Chapter 66: Fallen Dragon

The only unrivaled force in Kaifeng was the Murim Alliance.

Among the vast expanse of the Inner and Outer Cities, which part occupied the largest area?

It was neither the Alliance Leader’s Hall where the Murim Alliance Leader resided, nor the Elders’ Hall where the Elders lived.

It was the countless Martial Training Grounds scattered everywhere.

The seven upper military units.

The twenty lower military units.

When combined, the training grounds used by martial artists belonging to the total twenty-seven military units were the largest in size.

Furthermore, there were additional training grounds for special military units, including the Alliance Leader’s direct forces.

There was no need to speak further to grasp just how vast and powerful the Murim Alliance’s total might was.

Clang!

Cha-chaeng!

“Raise your sword properly!”

“If you thrust the spear like that, you’ll die immediately!”

“I’m sorry!”

No matter which training ground one entered, the sound of clashing weapons and the shouts of martial artists echoed continuously.

The Murim Alliance, at its core, was a gathering of martial artists.

Unless on a mission, the majority immersed themselves in training.

Of course, in recent years, most no longer trained to uphold righteousness, but instead to seek advancement and status.

Yet, among the many training grounds always filled with martial artists, there was one peculiar place.

A training ground assigned to a particularly secluded corner on the outskirts of the Outer City.

There, only a single martial artist could be found.

“Huff, huff.”

The swordsman swinging a chipped blade appeared well past thirty years of age.

Though heavy shadows under his eyes betrayed many sleepless nights, they did nothing to diminish his beauty, reminiscent of Song Yu.

But the reason he had the entire training ground to himself was not because of his looks, nor because his skills earned him special treatment within the Murim Alliance.

Kkang!

Kka-gang!

The terrible noise, so harsh it felt as if one’s ears would be torn apart, had driven away every other martial artist.

The man was furiously striking his blade against a massive boulder placed in the middle of the training ground.

Yet no matter how much he swung, the black stone, known as Gon-oh Stone, did not bear a single scratch.

“Ah, it’s deafening as always.”

“If he wants to carve stone, he should become a stonemason. Why is he causing such a racket here?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Martial artists passing through an adjoining passage shook their heads as they watched the pitiful sight.

Their eyes, fixed on the man, were filled only with contempt.

“Hasn’t that useless training been going on for seven years now? What madness drives him?”

“Exactly. They say his cultivation hasn’t advanced even an inch in all those seven years.”

“Tsk, what a waste of a Vice Captain’s seat in the Greedy Wolf Unit.”

The Greedy Wolf Unit.

It was the lowest-ranking among the seven upper military units of the Murim Alliance.

Amazingly, the mysterious man before them held the position of Vice Captain of that very unit.

Though he outranked the ordinary martial artists gossiping about him, not one of them envied his position.

“Wasn’t he only assigned as Vice Captain so the Alliance could shove him out? And yet he clings on shamelessly.”

“Heh, if he steps down, he’ll have to return to his sect. Imagine the shame of returning in this state.”

“Greedy Wolf Unit, my foot. They should rename it the Beggar Wolf Unit.”

Beggar Wolf Unit (貧狼隊).

A mocking twist of the character “Greedy (貪)” into “Poor (貧).”

Recently, not a single martial artist in the Murim Alliance regarded the Greedy Wolf Unit as a true upper military unit.

From the beginning, it had been nothing more than a “graveyard,” a dumping ground for martial artists discarded or outpaced by other units.

“Unbelievable. How did the Sword Dragon of the previous generation end up like this?”

“What a disgrace to have the name of Mount Hua attached to that alias.”

“Ah, my ears hurt. Let’s get away from here.”

As the group of gossipers left, the man swinging his sword gradually lowered it.

“……Their ridicule grows sharper with each passing day.”

He had heard every word they whispered.

He was once known as the Sword Dragon of Mount Hua.

But now, he was called the Fallen Dragon.

He was Do Yecheon of the Mount Hua Sect.

It was astonishing.

The gossipers had been dozens of zhang away, yet Do Yecheon heard them clearly.

