The Lightning I Harbor Is Too Strong - Chapter 49

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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 49
The day after Jeong Ishin entered the Bikcheonryu, he sought out Eon Soran at once.
She hadn’t believed his words at first, but after an hour or so of sparring, faith seemed to have taken root.
After that, things became quite peaceful. It was simply the repetition of daily life—sparring every day.
Jeong Ishin had thrown himself into the new sensations that Bikcheonryu offered, to the point that he occasionally sparred with Nam Tae-gang as well.
The only real problem was that Eon Soran was having considerable difficulty grasping the essence of Bikcheonryu.
‘Wait—isn’t that the biggest problem of all?’
The thought struck Jeong Ishin suddenly, and he bolted upright.
The man sitting across from him, steeping tea, looked at him with puzzled eyes.
“The tea isn’t ready yet?”
“Something terrible has occurred, Hyeon Poong.”
“Something terrible?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss it with anyone.”
…….
Hyeon Poong—a disciple of the Wudang Sect, which could rightly be called the pinnacle of the Daoist schools of the Jungyuan Murim.
More than that, he was a swordsman known as the next Wudang First Blade.
His sobriquet, the Azure Sky Blade, came from the way his sword moved like a hawk soaring through clear heavens.
He ranked third in the Rukwan ceremony, and in the evaluation tournament, he had crossed blades with a woman called the Lesser Blade Master.
“Jeong Ishin, take what this Daoist says seriously. You may have been possessed by a vengeful spirit in the depths of Manmugak.”
The Azure Sky Blade, tea kettle in hand instead of a sword, spouted such nonsense.
Jeong Ishin collapsed backward into his chair.
Here he was, racking his brains over how to teach Bikcheonryu to Eon Soran, and a Wudang Daoist across from him had nothing to offer but drivel.
His strength seemed to drain away.
“Jeong Ishin, are you listening?”
“Yes.”
Excluding his tendency toward nonsense, Hyeon Poong was a good person.
Contrary to what one might expect of a disciple of a Daoist sect, he was remarkably free-spirited—almost carefree.
Though he differed slightly from the image Jeong Ishin had conjured of a Wudang Daoist, he found Hyeon Poong quite likable as a fellow student.
The peculiar thing was that he seemed to know Jeong Ishin had ventured into the depths of Manmugak.
“I’m certain of it. There’s a vengeful spirit in the depths of Manmugak!”
“Is that so?”
“You’ve set foot there yourself, so you should know! I’ve never encountered a place so gloomy and forbidding in my life. Next time, I’ll bring a Talisman with me.”
“It was certainly an unusual place.”
“Unusual? That’s hardly the word for it—!”
Hyeon Poong seemed unaware that he had lost consciousness there.
‘Come to think of it, I just left him there that day… How did he come back?’
If anyone had been possessed by a vengeful spirit, wouldn’t it be more likely to have happened to Hyeon Poong rather than Jeong Ishin himself?
The thought of a Daoist haunted by a ghost struck him as absurd enough to laugh, and he did.
Hyeon Poong suddenly asked in a serious tone.
“Why don’t you stop by Manmugak? Baek No-ya is looking for you desperately.”
“Me? Why would he look for me?”
Splash—
Hyeon Poong dumped the tea water and shrugged.
“This Daoist doesn’t know either. The old man has quite a fiery temperament, so you haven’t done something wrong, have you?”
“Surely not. I only did as he asked. Besides, I was even deceived in the bargain.”
“Deceived? Anyway, please stop by at least once. He’s been hounding me terribly because you haven’t come.”
Hyeon Poong shook his head as though exhausted.
Jeong Ishin let out a hollow laugh, wondering how much the man had endured.
‘What an amusing elder. I even tracked down secret techniques for him.’
Still, he was an elder.
Jeong Ishin nodded lightly, thinking little of it.
Besides, Jeong Ishin had his own business at Manmugak.
There was much to attend to.
Starting with Je-gal Gi-cheon, then Na Gun-cheon, and even Mang-a Gaek.
But Jeong Ishin had resolved to handle all of it gradually, one step at a time, so he was no longer in a hurry.
‘For now, Eon Soran… the core technique, and then the clan.
In any case, he would be spending four years here without fail.
Especially since there would be countless opportunities to learn about Je-gal Gi-cheon, the academy’s founder.
‘Bit by bit, I’ll uncover it all.’
“Here, have some.”
Jeong Ishin accepted the teacup that Hyeon Poong offered.
The tea was brewed so well that even a complete novice like Jeong Ishin could appreciate it.
