I Obtained Guan Yu's Martial Arts - Chapter 23

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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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Gained Guan Hui’s martial arts. Episode 023
Blue Dragon Peak (3)
“How exactly do they fight in the Underground Martial Arena?”
As they walked toward the arena, Guan Hui asked Ju Ho.
“……I’m sorry?”
Ju Ho’s face went slack with bewilderment.
“……You’re going to the Underground Martial Arena without even knowing that?”
“You came to our estate trying to steal from us without knowing it belonged to us, so don’t talk.”
An answer impossible to refute.
Ju Ho blinked, flustered.
Coming from that polished, delicate face, such words carried an unexpected sting.
“That—that was a mistake…… No, wait. I just didn’t know your house was that poor! How was I supposed to know that by common sense?”
“That makes you even more of a fool. Everyone in Unsung City knows the Guan family is poorer than street beggars.”
Of course, strictly speaking, that had been true of the Guan estate in the past—now it was in fairly comfortable circumstances.
But Guan Hui saw no reason to mention it.
Hide your weaknesses, reveal only your strengths—that was the fundamental rule of rhetoric.
“…….”
Ju Ho, bereft of any comeback, pressed his mouth shut.
“And with that last remark, you’ve just confirmed you’re an even bigger fool.”
“…….”
Ju Ho’s lip jutted outward involuntarily.
Each word that came from him cut sharp as a blade.
‘Damn. How does this White Dao fellow talk so well?’
Scratching people raw with words, needling them into anger—that was the hallmark of Black Dao practitioners, not White Dao.
Those pretentious White Dao types preferred to settle things with steel rather than soil their mouths with cheap jibes.
‘He looks exactly like some refined White Dao gentleman. So why does his mouth work like that?’
Ju Ho tilted his head, confronted with a type of White Dao warrior he’d never encountered.
Watching him, Guan Hui’s lips curved upward.
‘Fool. Thinking I’m just some ordinary White Dao practitioner.’
Guan Hui was, by definition, White Dao—but his nature ran far closer to Black Dao.
He had abandoned dignity and propriety for survival long ago; how could he be closer to White Dao?
He would rather starve like a nobleman than beg like a dog for a single meal—that was Guan Hui’s creed.
“Well. Anyway, the Underground Martial Arena has no system or rules like that. Whoever’s standing on the platform alive—you go up and kill them to win.”
“And if you win?”
“Then you wait for the next challenger to step up and fight them. Get ten consecutive victories and you become champion.”
“Ten consecutive victories? Hmm. Does a champion emerge often?”
Ju Ho let out a derisive snort.
“No chance. The Black Flame Society is ruthless enough to predetermine a winner every time.”
“Predetermine? You mean they’ve already decided?”
“They keep their strongest fighter on standby. Goes by the name Mak Gung—the Wangyue Blade.”
“Ah, so that one’s here.”
The Wangyue Blade Mak Gung’s reputation was notorious enough that Guan Hui had heard his name before.
A Black Dao practitioner who dwelt in Taiyuan, a far greater city than Unsung City.
They said he was beastlike—crude in appetite, quick to rage.
“I see.”
“Still going to enter? He’s a genuine first-class master, rare even among Black Dao practitioners. A real one from Taiyuan.”
“Probably be fine.”
Guan Hui had already withstood the Shadowless Blade Jang Ryu, who had attained the First-class Perfect Stage.
He’d fought evenly with Jang Ryu; he doubted any Black Dao practitioner could do better than that.
A Black Dao warrior, no matter how strong, was still Black Dao.
“Well, if you want to die, that’s your choice.”
“……You damn fool.”
Crack!—
Guan Hui brought the edge of his hand down on Ju Ho’s crown.
“Watch your tongue. Unless you want to be the one who dies first.”
“Why did you—… Understood, sir.”
Ju Ho, about to protest, hastily fell silent and looked away.
‘What’s with that look in his eyes…….’
He’d heard the man was twenty, two years his senior.
But those eyes were not the eyes of a twenty-year-old youth.
