The Legend of Red Cloud - Chapter 102

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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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Chapter 102. The Tri-Sword Flow
Ryu’s blade flowed with liquid grace, deflecting or parrying the opponent’s strikes with fluid precision.
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man retreated once more, blocked by the swift and economical swordwork, his expression one of genuine surprise.
But that shock was brief—as a surge of dark, turbulent energy roiled up from within him, his entire demeanor transformed, and he came charging forward again.
To meet it, Ryu’s left hand flashed out, drawing the Gwui-hon from its sheath.
The blade sang clear.
Two swords now fended off the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s assault.
Compared to when he had clashed with Yucheon Chu-hon, Ryu’s movements had grown considerably faster, his strength noticeably improved.
Ryu credited all of it to the Wind Practice.
He did not yet realize it was the Miraculous Pills that Yun Yeo-ok had ground and smeared on him—six of them in total—whose medicinal potency was bearing fruit.
The enhanced musculature forged by the pills’ effects granted him speed far exceeding his former abilities, and reinforced strength to match.
Relying on that transformation, Ryu managed to parry the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s onslaught with surprising competence.
At last, the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s fury reached a breaking point, his momentum shifted once more, and a savage deluge of force came crashing down.
Ryu’s expression hardened with resolve—he sensed instinctively that conventional defense would be useless now—and the tip of Gwui-hon touched Han-ul, his third blade.
A smooth, whistling draw.
Han-ul, the third sword, bloomed forth from Gwui-hon’s sheath and danced through the air.
Had he possessed internal energy, he could have channeled it for swifter, more devastating strikes; but now, he had to content himself with clashing blades or flicking opponents airborne.
Yet even that subtle shift sent the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s hands and feet into disarray.
The floating Han-ul wheeled and slashed toward his throat at every turn.
Gwui-hon in his left hand, Tas-ha in his right, and Han-ul suspended in the void above—
Three blades moved with ghostly grace, blocking the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s strikes and launching counterattacks in the same breath.
This was the Tri-Sword Flow, learned years ago at Saja Hall from a fallen Jeok Sa Jo member during a mission.
That comrade had taught it to him as a technique—a way to hold their own against masters even without internal energy, if only for a brief exchange.
The instructor had spoken of it lightly, but the manual itself contained the precept: “Three blades fill earth and heaven and space entire, leaving nowhere to hide”—which suggested it was no ordinary art.
Those who had witnessed the Tri-Sword Flow demonstrated before them in person often remarked that the technique of clashing or flicking the pair of swords in the wielder’s hands while moving the third blade suspended above seemed almost like a juggler’s trick.
But those who had faced the Tri-Sword Flow on the battlefield could never say such a thing.
Like the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man, caught in it now.
Moreover, from the instant Ryu drew Gwui-hon, the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man had been forced to contend with spectral illusions as well.
This pushed his fury to its absolute limit.
The line he had sworn never to cross—reason drowned by blind rage—the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man obliterated it.
He unleashed his Black Ghost Qi at maximum power.
A dark, suffocating miasma poured from him like black fog, churning and billowing outward.
And his offense transformed entirely.
An assault incomparably fiercer than before came hammering down like a cloudburst.
Even operating the Tri-Sword Flow at the absolute ceiling of his ability now proved futile.
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s strikes probed the gaps between strikes, and Ryu would have been drenched in blood in seconds.
Worse still, Han-ul, caught by a heavy blow, flew beyond the range Ryu could control and crashed to the ground.
With only two swords remaining, Ryu steadied his stance, breathing hard.
Losing a blade did not mean losing power.
The Tri-Sword Flow he had learned was not a technique built solely on wielding three blades.
It encompassed variations for two swords, one sword, even bare hands—the Hand Blade art was woven into the fabric of the technique itself.
So Ryu resolved not to stop resisting until both his hands were severed.
At the very least, he had a martial art to fight with until the end.
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man, exhaling black wrath, came at him.
The torrent of force bearing down was every bit as merciless as the Yucheon Chu-hon he had faced before.
