Reincarnated Sword Ghost

Trap

"That bastard must have run his mouth. Foolish, isn't he? I warned them so many times—commit a sin, and reincarnation becomes impossible."

"That's right."

Judging by the fact that he didn't deny it, it was clear that this was the so-called High Priest mentioned by the one who had impersonated the Heavenly Blade Gate Leader.

And considering he was someone who pursued human blood, yet spoke of sin and reincarnation, that confirmed it.

'He's different.'

Jeong-un gazed at him intently.

He'd known from the start—since the man had demonstrated such effortless control over his lightness skill—that he was no ordinary opponent.

Even when Jeong-un had exerted himself fully with Moonlight Swift Steps, he still hadn't caught up to him.

Especially now, confronted face to face, Jeong-un felt it keenly.

Among those affiliated with the Blood Cult he had encountered, this man's presence was by far the strongest.

What was most striking was how thoroughly he controlled his own aura.

He was set apart from the other men waiting around him for instructions—those underlings who constantly leaked that dirty, foul energy unique to their kind.

Unlike those subordinates, this man exuded no detectable presence at all, despite standing at close range.

Srrng.

Jeong-un immediately drew his sword.

It didn't matter that he'd walked into the trap himself, nor how powerful this man was.

In fact, if someone who moved so swiftly with lightness skill had been caught so easily, that would have been even more suspicious.

From the moment he started pursuing this foe, Jeong-un had already taken the risk into account.

Even though he now faced an unexpected situation, he kept his composure.

The familiar feel of the sword guard in his grip seemed to give him psychological stability.

He spoke in a low voice.

"Come."

At that, the man burst into laughter.

"So confident. No wonder you so recklessly wiped out one of our branches."

"......?"

This was the kind of opponent who'd laid an artfully concealed trap that only someone as sharp as Jeong-un would be able to follow, luring him here while maintaining a dangerous distance the entire way.

Now that his plan had succeeded, one would expect him to attack immediately, yet he just stood there, relaxed.

The other men around them were no different. There wasn't the slightest sign of intent to attack—Jeong-un found that bizarre.

He narrowed his brow and asked,

"What are you doing? After going through all this trouble to set a trap, are you just going to waste time? Or are you so satisfied with luring me here that you want to savor it?"

"You have quite a tongue on you. Was it your silver tongue that made the loyal believer at our branch betray us?"

"Loyal, you say?"

Jeong-un tilted his head.

"I didn't even have to ask many questions. He spilled everything about you so easily. Don't you Blood Cult types pride yourselves on your own doctrine? For someone trusted enough to be left in charge of a cell, he sure lacked faith."

"You must have pulled all sorts of tricks on him with your sword to his throat. What do you expect? Not that I blame you—I intend to do the same to you, starting now."

"You plan to interrogate me until I spill everything?"

Jeong-un couldn't help but let out a snort, a mocking smile rising to his lips.

The idea was simply ridiculous.

"First of all, I never interrogated your underling. I only told him that if he told me what he knew, I'd let him live. Even if his dantian was destroyed, he was relieved just to survive. Hard to believe he was a martial artist, even if he was from the unorthodox faction. Is that truly how shallow your doctrine is?"

"... You people have been targeting our followers for some time now."

The man, expressionless, stared back at Jeong-un before changing the subject, as if ignoring the mention of their doctrine altogether.

'Too bad.'

Jeong-un muttered inwardly.

He'd intended to subtly provoke the man, hoping to make him lose his temper.

If the strongest opponent charged in recklessly, Jeong-un could take him out first and start the fight on his terms.

Jeong-un replied, ready to swing the sword guard in his hand at any moment.

"You people—what exactly are you referring to?"

"Still pretending? The Murim Alliance's young dogs have been prowling around here, taking out our branches one by one."

"Our job has always been to sever the heads of unorthodox bastards like you."

"Yet the timing is suspicious. You all moved as if on signal. What's the plan?"

"......"

Jeong-un stared calmly into the man's eyes.

'He's probing me.'

Through Jeong-un, he was trying to gauge how much the Heavenly Martial Hall had learned about them.

At the same time, Jeong-un realized something from his words: these people didn't know that the Heavenly Martial Hall was already closing in on the main headquarters' location.

He answered nonchalantly.

"Didn't you just say it yourself? We act under orders from the Murim Alliance. The area magistrate here requested our help. He wanted us to erase you lot from this village—said you unorthodox faction types were truly wicked."

"That filthy pig. He laughed off some missing villagers in public, but was scheming this behind our backs, eh."

"......"

And in that moment, Jeong-un gleaned new information: that the area magistrate here had knowingly cooperated with Heavenly Blade Gate, despite them being part of the unorthodox faction.

'Ridiculous.'

Whether or not he had been waiting for instructions from the Heavenly Martial Hall, Jeong-un noted to himself that once he returned, he'd have to punish the magistrate first.

To collude with the unorthodox faction for silver coins was more corrupt than even the most notorious officials.

The man spoke again.

"Still, thanks for telling me so honestly. For someone with such a sharp tongue, you're surprisingly naïve. If your group isn't organized, that's all I needed to know."

"Nothing else you want to ask?"

"Nothing."

The man shot back decisively. Oddly, Jeong-un almost felt disappointed; instead of being interrogated, he'd ended up prying out some useful intelligence himself.

At that moment, the man raised his hand and spoke.

"Now die."

Jeong-un instantly gathered his energy.

