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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Flexible Blade
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Just then, Song Myeong-cheon was stabbing a man in the gut with his blade while simultaneously ripping off the man's left arm.
It was a monstrous strength akin to that of a wild beast. The man's horrific scream reverberated through the clinic.
Blood sprayed everywhere, leaving filthy stains in its wake.
Come to think of it, the corpses of the dead men were all gruesomely mangled without exception.
Not a single one retained its original form.
Song Myeong-cheon's hands, with those pitch-black eyes, were ruthlessly savage—second to none.
In that short span, he had dispatched them all.
The only one left was the pale-looking man who had been pretending to be a patient—or perhaps he truly was one.
In such a situation, anyone might panic... but he appeared remarkably calm.
Han Ibi thought the man must have considerable experience in the jianghu. And he was undoubtedly a formidable expert.
But that sword of his...
'Is that even a sword? What the hell, it's shaped so bizarrely.'
His blade was a type of soft sword, waving flexibly like a ribbon. Forging something like that would require immense effort.
In any case, as soon as the man moved, his motions were like the wind. His entire body's flow matched the supple undulations of the soft sword.
The pale man had become a single entity fused with the soft sword, pressing Song Myeong-cheon relentlessly.
In contrast, Song Myeong-cheon's movements were economical. There wasn't a hint of wasted motion.
He rolled his black eyes left and right, scrutinizing his opponent's every action.
Han Ibi thought to himself.
'Not some alien or anything... but those black eyes of his, I just can't get used to them no matter how many times I see them.'
Finally, the pale man's whipping soft sword shifted from defense to offense.
It lashed out toward Song Myeong-cheon like a serpent or a whip.
Song Myeong-cheon raised his sword to block it.
However, due to the soft sword's nature, its upper section bent sharply upon contact, thrusting toward Song Myeong-cheon's torso.
Han Ibi shouted.
"Elder! Watch out!"
Splat!
Song Myeong-cheon's shoulder tore open, spraying a handful of blood. The corner of the pale man's mouth curled upward.
Realizing his attack had landed, his momentum surged.
The pale man spun his body once more, slashing diagonally at Song Myeong-cheon's lower body.
Or rather, it was closer to a whipping strike than a stab.
The soft sword's movements and trajectory were indescribably bizarre.
Song Myeong-cheon raised his sword vertically again to parry. A resounding clang echoed loudly.
Given that he was holding his own against Song Myeong-cheon, who was deemed a great master, the pale man clearly possessed exceptional internal energy.
Thwack!
Fresh blood spurted from Song Myeong-cheon's thigh once more.
At that, Han Ibi began to feel a twinge of worry.
If Song Myeong-cheon couldn't defeat this consumptive-looking wretch, he himself might as well be dead.
He even considered bolting for a moment... but fleeing like a coward wasn't an option.
Besides, he had a quest to complete anyway...
The pale man flashed a cold smile and said,
"Demonic Taoist. Your skills fall far short of your infamous reputation. No need for all those elaborate hidden maneuvers. Heh heh heh. With so many people fretting over you... Now that I've gauged your strength, playtime's over."
With that, he stepped forward head-on. His speed was incomparable to before.
That was when it happened.
A thick gray smoke-like vapor rose from Song Myeong-cheon's mouth. It billowed like flames from burning firewood...
Moreover, a pitch-black pattern emerged on his forehead.
Its rough shape was circular, filled with sharp radiating lines—random yet perfectly geometrically symmetrical in a bizarre design.
No, upon closer look, it resembled a lotus flower.
The pale man seemed somewhat startled by the sudden appearance of the tattoo-like marking.
But he didn't lose momentum and pressed the attack.
Aiming to sever Song Myeong-cheon's neck.
"Raaargh-!"
Song Myeong-cheon let out a mighty roar and swung his sword in a wide arc.
Clang!
A massive clash rang out as sword met sword.
The soft sword was just about to coil in and rip out Song Myeong-cheon's carotid artery.
Suddenly, Song Myeong-cheon thrust up his left fingers.
Seeing this, Han Ibi's heart sank.
'What? He's gonna lose his fingers.'
But then something astonishing happened.
Riding the rebound force from the clashing blades, the soft sword's upper section hurtled toward him. Song Myeong-cheon jabbed his finger right into its center.
The timing was impeccably precise.
The soft sword's momentum reversed in an instant, whipping back toward its wielder like a serpent biting its own master.
Ting!
With a sharp ring, the soft sword lashed straight at its owner.
Splat!
Blood sprayed.
The difference this time was that it belonged to the pale man, not Song Myeong-cheon.
"Aaaargh~!"
A bone-chilling scream pierced the clinic.
Clang.
The soft sword clattered to the floor. He was clutching his eyes with both hands, blood gushing between his fingers.
Song Myeong-cheon approached the foe who had lost all will to fight, a faint, statue-like smile on his lips. And then...
Slash.
In the air floated the pale man's head and both forearms.
Han Ibi could only grimace again. Ally or not... this was a bit much.
Just then, Han Ibi spotted the doctor huddled under the medicine table, trembling violently.
How'd he squeeze that big frame in there...
But Song Myeong-cheon's movements were off.
He was growling like a demon fully possessed, slowly advancing toward the doctor.
The panicked doctor flailed his hands wildly and cried,
"No! Great hero! It's not... I was just... intimidated by them. I had no intention of... harming you, great hero."
He was on the verge of tears.
"I didn't even know you were a martial artist!"
Song Myeong-cheon raised his sword high in an enormous gesture that nearly scraped the ceiling.
