54 – 04# Honeyed Words, Hidden Daggers (13)
The weakness of the Nameless that Namgung Sunwi identified was his large movements. Of course, this posed no problem when facing martial artists weaker than himself. Because they could never hope to stop it.
However, for Namgung Sunwi, known as the Dark Sword and having handled the dirty work of the Namgung Clan for decades, it was a significant vulnerability. He only needed to block the first move.
But even Namgung Sunwi had to acknowledge the sheer power behind the Nameless’s techniques. The Namgung Clan’s Emperor’s Sword Form would not be defeated, but it would be a good match.
‘The variable must be eliminated.’
However, Namgung Sunwi did not desire a good match. It wasn’t that he lacked competitive spirit as a martial artist, but his top priority was always practicality.
Facing the Sword Demon directly, he had realized that without securing gains with overwhelming power, even a near-omnipotent martial artist like the Sword Demon would eventually vanish into history.
Could even the Namgung Clan be an exception to this? How many renowned families had risen and fallen throughout history? That was why Namgung Sunwi had made a decision that day.
He would become the sword that directly protected the Namgung Clan. Because of that, when he heard rumors of the Sword Demon’s return in Henan, he could immediately prepare for his current plan.
“Not a complete phantom, I see. A comrade of the Sword Demon? Too old to be a disciple, it seems.”
“…”
“Well, age is irrelevant now. Because today, the Sword Demon will die here.”
Even if he was just a phantom, it hardly mattered. Seeing someone like him running around claiming to be the Sword Demon, the real Sword Demon must have died long ago.
“Still pointlessly talkative, I see.”
“…?”
Yet, in that instant, the nameless one’s voice, a grating rasp of steel, sent Nangong Seonwi recoiling, his face a mask of shock. A retreat of no less than five paces.
A fleeting moment, and a panorama flashed before his eyes. It was the memory of his direct confrontation with the Sword Demon of old. Why did that particular memory surge forth now? His opponent was but an illusion, wasn’t he?
Nangong Seonwi stroked his white beard, his gaze fixed upon the slowly rising figure of the nameless one. No matter how he looked at it, this could not possibly be the true Sword Demon.
“… Merely a trick of the mind? Or perhaps… “
“Tedious. I shall make the first move.”
“?!”
In that heartbeat, the nameless one before him vanished like a phantom. Nangong Seonwi instinctively raised his sword as a shield, driven by one singular force: the will to survive.
*KWA-aaaNG!!!*
Crushing weight. The Tyrant’s Sword, arguably the heaviest and most potent in all the vast lands of the Central Plains. But Nangong Seonwi gritted his teeth and cast it off.
‘Nothing is impossible in this world!’
Who, back then, would have dared predict the emergence of a Sword Demon from the ranks of the Demonic Faction? A pillar of the Orthodox Sects, a master capable of contending with the legendary Sword God.
Considering the existence of the Sword Demon, who had shattered the arrogance and prejudice of the Orthodox Factions, even surprise felt like an indulgence. With that thought, the Dark Sword steadied his resolve.
“So, it was tedious? Then I shall gladly provide some amusement.”
The most formidable and heavy-laden sword energy, imbued with the profound mysteries of the Tyrant’s Sword Style, began to emanate from Nangong Seonwi’s blade. Despite the Dark Sword’s formidable presence, the nameless one merely chuckled.
Iron Sword Tenth Style, First Form: Divide Heaven and Earth.
A cleaving strike that sought to sever the heavens and the earth shot towards the nameless one with blinding speed. But then, an astounding thing occurred. The nameless one’s subsequent movements felt disturbingly familiar.
The mysteries ingrained within that sword were in honor of the Tyrant, the master of the Iron Sword. It would not be an exaggeration to say that those mysteries belonged solely to the Nangong Clan.
And yet, right now, the nameless one, who had clearly drawn his sword later than Nangong Seonwi, was somehow meeting his *Divide Heaven and Earth* with the exact same speed.
Iron Sword Tenth Style, First Form: Divide Heaven and Earth.
*KWA-aaaNG!!!*
Techniques imbued with identical mysteries collided and nullified each other. At least, that’s how it appeared. Nangong Seonwi wordlessly stared at his left hand, still gripping his sword.
