Namgoong the Sword Ghost - Chapter 81

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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 81. Sword Ghost Opening Martial Arts
“Cough! I’ve lost.”
“Thank you for the excellent match.”
“Indeed…… the wall of the Ten Great Families is high indeed.”
“I am still insufficient.”
“Heh, petals scattering like blood shadows—such sharpness. They could well rival the Plum Blossom Sword of Hwasan.”
“The youngest prince of the main family recently created it—the Crimson Moon Shadow Flower Sword, it’s called.”
A member of the Changung Order in blue martial robes spoke from the Arena, and the spectators gasped.
“My, Namgung Ho Yeon again?”
“What exactly is his identity?”
“Eleven sword techniques, five palm arts, two leg methods, and one fist technique already!”
“They said he was eighteen, didn’t they? Truly worthy of the title Little Master!”
The exploits of Namgung Clan martial artists in the Yongbong Tournament Preliminary Round were remarkable.
Beginning with Namgung Ja Ryang, victories erupted from every corner.
And each time, one name was spoken by the mouths of the Namgung Clan martial artists.
Namgung Ho Yeon.
“Two years ago he made his name as the Lightning Prodigy, then fell silent. Did he really create martial arts one after another in the meantime?”
“Hmph, I don’t believe it. The Namgung Clan is scheming to promote their direct line.”
“Really, spreading such an obvious lie—what’s the point?”
“I’m dying to see the Cheonroe Jewang Singong already!”
“Ha! Soon you’ll witness it! Tomorrow is finally the Main Round!”
Public interest and anticipation surrounding Namgung Ho Yeon had reached its peak.
The day of the Main Round dawned.
* * *
The Main Round differed from the Preliminary Round—there was only a single Arena.
The atmosphere was entirely different as well.
The sect leaders and patriarchs of various schools and clans were arrayed in a circular Elevated Platform built around the Arena.
“Hmm, this Yongbong Tournament has an unusual abundance of talent.”
“Indeed. It’s evidence that our era is waning.”
“Hmph, you speak what you don’t believe. You’re not the kind to release your grip until your dying breath.”
“Heh, I cannot deny your words. In truth, I earnestly hope someone will take it from me.”
Everyone’s eyes kept darting toward the center of the platform.
There, at the highest seat in this place, two elderly men sat side by side.
“Ha, who could pry open the iron grip of the Sword Emperor? Impossible.”
In the right chair sat a tall elder whose sharp face bore eyes with a golden gleam—mysterious and profound.
He was the Baekga Maeng Lord, the Sword Emperor, Mo Yong Sang Cheon.
“You speak sincerely. I await the tide of the times that cannot be resisted.”
Mo Yong Sang Cheon gazed to his side with a faint smile.
In the left chair sat an elder in a two-toned robe of white and blue, stroking his beard that hung down to his navel.
The wrinkled brow made him look perpetually vexed even at rest—his identity was none other than a legendary figure.
“Is it not so for you as well? Palm Emperor?”
“Damn Infinite Buddha. If you’re going to prattle on about catching clouds, spare me. Thinking of my late master makes me irritated.”
Though a Taoist, he cursed like a ruffian—the elder was one of the Five Emperors, Palm Emperor Tae Hwang.
Commonly known as the Mudang Sect Palm Emperor, he was the current Martial Alliance Lord.
“I would have liked to meet your master once.”
“What good would it do to see that stubborn old fool?”
“Naturally, to discuss the Way of Martial Arts.”
“Hmph, he was just an ordinary library keeper. An incompetent Taoist who didn’t know the first thing about martial arts.”
“Yet he restored the Ten Section Brocade and raised you to become the Palm Emperor.”
At Mo Yong Sang Cheon’s words, the corners of Tae Hwang’s mouth twitched.
After the Sword Ghost Blood Massacre, the Mudang Sect had fallen into decline alongside Hwasan.
It was Tae Hwang, the Palm Emperor, who appeared like a meteor and revived the Mudang Sect.
The Mudang Sect, famous for the Taichi Wisdom Sword, had originally been dominated by sword techniques, but after Tae Hwang’s emergence, boxing arts rose to prominence so greatly that his presence was extraordinary.
Yet while people knew of the Palm Emperor, few knew the master who raised him.
“…… A foolish old man he was. No matter how many hundreds or thousands of times I said it couldn’t be done, he wouldn’t listen.”
Yet even as he spoke so, Tae Hwang’s eyes grew distant with memory.
“Damn the Primordial Celestial Worthy. He should have shown me success and then taken me away with him.”
“Hehehehe.”
Mo Yong Sang Cheon laughed, watching Tae Hwang lost in reminiscence.
‘Too sincere a friend. Well, that’s probably why he was appointed Martial Alliance Lord.’
Tae Hwang possessed tremendous martial prowess, yet he lacked the cunning to wield it for political gain.
