The Reformed Genius of the Sichuan Tang Clan - Chapter 56

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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 56
Unique Martial Arts emerge from happenstance.
The same holds true for Dang Youxuan’s, as for Dang Sanho’s.
Creation is less about forging something from nothing and more about reconfiguring what already exists, which makes this all the more remarkable.
‘I sensed he was hiding something, but to think he was a prodigy.’
Such people exist now and then.
Those who ignore the intensity of training, understanding of martial arts, experience—the common elements of sense—and achieve something unreal instead.
But human judgment is measured against oneself, so such people rarely realize they are prodigies.
Therefore, Dang Sanho likely hasn’t yet recognized that this is his own Unique Martial Art.
Most probably, he believes he’s merely adapted the Dang Clan’s Hidden Blade technique to suit his own nature.
‘Well. Since he’s enjoying himself so much, there’s no rush to tell him the truth.’
One misstep could have resulted in serious injury.
Yet Dang Sanho showed no tension whatsoever—he was reveling in this.
Someone might call the two of them benign rivals competing for supremacy, but at least in this bout, Dang Sanho was overwhelming him entirely.
‘A shame neither is fighting at full strength.’
He understood the logic: it was the Preliminary Round.
Since the Yongbong Jihoe did not conclude in a single day, conserving energy while minimizing injury was paramount.
Holding back in the Preliminary Round to preserve strength for the Main Round was hardly uncommon.
Yet for Woon Han, that reason alone did not suffice.
‘One is clearly intimidated, the other is subtly on edge. What’s going on here?’
Woon Han could see the problem with himself plainly enough.
But Dang Sanho’s tension—its source eluded him.
‘There’s no opposing faction here. Why the strain?’
However, Dang Sanho, absorbed in the match, offered no answer.
After an intense exchange, Woon Han withdrew to reset, creating distance between them.
“Hah. Seems you’ve been training quite diligently all this time?”
“And you appear to have grown rather lazy. Already exhausted at just this?”
“Ha!”
At the deliberate provocation, Woon Han raised an eyebrow.
Yet rather than anger, he laughed intermittently, as one who savored the moment.
It was no accident that the two were friends.
“The sons of the Dang Clan are fascinating. Humble one moment, then insufferably arrogant the next.”
“Your mother probably wasn’t, so you must take after your father.”
“Hm?”
“And forgive my disappointment, but I’m not arrogant—I’m simply confident.”
Dang Sanho laughed with a childlike clarity that seemed out of place.
“Confident that I can beat someone like you with ease.”
“Haha!”
Clear laughter rang out across the Martial Arena.
One was Dang Sanho’s, the other Woon Han’s.
Soon both stood facing each other, their smiles undiminished.
When the laughter faded, two kinds of thunder remained in place of a thousand words.
Clang-clang-clang-clang!
Boom-boom-boom-boom!
Dang Sanho’s Hidden Blades became a cascade of light raining down upon Woon Han’s sword.
Bang! Bang! Boom-boom-boom!
“Urgh!”
Each thrown blade carried considerable Internal Force; his wrists throbbed with every deflection.
Yet Woon Han did not cower. Instead, he bared his teeth and laughed.
“I said it—arrogance.”
Woon Han advanced deliberately, twisting his sword to parry, drawing closer step by step.
The Cheonha Samsilyuk Geom—the Cheonha Bysa!
A calm yet fierce energy enveloped Woon Han.
‘Impressive for his age.’
Dang Youxuan recognized this as Woon Han’s true form.
Had it been forgotten in the brief moment, or had he been deliberately led to lower his guard?
Either way, it was certain that Dang Sanho had drawn out his true nature.
“Hmph!”
Woon Han’s movements lacked the brilliance of Dang Sanho’s.
Instead, they flowed with natural grace, as though blade and body were one—restrained, yet absolute.
It was a side of him that even his close friend Dang Sanho had never seen.
But Woon Han found that all the more thrilling.
“You should have told me something like this ages ago!”
“Weren’t you hiding your own strength just as much?”
“Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. Then I’ve got nothing to say.”
Foolish words.
Yet here stood this supposedly boring man with lips and eyes brimming with excitement.
As if reading Woon Han’s thoughts, Dang Sanho burst out laughing.
And Woon Han’s face lit up in kind.
They could be certain of one thing.
That in this same moment, this same place, they were feeling the very same thing.
Blood raced through their veins with exhilaration, their hearts hammering as if they might burst.
‘This is joy.’
This simple emotion, buried so long beneath the surface of daily life, had never felt more precious.
Dang Sanho exhaled slowly, composing himself.
“Those old foxes are watching. We’ll have to keep things reasonable.”
“Not snakes?”
“That’s right.”
“Hmm. Can’t be helped then. We’re both under our own constraints.”
Woon Han continued, his blade already in motion.
“I’d be grateful if you’d settle for this much!”
As the sword edge cut through the air, a tempestuous flow crashed over Dang Sanho like a storm.
“Just as expected from you! Shifting the momentum in one sweep!”
“Come on! Strike back!”
Whenever he tried to deflect with the Hidden Blade, the current—whether sword energy or something else—kept warping his angles, throwing off his center.
‘I have no choice but to evade.’
As he dodged the heavy, sweeping strikes, Dang Sanho found himself pressed steadily backward.
‘The matchup is poor.’