“Iron Sword Tenth Style? For one known as the Dark Sword of the Nangong Clan to employ such basic swordsmanship… Quite unexpected, indeed.”
“The simplest is often the strongest. I merely wield the Iron Sword Tenth Style because it is the swordsmanship I am most comfortable with.”
“Admirable. I cannot deny the overbearing power that resides within your sword.”
With each exchange, the questions grew more profound. At first, he had dismissed it as an absurd notion, but with every word spoken by the man before him, doubt multiplied.
Was it merely deception?
Or perhaps…
But Nangong Seonwi quickly silenced his thoughts. Unnecessary speculation only serves to strengthen and embolden the opponent. Therefore, his only recourse here was to engage and discover the truth for himself.
Focusing his mind, he could now perceive the movements of his opponent that had previously eluded him. But they defied all prediction. Movements closer to a beast than a martial artist.
Of course, a third-rate martial artist moving like a beast would only invite death. But such sharp and erratic movements… Nangong Seonwi could only recall one individual.
He was gradually being overtaken. It was becoming difficult to track his movements with the eye, forcing him to cede the initiative and focus solely on defense. He felt as though he was being driven, bit by bit, toward his demise.
“…retreating here would be far too costly.”
The moment he heard rumors of the false Sword Demon, he’d intended to use the Demonic Cultists for a game of mutual destruction. Even if that failed, the death of either party would have been a worthwhile gain.
And Nangong Seonwi’s plan had nearly reached fruition. Eliminate the false Sword Demon here, then descend into the prison and silence the remaining witnesses. That was all there was to it.
But for some reason, the false Sword Demon, whom he’d expected to dispatch swiftly, was now pressing him relentlessly. How had this happened?
◇
He felt half-conscious, as if memories not his own, lodged within his mind, were controlling his body. Yet, through it all, he retained awareness of every fight.
How to wield a sword faster and more precisely. How to absorb an opponent’s martial arts. And, simultaneously, he saw beyond the fight, to the man.
Long ago, there was one who waged a solitary war against the vast expanse of the Central Plains Martial World. A youth who, with overwhelming force, slaughtered the Demonic Cult and all connected to it that had infiltrated the martial world.
He believed it was right. He believed it was a task only he could undertake. Thus, he inspired fear in the martial artists, and made more enemies than he had anticipated.
Even those of the unorthodox sects, whom he’d considered allies, were among them. Ultimately, betrayed unexpectedly, he barely escaped with his life.
[Do not think this is the end.]
[I shall return someday, without fail.]
[In whatever form, in whatever human guise.]
[I shall return and exact my revenge upon you all.]
With that single vow, he hid in the mountains, awaiting his time. Relentlessly honing his martial skills, lest his blade grow dull. Waiting for the moment to exact his vengeance.
But time was not on his side. Decades passed, and the man, nearing forty, had become an old man. He had practiced martial arts every single day, without fail.
Yet, he was gradually weakening under the weight of years. *Am I to die without achieving anything?* He would not allow it. There was a task he *must* accomplish.
It was then that he finally found it. The sight of a child weeping beside the corpse of a tiger he had slain. If he could give this child everything…
His internal energy, his martial arts, of course.
Even his memories…
Then… would he not, in a sense, escape death?
“Master!”
Suddenly, an immense unease began to consume his mind. He barely registered the scream-like voice echoing in his ears. What had happened?
Dazed, he looked at something in his hand drenched in blood. It was a person’s arm. He soon recognized the owner.
“…So, I understand now. I never thought the Sword Demon would go this far.”
“Eh…?”
“An arm is a small price to pay for understanding the Sword Demon’s scheme. Wouldn’t you agree? Sword Demon.”
Having lost an arm, Nangong Seonwi quickly retreated, a bitter smile on his face. But Moomyung just stood there, blankly staring at the severed arm.
He was sure he’d heard his disciples’ voices, but sadly, they were nowhere to be seen. Moomyung thought it was better that way.
…If not for the voices of my disciples calling out to me.
If that were the case, could I have returned to who I once was?
Perhaps I would have been swallowed whole by those memories.
The thought sent shivers racing across my skin; I was Nameless.