Heavenly Demon of the Huashan Sect - Chapter 239

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 239
Samong Field was crowded with disciples in Horse Stance, sweat pouring down their faces.
“Ugh.”
“My arms feel like they’re going to fall off….”
Not even half a double hour had passed, yet they’d already hit their limit, trembling like aspen leaves and letting out shallow gasps of pain.
It was a Horse Stance they repeated for one double hour each day.
Recently, they’d grown accustomed enough that a little sweat was all it took to finish easily.
But today was different.
‘If only it weren’t for these weights!’
‘This is torture! Sheer torture!’
Their resentment and groans echoed inwardly as they stared miserably at their outstretched arms.
Iron Wrist Weights were locked firmly around the wrists visible between their sleeves.
Each one weighed thirty catties.
One would’ve been heavy enough, yet here they were wearing them on both wrists and ankles.
There was no hardship quite like this.
Meanwhile, Cheon Hui sat atop the highest seat of Samong Field with a chair brought up for him, surveying the suffering disciples with clear displeasure.
“Can’t even manage that much, for heaven’s sake.”
A sigh escaped him naturally.
Weren’t their two outstretched arms already drooping slightly from before?
And they hadn’t even picked up a sword yet.
Cheon Hui’s eyes fixed on the Iron Sword lying nearby as he clicked his tongue.
But soon he shook his head.
“Still, compared to the first day, they’re doing better. Much better.”
It was then that Cheon Hui recalled that first day when the disciples couldn’t bear the weight of the wrist weights and collapsed into Horse Stance alone.
Thud—thud—
The sound of increasingly heavy footsteps broke through his reverie.
Cheon Hui glanced his head back slightly.
Hyeon Yang, the Master of Wulian Pavilion, was approaching with an Iron Sword weighing fifty catties held lightly in his left hand.
‘Oh, he’s carrying it with ease. So he’s been training quite earnestly.’
Cheon Hui’s gaze, which had been sweeping over Hyeon Yang, quickly shifted to his left wrist.
“Interesting—you’re wearing two of them? That must be quite heavy with the sword as well.”
“One can hardly wear it on the right hand, now can one?”
Hyeon Yang glanced meaningfully at his right hand, which hung limp, before answering.
“Fair point, I suppose.”
“And this way, I think I can train the left-hand sword technique more rapidly.”
At Hyeon Yang’s words, Cheon Hui nodded with a satisfied expression.
So he was the most diligent after all.
‘Tsk, if only those others could see this kind of spirit and learn from it.’
Cheon Hui cast a sidelong glance at the disciples doing Horse Stance, then shook his head slowly.
Then, looking back at Hyeon Yang, he asked:
“How are you getting on? Is the left-hand sword technique becoming more natural?”
At the question, Hyeon Yang looked at the fifty-catty Iron Sword in his left hand and smiled gently.
“The sword is finally listening to me now.”
Ah.
Cheon Hui’s eyes gleamed.
It hadn’t even been a year since he’d begun training in the left-hand sword technique. And already the sword was obeying him?
That was something impossible through ordinary effort alone.
‘He must have pushed himself to the brink of death.’
Cheon Hui spoke with a smile playing at his lips.
“That’s excellent to hear.”
Hyeon Yang nodded at Cheon Hui’s words and opened his mouth.
“But what is it you’ve called me for?”
At Hyeon Yang’s forthright question, Cheon Hui rose from his chair and spoke.
“I thought we might have a sparring match.”
“A sparring match…?”
“You say you’ve grown accustomed to the left-hand sword technique—surely it’s time to begin proper martial arts training, wouldn’t you say?”
“Through sparring, then?”
“Exactly. I think a sparring match would be better than mere words.”
“Indeed.”
Hyeon Yang’s eyes sparkled as he answered.
A word they had waited for, longed for.
Seeing Hyeon Yang’s response, Cheon Hui casually picked up the iron sword he’d thrown to the ground earlier.
“Then let’s head to the Training Grounds.”
Before the words had even finished, Cheon Hui’s form vanished like a snuffed candle.
“Hah—— I couldn’t even see him go.”
He had been watching intently, yet only after Cheon Hui disappeared from view did Hyeon Yang grasp the movement. And as admiration escaped his lips at that extraordinary footwork—
“……!”
“Master?!”