He savored the old wood scent that rose from the deep crimson brew. Though he’d known nothing of tea before, he’d grown accustomed to it living among a people who drank nothing else all day long.
“Still, these days have been far more peaceful than I expected.”
“They have. During the sparring matches at Hwawon, things were quite fierce.”
“Which is precisely what worries me once the semester begins.”
“Come now, what trouble could there be? Just attend lectures diligently. Besides, you said there aren’t even that many classes to begin with, didn’t you?”
As a Shin Rukwan-do student, one couldn’t choose specific subjects.
One day was spent in lessons with an assigned instructor, and the rest of the time was divided between theory and practical training.
Only the Bikcheonryu classes, Eon Soran had said, followed individual choice.
“Lectures are tediously exhausting, I must say.”
“A Taoist like you complains about that?”
“A Taoist is still human, after all.”
Hyeon Poong let out a long sigh and lifted his teacup to his lips.
Jeong Ishin drained his own cup and began to rise from his seat.
It was nearly time for Eon Soran to arrive.
“That was excellent tea, Hyeon Poong. I should—wait, what?”
“There’s quite a commotion outside.”
Jeong Ishin’s words trailed off as both he and Hyeon Poong turned their gaze toward the same direction.
Outside the dormitory, in the great training ground.
Jeong Ishin recognized a familiar voice mixed in among the noise.
“Ah! And here I was saying how peaceful everything had become!”
“…….”
“If you’re sorry about it, come along.”
“……Fine.”
* * *
Along the path that ran along the outer edge of the great training ground.
Five men had blocked Eon Soran’s way.
“A flower past its bloom is still called a flower, is it?”
“Since she won’t reveal her origins, one can hardly blame her for being dazzled by the prestige of the Eight Families.”
“As for the Janhwakwon—she’s got no excuse. She’s sought out Sueseok every single day since becoming a Rukwan.”
“No wonder her heart’s been swayed, what with Sueseok’s face so perfectly groomed.”
Jeong Ishin was thinking these men talked far too much when Hyeon Poong suddenly exploded in anger.
“What? Since when do you use the language of common thugs in dark alleys!”
The men startled at the sight of Hyeon Poong.
The shock on their faces was almost comical, though it was hardly surprising.
No one among the Shin Rukwan-do students didn’t know the name of the Cyan Sword.
To Jeong Ishin’s eye, Hyeon Poong held the highest standing of all the hundred new students.
Indeed, the five men’s faces went rigid.
“For a moment I doubted my own ears! Five of you pressing one? How shameful!”
Hyeon Poong barked again with renewed force.
As the men flinched, Eon Soran squeezed through the gap and stepped forward.
“If you’re done talking, step aside. I’ve got business with that shiny-faced pretty boy.”
“What?”
“Oh, there he is. Jeong Ishin, let’s head to Soyeon Mujang today. This place is already attracting flies like a corpse.”
Eon Soran waved the men aside with a dismissive gesture, and in just a few days her nature had shifted considerably.
It was enough to make one wonder if this was her true self.
She wore a faint smile, her bearing oddly reminiscent of someone, and the men’s rigidity suddenly shattered into rage.
“How dare you!”
The one who stepped forward most indignantly was a martial artist with a taut, well-balanced frame.
His whiskers, however—what little could be called whiskers—were merely ten or so scraggly hairs perched thinly above his upper lip, hardly worthy of being called a mustache at all.
‘Like a catfish. One gust and they’d blow away.’
The moment the man strode over and planted himself before Jeong Ishin, a breeze happened to blow.
Whish—
“Jeong Ishin!”
“……!”
Jeong Ishin bit down hard on the inside of his lip and hung his head low.
The catfish-whiskered man, taking this as some kind of acceptance, pushed harder with his words.
“The Cyan Sword should not meddle in this affair! This is a matter between the Hwangbo Clan and Jeong Ishin!”
“What did you say?”
“Before the Chohwajeon, there was an occasion when the Young Master Hwangbo came to share some acquaintance with the Sueseok. But that uncouth brute simply grabbed the Young Master Hwangbo and slammed him down!”
Jeong Ishin, who had barely suppressed his laughter, only now lifted his head.
“He didn’t slam him—he drove his head into the ground. The face is so large that the earth was dug quite deep. Has the Hwawon been filled in?”
“You scoundrel! How dare you speak like some common thug from the streets! Hah!”
As if uncertain of his own words, the catfish-whiskered man glanced toward Hyeon Poong with an awkward expression.
But Jeong Ishin had already sent a signal forbidding him from stepping forward, so Hyeon Poong merely set his jaw and took a step back.
