Chapter 1863 – Return of The Mount Hua Sect

Chapter 1863. Yeah. Go Ahead, Try to Kill Me. (3) ❀ ❀ ❀

Jo Geol swallowed dryly.

Only belatedly did he feel the pain and glance down, realizing his fingernails had dug into his palms and drawn blood.

This was a battle so intense, he couldn’t even dare to look away.

What Jo Geol was witnessing was the pinnacle of martial arts mastery—something he couldn’t even hope to imitate—unfolding right before his eyes.

There were probably those across the entire Kangho who could put on a duel of even greater caliber. After all, neither Jang Ilso nor Cheong Myeong were in perfect condition.

You didn’t have to look far. Even the past battle in Hangzhou against the cult leader had been more destructive than this. That fight had been on an entirely different level.

And yet, to Jo Geol, the current battle felt several times more intense than that one. Perhaps it was the sheer, overwhelming desperation that could be felt even from here.

“…It looks evenly matched.”

Yoon Jong's voice carried both disbelief and hope.

It was clear now that Cheong Myeong wasn’t in normal condition. No one could have failed to notice by this point. And yet, he was still fighting Jang Ilso on equal footing.

“No… It even seems like he's slightly ahead, doesn’t it, Sahyung?”

Tang Soso’s assessment was similar to Yoon Jong’s and Jo Geol’s. Depending on perspective, one might argue a slight advantage either way, but so far, it was a tightly matched struggle with no clear victor in sight.

However, their cautious hope was shattered by someone’s strained voice.

“No. That’s not the case.”

“Monk?”

Hye Yeon, who had been sitting down trying to calm his weary body, was now struggling to stand. His face was as pale as paper, clearly showing how bad his condition was.

“Wait—right now, you shouldn’t…”

Tang Soso instinctively tried to stop him, but Hye Yeon firmly shook his head, as if this was no time to worry about his own condition.

A sorrowful glint flickered in Hye Yeon’s eyes.

“Indeed, Cheong Myeong Siju is putting up a valiant fight, but the one holding the advantage is Paegun. At this rate, he won’t last another hundred moves.

“A hundred moves? He won’t last even that?”

“…The only reason Dojang still appears to be holding his own is because he’s fighting as if throwing his life into every single move. If he slips even once in this deadly balancing act… he won’t last those hundred moves.”

Hye Yeon bit his lower lip. To speak plainly, even that was an optimistic assessment. As things stood, it wouldn’t be strange if Cheong Myeong collapsed in a spray of blood at any moment.

‘It’s true that Cheong Myeong Siju is weaker than usual… but more than that, Jang Ilso is unbelievably strong.’

Even Hye Yeon hadn’t anticipated Jang Ilso to be this powerful. Despite knowing his opponent was the Paegun, he hadn’t underestimated him—but still, this was beyond his expectations.

‘To think he would be this strong…’

Hye Yeon clutched his wounded side. The injury was from being caught off guard. But even if the battle had continued uninterrupted, he wouldn't have lasted long.

Jang Ilso was powerful. He possessed something different from any ‘strength’ Hye Yeon had known until now.

Even Cheong Myeong—it was hard to imagine him pulling off a miracle against an opponent like this.

Hye Yeon clenched his trembling fist.

“Perhaps.…”

Joint attack.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. But maybe that really was the best choice now. Just as Heavenly Comrade Alliance relied heavily on Cheong Myeong, so too did the Evil Tyrant Alliance rely heavily—perhaps even more so—on Jang Ilso. Without him, the Evil Tyrant Alliance would no longer be the same.

So perhaps their best bet now was to gamble everything and aim solely to eliminate Jang Ilso…

“He’s still fighting.”

But at that moment, Yoon Jong’s calm voice cut in.

“As long as he hasn’t given up, we have to believe in him.”

There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his tone. Hearing that, Hye Yeon’s turbulent heart began to settle.

