CHAPTER 169:………………………………………………………..
The Greatest Late-Stage Martial Artist (4)
“Damn…!”
“Pingha!”
“How could you counter that like that!”
As Pingha and Namgung Muhwi were caught in a tremendous explosion, Baekryeong, Seokdu, and Heukpyo panicked, craning their necks toward the martial stage, ready to leap down at any moment.
But Gwangpae’s reaction was slightly different from theirs.
‘That…!’
Gwangpae stared down at the martial stage, mouth agape, as if in a trance.
Just moments ago, Pingha had executed a technique to deflect his opponent’s sword energy. That technique was undoubtedly the martial skill of the Sword Saint that Gwangpae had taught Pingha in the form of fist techniques.
But…
‘Not the fist… but the fingertips…’
Even in hand techniques, Pingha had already altered part of the fist techniques into fingertip strikes.
The fist techniques initially taught to Pingha were themselves adaptations of the Sword Saint’s sword methods, so Gwangpae had allowed Pingha to handle them freely.
Yet, in such a life-or-death moment, Pingha had even modified the rising technique’s martial energy—something Gwangpae had never expected.
And what surprised him most was…
‘For a moment… the Sword Saint’s form seemed to overlap.’
It was a hand technique, yet the strike resembled the form of sword energy more than anything else.
And at this moment, Gwangpae wasn’t the only one bewildered.
‘What… on earth is this!’
Chunjoong Geomje rose from his seat, staring blankly at the martial stage.
The sword energy Namgung Muhwi had just unleashed had absorbed a significant portion of the martial energy that Chunjoong Geomje had imparted. It was a result created by exceeding the limits of his own martial energy.
Though the form had lost the essence of a true sword strike, even if all the late-stage martial artists of the Central Plains had combined their efforts, none could have withstood that technique at that distance. Or so he thought—until just now.
‘That guy… his ki…’
It had changed. From the very moment he deflected Namgung Muhwi’s Imperial Sword form, a vast, clear yet weighty energy poured out—something impossible for someone his age.
Feeling that energy, Chunjoong Geomje involuntarily shivered. More than anything, he felt a strong certainty that he had sensed this energy somewhere before.
‘…The Sword Saint?’
He remembered. Yes, the energy he felt from this kid was the same as that of the Sword Saint.
At the time, the Sword Saint was known to practice Taoist-style heart techniques, but born with a limitless martial body capable of mastering all formal martial arts, his ki was not purely serene.
A clear yet heavy, unsettlingly aggressive energy.
How could such energy now emanate from that small frame?
‘A disciple of the Blood King… and the Sword Saint’s heritage…’
Even trying, it was difficult to connect the dots. Could the Blood King’s disciple also possess a martial body like the Sword Saint’s? Even then, the sheer intensity of his ki was inexplicable…
Chunjoong Geomje instinctively glanced toward the Blood King and Heukcheonsagoe in the audience. There, he saw Heukcheonsagoe clenching his fists, eyes desperately seeking Pingha’s safety.
“…!”
A sudden intuition flashed through his mind. All the secrets about this child must lie with Heukcheonsagoe.
Indeed, it had seemed odd from the start. Why would the Blood King, of all people, need to hide in Heungguk to raise a disciple?
‘That kid is around twenty… Heukcheonsagoe must have concealed himself for about twenty years…’
If that kid wasn’t the Blood King’s disciple but someone Heukcheonsagoe had raised from the beginning… and if the Blood King had been drawn in to make him the top of the Sapa faction…
‘…It makes sense.’
Many of the lingering questions about this child suddenly aligned.
Though, how such enormous Sword Saint-like energy could exist within his body remained a mystery…
‘Could it be… that Chiljeonchilpa learned the lost techniques of the Sword Saint…?’
Yes, it was a plausible hypothesis. If the Sword Saint’s arch-rival Chiljeonchilpa sought his secret techniques while he was trapped in the Celestial Net… then it was highly likely the martial arts Pingha practiced were derived from that.
“…!”
Thinking this far, Chunjoong Geomje turned his gaze back to the martial stage, where the dust from the explosion was settling, revealing the two figures facing each other.
“Uh…?”
“Over there…!”
Had the match been decided?
Everyone stared in silence as the two figures became clear: Namgung Muhwi, standing defenseless with his arms lowered, and Pingha, stopping just inches from his face, fingertips poised.
