Reincarnation of the Cloud Dragon - Chapter 100

—————
This chapter is translated by Falnar Novels Team.
Support us by reading on our official site: https://falnarnovels.com
—————

Chapter 100.
Nak Wol.
The woman beneath the veil rose slowly to her feet. Yun Cheon still stood upon the Combat Platform, yet her steps were already turning toward it.
The path Yun Cheon took returning to his seat and the path Nak Wol took toward the Combat Platform crossed briefly beside the platform’s edge.
Their gazes met for a moment.
“….”
No words were exchanged.
Yet even beneath the veil, a burning intensity radiated from her eyes.
Yun Cheon regarded her briefly before returning to his seat.
Beneath Nak Wol’s veil, the corner of her mouth curved upward.
Yalü Hee was already on her feet.
The Black Blade was clasped in her hand.
“Yun Cheon, hold this for me.”
“Of course.”
Only after entrusting Feng Ying’s secret manual to Yun Cheon did she complete her preparations to ascend the Combat Platform.
“…Sister. Be careful. She’s no ordinary woman.”
Kang Hui spoke briefly.
There was no jest in his tone, as was his custom.
Just those few words.
“I will.”
A faint smile crossed Yalü Hee’s lips.
“She’s a formidable opponent. Stronger than either of the men I’ve faced.”
Yun Cheon supplemented Kang Hui’s warning.
“She certainly appears to be. I’ll verify for myself whether she surpasses me.”
As Yun Cheon gave a brief nod, Yalü Hee turned and headed toward the Combat Platform.
Nak Wol, who had already ascended the platform, awaited her.
Five paces between them.
Yalü Hee took her stance.
She held the Black Blade diagonally at her side.
Nak Wol smiled first.
“…I’ve been waiting for you. Miss Yalü Hee of the Black Dragon Gang.”
Her voice was low and gentle.
Yet that gentleness was like a blade concealed beneath thin silk.
Yalü Hee met her gaze steadily.
And spoke with measured calm.
“You seem to be in quite a hurry.”
Nak Wol’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Hm? What do you mean?”
Yalü Hee looked directly into her eyes.
“Though I stand before you, your gaze already reaches beyond me.”
A brief silence.
Nak Wol did not deny it.
Only the corners of her mouth beneath the veil curved slightly deeper.
“…Was it that obvious?”
“Quite so.”
“How troublesome.”
Nak Wol shifted her hand within her sleeve.
The tip of the hidden blade angled across her face momentarily, then quietly vanished once more.
“I suppose I let my excitement show without realizing it.”
Her voice remained soft.
Yet beneath that gentleness, the thrill she concealed could not be entirely hidden.
Yalü Hee did not miss that subtle tremor.
A woman standing before her, yet whose mind was already fixed upon the finals.
Was this the mindset of a warrior, or merely a woman’s desire?
‘…Does the Black Dragon Gang leader appeal to her so greatly?’
A faint smile crossed Yalü Hee’s lips.
“It seems you anticipate the finals eagerly, Sect Leader. Yet is it not premature to gaze upon another man while I stand before you?”
This time, Nak Wol did not smile immediately.
Nak Wol’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“…”
Yalü Hee’s words had struck a nerve.
‘No one has ever spoken to me this way…’
On one hand, it was a warrior’s rebuke—to focus one’s attention elsewhere before even ascending to the finals, while facing a semi-final opponent.
‘Is this an overreaction…?’
On the other hand, it somehow sounded like a woman’s subtle warning not to gaze upon ‘her man’.
A delicate feminine insinuation.
‘…This woman. I don’t care for her.’
Nak Wol’s sleeve rose slightly.
The blade of the hidden dagger gleamed coldly.
Yalü Hee slowly raised her black saber.
At that moment, the Butler’s voice rang out across the Combat Platform.
“Semi-final match two. Yalü Hee of the Black Dragon Gang versus Nak Wol of the Nak Wol Bi Yeong Sect. Begin!”
The instant the words left his mouth.
Nak Wol moved first.
Whoosh.
Her footsteps made barely a sound.
Though she had stood five paces away, in the next moment her form glided gracefully forward.
It was a swift yet secretive movement that evoked moonlight itself.
Simultaneously, the hidden blade concealed within her sleeve drew forth a silver arc as it flowed into view.
Yalü Hee’s black saber rose immediately.
Clang—!
A sharp, thin metallic ring.
Nak Wol’s hidden blade slid along the flat of my black sword.
The moment I thought I’d blocked it, the tip of the blade bent once more along the subtle tremor of my wrist, burrowing deeper inside.