It was closer to the gaze of a monster that had rolled across some battlefield for a hundred years.
With the massive frame characteristic of the Heavenly Martial Physique added to that, Ju Ho felt completely overwhelmed.
‘One wrong word and I’ll be crossing the Three Paths River today.’
Ju Ho swallowed hard and sharpened his awareness.
“So I just go submit an application?”
“There’s no formal application process, but the gatekeeper will block your path to the Underground Martial Arena. Show him your strength and you’ll be allowed through.”
“I see.”
The Black Dao had no systematic mechanisms like that to begin with.
If you demonstrated your strength to the gatekeeper and earned his acknowledgment, you were admitted. If you failed to prove yourself, you were soundly beaten and thrown out—a simple system.
“Most people establish their credentials by releasing their aura or revealing their name, so you can just radiate your power to a reasonable degree—wait, what?! Where are you going!”
Guan Hui strode forward without waiting for Ju Ho to finish his explanation.
In his line of sight stood a martial artist dressed in the Black Flame Society’s characteristic black garb, sporting an imposing build.
“Hmm? What is it?”
Yuk Gap, a martial artist of the Black Dao, looked somewhat startled at Guan Hui’s approach.
His frame was already a head larger than most people’s, and Guan Hui’s build rivaled even that.
Moreover, unlike Yuk Gap—whose musculature was covered by loose flesh—Guan Hui’s shoulders and forearms visible beneath his collar rippled with muscle that looked as if cast from steel.
“I’m here to participate in the martial tournament.”
“Heh. You little brat. This isn’t a place for the likes of you.”
Yuk Gap smiled with a thin, contemptuous edge as he looked Guan Hui over.
“A White Dao dandy who hasn’t even finished weaning from his mother’s breast—what gives you the audacity to muscle in on an adult’s stage… Kuh?!”
Crack!—
Yuk Gap’s body shot skyward as Guan Hui’s fist connected cleanly with his jaw.
That massive frame was lifted into the air by a single upward punch.
“Oh…!”
“A pig… flying?”
Those passing by couldn’t help but marvel as a man weighing nearly two hundred pounds rose to the ceiling height of the main hall.
Crash!—
Moments later, Yuk Gap—not a pig—struck the ground with enough force to shake the surrounding area.
“…….”
Having taken the impact of the punch to his jaw followed by the impact of his head striking the earth, Yuk Gap lost consciousness.
“That should be sufficient proof of strength.”
“N-no, wait. What are you doing?”
“Why? You said to prove my strength.”
Ju Ho, arriving belatedly, stared at Guan Hui with an expression of bewilderment.
“That man isn’t the gatekeeper!”
“……Ah?”
“The gatekeeper is over there. This one just came out to smoke a cigarette!”
“Ah?”
Looking again, Ju Ho was right.
Yuk Gap’s unconscious hand still clutched a cigarette.
And beside the fallen Yuk Gap stood a martial artist in black garb bearing the characters “Gatekeeper.”
“Oh.”
“H-ha… ha… Great hero, you’ve… passed. Please, come right in.”
The gatekeeper’s eyes bulged wide at the display of Guan Hui’s power, and he hastily pulled the door open.
“No—wouldn’t it be better to ask first?”
Ju Ho was utterly exasperated.
It wasn’t as though he and the Black Dao thugs shared some karmic grudge from a past life, yet here was Guan Hui throwing punches without so much as a by-your-leave.
“Well, in any case, we’re in now.”
“You didn’t even listen to what I was saying before rushing off—!”
Ju Ho’s gaze shifted to Guan Hui’s fist.
Seeing a fist as large as his own head, Ju Ho found Guan Hui far more terrifying.
It was fortunate that Yuk Gap was so sturdy; had Ju Ho taken a blow like that, his jaw would have shattered into seven pieces.
“Hehe… thinking about it, well, these things can be confusing. It’s… fine. Hehe.”
Ju Ho, whose neck had been straining with indignation, bowed and scraped his apologies.
A thief with quick wits knew well that less talking meant fewer beatings.
