Chapter 95

Chapter 95
The sword of Yeom Sa-won cut forward with lethal velocity and unerring focus.

His blade surged again and again, targeting every vital meridian across Baek So-cheon’s frame.

Having received Yeom Hwa-sin’s explicit command to show no mercy, Yeom Sa-won held nothing back, driving forward with his most lethal martial skills.

His initial plan had been to preserve his trump cards for a decisive opening later in the clash. Yet if Baek So-cheon was actively weaving a scheme to catch him off guard, he could afford no further delay. He resolved to unleash every concealed technique at once, bringing the duel to an immediate finish.

No broken armament on earth could withstand such a ferocious blitz.

Baek So-cheon engaged his specialized footwork, rapidly giving ground to avoid the flurry of lethal points.

The instant a pocket of separation opened between them, Baek So-cheon caught the sharp wind of Yeom Sa-won marshaling sword qi. Reacting instantly, he threw his body sideways to the right, abandoning the line he had previously occupied.

In that very breath, brilliant sword qi erupted outward from Yeom Sa-won’s edge.

A harsh screech split the air as a vibrant trail of sharp energy tore directly toward him.

Baek So-cheon contorted his body, casting himself aside to evade the lethal surge.

Having failed to meet its mark, the stray sword qi hurtled toward the gallery of spectators arrayed behind the ring.

Yet Baek So-cheon harbored no panic. His sudden sidestep to the right had not been an act of desperation, but a deliberate, calculated displacement.

His newly chosen ground placed him squarely before the spectator seats occupied by Ak So-gun and the gathered pillars of the Murim world.

These spectators were not merely the most exalted guests in attendance; they were the realm’s premier martial masters.

Predictably, Ak So-gun, without even rising from his seat, thrust a calm palm forward. A dense wave of palm force shot out to intercept the wandering arc of destruction.

A heavy rumble reverberated across the grounds as the sword qi dispersed into nothingness.

More arcs of energy tore through the clearing in rapid succession.

Consumed entirely by the thirst for blood, Yeom Sa-won possessed only one driving thought: slaughtering Baek So-cheon where he stood.

Moving with the grace and agility of an acrobat, Baek So-cheon ducked and leaped to steer clear of the lethal barrage.

Having Ak So-gun stationed behind him relieved him of any rear threat—or, to be entirely accurate, the relentless assault left him without a single instant to worry about his back.

Sidestepping concentrated sword qi without the aid of internal energy was a feat none in attendance could fathom; it bordered on an inexplicable, divine miracle.

Under normal circumstances, he would have subtly cycled his inner reserve to assist his movements. But beneath the watchful gaze of Yeom Hwa-sin, that path was barred. Even the subtlest tremor of inner energy would instantly be uncovered by that man’s keen senses.

Consequently, Baek So-cheon was compelled to evade the blade’s fury by the slimmest fractions of a hair.

Explosions cracked one after another.

Ak So-gun was not the only one reacting; the grand figures seated beside him sprang into action, brandishing their own swords and releasing palm arts to shatter the stray projectiles. Every one of them was a respected patriarch of their respective traditions.

The surrounding audience rose to their feet in a wave, murmuring in profound bewilderment at the unbridled fury of the clash. Could such extreme violence truly be allowed within the confines of the contest?

Just as the crowd concluded that Baek So-cheon’s endurance had reached its absolute end and his demise was sealed—

A massive surge of sword qi screamed directly toward him as he flung himself across the stones to dodge.

The energy struck with a deafening crash, tearing the stone foundation of the arena apart and sending clouds of pulverized rock and dust into the atmosphere.

In that very fraction of a second, Baek So-cheon burst upward like an unleashed dragon, hurtling straight into Yeom Sa-won. He had deliberately waited for the billowing veil of dust to blind his adversary.

Yeom Sa-won shouted out in shock and flustered desperation, hurling vile curses. Yet during a clash on the edge of life and death, such an emotional outburst was the most fatal misstep imaginable. It laid bare his stark lack of actual life-or-death battle experience.

Baek So-cheon closed the perimeter in the blink of an eye, slipping past Yeom Sa-won’s perimeter of defense.

Yeom Sa-won slashed outward with his blade. Yet having just released a barrage of sword qi, his internal channels and circulatory flow were in chaotic disarray, while the airborne dust drastically blinded his vision.

In that pivotal moment, the Heavenly Thunder Nine Fists stirred into motion, deploying its opening art, the supreme first fist: Fenaliu Cloud Mountain.

Yeom Sa-won felt the inner energy circulating through his blade suddenly vanish into an empty void, only to rebound toward him with catastrophic fury.

A wave of dread washed over him. The enemy’s bizarre method left him completely bewildered.

Gripped by terror, Yeom Sa-won committed a grave error in judgment. He should have immediately retreated, diminished his output, and analyzed the strange phenomenon. Instead, he forced even greater strength outward to overpower it, inadvertently driving the full violent backlash back through his own physical frame.