Yalü Hee’s eyes flickered ever so slightly.
‘Fast.’
It wasn’t merely speed.
By the time the first move was blocked, the next was already prepared.
Nak Wol’s feet, which had seemed to retreat half a step, had already drawn close again.
Without even attempting to conceal her footwork, there was something mysteriously elusive about the direction her steps were heading.
In response, my toes scraped sharply against the Combat Platform.
Wind God’s Dance.
My body blurred for an instant, spinning fluidly.
As I rotated, my black sword rose in a diagonal arc.
A seamless blend of offense and defense—a variation infused with my own interpretation.
Nak Wol’s veil trembled faintly.
My black sword had only grazed the very edge of Nak Wol’s veil.
A soft whisper.
“What is the name of that footwork…?”
“My footwork? They call it the Falling Moon Step and the Flying Shadow Step.”
“…Two different footwork techniques?”
“The pride of our Nak Wol Bi Yeong Sect.”
Nak Wol’s mysterious movements seemed to stem from these two techniques.
The Falling Moon Step—footwork with a subtle, gentle quality like the light of a setting moon.
The Flying Shadow Step—movement so swift that even shadows seemed to vanish in an instant.
Both footwork techniques were executed freely at the tips of Nak Wol’s feet.
“And your footwork? It seems somehow different from ordinary techniques.”
“It is called the Wind God’s Dance.”
“Now that I hear the name… the movement makes perfect sense.”
The two women exchanged blows while marveling at each other’s skill.
“Hehe.”
Laughter escaped from beneath the veil.
“You are no easy opponent, I must say.”
Yalü Hee laughed softly as well.
“Nor are you, Sect Leader.”
“…I apologize for not being fully focused before the match.”
Nak Wol apologized first.
“There is nothing to apologize for. I too was merely testing you—please do not take it to heart.”
Yalü Hee responded in kind.
Yet their apologies were not meant to diminish the intensity of the match. Rather, they were a choice to set aside all else and concentrate purely on the combat itself.
The two women, now fully seeing each other, clashed once more.
This time, Yalü Hee took the initiative.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
A streak of black blade flashed brilliantly.
Building upon the One-Blade Wind Severance as its foundation, the blade had grown even swifter.
It struck with blinding speed, then twisted its angle just before contact, slashing past the half-measure mark—a variant of the Guangfeng blade technique.
By the time Yalü Hee’s black blade would have landed, Nak Wol’s form had already shifted to the side of the half-measure mark.
“…!”
Yet it was not mere evasion. Had it been, there would have been nothing to marvel at.
In the moment of her dodge, Nak Wol’s left hand received the force of Yalü Hee’s blade.
With bare hands—neither dagger nor sword.
A soft palm caressed the side of the black blade as if stroking it gently.
From that brief contact alone, Yalü Hee’s black blade slipped away by a beat.
A stir rippled through the spectators.
“…!”
“Yalü Hee’s blade has been deflected!”
“Nak Wol employs both dagger and palm techniques!”
“There’s barely any collision of force. She redirects so smoothly that Yalü Hee can’t press forward….”
Though this match had garnered less anticipation compared to the previous one, it proved no less refined in quality.
Particularly Nak Wol’s footwork and the Bi Yeong footwork—though two distinct techniques, they blended as if one, yet divided when needed. It was clearly an exceptional martial art worthy of bearing a sect’s name, a martial lineage steeped in history.
A match elegant in every way.
The spectators held their breath low.
“…I find myself reflecting on my own prejudgment, seeing this as merely a duel between two women.”
“Different from clashes that spark lightning and flame, yet the level is extraordinary.”
“It’s as if… we’re witnessing not a match, but an elegant dance.”
Nak Wol still wore a smile at the corners of her lips, yet its meaning differed from before.
A smile that savored the match itself.
Now Nak Wol had begun to truly behold her opponent before her.
Yalü Hee felt it as well.
And so she clashed with even greater sincerity.
A streak of black light raced across the Combat Platform’s floor.
This time, faster and lower.
Not the upper regions, but the lower.
A blade that targeted ankles and knees first, not shoulders and neck.
Nak Wol’s body rose lightly into the air.
Nak Wol footwork.
The silver gleam of her dagger fell downward, brushing away the grain of the black blade once.
A sharp crack rang out!
Yalü Hee’s black blade twisted.
Yet it was far from over.
Following the trajectory where the black blade had slipped past, Yalü Hee’s wrist twisted immediately.
She drew the deflected sword upward in one fluid motion, not thrusting straight ahead but executing a lateral cut—a variation that carved in from the side.