“Hmm. Very well. Then let’s go inside. Follow me.”
“Yes, sir!”
Having become a somewhat more faithful subordinate, Ju Ho descended the stairs toward the Underground Martial Arena in Guan Hui’s wake.

* * *
“Whoooaaa!”
“Yes! That’s it, you bastard!”
“You dog! You lost that?! Give me my money back!”
The space erupted with curses and cheers from the crowd.
“Impressive.”
The Underground Martial Arena beneath Unsung City was far grander than Guan Hui had imagined.
He’d expected perhaps a dozen people at most, but there were well over a hundred gathered here.
Two martial artists were locked in a fierce struggle at the center of the earthen floor, their bodies slick with blood, while tiered stands rose like steps around them on all sides.
“Everyone watching here has a different rank, brother.”
The first level, closest to the fighting ground, was occupied by martial artists either competing or come to observe.
The second held merchants and information brokers; the third held shadowy figures with their faces hidden behind masks.
“Best not to make eye contact with those third-level people if you can help it. All manner of high officials and strange creatures lurk up there.”
“Understood. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Guan Hui followed Ju Ho down to the first-level stands.
An unspoken rule dictated that all martial artists participating in the fights watched from the first level.
“Ha ha ha! I’ve won again!”
A bald fist fighter who’d been locked in fierce combat with a diminutive swordsman threw both arms skyward and bellowed.
Though the battle had looked intense, the complete absence of wounds on him suggested he was far superior to his opponent.
“Who’s next?! Who dares face Hwang Pyeong?!”
The bald fist fighter introduced as Hwang Pyeong grinned wickedly, his gaze sweeping across the first-level martial artists.
But they only exchanged glances with one another; no one stepped forward.
“Is that man so strong they’re afraid of him?”
“No, they’re waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Look at Hwang Pyeong — he’s barely damaged. He’ll be worth facing once he’s injured or exhausted.”
The Underground Martial Arena offered no rest periods.
The victor had to fight every challenger that came forward immediately, and had to accumulate ten consecutive victories.
Because of this, most martial artists waited for their moment — when opponents were weakened by injury or drained by fatigue.
Fighting a healthy man would only risk injury before facing inferior fighters in the next round, and losing to them would be inevitable.
“Tch. They’re all scheming cowards. It’s pathetic.”
“In a way, you’re right. Why don’t we wait a bit longer too, brother? Soon some drunken fool will stumble up to challenge him—uh, brother?!”
Guan Hui left the rambling Ju Ho behind and climbed onto the arena floor.
“Hm? Ha ha ha. What are you? A whelp reeking of mother’s milk? Has the gatekeeper started letting in just anyone now?”
Hwang Pyeong shook his massive head with an arrogant laugh.
In the Black Dao, it was customary to seize the initiative with your mouth first.
Hwang Pyeong was a man who honored that custom well.
“Perfect. I’ll rack up three easy victories thanks to you. Ha ha ha.”
Hwang Pyeong approached Guan Hui with long strides, his smile thin and bloodthirsty.
Hwang Pyeong, his chest bare and covered in scars, stood in stark contrast to Guan Hui, who was neatly dressed — to the naked eye, there seemed a dramatic gulf in their skill.
“Damn. Who is that? Did someone way too weak just walk up there?”
“Hell. I need to wait a couple more rounds. Hwang Pyeong will win this one easily too.”
The Black Dao fighters clicked their tongues in frustration, disappointed by Hwang Pyeong’s predicted victory.
Each of them thought that weak trash should have come when they were in the arena.
“Go on then, take a swing at me first. You milk-soaked brat. I’ll be generous enough to let you land one blow.”
Hwang Pyeong spread his arms wide, his expression dripping with contempt.
“You don’t say? Then I won’t refuse.”
Guan Hui was not the type to turn down what was offered.
Whooosh—
His body was instantly suffused with a deep red glow as the Red Fire Light Martial Art coursed through him.
“…Huh?!”
Hwang Pyeong’s face went rigid as he sensed the strange power emanating from his opponent.
Something was wrong.

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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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