To possess such heightened hearing, one needed to have reached at least the realm of Supreme Peak Master Level.

If at his age he had truly reached that realm, there would have been no reason for him to be scorned.

But at that moment—

[Let’s chase them down right now!]

“!!”

[Slit all their throats and butcher them without mercy!!]

Suddenly, a furious voice roared in his ears.

A voice filled only with murderous intent, a terrifying demonic whisper.

But shockingly, that voice was—

[If we unleash the power we’re hiding, we can kill them all!]

[Stab with the sword and drink the blood that gushes forth!]

[They insulted the honor of a martial artist! Kill them all!]

It was identical to his own voice.

Grinding his teeth, Do Yecheon resisted the hallucinations.

Kkang!!

Kka-gang!!

He once more swung his blade at the Gon-oh Stone.

The reason he struck his sword day after day was none other than to suppress this murderous will.

Ignoring his palms torn and bleeding, he swung his sword again and again.

But in his mind surged memories of a past he longed to forget.

—Ugh. No… I prayed it wouldn’t be true…

—M-my disciple… w-why? Why are you… attacking your master?

A sword dripping with blood in his own hand.

Before him, his master, clutching a severed arm, writhing in agony.

—…Listen well, Yecheon.

Seven years ago, on the day he returned to his sect after completing a secret mission for the Alliance, Do Yecheon committed the heinous crime of betraying his master and ancestor.

Yet, though grievously wounded, his master embraced him and revealed the truth he had hidden all his life.

—…You were born under the Heaven-Slaying Star (天殺星).

The Heaven-Slaying Star.

The most fearsome among the 108 ill-fated stars.

It carried the destiny and dreadful power of a bloodthirsty demon who slaughtered countless lives.

The Heavenly Ice Demon Emperor.

The Beast Calamity Demon.

The Blood World Spear Ghost.

Throughout murim history, every person born under the Heaven-Slaying Star, no matter where, had inevitably become a peerless demonic being.

And yet, he—Do Yecheon, a disciple of Mount Hua Sect—was fated with such a star.

It was hard to believe, but his master’s words were all true.

His father, a martial artist, had brought him to Mount Hua immediately upon his birth, recognizing the ominous and terrifying qi in his dantian.

Ages ago, in ancient times now long forgotten, the murim had confirmed the fate of those born under the Heaven-Slaying Star.

And so, they had made a collective vow.

Anyone born under such a star was to be killed immediately upon discovery.

This was no different even for the Nine Sects and One Gang, to which Mount Hua belonged.

Thus, his master should have slain him.

—Kyah!

—……!

But when the baby met his eyes and burst into laughter, the master could not bring himself to kill him. Instead, he took him as his disciple.

In utmost secrecy, he begged the Sect Leader of the Shrine Maiden Sect, the Nine Heavens Immortal Maiden, to seal the child’s star-born power.

But it was only a temporary seal.

The star’s power, which normally blossomed fully at twenty, had been restrained until the age of twenty-six.

And at twenty-seven, the Heaven-Slaying Star finally began its rampage.

Adding the pent-up rage until now, it became even more brutal and savage..

Do Yecheon, who had left an indelible scar on his master’s left arm, had never once properly trained since that day he returned to the Murim Alliance.

No, it was that he could not.

“Haa…”

By the time the sword’s edge was so ruined it could no longer even be repaired, the hallucinated voices finally vanished.

Just as he barely managed to resist collapsing from exhaustion—

Piiiii.

A clear birdsong suddenly rang in his ear.

Feeling his head clear a little, Do Yecheon turned toward the sound.

A tiny sparrow had perched upon his shoulder.

“Do not worry, Sobong. Your elder brother has calmed down now.”

It was a small bird that had flown to him years ago from who-knows-where, faithfully following him ever since.

Except for the times when he swung his sword, the bird always sat upon his shoulder. Do Yecheon had come to regard it like his younger sibling.

Pii.

The bird rubbed its head against him as though in worry, and Do Yecheon reached to stroke it when—

“Tch, now I understand.”

“!!”

