The Great Heavenly Sword Emperor - Chapter 14

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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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#014. The Right to Survive (2)

The Martial Arts of the Beigong Clan possess stark strengths and weaknesses.
As the disciplines of an orthodox martial family, they are weighty and commanding.
The balance of defense, counterattack, and pressure is sound, granting formidable advantage in direct confrontation.
Yet against opponents wielding extreme speed or the Kwae Geom, they falter easily.
Precisely as Beigong Danya now found himself.
Clang! Crash! Scrape!
He blocked, and blocked again.
There was no opening for offense—merely holding back the assassin’s blows that bled through the darkness of the room consumed all his strength.
The assassin’s movements, swift and buried in shadow, held no favorable matchup for Beigong Danya.
Moreover, Beigong Danya’s cultivation was not especially advanced.
The narrow room and furnishings deliberately arranged to favor him had allowed him to constrain the assassin’s lines of movement well enough—but no further than that.
As moments passed, the furnishings fell into disarray, transforming the space into chaos, which in turn hampered Beigong Danya’s own footwork.
Thud!
In the end, Beigong Danya had no choice but to throw himself outside.
Evading the assassin’s strike, Beigong Danya hurled himself through the doorway, rolled across the ground once, and rose to his feet.
Wheee!
A gust of wind brushed past, rustling through Beigong Danya’s hair.
Somehow, a colder wind than before.
Yet there was an advantage to this.
Freed from the suffocating narrowness of the room where the oppressive pressure had made even breathing difficult, he could now draw breath fully.
“Hah…”
Beigong Danya inhaled deeply.
The assassin who had been in the room emerged slowly outside.
Then just as slowly, faded into the darkness.
Sword in hand, Beigong Danya focused every sense of his body.
The matchup of Martial Arts was unfavorable.
And the assassin might not be alone.
Every circumstance weighed against him.
Perhaps Beigong Danya had made the worst possible choice.
Beigong Danya quietly drew up his Inner Energy.
It was the Jinmu Jeong Sim Gyeol of the Beigong Clan.
A Heart Technique that stabilized Inner Energy to form the foundation for both defense and counterattack.
For Beigong Danya, whose goal was endurance rather than victory, it was the finest Heart Technique he could choose.

* * *

Cheon Mugyeol watched the entire scene unfold from a distance, alongside Gwang An and Jang Pahung.
‘Not a poor choice, but hardly the best either.’
Coming outside was a decision with clear merits and drawbacks.
‘He hasn’t found his path yet. Merely chancing upon favorable circumstances.’
Cheon Mugyeol held his gaze fixed on Beigong Danya, forming his own assessment.
Gwang An, standing beside him, glanced obliquely toward Cheon Mugyeol.
In Gwang An’s eyes, not a trace of Cheon Mugyeol’s thoughts was visible.

