Three-Eyed Buddha
To speak plainly, calling the battle against the Three-Eyed Buddha a "hunt" was an exaggeration.
It was closer to a meal. Like savoring food that willingly entered one's mouth, chewing leisurely, and then swallowing.
Tang Mujin thought the Three-Eyed Buddha's two arms resembled molars. Just as molars grind food as they move up and down, whenever the monster's arms crossed and swung, people were flung away, weapons shattered, and bones splintered.
"Die already, damn it!"
"Haha!"
A grotesque battle unfolded.
The foundation of martial arts is self-defense, with subduing the opponent as the next concern. Yet here, neither the Three-Eyed Buddha nor the martial artists of Jeomchang paid attention to defense—though for different reasons.
The Jeomchang swordsmen lacked the strength to block its attacks.
The Three-Eyed Buddha, on the other hand, felt no need to defend against theirs. Their blades couldn't pierce its skin anyway.
Their swords struck its ashen flesh, but the blades could neither stab nor cut nor split it. The sight of steel sliding off its skin as if metal had met metal was bizarre.
So this is the pinnacle of external martial arts...
At least the true masters fared a little better—the Three-Eyed Buddha would at least feign defense against them. At most, by casually catching their blades with bare hands.
Wi Hwan twisted his sword desperately and managed to wrest it free from its grip. By then, the blade had already been bent and notched.
"Insane bastard."
The only reason the fight hadn't ended immediately was thanks to Namgung Myeong's efforts.
Using swords scavenged from corpses, he fought in such a way that even the Three-Eyed Buddha guarded against his strikes. He didn't press the attack, instead lingering on the edge of battle. Each time the monster moved to strike a killing blow against another, Namgung Myeong intervened, unleashing the Imperial Sword Forms to shield them.
With annoyance, the Three-Eyed Buddha deflected his blade.
"Young one, for your age your attainment is impressive. Why not withdraw and bide your time for the future?"
"As if you'd ever let me live. I can clearly see your fingers itching to grab the back of my skull."
"Haha, sharp, aren't you?"
Tang Mujin fiddled with the Heavenly King's Needle Case at his side. But no—if swords couldn't pierce its skin, what chance did needles have?
Still, he couldn't just stand and watch. He searched for a method—and found one.
If the problem is its impenetrable body, then I must strike within.
Poison.
One chance.
Drawing forth every trace of venom he'd cultivated, Tang Mujin condensed it into drops of dark, bluish liquid that gathered in his palm. The venom writhed as though eager to spread, trying to dissipate into the air.
This was the difficult part. He had only ever imagined this technique, never attempted it. Success wasn't guaranteed—but there was no other way.
He poured all his internal energy into containing the venom, sealing it within an invisible box of qi. The cost was immense, almost more than he could bear.
But—he succeeded.
The venom, black mist within a transparent container of qi, floated upward as though drawn by an unseen force. A strange sensation, half like the Air-Grasping Technique, half unlike.
Hong Geolgae looked on in horror, but Tang Mujin ignored him and kept his focus.
The box drifted over the Three-Eyed Buddha's head.
No one ever watches above in battle.
As expected, the monster didn't notice.
The venom condensed further until it shrank to the size of a fingernail, hovering unnoticed by its face—then, with its next breath, it inhaled. Tang Mujin clenched his fist.
Success.
The poison he had cultivated for over a year entered the monster's body in a single drop. Even it could not withstand such venom. Hadn't the Sword Lord of Taiyi collapsed under far less?
Indeed, its reaction came instantly. The Three-Eyed Buddha froze, coughing, its torso hunched.
Unable to defend, it took a slash from Wi Hwan. The Spectral Light Sword carved a long wound into its arm—shallow, but bleeding freely.
The Jeomchang fighters glimpsed a shred of hope.
Not victory, perhaps—since even if they killed it, they'd still face six more top masters of the Demonic Sect and Killing Veil. But there was no time to think that far.
"Now!"
Namgung Myeong's Imperial Sword, together with the Jeomchang's Four Calamities Sword, struck for its vital points—nape, abdomen, heart.
But just as their blades neared, the monster vomited black blood. Dark venomous mist rose, carrying a bitter medicinal stench. In mere breaths, it had expelled all poison from its body.
It swept its arms, deflecting every strike from the four masters.