In truth, he was an awkward choice to lead such a vast alliance as the Martial Alliance.
‘In a time of peace, he would suffice. But in an age of war, even a tyrant would be preferable.’
Mo Yong Sang Cheon’s terse assessment of Tae Hwang drew a faint furrow across his brow.
‘He is not suited for the era approaching us. Hehehehe.’
It was then, while the two alliance lords harbored different dreams beneath the same roof.
A loud voice rang out from the Arena.
“Due to the absence of Yu Baek Seo of the Gangso Yu Clan, the third disciple of the Jeomchang Sect, Won Yeop, receives a forfeit victory!”
“Again?!”
“What is this?!”
“The man was fine yesterday—where in the world has he gone?”
“It’s ridiculous. Why do the Jeomchang Sect priests only win by forfeit?”
As the crowd’s complaints swelled, Gu Il Bi, the White Tiger Deputy Commander of the Martial Alliance overseeing the Yongbong Tournament, glanced to his side.
There stood Won Yeop, expression troubled, unable to leave the Arena.
‘This is extraordinary. Too much to be mere coincidence. What in the heavens is going on?’
Since the Preliminary Round, the Jeomchang Sect priests had not fought a single genuine Martial Contest.
They had advanced through suspicious means—vanished opponents, forfeitures, and other dubious circumstances.
As a result, not only the Baekga Maeng but even factions within the Martial Alliance itself viewed the Jeomchang Sect with contempt.
‘I heard a Joint Investigation Team has been assembled, so results should come soon. For now, I need to settle this chaotic situation.’
Gu Il Bi withdrew the bracket.
Then he smiled.
‘Heaven itself favors us.’
Gu Il Bi spoke a name that would silence all discontent at once.
“The next match: Namgung Ho Yeon of the Namgung Clan versus Hye Il of the Mudang Sect!”
“Ohhhhh!”
“Finally, finally he appears!”
“The Lightning Prodigy, Namgung Ho Yeon!”
“And Hye Il—a Hidden Dragon Talent at the peak of his powers!”
“This is a true Great Match!”
As expected, all thought of the Jeomchang Sect vanished from the crowd’s mind.
* * *
“You’re going first. Go and come back victorious.”
“Ho Yeon, don’t get hurt!”
“Yes.”
When his name was called, Ho Yeon rose with the farewells of his brother and sister.
“Hah, what a situation this is…….”
He passed the descending Jeomchang Sect priest, heaving sighs with each breath, and climbed onto the Arena.
A long-limbed Mudang Sect priest, ape-like in appearance, regarded him with eyes that had settled into a grave depth.
“The rules are as follows: no killing techniques. Targeting vital points is forbidden. Poisons that threaten life are also prohibited.”
“Understood.”
“Yes, yes.”
Hye Il and Ho Yeon nodded at Gu Il Bi’s explanation.
“Fourth-rank senior disciple of the Mudang Sect. I am Hye Il.”
“Namgung Ho Yeon.”
“It is an honor to meet one whose reputation is so renowned—the Lightning Prodigy.”
“…….”
Ho Yeon watched Hye Il offer a proper fist salute despite his curt response, clicking his tongue inwardly.
‘Tsk, he’s orthodox after all. Not some thug from the outlaw sects.’
His original plan had been to pound his opponent into semi-consciousness and leave a deep impression of his existence on everyone’s minds.
But beating such a courteous gentleman into a pulp would be unseemly for someone who had tasted the waters of orthodox martial tradition himself.
‘I’ll have to go with the backup plan.’
Ho Yeon revised his strategy for total annihilation.
Somehow, during the Yongbong Tournament, the epithet “Little Master” had begun to spread.
It was originally a title used among the Namgung Clan’s own people, but gradually it had taken root as a proper nickname.
Ho Yeon nodded and asked.
“Do you use palm techniques?”
“Shamefully, my senior brothers call my technique the Return Wind Cotton Palm.”
“Ho, the cotton palm of the returning wind? A charming name indeed.”
At Ho Yeon’s words, murmurs rose from those gathered around the Arena.
“Well, how arrogant can one be.”
“I like that he looks confident. The Namgung Clan is hardly an ordinary noble house.”
“Kyaaah! Just like Ok Girin would say! Please, just look at us once!”
“Whether it’s Ok Girin or Dong Girin, win! I’ve bet five taels of silver without my wife knowing!”
“What are you doing here!”
As the commotion threatened to intensify, Gu Il Bi quickly announced the start of the Martial Contest.
“If things get too heated, I’ll step in to mediate, so fight without worry. Let’s begin!”
Whoosh!
Hye Il immediately adopted a sword stance.
But Namgung Ho Yeon merely stood there, motionless.
“Draw your sword.”
“I’m watching first.”
“…What?”
“I’ve developed a few palm techniques myself. Might be worth testing on someone from Mudang Sect.”
At Namgung Ho Yeon’s arrogant words, Hye Il’s lips trembled with barely contained fury.