Nak Wol’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“…Impressive.”
Her voice beneath the veil dropped even lower.
A hidden blade sidestepped the black sword’s path, while her other hand pressed toward the space near Yalü Hee’s shoulder.
It didn’t actually make contact.
Yet the momentum alone—subtle and exquisite—forced her body to instinctively shift its balance.
Yalü Hee’s stance faltered by half a step.
In that gap, Nak Wol’s hidden blade slipped through like a whisper.
Shiiing.
The edge of Yalü Hee’s sleeve tore cleanly.
The crowd stirred briefly.
“She landed a strike…!”
“Is Nak Wol ahead by a step?”
Yet Yalü Hee did not retreat.
The Wind God’s Dance unfolded again.
Her feet rotated, tracing a perfect circle across the Combat Platform.
At the edge of that circle, the black blade flashed.
It resembled the form of the Guangfeng Thirteen Blades, yet differed from the main family’s style—where weight bore down with crushing force. This was short, sharp, and above all, angular.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The black blade and hidden blades collided in rapid succession.
Sharp metallic cries pierced the air one after another.
A small frame, short footwork, weapons with modest reach.
Nak Wol appeared to relish close-quarters combat.
Or more precisely, she possessed the confidence and composure to control distance as she wished.
Yalü Hee sensed this.
‘…Her footwork surpasses mine by a step.’
Within the Heavenly Demon Divine Sect, a martial art capable of elevating an entire sect through footwork alone.
It deserved to be called one of the Demonic Cult’s supreme techniques.
By comparison, Nak Wol’s palm strikes and hidden blade techniques were not as aggressive as the Guangfeng style.
Yalü Hee’s gaze turned cold.
‘Where I excel is offense… I must leverage my strength.’
Yalü Hee’s black blade accelerated.
Nak Wol’s hidden blades themselves carried no great force.
Instead, her steps, rotations, body twists, and the shadow-like follow-up of her other hand combined in an instant to generate power. That was why contact felt light, yet receiving it felt strangely heavy.
‘A perfected technique…’
Yalü Hee clenched her teeth.
Her own blade had only just begun to carve its path.
Nak Wol already stood upon a road honed for years beneath the name of an entire sect.
I could not deny the difference between us.
Yet acknowledgment and surrender were not the same thing.
Yalü Hee’s feet twisted once more.
Wind God’s Dance.
Her body swayed as though scattering, evading Nak Wol’s hidden blade.
Simultaneously, the black sword swept low before surging upward in the next instant.
The Seventh Form.
‘Wind Dance Soul Severance’
A technique that Yalü Hee had named and perfected herself.
It differed fundamentally from the main family’s Thirteen Winds of Guangfeng.
This was no blade that crashed forward in a direct assault.
The rotation of Wind God’s Dance was woven into the sword’s edge, and the variable technique first opened a layer of illusion.
The black sword surged upward as though to sever the neck in one stroke.
But just before contact.
That trajectory folded once more.
The crimson flash that seemed to cut straight ahead suddenly split sideways, and the true blade hidden behind it seeped in half a beat late.
As though the blade were not severing flesh, but cleaving the very soul.
Nak Wol’s eyes trembled for the briefest moment.
One hidden blade cut through the illusion while the other rushed to block the true sword arriving late.
Clang!
A sharp, metallic ring exploded through the air.
Yet she could not fully defend against it.
Screech.
The edge of her robe tore thin once more.
A suppressed gasp erupted from the spectators.
“She landed another blow!”
“That technique just now…!”
“…The Seventh Form shown in the demonstration!”
Wind Dance Soul Severance—the Seventh Form used for the first time in actual combat.
Yet at the end of that single exchange, the shadow of an unnamed eighth form was already wavering faintly into view.
‘…I glimpsed a fragment.’
Something grasped my hand for the briefest instant before vanishing.
Nak Wol’s footwork.
My own Wind God’s Dance.
The variable technique of Guangfeng’s blade.
And the Wind Shadow Manual that Father had just placed in my hands.
All four converged in my mind in a single moment.
Yalü Hee’s breath trembled sharply.
‘…I saw the path the eighth form should take, if only for an instant.’
It had no name yet.
There was no form.
Yet something different from the Guangfeng Blade I had wielded until now was unmistakably being born at my fingertips.
‘Guangfeng and Nak Wol… (Mad Wind Falling Moon).’
Nak Wol sensed the transformation as well.
Yalü Hee’s eyes were not looking at him.
They gazed into empty space, or perhaps something far beyond it.
The State of No-Self.
Beneath the veil, her eyes had sunk to an even deeper intensity.