‘Amitabha.’

Hye Yeon silently pressed his palms together. His shaken mind was beginning to come back into focus.

“…I’ve shown an unworthy side.”

“Not at all, monk. It’s just that…”

“Yes?”

“It seems they don’t think the same.”

Following Yoon Jong’s gaze, Hye Yeon turned his head. Just like them, the Evil Tyrant Alliance—who had been fixated on the duel—was now beginning to move. The blood-robed warriors of Blood Palace and the eerie black-clad figures whose identities were still unknown.

Srrrng.

Without another word, Yoon Jong drew his sword. Jo Geol and Tang Soso followed suit, their swords flashing out.

“As expected.”

“That's just how those damn evil sect bastards are.”

It dawned on them again. This wasn’t just some fancy duel for supremacy over the Kangho. This was a no-holds-barred battle for survival, where the side with more people standing at the end would claim Kangho.

“…Hoo.”

Hye Yeon took a deep breath.

“I’ll lend a hand.”

“Will you be alright?”

“If we’re going to lose anyway, there’s no point in holding back a dying life.”

Yoon Jong, who would normally have tried to stop him, simply nodded. The truth was, Mount Hua’s strength alone wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

They had to do everything they could to keep those enemies from interfering in the fight between Cheong Myeong and Jang Ilso.

Because the only way for Heavenly Comrade Alliance to win… was for Cheong Myeong to defeat Jang Ilso.

‘I believe in you, Cheong Myeong-ah.’

Without hesitation, Yoon Jong pushed off the ground.

“Don’t let them interfere!”

“Yes!”

The swordsmen of Mount Hua drew their blades and charged toward the approaching enemies.

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Throb. Throb.

Blood gushed from the hole in his side. It was a wound too severe for even proper acupuncture-point sealing.

Kreek.

But Cheong Myeong didn’t hesitate. He ripped off a piece of his robe and stuffed it into the hole in his abdomen.

Watching him stem the bleeding in the most brutal way imaginable, Jang Ilso groaned and then shook his head in disbelief.

“Ugh… Horrifying. Where did you even learn something like that?”

Even someone like Jang Ilso, who had crushed and killed countless opponents, could barely stand to watch.

The problem was… Cheong Myeong didn’t even flinch while doing it. Not a flicker of expression crossed his face.

“…No matter how I look at it, you really picked the wrong side. If you'd come over here, you'd have become a greatest demonic overlord remembered in the history of the Kangho.”

“Then your head would've been cut off by now.”

“Oh, would it? Haha!”

Jang Ilso let out a genuine, hearty laugh.

Crack.

Cheong Myeong, having torn off the remaining piece of his clothes he had stuffed into his wound, shook his hands lightly. A cough escaped his lips again and again.

When fighting a peak master, the most difficult part isn’t their power or speed.

Every movement, every clash, comes with immense inner energy. Even if you block or evade, the shockwaves that dominate the surrounding space inevitably reach your body.

“Cough.”

For Cheong Myeong, already suffering from internal injuries, those impacts were especially lethal.

‘This is not good.’

He wiped the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.

At the start of this fight, he hadn’t expected to be pushed this far.

‘He’s strong… unbelievably strong, considering that he trained in this peaceful era.’

It was no wonder that Jang Ilso couldn’t understand Cheong Myeong’s desperation. But the same went for Cheong Myeong—he couldn’t fully understand Jang Ilso either.

Sure, the vicious in-fighting of the unorthodox sects is something that righteous sect disciples can barely comprehend. So he could understand that someone who had clawed their way through such chaos would be battle-hardened.

But there's a vast difference between being hardened by brutality and mastering the rhythm of a high-level duel. Repeated low-level fights don’t foster adaptability to skill in truly elite combat.

That very gap is what the unorthodox factions had never managed to overcome throughout martial history.

And yet, what Jang Ilso was displaying now clearly defied that notion.