* * *

As the Jinmu Jeong Sim Gyeol took hold, the anxious wavering in his heart found stability.
By the time Beigong Danya had regained his composure.
The movements of the Muryon assassins resumed.
Swish-swish-swish!
It resembled brushwood swept by wind, but it was not.
The sound created by the assassins’ movements.
Not the sound of one, but of many—an ominous chorus.
Assassins by nature were discreet.
Silent, without trace—that’s the assassin’s creed.
But tonight was different.
No attempt to conceal their presence, no muffling of sound.
The assassins of Muryon moved this way as a declaration in itself.
A vow written in blood: their target would fall before dawn.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!
The sound of their approach flooded Beigong Danya’s ears with vertigo.
That noise burrowed deeper, wedging itself into his mind, breeding fear and despair in equal measure.
The calm he’d forged through the Jinmu Jeong Sim Gyeol wavered, buckling once more.
In a moment that demanded his spirit sink heavy and still, it rose and fell like a shuttlecock—kept aloft only by the iron will Beigong Danya clung to with both hands.
Screech! Screech!
The assassins tore free from the darkness all at once, bodies suddenly corporeal.
Clang! Clang! Clang-clang!
Sharp metal shrieked against the night’s silence.
Think it comes from here—it strikes from there. Turn to block there, and it cuts from here.
Close off the front, they tunnel through behind. Barely seal the rear, and a Flying Blade whistles in from the flank.
Chaos given motion.
Beigong Danya moved with every ounce of his concentration honed to a razor’s edge.
He wove between the Beigong Clan’s signature movement techniques—the Jinbo and Cheonju Bo—one flowing into the next.
Dodge and block.
The faster he moved, the faster they pressed, tightening their vise around him.
Rip! Tear!
Fabric split. Flesh began to open.
Blood ran free, its iron reek fouling the clean night air with a nauseating stench.
With each deepening scent of blood, the Muryon assassins grew swifter, more savage.
“Hah!”
Beigong Danya roared, sharpening his focus, drawing his Inner Energy tighter still.
He fought to wring the last measure of power from the Jinmu Jeong Sim Gyeol.
Tear!
Yet he was cut again.
An attack grazed his back—fire and sting erupted across his entire body at once.
His senses snapped awake.
There was strength left in him still.
Beigong Danya gritted his teeth and swung his blade, again and again.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Strike after strike turned away.
Yet their assault was airtight, without seam or fissure.
And there seemed to be more of them now.
The number of Short Daggers meeting his sword had visibly multiplied.
Tear!
Blood sprayed from his ribs.
Tear!
Blood flew from his thigh as well.
The ground was slick with it now, and Beigong Danya’s grip on consciousness—already tenuous—began to fray.
‘Hold on. Hold on! No matter how far gone I am, I must hold on.’
That thought alone filled Beigong Danya’s mind.
Roar!
In that instant, his technique shifted.
He abandoned the Jinmu Jeong Sim Gyeol—the foundational Heart Technique of the Beigong Clan—and pulled the Taeag Jin Gyeong to the fore.
Screech! Boom!
Destructive force bloomed from his sword strike.
The assassin who’d collided with him staggered, his rhythm broken.
Cheon Mugyeol’s eyes flickered—just for an instant—before settling back into their measured gaze.
‘Taeag Jin Gyeong. The timing of his transition was sound. The direction was right.’
Whether by design or fortune, Beigong Danya’s switch had come at precisely the right moment.
The question now was whether he could exploit this opening.
Cheon Mugyeol’s eyes darkened with thought.
Beigong Danya sensed it too.
The shift was undeniable.
With the assassins’ rhythm fractured, gaps had opened between their attacks—breathing room he hadn’t had before.
Just a breath. A moment to catch his wind.
Yet even that brief reprieve transformed Beigong Danya’s predicament entirely.
The Taeag Jin Gyeong channeled fresh power into the Cheonju Bo.
Strengthened by the Taeag Jin Gyeong’s force, the Cheonag Geom Gyeol unleashed an even heavier momentum.
The assassins shifted their assault to match Beigong Danya’s altered rhythm.
The relentless barrage ceased.
Beigong Danya seized the moment to steady his breathing, bewildered—but the assassins granted him no such mercy for long.
Whistle-whistle-whistle-whistle-whee!
From the darkness, dozens upon dozens—no, hundreds—of Hidden Projectile Weapons erupted downward.
Beigong Danya gritted his teeth and swung his blade in frantic arcs.
Pang-pang-pang-pang-pang!
The rain of projectiles exploded outward in all directions.
But the Cheonag Geom Gyeol was not an efficient technique for deflecting volleys of Hidden Projectile Weapons.
The sheer force of the blade deflected many, yet gaps remained.
Thunk! Thunk!
Several projectiles embedded themselves in Beigong Danya’s body.
Searing pain washed through him, but he had no time to writhe with agony.
With the Taeag Jin Gyeong and Cheonag Geom Gyeol still imperfect, he could not know how much longer he could endure.

