Chapter 12 Flying Dragon Thirteenth Squad (2)

Chapter 12: Flying Dragon Thirteenth Squad (2)

“Haah, haah.”

With breath rising to his throat and his mind numb from exhaustion, Bi Sa-yeong suddenly recalled the last day he had rushed out of the sect.

‘Senior Brother! I’ll go to the front lines! If even you leave, our Biyong Sect might truly be doomed!’

‘Shut up! The Flying Dragon Sect is already ruined! Avenge that ruin—that is my duty as your senior brother!’

With those words as his last, Bi Sa-yeong had stormed out of the sect and headed for the front lines.

The Biyong Sect, the sect of Biyong, the Seventh Disciple of the Thirteenth Generation of the Biyong Clan, was in a state of collapse.

Though one master and several disciples remained at the main temple, it couldn’t be called completely extinct yet. But there was no doubt it would soon be.

For the master and disciples who never returned from the Wuhuang Tomb had taken the sect’s core internal cultivation techniques with them into oblivion.

Though it never boasted any famously renowned peak masters, the loss of its internal cultivation techniques was tantamount to a death sentence for the Biyong Sect, whose lightness techniques were once hailed as peerless in the martial world.

After all, lightness techniques without internal cultivation were nothing more than mere footwork.

The reason Bi Sayeong volunteered to go to the front lines was, in truth, because he lacked the confidence to send the young disciples.

He reasoned that the disciples of the Bishong Sect, now deprived of their inner energy cultivation methods, would have no chance of surviving against the Blood Sect’s demonic cultivators. If death was inevitable, he believed it was right for him, the senior disciple, to be the first to die.

And on another level, he had also thought that rather than clinging to a doomed sect, he wanted to take revenge on even a single demonic cultivator.

But there was one thing he hadn’t considered.

That on the front lines, there would be disciples of the Zhenchang Sect, as hateful as the Blood Sect, and that he would even have to fight alongside them, in the same squad, the same team.

When he first met Jianchang Sword Master Zhu Taijing, and the man introduced himself with an arrogant expression as a disciple of the Jianchang Sect, Bi Siying had said with a hardened face:

‘I am a disciple of the Secret Sect.’

Without changing his expression, he had retorted.

“Is there such a sect?”

Anger surged up, but he held it back.

He might genuinely not have known.

So, suppressing my rage, I repeated:

‘My master and senior disciples perished during the Blood Sacrifice of the Wuhuang Tomb.’

The Blood Sacrifice at the Wuhuang Tomb.

It was a horrific event where martial artists from across the realm, drawn to Yunnan by maps of the Wuhuang Tomb, united against the greed of the Jianchang Sect, who had belatedly intervened to claim it for themselves. Ultimately, the collapse of the Wuhuang Tomb led to the annihilation of all the gathered martial artists, including the Jianchang Sect itself.

Moreover, the weakened Dianchang Sect, as if waiting for this moment, lost its headquarters to the Blood Sect’s offensive and surrendered the entire province of Yunnan to the Blood Sect’s domain.

All of this was ultimately the Blood Sect’s conspiracy.

A conspiracy that had precisely predicted the Dotsword Sect would succumb to greed and meddle.

Yet, even if all this was the Blood Sect’s conspiracy, to those connected to the Blood Sect’s Wuhuang Tomb, the Spear Point Sect was no different from the Blood Sect itself.

After all, it was the Zhenchang Sect that had belatedly claimed the Wuhuang Tomb discovered within Yunnan Province as their own, slaughtering countless martial artists in the process. It was also the Zhenchang Sect that had driven the resisting martial artists into the Wuhuang Tomb, forcing them to endure its horrors.

Ultimately, for Bi Siying, the Dotsword Sect was the sworn enemy of the martial arts world, just like the Blood Sect, and the very culprit responsible for handing Yunnan Province over to the Blood Sect.

Yet despite all this, Bi Saying did not demand much.

He knew realistically, it would be difficult to extract an apology from a Dotsword Sect swordsman who had reached the pinnacle of skill.