Then, seizing the opening when Namgung Myeong joined the attack, it smashed its elbow into Wei Yeong's temple. His skull collapsed, his neck snapped—dead instantly. Even famed masters could not shine before a transcendent being.
The Three-Eyed Buddha spat once more, breathing easy again. It had purged the poison entirely.
Then its gaze fixed on Tang Mujin.
"So it was you. The one behind that little trick."
With a grin, it crouched, then launched forward, the earth exploding behind it. The martial artist in its path was crushed to death without even being struck directly. Nothing now stood between it and Tang Mujin.
But someone was beside him—Hong Geolgae, who had barely joined the fight with his crude staff.
"Lotus Blossom Fall!"
He seized Tang Mujin's collar and rolled them both away, narrowly evading the charge. A desperate improvisation, not a solution.
The monster's palm struck down at Tang Mujin's head, too fast to evade, too powerful to resist. Death was certain.
But again, someone intervened.
Namgung Myeong hurled himself in front, kneeling, left hand outstretched. Palm met palm.
His plan was reckless but simple: unleash his qi through contact and use the recoil to fling himself and Tang Mujin free.
But the Three-Eyed Buddha's internal energy was too vast, too swift. Before Namgung Myeong's qi could even reach his hand, the monster's surged into his arm like a tidal wave. Their energies collided in his elbow.
...I'm fucked.
His left arm exploded at the joint, blood and flesh spraying. The time he bought with such sacrifice was fleeting.
Tang Mujin dragged him back. Hong Geolgae pressed his palm to the monster's arm.
"Jade-Shattering Palm!"
Seemingly minor, but effective—the giant flinched.
"You learned Weighted Techniques at your age? I've met many strange ones today."
It kicked Hong Geolgae away. He curled tightly, taking the blow with his whole body, rolling harmlessly across the ground. Truly, he had picked up bizarre arts following Daepunggae.
The monster no longer cared. It flexed its injured arm, then stepped toward Tang Mujin.
Despair.
All of them—Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, Hong Geolgae, the Jeomchang swordsmen—had exhausted every card, and none could stand against it.
It crouched before Tang Mujin, its bulk blotting out the setting sun, casting him in shadow.
Muttering:
"Whatever happens with the others, killing you here will prevent trouble later."
"So I'm the best among them, huh?"
"The best? Hard to say. But if anyone's destined to cause disaster one day—it's you."
Tang Mujin laughed. Oddly enough, it felt like victory—he had surpassed Namgung Myeong. A strangely satisfying end.
The Three-Eyed Buddha's hand reached for his face—
Then suddenly recoiled, clutching its temple.
What?
A staff smashed against its hand, and for the first time, the unstoppable monster was driven sideways.
Everyone's gaze turned toward the source. An old man with a red nose and shabby face, holding a bamboo staff.
The monster roared:
"Geolseon!"
Hope lit the faces around them. One of the Six Elders of the Orthodox Sect—the Beggars' Chief, Geolseon.
Victory was uncertain, but collapse was no longer inevitable.
Yet with nearly a hundred yards between them, the Three-Eyed Buddha made the wisest move: kill Tang Mujin first.
But as its hand reached out—
Over Tang Mujin's shoulder, a sword thrust slowly yet inexorably, carrying the weight of a mountain, straight for the monster's brow.
Tang Mujin turned around. He saw a familiar middle-aged face—the Sword Demon, Namgung Jincheon.
The Three-Eyed Buddha staggered back. It loved battle, but had no intention of facing two of the Six Elders at once.
"Geolseon and the Sword Demon appearing together? Was this a trap laid to kill me?"
Its voice carried not suspicion, but certainty.
Yet the reactions of Geolseon and Namgung Jincheon were subtle. They looked at each other with expressions that seemed to say, Why are you here?
Namgung Jincheon spoke first.
"Trap? Hardly. I only came ahead after hearing that the Demon Sect's forces were approaching Anhui Province."
Geolseon trudged forward, picking up the staff he had thrown earlier.
"I was just wandering when I heard a loud noise and saw birds scattering. Came to see what was going on."
It meant Namgung Jincheon's presence was explainable—he was hunting demon leaders. But Geolseon's appearance was purely coincidence.
The Three-Eyed Buddha muttered, "Hah, what filthy luck these bastards have…"
Then, without hesitation, it turned and fled. It seemed unconcerned about the fate of the Demon Sect leaders or the assassins of the Killing Veil.