* * *

“He holds on well.”
Cheon Mugyeol, Jang Pahung, and Gwang An watched Beigong Danya struggle.
Gwang An spoke with a note of relief, but Cheon Mugyeol and Jang Pahung said nothing.
Cheon Mugyeol was naturally taciturn and rarely expressed sentiment; Jang Pahung clamped his jaw shut, barely suppressing his displeasure.
That Beigong Danya’s Martial Rank was low was information they’d already confirmed.
So they’d composed the assassins of second-rank or lower—not special or first-rank.
Perhaps for that reason?
Beigong Danya, who should have fallen long ago, now held his ground with unexpected prowess. It grated.
That irritation was directed both at his own miscalculation and at his subordinates’ failure to dispatch Beigong Danya.
“Damn it! I should have mixed in some first-rank.”
“There are no first-rank assassins available?”
“Of course not! Would we waste first-rank assassins on the Beigong Clan just to swat one cat?”
Jang Pahung barked at Gwang An’s needling question.
Perhaps because of it.
Cheon Mugyeol, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
“Let us stop here today.”
“What?”
Jang Pahung stared at Cheon Mugyeol as though he’d spoken nonsense.
“I mean it. We stop here today.”
“This is absurd!”
As Jang Pahung bristled, Cheon Mugyeol opened his mouth again.
“We’ve seen what we needed to see today. If he dies here, we’ll have wasted the opportunity to learn more.”
Jang Pahung glowered at him, barely restraining his fury.
“You! You specifically said ‘today’! Which means the Assassination Contract is still active!”
Jang Pahung shouted at Cheon Mugyeol, demanding confirmation.
Gwang An’s complexion darkened at those words.
Jang Pahung’s words meant the trial against Beigong Danya would not end today.
Jang Pahung, who had declined to send first-rank assassins, would dispatch stronger ones next time to ensure Beigong Danya’s death.
And Beigong Danya was plainly grievously wounded.
Next time, his chances of survival would plummet.
Gwang An swallowed hard, studying Cheon Mugyeol.
“The contract remains active.”
At Cheon Mugyeol’s words, Jang Pahung’s smile deepened with satisfaction.
But Gwang An’s face went ashen.
‘The probability that Beigong Danya dies in the next Assassination Attempt is eight in ten. No—nine in ten. Perhaps certain death. Is this a trial or an execution?’
Gwang An sighed inwardly.
Wheee!
Then Jang Pahung whistled, and with that sound, the assault on Beigong Danya ceased entirely.
The assassins withdrew swiftly, but Beigong Danya remained standing, blade still raised, defiant.
Whoosh.
Cheon Mugyeol turned and walked away.
He didn’t spare a glance for Beigong Danya, who had held on so well.
It likely meant the young man still fell far short of the standard.
‘Master, isn’t your standard a bit too high?’
Gwang An watched Cheon Mugyeol’s retreating back and posed the question silently.
From where he stood, Beigong Danya had performed admirably today.
His will hadn’t broken, he’d held firm to the end, and he’d drawn out every ounce of his martial rank.
Just what level did Cheon Mugyeol expect of Beigong Danya?
Gwang An moved forward with the bewildered look of a man who hadn’t a clue.
“Hey, prior.”
Jang Pahung called out to Gwang An from behind as he walked.
“Yes?”
“Next time, have some liquor ready.”
At Jang Pahung’s words, Gwang An’s brow furrowed.
“As I mentioned, the temple doesn’t…….”
“Not for me to drink. I mean liquor to pour over that bastard’s corpse.”
Grin.
Jang Pahung smiled with unsettling cheer as he spoke.
His gleaming white teeth looked positively sinister in the light.
Gwang An clasped his hands in prayer without a word and withdrew from the place.
Beigong Danya, who had been standing firm with every muscle taut until that moment, finally collapsed where he stood.

* * *

“Huh!”
Beigong Danya jolted awake with a start, his body shooting upright.
Searing pain swept through every inch of him, but shock overwhelmed it all.
Beigong Danya looked around, then down at his own body.
Bandages wound around his entire frame as if someone had tended to his wounds.
‘I survived.’
The realization was overwhelming.
He hadn’t perished. He’d withstood Muryon’s relentless assault and endured.
But he gritted his teeth and steadied his emotions.
The end might not have come yet.
Premature hope births only deeper despair.
So Beigong Danya kept his feelings firmly suppressed.
Then the door opened and Gwang An stepped inside.
“You’re awake.”
“The temple treated my wounds?”
“Yes. We couldn’t simply leave you as you were.”
“Thank you.”
Beigong Danya offered his gratitude with genuine feeling.
Yet Gwang An’s expression remained clouded.
“I’m not certain whether your waking is a blessing or a curse.”
“What do you mean?”
Beigong Danya tensed as he asked.

* * *

The night before.
Gwang An had encountered Jang Pahung again as the man prepared to leave.
“What is it?”
“I have a request.”
“A request?”
“Yes. Please postpone the next assassination attempt until the young lord of Beigong regains consciousness.”
“Why should I? A target lying unconscious is in the perfect state to complete an assassination contract.”
Gwang An continued after Jang Pahung spoke.
“But wouldn’t it damage your pride to kill such an opponent and call the contract complete?”
At Gwang An’s words, Jang Pahung’s eyebrows twitched.
Gwang An had struck at Jang Pahung’s most sensitive nerve.
“I won’t ask you to wait until he recovers completely. Just wait until he regains consciousness, please.”
“Why make such a request?”
Jang Pahung asked.
Gwang An smiled faintly as he replied.
“Though I am an information broker, I am still a monk, am I not? That is the only reason.”
There seemed to be another reason behind it, but Gwang An ended his answer there.

* * *

Gwang An relayed his difficult conversation with Jang Pahung to Beigong Danya.
After hearing the full account, Beigong Danya remained surprisingly composed.
“Thank you.”
“Thank me? Whatever for?”
“Whether I live or die remains uncertain, but you gave me a chance not to perish in vain.”
“Master.”
Beigong Danya smiled as he looked at Gwang An watching him.
“Of course, I intend to survive by any means necessary.”
Beigong Danya made the vow once more.
Gwang An could only smile in return, seeing such resolve.
A smile tinged with melancholy.

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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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