"Aaaack!"
The doctor clutched his head and screamed. Han Ibi dashed forward in a panic and shouted,
"Elder! Even if you're going to kill him, at least check the situation first!"
Song Myeong-cheon's eyes turned to Han Ibi. Han Ibi's heart plummeted.
The demonic emptiness emanating from those black pupils struck Han Ibi's heart like a hammer.
That was when it happened.
The bizarre pattern on Song Myeong-cheon's forehead vanished.
In sync, his black sclera began gradually regaining their normal color.
Clang.
The old man dropped his sword. He staggered left and right like a drunkard before collapsing unconscious to the floor.
Han Ibi rushed over and caught him. His body was ice-cold.
Something was wrong.
They had to get out. There might be more of them.
He swiftly hoisted Song Myeong-cheon onto his back. Then, he bellowed threateningly at the still-shaking doctor.
"Doctor. If even a word of this leaks out, we'll come back and make you pay dearly."
The doctor crawled out from under the table, bowing his head frantically.
"I-I understand, young hero. Loud and clear. Even if I'm killed on the spot... or become a ghost after death, I won't breathe a word."
Han Ibi bolted out of the Demon Valley Clinic with Song Myeong-cheon on his back.
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"Damn it!"
The curse slipped out involuntarily. He'd rushed out in a panic, but...
'Nowhere to go! Nowhere! This damn narrow circle of acquaintances is screwing me over everywhere.'
After a brief moment of deliberation, he thought,
'Only that place, huh...'
Han Ibi took off running, carrying Song Myeong-cheon on his back while racking his brains for directions.
About fifteen minutes later, a familiar signboard came into view above Han Ibi's eyes.
- Clear Stream Inn
That's right.
The only place Han Ibi knew besides the clinic.
In the end, he had no choice but to head here.
Han Ibi flung open the door and burst into the inn. Fortunately, it was still early, and there were no customers.
"Welcome... Gah!"
The waiter he'd seen before was cleaning and greeting when he froze, eyes widening in shock.
The innkeeper, sensing something odd, emerged from the kitchen.
"What in the...!"
He too gaped in astonishment.
And rightly so—the sight of Song Myeong-cheon slumped on Han Ibi's back was horrific.
Wounds slashed every which way. Blood still dripping steadily from them...
"W-Wait... Guest? Is that our guest?"
The stunned waiter finally recognized Song Myeong-cheon's face and asked.
Han Ibi answered for him.
"Yes, that's right. The one who occasionally comes by for baijiu..."
"Ah! I see. But what happened to make you look like this...?"
"Uh... well, y-you see... we were, uh, robbed. Robbed by bandits."
"Bandits?"
"Y-Yeah. You know, brigands. We got jumped by brigands."
The waiter and innkeeper exchanged bewildered glances.
The innkeeper said,
"In that case, you look badly hurt. You should head to a clinic right away."
"We're just coming from one."
The waiter and innkeeper exchanged glances again.
The waiter said,
"Th-Then, shouldn't you report it to the authorities...?"
"Room!"
"Pardon?"
"Lend me one room."
The innkeeper hesitated before saying,
"S-Sorry, but... all rooms are full today."
Han Ibi snapped,
"Full my ass! This place doesn't look that popular. And I saw not a single horse tied outside! You gonna treat a regular like this?"
The waiter and innkeeper glanced at each other again, visibly flustered.
The innkeeper said,
"W-Well, for the sake of our past acquaintance, you can stay a bit. But please... vacate soon."
"Don't worry about it. Just give me the room."
The innkeeper nodded to the waiter.
The waiter gestured for them to follow and headed up to the second floor.
Han Ibi followed up the stairs. The waiter led them to the most secluded room at the end of the hall.
"This should be quiet enough to rest and recover."
"Thanks."
Han Ibi quickly opened the door and went inside. A simple bed came into view.
He laid Song Myeong-cheon down there.
The waiter stood awkwardly, glancing between Han Ibi and the old man.
Han Ibi said,
"I'll call if I need anything. Go handle things downstairs for now."
The waiter nodded.
"Got it. Shout if you need us."
The waiter carefully closed the door as he left. Suddenly, a strange noise sounded.
Clack clack clack clack!
Han Ibi jolted in alarm, scanning his surroundings warily.
The hairs on his nape stood on end.
But identifying the source shocked him even more.
The noise was coming from Song Myeong-cheon.
From inside his mouth, to be precise.
It was the fierce chattering of his upper and lower teeth colliding.
With that as the prelude, Song Myeong-cheon began shaking violently like an aspen leaf.
But something was off.
From Song Myeong-cheon's wounds... thick black blood was bubbling up!
Han Ibi peered into the injuries in shock.
But what he saw there was even more maddening—the wounds spewing black blood were healing at an astonishing rate.
'Am... Am I seeing things?'
Song Myeong-cheon's convulsions intensified.
At the same time, he started coughing violently, as if he were a tuberculosis patient.
"Cough, cough! Ptooey!"
"No! E-Elder, don't!"
Too late.
Jet-black bloody phlegm erupted from Song Myeong-cheon in all directions. The bed, walls, floor—everything was splattered with dark crimson gore.
Han Ibi covered his face with one hand and muttered,
"We're screwed. Totally screwed."
That was when it happened.
Song Myeong-cheon abruptly shot upright.
"Cough! Cough!"
Fortunately, no more blood this time, but he kept hacking dry coughs.
As he did, he had already assumed a meditative posture for circulating qi.
(To be continued in the next chapter)