True ki was already swiftly circulating through his body, each muscle primed to move at a moment's notice.

Within his wide-reaching ki sense, every movement of the enemy around him was clear as daylight.

Even during their conversation, he had already counted their number. Thirty.

Thirty-one, counting the leader.

Even though he'd been lured and surrounded by layers of enemies, Jeong-un had never been so thoroughly prepared.

Whatever direction they attacked from, he was confident he could handle it.

He'd hoped the leader would charge in first, but unfortunately, the man remained immobile.

'...?'

But something was strange.

Even with their leader's command, the underlings did not move to attack.

Instead, keeping their feet planted, they all reached simultaneously inside their clothing.

'Hidden weapons?'

While Jeong-un was gauging what kind of weapons might come from their sleeves—

All at once, they thrust their hands out at Jeong-un. In their movements, he saw the flow of true ki.

They were tossing something; their arms moved with the precision of those practiced in repeated throwing.

There was no deeper martial arts principle behind it—just a repeated motion honed for throwing.

In the next moment, Jeong-un saw with his own eyes what flew towards him from their hands.

No matter what came at him, he felt confident.

He had already batted down arrows flying at him before. He intended to sweep away anything thrown at him this time as well.

But as he stared at the incoming projectiles, a doubt flickered through his mind.

'They're not throwing hidden weapons?'

Black spheres, each the size of a fist. By the time he recognized them, they were almost upon him.

On instinct, he slashed the closest one with a flash of his sword.

Puh-ONG—!

Suddenly, darkness engulfed his vision, as though a blackout had occurred.

With a ringing blast that felt like it tore his eardrums, he felt the energy streams throughout his body twist violently. The moment he cut through the sphere, it exploded.

He tried to move his feet to dodge the rest, but they had already gotten too close.

Puh-puh-puh-puhng!

A chain of explosions strong enough to shake the ground erupted.

Jeong-un was thrown through the air, caught in the blast. His whole body was badly battered.

'Damn.'

He did not lose consciousness. That only made the upsurge of emotion within him more acute: rage—at himself.

'Fire bombs?'

At the same time, it hit him what those objects were.

The notorious fire bombs he had only heard about in stories—he'd never actually seen them.

That, too, was understandable; it wasn't simply Jeong-un's lack of experience in the martial world.

Even seasoned martial artists rarely encountered gunpowder.

Gunpowder was strictly regulated by national law.

Even the most powerful clans of the martial world dared not touch it.

Not only was it very difficult to obtain, but possession was grounds for being treated as an enemy of the martial world.

The idea that such things would be found among the unorthodox faction was almost unthinkable.

'I was careless.'

Even so, he was angry at himself.

It wasn't as if he was so well-versed in the common sense of the martial world—or so unerringly trusted in it.

If he had immediately reacted to the suspicious gestures of his enemies and moved, he could have avoided falling into such danger.

At that moment, he saw them move their hands again.

His body now keenly understood what they were about to throw.

From the start, they hadn't hurled all thirty fire bombs.

The earlier barrage had only been ten. Now, an equal number of fire bombs were about to come flying at him again.

This time, powered by the arms of those who had imbued their throws with true ki, they would be unimaginably swift.

'I have to dodge.'

Trying to cut or deflect them was pointless—since they would explode instantly, dodging was the best and only option.

Twisting his battered body in midair, he forcefully stirred up his internal energy.

The flow within his meridians was painfully sluggish.

Tak!

Barely regaining his balance, he shot upward—only to find himself once again engulfed by a near explosion.

Puh-puh-puh-puhng!

"Kgh...!"

He narrowly managed to avoid taking the blast full in the face.

Even so, the pain was so intense it reverberated down to his bones. He was lucky not to lose consciousness.

Only the fact that his body had been tempered with abundant true ki saved him.

"Vermin, aren't you."

He heard the man jeer at him.

Through his spinning vision, he managed to catch a glimpse of the man's face.

But he still could not move immediately.

Overwhelming pain assaulted him, and though his limbs were intact, it felt as if his inner organs had been twisted out of place.

'I...'

Only then did Jeong-un realize it: he was not used to pain.

Despite having swung his sword tens of thousands of times, he had never suffered such injuries.

It struck him as a shock—he was someone who walked the martial world, after all.

In that fleeting instant, countless thoughts and feelings flashed through his mind.

Did others grow stronger by enduring this kind of pain dozens of times?

Did they overcome trials and adversity to become stronger?

What about him?

Had he been coasting along, spoiled by a streak of luck and repeated achievement?

He always talked about being strict with himself, but in truth, hadn't he just swung his sword pointlessly, thousands of times in the training hall?

Utterly pathetic—

'... No.'

No, that's not true. Jeong-un muttered to himself. His life was not meaningless.

From the days of his youth when he left home clutching only a sword, up to now, when he could rightly be called a martial artist—every relationship he forged through swinging his sword and every drop of sweat he shed were never meaningless.

Those things could not be made insignificant.

To deny a life's worth of effort simply because of a direct hit by a few fire bombs—that would be true weakness.

If even he doubted himself, who else would believe in him?

Not used to pain?

'So what?'

As Jeong-un exhaled, blood mixed with his breath, he muttered to himself.

In that case, he simply had to become so overwhelmingly strong that he never needed to become used to pain.

He could walk a path in life where he need never grow numb to pain—that was the resolve he now set for himself.

And as he solidified his resolve—

A storm roared from his dantian as his internal energy surged.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=

There's always the first time...

【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】