An uproar broke out among the disciples.
The disciples who had been holding their Horse Stance stiffened with startled eyes, staring at Cheon Hui who had materialized before them.
“Why would you move? Not even a double hour has passed.”
Cheon Hui rebuked those who had flinched.
“You’re not already tired, surely?”
“Huff!”
“N-no, of course not.”
Watching the disciples deny it with faces plainly showing exhaustion, Cheon Hui let out a quiet laugh.
“Right? I thought so. There’s no way the Horse Stance would become difficult just because we’ve added a little extra weight like this.”
For a moment, the disciples laughed awkwardly.
“Then maintain the stance.”
Cheon Hui’s lips twisted slowly as he continued.
“No matter what happens from now on.”
The disciples looked at each other with confused expressions at his words, but instead of explaining, Cheon Hui lifted his gaze toward the upper seat.
Tap.
Hyeon Yang’s eyes gleamed, and he kicked off the ground.
Whish—
Hyeon Yang came flying with his sect robe billowing widely and landed softly before Cheon Hui.
Cheon Hui raised the iron sword, watching Hyeon Yang, whose expression had grown tense.
“Come then.”
It was rare for a student to yield the opening move to his instructor, but everyone present accepted it as natural from Cheon Hui’s words.
Because that student was none other than Cheon Hui.
“Very well.”
Hyeon Yang grasped his iron sword matter-of-factly.
Crunch.
Strength gathered naturally in his left hand.
Two iron wrist weights and an iron sword.
With such weight to bear, the muscles of his arm seemed to cry out.
But as Hyeon Yang drew upon his Internal Force—
Whoosh.
The screaming muscles grew calm.
‘Let me pour everything I have into this.’
Feeling the strength in his left arm, Hyeon Yang exhaled slowly, his expression filled with resolve.
His gaze grew steady.
At the same time, his will rippled through his Maehwa Internal Cultivation, forming a sword aura.
Hyeon Yang gazed quietly at the crimson aura flowering on the dark iron sword. Then his hand descended slightly.
And in that instant—
Crack!
His body shot forward like lightning.
As Hyeon Yang deployed the Ink Cloud Spitting Thunder, cleaving through space in a single breath, the iron sword moved with him, beginning to undulate like waves.
At the same moment, the fragrance of plum blossoms flowed from the blade’s tip, spreading in all directions.
‘He’s become far more skilled.’
Watching him, Cheon Hui felt satisfaction bloom inwardly as he wielded his own iron sword.
Clang!
When the two solid iron swords collided, a harsh boom erupted and wind rushed outward.
And as if that were only the beginning—
Clang! Clank!
The sharp impacts continued to ring out.
“The Chief?!”
“……!”
The disciples watched the collision unfold with astonished eyes.
All knew that Hyeon Yang, unable to use his right hand, had begun anew to master the Left-Hand Sword Technique.
Yet that hadn’t been long ago at all.
The Left-Hand Sword Technique he’d just displayed looked like the work of at least several years’ cultivation.
While the disciples marveled, Hyeon Yang gritted his teeth at the dire situation.
‘Hah!’
He swallowed the sound of strain.
With each clash of blades, the impact threatened to tear the hand gripping the iron sword to shreds.
But he couldn’t stop here.
‘Not yet.’
Hyeon Yang’s eyes burned with fierce intensity.
Crack!
His shoulder muscles twisted violently.
Thud!
He drove his stance down hard into the ground.
“Hah!”
“Huh!”
The shockwave that radiated from his feet swept across Cheon Hui and the disciples.
“Ugh!”
The disciples, holding the Horse Stance, squeezed their eyes shut against the wind.
“Your form and posture are flawless, but…….”
An indifferent voice cut through the chaos.
Cheon Hui didn’t so much as blink against the swirling dust and wind as he spoke.
“Still not enough.”
Cheon Hui shifted the iron sword to his left hand and immediately swung.
Whoosh!
Hyeon Yang’s eyes went wide.
Cheon Hui had smoothly deflected his Left-Hand Sword Technique and struck his ribs with the flat of the blade.
Blood vessels stood out in Hyeon Yang’s eyes as he bore the fierce impact.
“Martial Arts don’t work through blind imitation of form and posture alone. What matters in the Left-Hand Sword Technique is the management of Internal Force…….”