Without wielding a sword himself, evasion was his only answer for now.
But pure defense sat ill with Dang Sanho’s nature.
‘A poor matchup means I’m at a disadvantage. But it also means we each have fatal weaknesses against the other.’
Those ponderous attacks were deadly in their own right and threatened with real force, yet their speed was notably slower.
Unless he were a true master of the blade like a Sword Master, there was no way Woon Han—still incomplete in his study of the Cheonha Samsilyuk Geom—could repeat the same attack multiple times.
Each swing and thrust demanded tremendous Internal Force and strength, and the stamina of a second-generation disciple not yet twenty could never sustain it for long.
For all his outward calm, inwardly he would be growing desperate, knowing he had only a handful of exchanges before exhaustion forced the issue.
‘If you want to beat me, come back after more training.’
Whoosh! Swift!
Dang Sanho crouched beneath Woon Han’s strike without letting his gaze waver.
Even a perfect attack leaves openings.
An unguarded leg extended with unconscious ease, perhaps, or the gap that lingers where a blade has passed.
The instant Dang Sanho spotted his chance to counterattack, three lines of pale light streaked across the void.
Crash!
“What—!”
He twisted his body in haste, but one of the three lines grazed his cheek before he could fully evade.
A thin trickle.
Blood welled from the shallow wound.
When Dang Sanho saw the blood on his hand, his lips curled into something dangerous.
‘Lost it.’
The brightness in his eyes slowly faded.
Sensing the shift, Woon Han immediately lowered his stance.
A sharp, piercing sound tore through the air.
A thin crimson line bloomed on Woon Han’s cheek, mirror-perfect to the wound on Dang Sanho’s own.
“Martial matches always carry the risk of unexpected injury. I’m well aware of that.”
Dang Sanho’s voice had taken on an odd edge.
“I don’t care if other parts get scarred. But the face—no. My face happens to be quite useful. Get lucky enough, and it might save someone’s life.”
Dang Youxuan tilted his head.
Save someone’s life with his face?
It wasn’t technically wrong, but hearing such a thing from Dang Sanho was strange indeed.
It would have seemed far more natural coming from Seonwu Yun.
Hao Moon taught the Appearance-Based Technique as a fundamental art, after all.
But Dang Sanho had nothing whatsoever to do with such things.
In other words, Dang Sanho’s face held no value beyond appearance.
At least, that was what Dang Youxuan thought.
“You don’t mean to say……”
Woon Han, trying to grasp his intention, widened his eyes in alarm.
“You’re not suggesting it’s because he’s handsome, are you? Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not, so stop looking at me like that. You know I’m not that kind of person.”
Dang Sanho waved the objection away lightly and hurled the Hidden Blade.
“Instead of wasting time on idle thoughts, try blocking this!”
Whoooosh!
The Hidden Blade left Dang Sanho’s hand and spun rapidly, creating a massive vortex.
Woon Han’s eyes snapped wide open.
“Come on then!”
The ferociously spinning Hidden Blade shifted direction right before his face and encircled him.
“What is this……!”
Was it the same attack as before?
No. It was far too ornate for that.
The Hidden Blade, laden with the bite of a tempest, took the form of a flower as it flew toward him.
‘What am I mesmerized by?’
Between the whirlwind carrying a faint flower fragrance, a single silver line appeared.
Soon after, it took the shape of the Hidden Blade and approached as if to pierce his heart—replayed in slow, distinct motion.
‘There’s no other way it could appear so vividly.’
Woon Han twisted one corner of his mouth upward.
Did he know of anyone who could endure a tempest alone?
To his knowledge, there was none.
But one could stand before it and block it, could they not?
Woon Han spread his feet shoulder-width apart and exhaled.
The world is formed of thirty-six directions centered on a single person.
‘That’s right. Centered on me.’
Woon Han raised his sword and aimed it at the eye of the tempest.
Dang Sanho’s Hidden Blade carried the exhilaration and joy of a gale wind.
With what would he stop it?
The answer was simple.
If it is swift, meet it with slowness; if it is light, meet it with weight.
With the heaviness that Woon Han pursued.
Woon Han poured his strength into a downward strike.
Boom!
It was not over.
Crack! Crack! Bang!
He sliced, cut downward, and thrust as if painting an old tree in empty space.
The flowing chain of strikes traced and then connected the thirty-six directions he had imagined.
Thus a single deeply rooted tree stood before the tempest.
It might be broken.
It might be uprooted entirely.
He knew it. As his friend, he knew better than anyone how formidable Dang Sanho was when he showed his true strength.
Yet he did not retreat, and met it with equal sincerity.
As he always did.
“Hah.”
Both men laughed, for they both knew the outcome.
Whoooosh!
The wind pressure created by the spinning Hidden Blade descended with the sharpness of tearing all things asunder.
A cyclone rose up, and dust filled the vision.
“Hmm.”
Only Dang Youxuan, unobstructed by the obscured view, witnessed the process by which victory was decided.
When the dust settled, Dang Sanho stood with the Hidden Blade in one hand, its point at Woon Han’s throat.
“I told you. Confidence.”
Prodigy of the Sichuan Dang Family’s Transformation
Author |
Yi Il-young
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(Main) Samyang C&C
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Editorial Department
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No part of this book may be used in any form or by any means without the written permission of Samyang C&C – Dream Books.

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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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