It was immediately evident who had won.
“Huh… heh… hehheh… cough!”
Namgung Muhwi laughed amidst a cough of dark red blood. His mouth spewed blood that stained the floor, but it was trivial compared to what mattered.
His sword, life itself to a swordsman, had broken in half and fallen. A consequence of their recent clash.
“…Because…”
In a strained voice, Namgung Muhwi spoke.
Their life-risking clash of martial energy had ended with his attack being countered, and Pingha had closed the distance without hesitation. He had reached out with his fingertips when Muhwi could no longer move due to overexertion. That strike could have easily ended his life.
Yet…
“Why… did he stop…?”
The terrifying explosion had obscured everyone’s vision. Given the intensity of the clash, even if the stop had been a misstep during battle, no one would have called it excessive.
Regaining composure, Namgung Muhwi asked, and Pingha casually replied, meeting his gaze:
“Because he is a true warrior.”
“…What?”
“Killing unnecessarily when you can win without taking a life is not something a true warrior does.”
“…!”
Namgung Muhwi’s eyes widened at Pingha’s words. The concept wasn’t about the righteous or Sapa faction—it was simply a matter of being a martial man. The realization struck harder than the previous clash.
Blinking in disbelief, Muhwi shook his shoulders and laughed weakly.
“Heh… heh… indeed… losing was… natural.”
His opponent was a true martial man, and he was not.
With that, Namgung Muhwi finally gave up and collapsed, and at that moment, the League Master’s announcement rang through the Seonghyeop Hall:
“…The match is over! Winner: Pingha!”
“Waaaaah!”
“Victory without blood! Victory without blood!”
“Incredible, the greatest late-stage martial artist in the world!”
“A Sapa faction member has achieved the top late-stage ranking!”
“The next Sapa champion is here!”
Cheers thundered through the hall. Supporters of Pingha rose to their feet, shouting, and some righteous faction members also applauded. Even spectators and merchants excitedly celebrated the outcome.
The martial arts league master gracefully descended onto the stage.
Whoosh.
Thud.
“Phew…”
Even with the master present, Pingha exhaled slowly, collecting the martial energy he had raised. This was energy he had not fully mastered, controlled deep within his lower dantian. Using too much of it would make returning it to the dantian extremely difficult.
Swish, swish…
After gathering all his energy, Pingha slowly opened his eyes and looked at the master.
“Greetings, League Master.”
“…Yes, congratulations on your victory.”
The master smiled faintly, observing Pingha’s polite bow. Though not a large frame, up close, he seemed even smaller and younger than other late-stage martial artists. His humble demeanor contrasted sharply with his aggressive fighting style on stage.
‘This kid… is Sapa?’
Indeed… it didn’t fit, especially for a disciple of the Blood King.
After a moment, the master spoke:
“Since the inception of the martial arts league tournament, no Sapa member has ever won… and now you will be the first. I praise your accomplishment as the League Master.”
“Thank you. I was just lucky.”
“Luck? That implies belittling the other martial men you defeated. You won purely through skill.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Pingha shook his head.
“It was thanks to all the teachers who guided me that I could win—from the preliminaries to now, including all my opponents.”
“So your growth came through the martial arts league?”
“Not solely, but I learned a lot through it. I want to thank everyone who fought me.”
The master smiled unconsciously at Pingha’s answer. Truly a remarkable kid. Surrounded by rough Sapa, he had no chance to develop such mindset or words, yet he had immense martial skill without arrogance.
“Admirable. A warrior with your mindset can never be weak. Your presence here is no coincidence.”
The master’s tone softened, praising Pingha, then shifted:
“You are now officially recognized as the greatest late-stage martial artist. Do you have anything to say to anyone here? Speak freely.”
“Hmm…”
Pingha looked around. On the podium sat key members of the League, including the Namgung clan. Turning toward the audience, he saw Heukcheonsagoe, the Blood King, the Green Forest King, Yeonha, and Sota smiling at him.
After taking in everyone, Pingha opened his eyes and spoke:
“The reason I joined this tournament was to receive an apology from someone.”
“An apology?”
“Yes. Winning is wonderful, but more than that, I wanted an apology. Until just now.”
“Until just now…”
The master’s eyes glimmered with curiosity at Pingha’s response.
“You mean, not anymore?”
“Yes.”
Pingha nodded in response.