At that, the catfish-whiskered man opened his mouth with a triumphant air.
“I serve the Young Master Hwangbo…….”
“I’m not interested. Say what you want.”
“……What?”
Jeong Ishin, cutting the man short, gestured to Eon Soran.
She, who had been staring blankly at him, hurried to his side.
The catfish-whiskered man’s face flushed crimson, as if he’d been utterly dismissed.
His fists clenched tightly, trembling, and the veins on the back of his hands—already prominent—seemed ready to burst.
‘He’s trained in Gwonbeop.’
It was, if anything, an obvious observation.
The Hwangbo Clan was a renowned noble house whose Gwongong was founded on brute strength, and families serving the Eight Families typically followed their master’s martial discipline.
Moreover, those who walked the halls of Tianwu Academy wearing Jeoksugong Gwon—where the bearing of arms was permitted—were nine times out of ten cultivating the boxing arts.
“……Very well. I’ll state my business.”
Had his fury crossed the threshold?
The catfish-whiskered man spoke his purpose now in a voice cold as ice.
“We challenge you to a Bimu. We are the five of the Hwangbo Clan…….”
“Enough. You know yourself that’s no legitimate pretext, don’t you? Whether it happens or not—that’s for me to decide.”
“……Don’t get clever with me!”
Despite the catfish-whiskered man’s outcry, Jeong Ishin examined them with measured calm.
It was impossible to grasp ability perfectly from the visible channels alone. Perhaps only those at the level of Wu Sang or the Bikcheonryu lord could manage such a feat.
Ordinarily, one would gauge a martial artist by the Gipa arising from their cultivated Jingi, but due to the nature of Jingi itself, there were often those whose auras remained obscured.
‘Fortunately these are clear enough…… but that last one is a touch uncertain.’
A man with deeply tanned, thick and weathered skin—not the natural copper tone of Nam Tae-gang—stood among their group.
Despite considerable frame and brutally coarse facial features, his drooping eyes gave him a gentle countenance.
He was the problem. He was clearly the strongest among those five, yet Jeong Ishin couldn’t quite gauge the extent of it.
‘Hmm…… that one won’t do. The catfish-whiskered one is better.’
Jeong Ishin reached his conclusion and spoke.
“Very well. But there’s a condition.”
“You’re hardly in a position to set conditions!”
“Face off with Eon Soran first. If you win, I’ll agree to the Bimu.”
“Jeong Ishin?”
“……What?”
The catfish-whiskered man’s whole body quivered.
Jeong Ishin quickly pulled Eon Soran forward and spoke.
“Are you frightened? If you’re frightened, turn yourself around at once and shout toward the Daeyeon Mujang: I am the catfish-whiskered man who fears Eon Soran. Cry it three times, and I’ll grant you the Bimu.”
“Y-y-you……! Fine, come on!”
The catfish-whiskered man spun sharply toward the Daeyeon Mujang.
Eon Soran leaped up.
“Jeong Ishin! How could you set such a condition?”
“Do you lack confidence?”
“That’s not the point! It’s plain as day they came in a mob just to corner you alone—how can you agree so easily?”
Eon Soran seemed to be worrying needlessly. If she won, the matter would end there.
In a single stride—as if the earth itself had folded—Hyeon Poong appeared at Jeong Ishin’s side and voiced his own concern.
“A prestigious clan does not remain one by mere name. Such power is earned and maintained only through long ages of authority.”
“And therefore?”
“Upon their own lands they rule like kings. Since they truly serve the Hwangbo Clan, they will prioritize their given command over their own safety.”
In other words, there was no telling what they might do.
Eon Soran nodded, her voice falling lower.
“You’re right, Hyeon Poong. Those who followed my family were like that too, or so I’ve heard. Though there are none now.”
“Ah, no. What I meant was…….”
Somehow…… the atmosphere had grown too heavy.
Jeong Ishin waved his hand to cut short the words and gripped Eon Soran’s shoulder.
“Why, why are you……?”
“Eon Soran. Have you sparred with anyone besides me in recent days? Gongsun, perhaps?”
“No, I’ve decided to focus solely on Jeong Ishin until the semester ends.”
Jeong Ishin nodded emphatically and turned Eon Soran’s body toward the arena.
At that very moment, the catfish-whiskered man was watching her with blazing eyes.
“Good. Then go and fight trusting in me.”
“……You trust me that much?”
“No, I trust the me who has been with you all this time. So you fight trusting in me too.”
His tone was resolute.
Regrettably, Jeong Ishin had never believed in her talent.
The lightning I carry is too powerful
Author |
Woo San-yu
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(주) Samyang C&C
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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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