Such a thought itself was humiliating, yet even if he couldn’t get an actual apology, just seeing a look of guilt might have offered some small comfort.

But to that Bisea-yeong, Ju Tae-gyeong merely sneered and retorted:

‘Oh? So your sect elders died because they were greedy beyond their station, huh? But what’s that supposed to mean? Are you proud of that?’

The moment he heard that bitter laugh and voice, Biseaeng lost all restraint.

He roared like a beast and lunged at the man.

‘Wasn’t it because of you?! That disaster happened because of you Jomchangpa scum!’

Then, as if he’d been waiting for it, Joo Tae-kyung snorted derisively and counterattacked Bi Sa-yeong.

It was a fierce strike, packed with genuine internal energy.

It was a brief moment, but Bi Sa-yeong sensed Ju Tae-gyeong truly intended to kill him.

But just as Joo Tae-kyung’s palm strike was about to pierce his throat like a sword, and he was helplessly waiting for death, Seolpung Jo-jang intervened and blocked Joo Tae-kyung’s hand.

It was literally a moment of narrowly escaping death.

Receiving Seolpung Jo-jang’s fierce glare, Ju Tae-gyeong snorted as if his excitement had cooled, then left the scene with his followers.

Leaving behind the words, ‘If you insult the Jianchang Sect again, I will kill you without fail.’

Bi Sayeong was devastated.

He couldn’t believe how powerless and pathetic he had been.

His life after that day wasn’t much different.

With his second-rate cultivation at best, he couldn’t even kill a single demon, let alone Joo Tae-kyung.

To defeat even the most common low-grade demon, one needed to reach at least the first-rate level, the realm of a Sword Qi Merchant.

But with only the basic meditation techniques mastered, Biseoyoung’s cultivation level clearly meant that even a lifetime of training would only get him to a second-rate level at best.

Everything felt so unfair and utterly meaningless.

Of course, Squad Leader Seolpung had once offered to train him.

But he had firmly refused.

He hated being pitied as a weakling more than death itself.

Biseaeng lived in that state.

No, if living meant having a goal and pursuing it, then perhaps he wasn’t truly living at all—merely existing.

Then, a month ago, some crazy bastard joined his squad.

A martial artist who, like Biseaeng himself, was nothing more than a second-rate fighter—and a chubby, good-natured sort at that, someone you’d never believe was a martial artist.

But that madman, whether truly insane or not, showed signs of clashing with Joo Tae-kyung from the very first day he joined.

He taunted him with the nickname “Pointed Blade,” which he hated most, and provoked him by saying he could easily defeat him in a month or two.

He was truly a fiery madman.

But that insane behavior

felt incredibly satisfying to Bi Sa-yeong.

Perhaps that was why.

He pretended to fall for the guy’s provocation and joined the training.

But starting the very next day, he realized

That it was a truly stupid thing to do.

If only he hadn’t done that back then, he wouldn’t be struggling to survive like this now.

From his position of defeat, gasping for breath atop a tree branch, Biseoyoung watched as Seolpung, the squad leader, wearing a vest laden with thirty pounds of steel and even his eyes concealed, flew lightly away through the treetops.

For Bi Sa-yeong, who prided himself on his internal energy being lacking but at least his short-range lightness skills being unmatched even by peak masters, it was an unbearably humiliating blow.

But there was nothing he could do.

He had tried desperately to follow for a month, but even with only ten bars of steel, he could barely keep pace for about half a shijin (one shijin = about two hours).

“Huff, huff, huff, damn it.”

It was exhausting enough to kill him, but he absolutely couldn’t give up.

Giving up was something he hated more than death itself.

Besides, that madman was right behind me, wasn’t he?

Ha ha ha! Sa-young! You’re already frustrated after just half an hour?! You might catch up soon, you know?! Ha ha ha ha!

That bastard Seon Woo-jin was undoubtedly insane.

His pitiful pursuit, repeatedly running up the tree only to fall and cling to it, had left him covered in mud, as if he’d fallen countless times already.

Today, he’d even landed face-first, his entire face caked in mud. With eyes bloodshot and bulging, he scrambled frantically up the tree trunk, mud plastered all over his face.