Suddenly, a voice sounded right beside him.

Startled, Do Yecheon spun toward its source.

“No wonder the blade’s edge is all ruined after this madness.”

A stranger stood there, touching the Gon-oh Stone without sparing him a glance.

The man wore shabby clothes unfitting for the Murim Alliance, his face completely unfamiliar.

‘…Even if I am completely drained right now…’

To pierce through his awareness and approach this close was not something an ordinary man could do.

Do Yecheon’s startled gaze gradually calmed.

“Who might you—”

“Hey, you!”

“Y-yes?”

“You’re not even sorry!?”

“…??”

The man scolded him outright, leaving Do Yecheon unable to hide his confusion.

He blinked blankly, forgetting his words.

Though treated as a failure, no one had ever dared openly disregard him like this to his face.

As he hesitated, the stranger continued.

“Don’t you feel sorry for the blacksmiths, you fool!?”

“??”

“Ugh, looking at this mess makes me not even want to give it back.”

“???”

Blacksmith?

At last, Do Yecheon noticed the sword slung across the man’s back.

On its hilt was engraved the plum blossom pattern.

‘Ah.’

It was the training sword he had received from his sect, the one he had sent to the smithy for repairs.

What he had thought was a madman was actually a new blacksmith returning the sword.

Clearly, the man did not know who Do Yecheon was and had acted carelessly.

After all, this outer training ground was usually used by the lowest units of the Outer Hall.

Their status was not so different from that of the smithy’s blacksmiths.

Do Yecheon calmed his heart.

How could a martial artist walking the Orthodox Path grow angry at a commoner for a mistake?

“Young brother, please calm your temper for a momen—”

“Did you wrong the Murim Alliance or something? What, are you sacrificing swords to rob their warehouse?”

“This was given to me by my sect—”

“What!!”

“M-my apologies.”

Overwhelmed by the man’s intensity, Do Yecheon found himself apologizing without realizing it.

But soon, a sense of injustice swelled within him.

It was true he had ruined countless blades, but that was why his sect had continued to send him new swords every month.

Even so, he could say nothing.

The blacksmith scolded him for a while longer before letting out a deep sigh.

“Haa. Well, I still have a job to do…”

Swoosh.

The blacksmith took the sword from his back and handed it over.

When Do Yecheon only stared blankly, the blacksmith said:

“What are you waiting for? Take it before I change my mind.”

“T-thank you.”

Finally free.

Do Yecheon let out a sigh of relief.

‘Hmm?’

But only for a moment.

Inspecting the repaired sword, he soon spoke hesitantly.

“…Young brother, this sword feels somewhat strange.”

There was indeed something off about its balance, an unmistakable sense of discord.

“That nitpicky Serial Sword Demon really made this troublesome.”

“Khmm.”

“Give it here.”

Do Yecheon moved to hand the sword back, but the blacksmith shook his head.

“Not the sword. Your hand.”

“…My hand?”

“Tsk!”

“Ah, I see.”

Do Yecheon awkwardly extended his hand.

But the blacksmith did not grasp it.

‘…!’

Instead, with eyes calm yet piercing, he scrutinized the hand intently.

Swoosh.

Then he extended his own hand again.

This time, he truly meant for the sword.

Receiving it from Do Yecheon, the blacksmith strode toward the Gon-oh Stone.

Clang.

As though it were an anvil, he placed the sword upon it.

Then he drew something from his robe and immediately began working.

‘…Thread?’

He wound a single thread around both index fingers and began sharpening the blade.

Do Yecheon had never seen such a thing before—refining a blade with thread that fine.

Ssak!

Sasak!

Yet as he worked, the sound was as beautiful as Sobong’s chirping.

Watching his sword transform into a new form before his eyes was…

‘…Beautiful.’

A truly wondrous sight, a new experience altogether.

After a short while—

“Haa.”

The moment ended, as if he had stepped out of a painting.

Clang.

The blacksmith—no, Tang Sewoon—handed the sword to Do Yecheon without hesitation.

‘What…!!’

Do Yecheon’s pupils widened in shock.

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