He embodied both the savagery of the unorthodox and the refined mastery of peak-level combat. It was, perhaps, the closest thing to Cheong Myeong’s ideal form of martial perfection.

It wasn’t despair—not yet. But Cheong Myeong was not foolish enough to overestimate himself.

‘I can’t hold out much longer.’

His body would soon hit its limits. Then it would all be over. The only path left now was to settle this before that limit arrived.

Cheong Myeong gripped his sword tighter.

‘Perhaps… this might be the end for me.’

At that thought, a faint smile spread across his face.

On the other side, Jang Ilso was also lost in heavy contemplation.

‘This is strange.’

He slowly opened and closed his hand.

A chilling pain radiated from his face.

Not just the pain of a wound grazed by the Plum Blossom Sword Qi. This was pain from being cut by Cheong Myeong’s murderous intent itself.

‘Still this strong…?’

Jang Ilso never underestimated Cheong Myeong. In fact, he might be the one who held Cheong Myeong in the highest regard in the entire world.

But even by his calculations, Cheong Myeong should’ve already reached his limit. The grueling battle should have only worsened his internal injuries.

He’d thought Cheong Myeong would eventually collapse on his own, no need to finish him off directly.

Yet as the fight dragged on, the killing intent and fighting spirit Cheong Myeong radiated only grew stronger. How was that even possible?

‘Don’t tell me… he’s recovering during the fight? From near-demonic-level internal damage?’

[tl note: ibma, 입마 (入魔) refers to a state of mental or spiritual collapse from training gone wrong—can translated as "deviation" or "going berserk/demonic." It usually implies life-threatening or sanity-threatening damage.]

Jang Ilso let out a cold laugh.

It was absurd. And yet, he knew—when all other possibilities are eliminated, no matter how improbable the one that remains, it must be the truth.

‘Well, well... This is too much, isn’t it?’

Frustration surged.

Cheong Myeong had a hole in his abdomen and had been battered by Jang Ilso’s force to the point of vomiting blood. And yet the longer he fought, the stronger he seemed to become. A monster. What kind of creature was this man?

“So the longer this drags out, the worse it is for me. Isn’t this terrifying?”

For the first time, the word defeat flitted through Jang Ilso’s mind.

It was only a faint possibility for now. But Jang Ilso’s instincts screamed that the longer this continued, the more that possibility would solidify—tightening around his throat.

That left only one option.

He had to end it before Cheong Myeong could recover any further. No drawn-out fight—just one decisive blow.

Crack.

Jang Ilso clenched his fist hard enough for it to creak.

There was no need to question whether it was possible. If he could do it, he would win. If he couldn’t, he’d lose his head. That was all.

‘Clarity is a blessing.’

One thing was certain: only one of them would leave this place alive.

Throb. Pain pulsed dully from his chest.

A surge of fierce excitement made his heart pound. That intensity, that rush, was almost painful in itself. A nausea he had never experienced before welled up in him as Jang Ilso slowly stepped forward.

“Now then, let’s begin again.”

Clack.

Cheong Myeong’s sword scraped lightly against the ground.

“As many times as you want.”

Facing each other, the two exchanged cold smiles before launching forward.

Jang Ilso’s white robes and Cheong Myeong’s black uniform were now both stained the same dark crimson. Just as their expressions mirrored each other in hostility, even the pitiful hue of blood that clung to them was the same.

Fwoooosh!

They dashed across the rain-soaked earth toward one another. A sword cloaked in red energy and a fist blazing with blue flame shot forth, each aiming for the other’s life.

Kwaaaaaaaang!

Their powers exploded like a bomb, sending shockwaves through the world dyed in dark hues.

Kagagagagagak!

Fist and blade quaked violently as they collided, neither yielding an inch. Not a shred of restraint remained—this was total commitment.

The raw heat released by their full-power clash scorched the rain-drenched ground.

Next Chapter

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