How he could possibly smile in that state was beyond comprehension.

But seeing him, Biseyoung gritted her teeth and pushed herself up.

He absolutely couldn’t lose to that guy.

Seon Woo-jin’s body had become so lean it was unrecognizable compared to a month ago.

He was now a perfectly average build. Yet, claiming he needed to compensate for the lost weight, he had started running with an equal amount of steel strapped to his vest.

Bisaeng could never accept losing to a second-rate guy like himself, especially one running with heavier steel weights than he did. He’d rather die than tolerate it.

What’s more, wasn’t that guy the one learning the Bisongeun technique from him?

Sunwoo Jin had come to him for help just three days after starting training.

‘Brother Bi, to be honest, I’ve never properly learned the Gyeongsin technique. So, frankly, I’m at a loss about how to keep up with the squad leader’s training. Could you help me out, Brother Bi?’

It felt pretty good to have a guy he liked come to him, bowing his head and asking for help.

So when he asked how he could help, the lad cautiously inquired.

‘Might you possibly teach me your basic footwork? Ah! Of course, I’m not asking for your secret techniques. I’m talking about just the fundamental footwork! And I’m not asking for it for free either. I know a pretty decent internal cultivation method. If it’s in exchange for the footwork, well, if I could share that with you instead, would that be possible?’

Upon hearing this, Bi Sa-yeong was startled.

After all, what he truly needed was a cultivation technique.

The offer was too tempting to ignore, but precisely because of that, he couldn’t answer immediately.

His pride was hurt.

Seon Woo-jin then said with a dejected look.

‘I suppose it’s not quite enough after all. It’s a decent mind technique, but it would be a shame to trade it for something like the Biyongshin technique. I understand completely.’

Bi Sa-yeong barely managed to suppress a smile that threatened to escape.

Honestly, he’d never met anyone who acknowledged a monk’s divine technique like this before.

So, clearing his throat, he addressed the dejected Seonwoojin.

‘The sect’s divine techniques are so exceptional that passing them on freely is rather difficult. But since many of the sect elders have passed away, I’m practically the head of the sect now. And since we’re comrades-in-arms, well, basic divine techniques…’

At that, Sunwoo Jin’s face lit up with joy as if he could jump for joy. He grabbed Bisea-yeong’s hand and repeated his thanks over and over.

By passing down the Secret Divine Technique to Seon Woo-jin, Bi Sa-yeong was able to master a proper internal cultivation method called the ‘Joyful Mind Method’.

It was the heart technique of the Kwaeui Sect, which had been wiped out decades ago. That sect had also been renowned for its Jing Shen Fa, making it the most optimized heart technique for Bi Sa-yeong to master.

In truth, Seolpung and Seonwoojin had secretly discussed and pre-selected the most suitable technique for Biseoyoung from among the methods they both knew. But Biseoyoung had no way of knowing this.

Nor did he know that Sunwoo Jin had already taught him the Biyongshin technique in his previous life.

Regardless, driven by the stubborn determination that he absolutely could not lose to Sunwoojin, Biseoyoung pushed himself up and began running again.

Though he himself was largely unaware, learning proper internal cultivation techniques had begun to elevate Biseoyoung’s stagnant cultivation level once more.

The dawn training in the snowstorm usually consisted of one hour of sprinting through the trees, followed by another hour of ultra-high-speed sprinting while moving his limbs to catch passing insects.

For the others, however, the first hour was their limit.

So, when Seolpung set off again at this hour, the others would practice their breathing techniques and then hone their sword skills in the open field. This too was because of Seonwoojin.

For the first week or so, they rested after regulating their qi and breath. But after about a week, Sunwoojin, who had lost some weight, declared this was nothing special, gritted his teeth, and began swinging his sword again.

Biseoyoung, who seemed utterly immobile even if struck down, gritted his teeth and had no choice but to rise again at a single, pitying glance and a word thrown his way by Seonwoojin as he swung his sword.

‘Brother Bi, Brother Bae, are you both exhausted? More than it looks… Hmm…’

He didn’t finish the sentence, but the look of disappointment in his eyes made it impossible not to know what he wanted to say.