“You’ll come to regret that.”
Crack!
Hye Il deployed the Flowing Cloud Body Method, moving like water through the air.
His form resembled the clouds hanging low over Mudang Mountain—serene and drifting.
‘His fundamentals are sound, at least.’
When you broke down the character for martial arts, you could see it contained the character for “stopping”—the foundation of stance work.
Footwork and positioning were the most basic elements of any martial discipline.
‘I was prepared to scold him if his footwork was sloppy, but he’s not quite that crude.’
Namgung Ho Yeon nodded, then drew the Changung Qi from his qihai point and circulated it—unleashing a staggering two decades worth of internal energy that stretched itself like waking from hibernation.
Rumble-rumble-rumble!
“Gasp!”
Hye Il, who had been rushing forward, suddenly felt a pressure like ancient stone from a thousand years past bearing down on him, and his entire body went rigid.
‘What… what is this?!’
Through his Qi sense, Namgung Ho Yeon appeared not as a man but as something that could only be called a monster.
Whoooosh!
In his mind’s eye, Hye Il saw the shadow of a colossal demon, crimson spectral energy churning in all directions.
“Ngh… gaaaah!”
Crack!
As if shaking off the oppressive force that gripped his very soul, Hye Il erupted with internal energy and released the Spear Dragon Tiger, charging forward again.
‘My training has not been in vain!’
Though instinct whispered to flee this very moment, over a decade of disciplined habit drove Hye Il’s body onward.
He had trained ceaselessly in the Cotton Palm and Return Wind Palm, among the countless palm techniques of Mudang Sect.
Especially the Cotton Palm—though called a soft technique like cotton itself, it was Mudang’s signature palm art, embodying the profound principles of the highest level of Internal Family Heavy Technique.
If cultivated to its extreme, the legend held that you could strike rice paper against a wall without tearing it—the wall would crumble instead.
“Hah!”
Boom!
Hye Il’s palm traced a semi-circle to the right, driving it forward.
This was Hye Il’s own method—combining the subtlety of the Cotton Palm with the principles of the Return Wind Palm.
Drawing upon decades of wandering experience, he wove a silk-thread force into it, a technique meant to shake his opponent’s inner structure.
‘Iron Thread Binding Palm!’
Crack-crack-crack!
Watching the internal energy twist and coil like wire wrapping around itself, Namgung Ho Yeon smiled.
‘Not bad at all.’
Namgung Ho Yeon recognized in Hye Il’s move a depth of contemplation and research into martial arts.
Though still immature and young, it was the spirit of a true Martial Artist.
‘I’ll show him what real skill looks like.’
Namgung Ho Yeon extended his right palm with a serious expression.
Boom-boom-boom!
At the same moment, brilliant blue Changung Qi gathered layer upon layer across his palm like stacked clouds.
Boom!
Hye Il’s palm met Namgung Ho Yeon’s palm, and at the point of collision, a violent tempest erupted, sweeping across everything around them.
Crack-crack-crack!
“Kyaaah!”
“Oof! What—what is that!”
“Don’t push!”
After the whirlwind swept past the crowd, everyone turned their heads in unison to look toward the Arena.
“…….”
“…….”
The two stood facing each other across the span of one zhang, blood trickling from the corner of Hye Il’s mouth.
“……What was that?”
“Layered Cloud Ten Thousand Kalpas Palm.”
“Clouds stacked layer upon layer through ten thousand kalpas? You created this yourself?”
“Not exactly created it. Just mixed existing techniques together rather well. Not bad, wouldn’t you say?”
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom-thoom-thoom!
Changung Qi accumulated once more in layers across Ho Yeon’s palms.
Hye Il’s gaze trembled as he watched.
‘Mixed……together? No, it’s far beyond that level.’
Hye Il himself had attempted to merge the Cotton Palm and Return Wind Palm into one technique.
Blending martial arts was not as simple as it sounded.
One needed comprehensive knowledge not only of the techniques themselves, but also of martial studies as a whole—selecting strengths and purging weaknesses.
If the two arts clashed with each other, all effort came to nothing.
‘I managed only to salvage the Iron Thread Binding Palm. But this……this isn’t merely a single technique. He’s given birth to an entirely new art.’
Imitation is the mother of creation.
What he witnessed could not be dismissed as mere “mixing.”
Namgung Ho Yeon was truly a genius worthy of the title Master.
“……A talent that appears once in a thousand years.”
“Once in a thousand years? That’s too much praise. Three hundred years, perhaps.”
At Hye Il’s words, Ho Yeon shrugged and let out a soft laugh.
And now, in Hye Il’s eyes, this no longer appeared as arrogance.
A skilled master always carries confidence; to the ordinary person, this naturally reads as pride.
Like a tiger facing a rabbit, he was simply at ease.
“……I’ll fight at full strength.”
“By all means.”

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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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