Seeing this, several of the enemy's top masters also began edging back before hastily fleeing after it.
"Where do you think you're going!"
Geolseon swung his staff, smashing the skull of one fleeing demon leader. It looked like a simple strike, yet a peak master collapsed, dead.
Just as there is a great gulf between first-rate and peak experts, there was an even greater one between peak and transcendent masters.
But in the end, only one was slain. The remaining five escaped with their lives. Geolseon did not bother pursuing them recklessly.
Tang Mujin's group and the Jeomchang swordsmen looked around. Corpses lay everywhere, crushed and broken. Though the battle hadn't been long, fewer than half of Jeomchang's men had survived.
"…."
As Tang Mujin looked over the dead, his thoughts turned belatedly to Namgung Myeong. He remembered the scene of his left arm exploding while facing the Three-Eyed Buddha.
Namgung Myeong now half-knelt, bracing himself with his sword, his gaze fixed on Namgung Jincheon.
Namgung Jincheon spoke.
"Myeong-ah. You fought the Three-Eyed Buddha for your benefactor's sake?"
"Not for a benefactor—for a friend."
Namgung Jincheon slowly nodded, his reaction unreadable.
Yu Jinguang, the Jeomchang survivors, even Hong Geolgae—all stared wide-eyed at Namgung Myeong and Namgung Jincheon. Someone whispered:
"What's the relationship between Young Master Myeong and the Sword Demon?"
"How should I know?"
Namgung Jincheon's eyes dropped to the sword in Namgung Myeong's hand. Their gazes crossed.
In his usual rigid tone, Namgung Jincheon said:
"I hear you kept your tongue."
"I gained one thing, but lost another."
Namgung Myeong lifted his ruined left arm, blood pouring from the stump.
Then Namgung Jincheon's sword blurred—an instant later, Namgung Myeong's severed forearm hit the ground, blood gushing more fiercely.
Startled, Tang Mujin rushed forward, shouting:
"What are you doing!"
"I am only keeping my word. This is no concern of yours, Tang."
Tang Mujin knew what promise he meant. During his wanderings, Namgung Jincheon had declared: If you invoke the Namgung Clan, I'll cut out your tongue. If you draw a sword, I'll cut off your arm.
But Tang Mujin could not understand the man's attitude. Yes, the arm was ruined beyond healing—but how could a father so coldly cut it from his own son?
Tang Mujin staunched the bleeding, pressing Namgung Myeong's points, shouting angrily:
"Are you saying Namgung Myeong should have let himself be killed by the Three-Eyed Buddha rather than draw his sword? If he hadn't, how many more here would have died? Even if you cannot praise him, how can you punish him?"
Namgung Jincheon scratched his chin lightly.
"I don't see it as wrong. He did well. It would have been better had he not drawn the sword at all. That is all."
"What meaning is there in an oath that demands blind rigidity with no room for reason?"
"For the Clan Head, keeping one's word carries meaning in itself. And since Myeong himself does not object, why should an outsider like you interfere?"
Having said this, he looked at his son again.
"Will you come back with me now?"
"No."
"I see."
He turned away. But this time, Namgung Myeong called out.
"Father."
Without turning, Namgung Jincheon replied, "I hear you."
"You once told me to return as an adult."
"Yes."
"Have I become an adult?"
After a moment's thought, Namgung Jincheon answered:
"Yes. You've become an adult—and quite a capable martial artist too."
"Then I'll decide for myself from now on. I will not return to the Namgung Clan."
Namgung Jincheon turned back to look at his son. A flash of regret, fleeting but unmistakable, crossed his face.
"You won't regret it? With your current skill, you could already claim the position of heir."
Namgung Myeong pushed himself upright with his right hand, meeting his father's eyes.
It was the moment when a grown son stood before his father as an equal.
"That's not something to take. It's something to be handed down. And I have no interest in such a position."
"Don't let youthful arrogance lead you to regret."
"Don't worry. If the day comes when I need the Namgung Clan, I'll claim it myself."
Namgung Jincheon stared at him—then suddenly burst into laughter. A booming laugh that drew every gaze.
He laughed long and hard, then smiled proudly as he turned away.
"Very well. Do as you please. It won't be easy."
Namgung Myeong said nothing, only watching in silence as his father walked away.
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