Which meant, in this moment, Ryu had no path to survival.
Yet he could not simply die.
Teeth clenched, Ryu charged forward with both swords crossed before him.
And he swung with all his strength against the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s onslaught.
A piercing shriek tore the air.
The Ghost Wail from the woman’s essence within Gwui-hon wailed out so fiercely it seemed to split eardrums, and the two swords carved through the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s black energy.
Though both blades had been thrust forward simultaneously, Gwui-hon on the left clearly moved faster.
Synergy, one might call it.
The ghostly Gwui-hon proved far more suited to piercing an opponent’s momentum than the solid Tas-ha.
Without hesitation, Ryu released Tas-ha and seized Gwui-hon with both hands.
Then, wheeling swiftly, he slashed in all directions.
He parried the lethal strikes, absorbed the lesser ones, and pursued the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s openings with relentless focus.
From the blows he allowed through, his whole body swiftly became a mass of wounds beyond measure; yet Ryu’s assault never faltered.
The Ghost Wail and spectral phantoms that followed his blade wheeled through the air in all directions.
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man found himself engulfed in the storm of Ryu’s desperate, all-or-nothing assault.
Despite wielding a strength so starkly superior that comparison itself was difficult, the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man found himself caught in Ryu’s relentless assault—a fury that courted death itself.
From the man’s movements, Ryu could discern that he had possessed this level of momentum for only a short time.
His practical experience was shallow—that much was plain.
Ryu drove his blade through that opening.
Slice.
At last, the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s chest split open in a long gash, blood spraying.
To achieve this, Ryu had accepted the man’s final assault in full.
The cost was a wound on his thigh so deep that bone showed through, blood pouring like a waterfall.
He pressed urgently on a blood vessel point to staunch the bleeding, but the flow remained substantial.
It was an acupoint strike; without Internal Energy, it hadn’t taken hold properly.
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man also pressed a blood vessel point to stop the blood flowing from his chest, then stared at Ryu with the hunger of a predator.
The Gwui-hon had penetrated only shallowly—unfortunately.
The man’s reflexes had been sharp; he’d jerked his body backward quickly enough to evade the full thrust.
The middle-aged man, teeth bared, snarled savagely at Ryu, who swallowed his frustration.
“I’ll kill you!”
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man charged forward again.
Gripping Gwui-hon tightly, Ryu surged to meet him.
Boom!
The sound seemed genuine; the air around them was sucked away at terrifying speed.
And the attack that came crashing down carried an aura too malevolent for any human to wield.
Clang!
Though Ryu barely parried it, the Qi Blast riding his opponent’s recoiling strike tore a long line across his chest.
Drip, drip, drip.
The wound wasn’t deep, but blood soaked his upper body and dripped steadily to the ground.
Between the thigh gash and now his chest, blood flowed from multiple wounds—far too much.
His vision began to blur.
His mind grew distant, as though he were sinking away.
Ryu bit his own tongue hard enough to draw blood, snapping himself back to focus—just as the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s blade came rushing toward his face.
In that brief moment of fugue, the man had seized his opening without hesitation.
Ryu wrenched Gwui-hon upward in desperation, but too late.
Screech, crunch, splash.
The enemy blade caught the hilt of Gwui-hon and drove upward with a grinding shriek that ended in blood spray.
Despite losing a chunk of his shoulder to the blade, Ryu’s body launched itself directly at the man’s chest.
The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man’s eyes widened—he’d been drunk on triumph from his powerful sweep.
And then—
Thud.
Gwui-hon plunged deep into the man’s chest.
The man’s free hand slammed into Ryu’s body in return.
Crack!
As Ryu flew backward, consciousness already slipping away.
As he sailed back and Gwui-hon was wrenched free, blood erupted from the wound—prompting the Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man to move hastily to stanch it.
Even with his left chest pierced precisely where the heart dwelt, his movements seemed unimpaired.
He had moved to finish Ryu, who lay sprawled far back, but suddenly he glanced aside and hesitated.