He let out a choked cry.

His blood and internal energy locked up entirely, his vision darkening to absolute blackness, right before his physical form was hurled into the air.

A heavy slam resonated as Baek So-cheon threw him down flat onto the arena floor, limbs splayed wide.

Had the martial form been delivered to its complete, lethal potential, Yeom Sa-won would have been slain on the spot.

However, Baek So-cheon had deliberately tempered his strength at the last moment, applying only the necessary force required to render the young man unconscious.

As Yeom Sa-won lay motionless upon the cracked stone, an overwhelming roar of celebration erupted from the gathering.

Raucous cheers swept the pavilion, hailing the triumph of Baek the hero and chanting the name of Baek So-cheon without pause.

The entire assembly was captivated by his unbelievable display. The assembled masters understood intimately how excruciatingly difficult it was to navigate Yeom Sa-won’s onslaught without the support of internal energy, particularly against that relentless tempest of sword qi. Not a single cultivator present could have replicated such evasions without qi; it seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Ak So-gun stood from his seat, offering slow applause. Beside him, Je-gal Hyeon let out a deep breath of relief, the heavy knot in his chest finally melting away following the agonizing clash.

It had been executed brilliantly; truly, exceptionally well.

Baek So-cheon redirected his focus toward Yeom Hwa-sin.

The formidable man gazed back with an unreadable, emotionless expression, while the gathered warriors of the Black Heaven Alliance bared their teeth in fierce hostility.

It was precisely at that moment.

The overseeing martial arbiter, who had knelt to examine Yeom Sa-won, stumbled backward in sheer terror and cried out.

His voice shuddering with uncontrollable alarm, the official turned toward Baek So-cheon.

The words left the entire arena in a state of utter shock.

None were more astonished than Baek So-cheon himself. He lunged forward to inspect the fallen Yeom Sa-won.

A surge of dread gripped him.

Yeom Sa-won was, in truth, an utterly lifeless corpse.

That strike could not possibly have ended a life.

In that flashing moment, Baek So-cheon’s memory seized upon the bizarre smirk that had surfaced on Yeom Hwa-sin’s lips when he had cautioned his son earlier. That uncanny dread returned with chilling clarity.

Could it truly be?

Baek So-cheon cast a startled, questioning gaze toward Yeom Hwa-sin.

Yeom Hwa-sin slowly rose from his seat, his features locked in a mask of grim severity.

Every breath in the pavilion was held as the crowd watched his movements.

The Bi-gak Lord was not a man to commit such a blatant miscalculation.

Je-gal Hyeon found himself utterly incapable of reconciling the reality before him.

Ak So-gun, holding the exact same conviction, had clearly observed Baek So-cheon softening his momentum at the final threshold to ensure the impact remained harmless.

A mere throw of that caliber could never have extinguished a man’s life.

And yet, anomalies did occur in combat. An unlucky concussion to the head might well prove fatal under rare circumstances.

Myeol Ji-ryun, on the other hand, felt a surge of silent jubilation deep within her thoughts.

It was a fortunate riddance.

Had this not occurred, the man might have eventually forced a marriage upon her—a condition far more agonizing than death itself.

She carefully suppressed the laughter threatening to rise in her throat.

Yeom Hwa-sin paced toward the center of the ring with deliberate, heavy steps, each advance radiating an aura of suffocating fury.

Baek So-cheon remained positioned right beside the body, observing the approaching patriarch in absolute silence. He refused to back away. He held firm confidence that Yeom Hwa-sin would not strike him down here. This specific development, not an outright execution, was the patriarch’s true objective.

Reaching the fallen youth, Yeom Hwa-sin knelt and checked his son’s corpse with measured, sorrowful deliberation.

Positioned right beside him, Baek So-cheon was able to read every nuance of his face.

The entire spectacle was merely a calculated performance.

An agonizing display of counterfeit grief.

Then, an even more startling development unfolded.

Tears welled up and began to roll down Yeom Hwa-sin’s cheeks.

Baek So-cheon had been caught off guard by this formidable adversary countless times, yet this sight defied every precedent. Nothing had ever shocked him to such a degree.

Actual tears?

Yeom Hwa-sin shifted his gaze slightly to catch Baek So-cheon’s eyes.

At that moment, the truth was laid bare before Baek So-cheon: while the tears streamed freely, there was not a trace of genuine grief behind them. Standing at point-blank range, only he was positioned to discern the utter hollowness within.

The rest of the arena remained blind to the deception, completely captivated by the weeping patriarch of the Black Heaven Alliance.

To see the feared Lord of Black Heaven reduced to nothing more than a broken parent weeping over his child struck the assembly with solemn reverence, silencing every tongue.