Choked up, Bi Sa-yeong leapt to his feet and shouted.

‘This is nothing! I’m not tired at all!’

‘Me too!’

The strange thing was, even when you felt like you were about to die, once you got up like that, your body would start moving again.

While practicing the martial arts techniques like that, Seolpung, who had finished his sprint training, would return and offer advice.

But what Biseoyoung truly dreaded more than the morning training was the external cultivation practice that began after lunch in the afternoon.

Biseaeng had always considered his friend Bae Jong-gwan’s external skill training pointless.

What good was toughening your skin in front of those men who tore trees apart and shattered rocks with their bare hands? In front of those bastards who wouldn’t even get a scratch unless you unleashed at least a minimal sword qi?

Moreover, the external cultivation practice of smearing strange-smelling medicinal herbs on his body and then beating himself with a club, starting with a split bamboo stick, was utterly embarrassing to witness.

That’s why Bi Sa-yeong had resolved never to fall for Seon Woo-jin’s provocation on this point.

‘I understand. Brother Bi, it seems this training is too painful for you to endure.’

‘Hmph! Don’t provoke me! No matter what, I cannot do that!’

Seonwoojin nodded and then said to Bae Jonggwan.

‘So Brother Bi feels embarrassed by us too, huh? It can’t be helped. After all, sharing embarrassment is something only true friends can do, isn’t it?’

Bi Sa-yeong could only gape at those words.

Bae Jong-gwan was looking at him with a disappointed gaze.

‘Ah, no, it’s not that I’m ashamed…’

But Biseoyoung’s nature, which considered lying unmanly, prevented him from finishing the sentence.

Because, truth be told, he was embarrassed.

Suddenly, he thought Sunwoo-jin might be right.

Wasn’t a true friend, a true man, someone who could share that shame without feeling embarrassed like everyone else?

In the end, Biseaeng had no choice but to shake himself off and stand up.

‘Damn it! Let’s do this together! We can do it together!’

From that moment on, the people of the Thirteenth Generation could see the sight of three men screaming as they slapped bamboo sticks against each other’s bare bodies.

Moreover, the sight of Bae Jong-gwan, grinning from ear to ear, happily whacking his friends with bamboo was truly a perverted spectacle that made one cringe just looking at it.

‘Hahahahaha! Training together really does make it much easier and faster! Isn’t it even enjoyable?! Thank you, friends! You truly are my true friends! Hahahahaha!’

Watching the bamboo slap against his skin, leaving bright red lines that swelled up, Bi Sa-yeong genuinely regretted agreeing to join them.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

‘Ugh! Augh! Kaugh!’

But he couldn’t say he’d quit now.

Giving up now would mean admitting he wasn’t a true friend.

Tears threatened to spill.

After eating again, the evening training was sparring with Seolpung, the squad leader, and my comrades.

For this, at least, he was grateful to Biseoyoung.

The opportunity to spar directly with the peak master Seolpung Jo-jang himself, receiving his advice, was something precious he could never have obtained anywhere else.

But surprisingly, the person from whom he learned the most during sparring wasn’t Squad Leader Seolpung, but Sunwoojin.

Losing to Seolpung wasn’t particularly shocking.

He was a peak master, and it was only natural that his skill was beyond his reach.

But watching Sunwoo Jin fight, Biseoyoung felt it keenly.

His weakness wasn’t due to insufficient inner strength, but simply because he couldn’t fight well.

With precise judgment and appropriate responses, even a second-rate fighter could put up a splendid fight against a peak master.

Seon Woo-jin was proving that with his own body.

That couldn’t help but be a huge shock to both Biseyang and Bae Jong-gwan.

It also became clear why Seon Woo-jin had provoked Joo Tae-kyung, a top-tier martial artist.

He truly had confidence in himself.

Bisaeng reflected on how he had neglected his training all this time, using the excuse of his internal energy cultivation being out of practice.

It was an awakening akin to hatching from an egg.

And now, for the first time in a very long while, Biseaeng felt alive—truly, vividly alive.