimpsed a counter-method.

The space around him constricted as if gripped by madness.
Even the swirling dust vanished without trace before Jayeon Hwagyeong.
The air swelled to bursting point, and each wisp of wind that grazed past transformed into a razor-sharp blade, threatening his entire body.

‘I didn’t see it perfectly, but I know the counter-method to this flow. The gap in the flow—if I can only find that, it’s enough.’

The figure of Musim Dong had explained and countered Jayeon Hwagyeong.
That counter-method clearly pointed to the ‘gap in the flow’ and instructed to pierce through that seam.

‘Break the flow by using the flow itself.’

The logic was clear. But reality in combat was far from simple.
A gap that could only be found through complete mastery of Jayeon Hwagyeong.
No matter how skilled Gyeong A Seong was, finding that opening precisely from merely seeing it once bordered on fantasy.
Yet he had no choice but to trust the counter-method, even if he didn’t fully comprehend it.

Gyeong A Seong began to give ground steadily.
Meanwhile, Eul Hae’s Jayeon Hwagyeong wove countless flows together in layers, constricting his opponent’s throat with ever-greater force.
The Jayeon Hwagyeong encountered in actual combat was worlds apart from what he’d studied through the counter-method.
Finding that single gap amid the chaos of numerous competing flows—even for Gyeong A Seong, it was no easy task.

‘Damn it. This is no ordinary swordplay. The opening is nearly impossible to find…… Have I failed to grasp the counter-method completely?’

With jaw clenched, Gyeong A Seong watched the flows of Jayeon Hwagyeong with a gaze that seemed ready to tear itself apart.
Finding the gap proved as difficult as locating a needle in a desert.
Then something grazed past his mind.
A single phrase that figure had written in the counter-method.

‘The deployment of emptiness.’

The instant that brief phrase touched his mind, Gyeong A Seong’s blade underwent a subtle shift.
And at the same moment, Eul Hae’s brow furrowed.

‘A curious transformation.’

Eul Hae too sensed the minute change.
Yet he judged that Gyeong A Seong’s sword momentum, already pushed back by his own flows, posed little threat.
But that judgment—he would never have imagined it would soon turn against him.

* * *

Sword light wove like a net, strangling Eul Hae’s every opening.
At first, Gyeong A Seong’s momentum had been driven back. Each ‘transformation’ of Jayeon Hwagyeong, once seen, would shift into another form entirely, and that shift would barely keep the blade’s edge alive. But now it was different. Gyeong A Seong’s sword was catching up to the transformations.

That figure had specified in the counter-method the half-breath of emptiness that emerged when the flow shifted.
Gyeong A Seong seized that moment of gap with relentless persistence.
Rather than breaking the outer form of Jayeon Hwagyeong, he cut at the instant ‘before’ the transformation occurred.
When you steal away the space where change should happen, even the mightiest swordplay falters once. That was the true deployment of emptiness—the counter-method to Jayeon Hwagyeong.

The hem of Eul Hae’s robe tore.
Sword energy grazed flesh, leaving a single crimson mark.
The cliff rock split open, and dust erupted like a fountain from the crevice.

‘How…!’

A small tremor began to take shape in the eyes of Eul Hae, whose composure had held firm until now.
Conversely, in Gyeong A Seong’s gaze, something intense began to awaken.

‘It was actually possible?’

Beneath it all lay his own skill, of course, but even so, this sword was not entirely his own. The eye that grasped the current, the sense that read the void—those were unmistakably her gift.

‘What realm does he stand in, after all?’

That realm had nothing to do with the heights and depths of martial prowess. It was purely the realm of talent.
Even as he wielded his blade, Gyeong A Seong’s mind raced like lightning.
The Thousand Swords—so named, and recognized by the Imperial Court as the first blade.
He held a place among the Top Ten Martial Artists, and had rarely encountered a wall he considered higher than himself.
Yet now, this sensation flowing through his wrist was unmistakable.

‘I am merely walking a path. Someone else laid the road.’

At every point where the current bent, a half-breath’s gap revealed itself microscopically.
When he seized that void, the shifts of Jayeon Hwagyeong lagged by a single beat.
The sword momentum that crashed down like waves of ages twisted for an instant.
Each time, Gyeong A Seong’s vision cleared.

‘This is no accident. Traces of it—counted as numbers, calculated, laid out piece by piece….’

A master who had taken the swordwork of Jayeon Hwagyeong as his foundation, severed its current, wove it back together, and ultimately opened the path to counter-method.
That master was Musim Dong’s ‘him.’

‘My talent is not lacking. The realm I’ve built over a lifetime of delving into the sword—it is no trivial thing.’

He attempted to console himself, yet could not dare to compare his own ability with this man’s.
There was an unmistakable gap he could not deny. And at that recognition, his chest burned hotter still.

‘If such a man could be fully embraced by the Imperial Court….’

Gyeong A Seong’s gaze wavered for a moment, then crystallized into a single point.
Personal inferiority, petty jealousy—both withered easily before that vision.
In his mind, there was only one thing: the security of the Imperial Court.

‘His talent is incomparable. Such a man should stand at the Emperor’s side, become the blade of the Court.’

But that exceptional talent must be used for talent alone. Cut off his legs, sever his Severed Meridians, bind every limb so he can never again look up at the sky nor take flight.

Killing Intent rose subtly from the wrist that held the sword.
Yet his killing intent was not born of hatred—it was a kind of resolve.
Not to erase him, but to keep him alive, bound under the name of the Imperial Court.
This was the most natural and inevitable conclusion Gyeong A Seong had reached.
With his decision made, the blade’s tip turned toward Eul Hae grew sharper still.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————