‘She entered the State of No-Self during combat…?’
The air above the Combat Platform had changed.
Yalü Hee’s black blade rose slowly.
This time, she did not strike with speed.
Nor was it slow.
Precisely—a blade whose own wielder did not yet fully understand where it should go.
Yet that made it all the more dangerous.
The footwork of the Wind God’s Step opened first.
One step.
Two steps.
The tip of the black blade left afterimages in the void.
It resembled the form of the Guangfeng Thirteen Blades, yet its trajectory never fully revealed itself.
Nak Wol’s pupils narrowed.
‘Dangerous.’
It was not a completed technique.
But that made it far harder to predict.
Since the form had not yet solidified, it could not be read.
Nak Wol’s body withdrew sharply backward.
It was an impeccably clean retreat.
Yalü Hee’s black blade cut through the empty space where he had been.
Whoosh.
Only the sound of wind being severed remained.
And in that moment, Yalü Hee regained her senses.
The opening laid bare while cutting through empty air.
Yet her opponent had calmly waited, ensuring she would not miss the inspiration.
‘Still not ready for actual combat….’
The form had been on the verge of birth, but it had not yet become fully mine.
To push further would transform technique into a killing move.
Killing moves were forbidden in sparring matches.
Yalü Hee brought her black blade to a stop of her own volition.
Nak Wol stood three paces away, dagger in hand, watching her.
“Thank you for accepting it.”
Yalü Hee lowered her black blade slowly.
She exhaled a long, measured breath.
And spoke with quiet composure.
A brief silence.
“This time, I lost.”
Yalü Hee’s words sent a ripple through the assembled crowd.
“By her own admission…?”
“Couldn’t she have continued?”
“No, that move just now…!”
The faces of several elders hardened.
“That move just now…? She brought out an incomplete technique.”
“No… it was a technique that had only just begun to take form.”
“What absolute technique it will complete into….”
The patriarch of the Guang Feng Yalü Family said nothing.
Yet his gaze remained unwavering.
If anything, it deepened.
What he had witnessed in Hee’s movements moments ago was no mere defeat.
The Wind God’s Dance and its transformation, the Guang Feng Blade, and the seed of a new path not yet named—that unfinished form had certainly wavered, but within that wavering lay a future.
‘If she completes the Wind Shadow Technique….’
Yalü Jin’s fingers twitched ever so slightly upon his knee.
‘That child could stand as an equal to Nak Wol.’
Beneath the veil, her eyes flickered with the faintest tremor.
It was proof that the single move that had just split the air had truly caught her off guard.
But that tremor did not linger.
Nak Wol quickly returned to her composed expression.
“…It’s rare to witness a freshly conceived technique. What an honor.”
A low, gentle voice.
Yet this time it differed from her initial composure.
Victory had been claimed, but recognition of her opponent was woven through her words.
Nak Wol slowly sheathed her hidden blade.
And she spoke.
“…I apologize for earlier.”
Yalü Hee’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Beneath her veil, Nak Wol laughed softly.
“At first, I thought you were merely an obstacle in my path.”
A short breath.
“But I was wrong. When your technique is perfected, I’d like to face you again.”
Those words were no hollow courtesy.
Yalü Hee let out a quiet laugh.
“So would I.”
“…?”
“I thought the sect leader was simply a woman distracted by other matters.”
This time, Nak Wol’s lips curved upward just a fraction more.
Yalü Hee continued as she sheathed her black blade.
“I understood after our match. The years embedded in one’s footwork cannot be hidden. She was just as serious as I am.”
Nak Wol lowered her head slightly.
“Even so, she is a sect leader bearing the weight of an entire faction. I too have my own reasons for this.”
That single statement was enough.
The two were no longer opponents clashing under mutual misunderstanding.
As martial artists walking their own paths, they acknowledged the sincerity and years of experience woven into each other’s blades.
The Butler raised his voice belatedly.
“The victor: Nak Wol of the Nak Wol Bi Yeong Sect!”
Applause rippled through the arena.
“With this, all matches for today’s martial tournament have concluded!”
He then unfurled a scroll.
“The final matchup of tomorrow’s martial tournament shall be―”
The Butler’s voice resonated across the Grand Martial Arena.
“Yun Cheon, Master of the Black Dragon Gang!”
“Nak Wol, Sect Leader of the Nak Wol Bi Yeong Sect!”
Those two names pressed heavily upon the arena.
Yun Cheon gazed silently at the Combat Platform.

—————
This chapter is translated by Falnar Novels Team.
Support us by reading on our official site: https://falnarnovels.com
—————