Yeom Hwa-sin pulled his deceased son into an embrace, uttering not a single venomous word toward Baek So-cheon. Surrounded by such raw, tragic bereavement, none in the pavilion found the courage to speak.

As the patriarch turned to carry the body away, Je-gal Hyeon stepped forward to halt him.

He stated that the remains could not simply be removed in this manner.

Yeom Hwa-sin looked back toward Je-gal Hyeon with an icy, unforgiving glare.

He demanded to know what was meant by such an obstruction, his low tone rumbling with suppressed wrath.

Je-gal Hyeon insisted that while the tragedy of the young master’s passing was immense, the true source of his death had to be formally established.

Yeom Hwa-sin countered sharply, asking if the entire assembly had not just borne witness to how the boy had fallen.

Baek So-cheon remained silent. Yet Je-gal Hyeon maintained complete faith in the young man. The warrior he respected would never extinguish Yeom Sa-won’s life by careless error. This development had to be the fruit of Yeom Hwa-sin’s plotting.

He pressed again that the exact mechanism of the fatality required proper investigation.

At that, Yeom Hwa-sin’s voice thundered outward with commanding force.

The roar echoed through every corner of the pavilion.

He proclaimed bitterly that his son had fallen in a sanctioned duel, yet in the presence of so many witnesses, a formal autopsy was being demanded before the very eyes of a grieving parent.

His delivery caught with a sharp tremor of supposed grief.

Je-gal Hyeon was left without an immediate reply. The sentiments of the crowd were heavily aligned with Yeom Hwa-sin’s sorrow; not a single voice rose to back Je-gal Hyeon’s demand.

The reality of the trap crystallized in Baek So-cheon’s mind.

He had no idea by what precise method Yeom Sa-won had perished, but Yeom Hwa-sin had anticipated his son’s death before the bout had even ended.

That explained his presence here from the start.

The patriarch had calculated that Baek So-cheon would refrain from slaying Yeom Sa-won under any circumstances, knowing he had the capability to conquer the youth without taking a life.

Thus, he had personally orchestrated his own son’s demise and directed the blame onto Baek So-cheon, aiming to mask the underlying truth and write the event off as an unfortunate casualty of the ring.

The collective gaze of the onlookers shifted toward Ak So-gun.

Ak So-gun understood that permitting the patriarch to walk away was a catastrophic error.

Yeom Hwa-sin would inevitably leverage his offspring’s demise to rally the unorthodox factions together under one banner. This single bout was destined to become the opening salvo of a massive war.

Yet detaining the man under the present circumstances was an impossibility.

Yeom Hwa-sin shouted toward the assembled dignitaries, demanding to know who among them would dare block the path of a father bearing the corpse of his own child.

Not a single martial artist dared to make a move.

Only now did Baek So-cheon comprehend the true purpose behind Yeom Hwa-sin’s insistence on a grand public exhibition. The patriarch had envisioned this precise emotional atmosphere all along. None had realized that an army of cunning beasts lay hidden beneath that brutish, hulking exterior.

Jan-baek, Go-gong, and the other retainers began to fall into step behind Yeom Hwa-sin.

Then, a command cut through the quiet: a call to halt.

Yeom Hwa-sin froze in place.

It was Baek So-cheon who had raised his voice. Every pair of eyes snapped toward him in disbelief.

The patriarch inquired if he had truly said to halt.

Baek So-cheon affirmed the command, declaring that the patriarch could not be permitted to depart in such a fashion.

He stated unequivocally that he was not the one who had taken the young man’s life.

Yeom Hwa-sin swept his gaze across the sea of onlookers, asking if the youth truly intended to utter such blatant nonsense before an arena full of witnesses.

Baek So-cheon stood firm, repeating that the death was not his doing.

Yeom Hwa-sin sneered, inquiring who else could possibly be responsible—perhaps divine judgment from the heavens.

To that mocking provocation, Baek So-cheon delivered a ringing accusation, declaring that the true arbiter had been Yeom Hwa-sin himself.

A shockwave of startled whispers washed over the gathered leaders. It was an unfathomable, staggering charge. The entire ring fell into a tomb-like quiet as everyone strained their ears to catch every word between the two men.

Yeom Hwa-sin’s expression contorted with sharp menace.

He questioned if the youth was truly alleging that he had slain his own flesh and blood.

Baek So-cheon affirmed the charge without hesitation.

The patriarch demanded to know if the young man could bear the full weight of such an accusation.

A suffocating wave of murderous intent rolled out from Yeom Hwa-sin, choking the surrounding air. If this confrontation went awry, Baek So-cheon’s life would be forfeit on this very stage.

Baek So-cheon declared that he could indeed bear that burden.

The spectators began to murmur once more, stunned by the sheer, unyielding boldness radiating from the young warrior.

Fixing his eyes directly upon Yeom Hwa-sin, Baek So-cheon proclaimed that he would demonstrate to everyone present, on this very stage, that he had not killed the fallen youth.