As ceaseless instruction poured forth, the iron sword never stopped moving.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
“Ngh! Ngh!”
Under the relentless strikes, Hyeon Yang’s face flushed crimson as a peony.
Yet Cheon Hui did not relent.
Direct experience was faster.
Wasn’t it said that hearing a hundred times is not worth seeing once, seeing a hundred times is not worth feeling once, and feeling a hundred times is not worth doing once?
No matter how many times one heard or witnessed, nothing could compare to direct action.
“You must dodge left. Before you trace the sword diagonally, deploy your footwork. And with the Left-Hand Sword Technique, think of reversing everything you did before…….”
As instruction flowed like a waterfall, Cheon Hui’s iron sword continued its relentless dance.
“Ack, hack!”
Under the merciless barrage, groans finally escaped Hyeon Yang’s lips.
The faces of the watching disciples grew paler by the moment.
‘Surely not even our Pavilion Master…….’
‘He’s gone mad! Absolutely mad!’
‘There’s no hierarchy left anymore!’
They could not hide their shock.
They had resigned themselves to Cheon Hui’s rough treatment of them, but they never imagined he would resort to violence against the Pavilion Master himself.
Yes, this was the way.
Meanwhile, Cheon Hui’s eyes gleamed as he continued his relentless assault on Hyeon Yang.
Normally, when pressed so overwhelmingly, a swordsman would either fail to deploy their technique at all, shrinking back or retreating.
But Hyeon Yang was different.
He harbored no thought of retreat.
Instead, he fought desperately against the ceaseless onslaught, counterattacking and deflecting as he frantically unleashed the Maehwa Footwork and the Disorder Flower Wind Style Sword.
And with each exchange, he absorbed the guidance embedded within every strike.
‘His aptitude is excellent, and if he continues to grow at this rate, he might regain his former Martial Prowess faster than I anticipated.’
Cheon Hui grinned and swung his blade.
Clang!
Under the layered impact, Hyeon Yang’s grip failed and the sword slipped from his hands.
“Hack!”
The iron sword flew backward, hitting the ground with a thud and sending up a cloud of dust.
Cheon Hui approached the slowly walking Hyeon Yang, moving toward where his sword had fallen.
“Shall we stop here?”
Hyeon Yang’s eyes snapped open, sharp and alert.
Then, with his left hand trembling visibly, he reached down and picked up the fallen iron sword.
“No. Not yet. This isn’t enough.”
A smile played at the corners of Cheon Hui’s mouth.
“Very well.”
The moment Hyeon Yang took his stance, Cheon Hui raised his sword again, and a dull, heavy sound echoed across Samong Field.
Thud! Thud!
The one-sided sparring match continued, identical to before.
Yet Hyeon Yang did not yield.
As time wore on, his movements grew sluggish, but his blade—now informed by Cheon Hui’s counsel—grew sharper with each passing moment.
……
The disciples who had been practicing the Horse Stance had long since forgotten their own forms, unable to tear their eyes away from the confrontation before them.
At first, they had felt only pity.
They knew better than anyone how much each blow must hurt.
But it was more than that.
The emotional toll was surely crushing as well.
Here was their master—having lost his right hand—being beaten before his own students, receiving instruction through punishment from one he had once taught.
If it had been them, they would have fled long ago, unable to bear such humiliation and shame.
But Hyeon Yang did not.
“Hack! No—not yet!”
Watching him rise again and again, staggering forward to meet Cheon Hui’s onslaught, their chests burned with a fierce, rising heat.
Soon they abandoned their stances and cried out.
“Master!”
“Hang on just a little longer!”
Their cheers poured forth with all their strength.
Though empathy for Hyeon Yang moved them, there was something else—a desperate, singular hope woven into their voices.
‘Please, just land one blow!’
Of course, they revered Cheon Hui.
But the training they had endured these past years was ruthless beyond measure.
An Hyang Dan, beatings disguised as sparring matches.
And now, iron wrist weights and iron swords on top of it all.
‘Master, we’re begging you!’
‘Just one strike—please!’
As the disciples cheered, desperate longing burning in their eyes, secretly hoping Hyeon Yang might finally strike back and vent what they themselves had endured—
What are these fools doing?
Cheon Hui glanced at them in response to their cries, then let out a soft laugh, his expression one of utter incredulity.