A presence approaching at terrifying speed—one powerful enough that he could do nothing against it. The Black-Robed Middle-Aged Man gazed at Ryu with a look of regret for a moment, then fled in panic.
Right after, Yun Yeo-ok arrived at the hall, with Gon-gwi leading the way.
Spotting Ryu sprawled in the distance, Yun Yeo-ok rushed to him.
She took in his condition—covered in blood, wounds everywhere—and quickly checked his pulse, then fumbled through her garments.
“Damn it all!”
The Miraculous Pills were gone. She’d used all seven she’d been carrying.
With no time to waste, she had Gon-gwi sit Ryu upright, pressed her palm to his Ming Men Acupoint, and infused him with Internal Energy, beginning Qi Infusion Healing.
Whatever he’d suffered, Ryu’s body was filled with a malevolent aura whose source she couldn’t identify.
That evil Qi was poisoning his blood.
His blood was dying.
Severe as the external wounds were, no living person survived poisoned blood.
First and foremost, she had to drive out that malevolent aura and stop the blood from corrupting.
Through her palm, Yun Yeo-ok’s Internal Energy surged powerfully into Ryu’s body.
She needed every ounce to combat that mysterious, wicked force.
After a lengthy struggle, her momentum finally began to drive the malevolent aura out.
Drip, drip, drip.
In that instant, dead blood, dark as pitch, flowed from Ryu’s nose.
The evil energy was pushed back, driven out.
The amount of blood flowing out surged dramatically.
The black blood that had poured down in frightening streams from a bowl began to grow redder, and then it stopped altogether.
Having already lost so much blood, Jeok Sa’s face was drained of all color—not merely pale but tinged a deathly blue as he expelled the massive volume of blackened blood.
Sweat rolled down Yun Yeo-ok’s brow as she held her palm against the Ming Men Acupoint on his back.
She was pouring an enormous reserve of martial power into the Qi Infusion Healing.
Once the healing was complete, Jeok Sa lay sleeping with even, steady breathing—a stark contrast to his ashen complexion.
Gon-gwi, watching from his side, gazed at Yun Yeo-ok as she circulated her energy, his expression growing complicated.
The divine maiden he knew—Yun Yeo-ok—was never the sort to exert herself for anyone like this.
Far from striving for others, she took no interest in matters that didn’t concern her.
Yet she had poured nearly all of her internal power into another without hesitation.
Here, in the very heart of the Kangho, where danger might lurk at any moment.
Even under Gon-gwi’s watchful eye, it was perilous.
His strength did not lie in combat.
So if the Black-Robed Man returned and found them in this state, Yun Yeo-ok would be defenseless.
Yet she had acted without hesitation.
Even as Gon-gwi watched in astonishment, someone was drawing near.
Gon-gwi’s expression, tense with worry, began to settle.
From the aura of the approaching presence, he judged it well within his capacity to handle.
The moment his assessment was complete, the figure arrived.
It was Gyeongcheon Chu-gwi, who had been pursuing the Black-Robed Man.
Upon spotting Jeok Sa lying on the ground covered in blood, Gyeongcheon Chu-gwi started to cry out in shock—but Gon-gwi, seeing this, moved quickly.
To interrupt Yun Yeo-ok’s meditation would invite her notoriously vicious temperament to explode.
Gyeongcheon Chu-gwi could not block Gon-gwi’s hand as it shot out in haste.
Thump.
With his acupoint struck, Gyeongcheon Chu-gwi lost consciousness and collapsed limply.
Without sparing him a glance, Gon-gwi checked Yun Yeo-ok’s condition and exhaled in relief.
Her expression remained steady as she circulated her energy.
After a brief wait, Yun Yeo-ok withdrew her energy and rose to her feet.
“Carry him. We’re leaving.”
As Gon-gwi hoisted Jeok Sa onto his back at her command, Yun Yeo-ok launched herself forward without hesitation.
Following her, Gon-gwi departed as well, leaving Gyeongcheon Chu-gwi behind, unconscious and abandoned.

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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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