‘Looks like they’re hoping I get hit.’
His mouth curved upward, slowly.
‘Well. We’ll see about that later.’
Turning his attention back to the match, Cheon Hui swung the iron sword—and the heavy blade connected squarely with Hyeon Yang’s ribs.
Thud!
Blood vessels burst across Hyeon Yang’s eyes.
Yet even in that agony, he clenched his teeth, and with all the strength he could muster, swung his own iron sword back.
Tap.
The tip of his blade touched Cheon Hui’s shoulder.
The contact was impossibly faint.
But it was the first time his sword had ever reached Cheon Hui.
“Aaaahhh!”
The disciples erupted in triumph.
Hyeon Yang smiled weakly and opened his mouth.
“I—I hit you…….”
Just as Hyeon Yang’s knees buckled, his strength utterly spent and about to collapse, Cheon Hui extended his hand and caught him, supporting him upright.
“You did well.”
Having carefully laid the unconscious Hyeon Yang down, Cheon Hui straightened and addressed the cheering disciples.
“I’m glad you’re happy, but…….”
In an instant, the disciples’ voices caught in their throats.
“You broke your Horse Stance.”
“T-that was…….”
“We just got a little excited…….”
The disciples finally realized their mistake and broke into a cold sweat.
But Cheon Hui merely chuckled instead of punishing them.
“Well, I’ll let it slide this time.”
Everyone’s expression shifted to shock.
‘Let it slide? From him?’
‘Did the sun rise in the west today?’
That was when Cheon Hui’s lips twisted into a smile.
“Instead, each of you will spar with me one by one.”
The disciples’ faces darkened.
‘Of course it was too good to be true!’
Just as they were sinking into despair.
“What? Don’t you want to?”
At Cheon Hui’s words, they all flinched violently before hastily shaking their heads.
“How could that be, sir?”
“That’s right! We’re honored to spar with you!”
Cheon Hui nodded.
“Of course you should be. The Wulian Pavilion Master herself approached sparring with such dedication—how could my disciples refuse to do the same?”
Cheon Hui’s eyes narrowed sharply.
The reason he’d deliberately sparred with Hyeon Yang in front of everyone was precisely for this.
‘With the Pavilion Master throwing herself into it like that, who could possibly refuse?’
As expected, the disciples’ eyes widened.
Seeing them settle into determination, Cheon Hui hefted the iron—no, the Iron Sword with a slight gesture.
“Well, you look ready, then.”
Cheon Hui lifted the Iron Sword.
“Let’s go.”
With those words, he swung the blade.
And from that moment on, the Samong Field echoed with an endless chorus of screams.
“Hack! S-sir! Stop!”
“Ahhhhh!”
“Kyaaahhh!”
Watching them cry out as expected, Cheon Hui laughed and spoke.
“What are you doing? Move faster. When exactly do you plan to land a blow on me?”
“L-land a blow…?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
The disciples protested in alarm.
“Oh, don’t play dumb. You wanted me to fight you, didn’t you?”
“That’s not…”
“Then do your best to dodge.”
With a twisted grin, Cheon Hui swung the Iron Sword in his hand with dizzying speed.
Whack! Whack!
“Ahhhhh!”
“S-sir! Not me! I never thought—kyaaahhh!”
After this round, Cheon Hui surveyed all the disciples lying flat on the ground without exception, clicked his tongue, and slung the Iron Sword over his shoulder.
‘This level of skill isn’t enough.’
Cheon Hui’s eyes narrowed.
Kangho was about to descend into chaos.
In such circumstances, he couldn’t possibly protect every member of the Huashan Sect by himself.
‘If it were the Tianma Divine Sect, I wouldn’t have to worry like this.’
With the Tianma Divine Sect, there were many followers and many masters, so he wouldn’t have needed to micromanage like this.
But the Huashan Sect was different.
Few disciples, few masters.
‘I can’t split myself into multiple bodies.’
Ultimately, each of them would have to survive on their own.
And for that to happen, each individual had no choice but to build their strength.
‘To minimize casualties as much as possible.’
Cheon Hui raised his sword as he spoke.
“Well then, shall we get up and go again?”
While harsh training continued on Huashan.
A group of people slipped out from Hyeoksan Fortress, the stronghold of Nok Lim located in Hunan, and began secretly moving northward.

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