TSBIRBV Ch 264

Chapter 264. Yongbong Gathering (4)

“Why do you look like that?”

Yeo Ji-seung, one of the contestants in the Yongbong Gathering, was taken aback at the sight of his old acquaintance.

The man’s hair was blackened and frizzled, as though scorched by fire, and he leaned weakly against his spear—the weapon he once cherished as his very life. He looked more like a defeated soldier than a martial artist.

“You’ll be like this soon enough…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where did such a person come from…? Those yellow eyes—yellow eyes…”

Muttering like a madman, the defeated man stumbled away. With a disapproving grimace, Yeo Ji-seung brushed past him and stepped out of the tent. He did feel a pang of pity for his fellow contestant, but his own match was fast approaching.

This was the tournament he’d dreamed of his whole life. Three consecutive victories already proved that his years of training had not been in vain. He was exhilarated. Facing unfamiliar opponents instead of his own seniors and juniors had granted him fresh insight with every match.

After his last duel, he had spent the night at an inn, meticulously reviewing every movement and reflecting on what he had learned.

May today’s match be just as rewarding.

While waiting in the contestant corridor, he could hear the crowd’s excited cheers echoing above. His heart thumped faster.

“Unaffiliated contestant—Je Haryang!”

Je Haryang? Was that the name of his next opponent?

Curious, Yeo Ji-seung looked up toward the stage. He saw a young man—slender, graceful, not at all rugged like a typical martial artist. His brown hair was short and shimmered gold when it caught the sunlight, fluttering softly in the breeze.

He’s not even wearing proper martial robes?

Thinking he must be one of those fancy dandies, Yeo Ji-seung quickly shook off the thought. A Shaolin monk he once met had warned him not to judge a fighter by appearances.

And indeed—

“Je Haryang! Je Haryang!”

Cries from the stands rang out in excitement.

“Knock them out again with that fist!”

“I bet my whole fortune on you!”

“Waaaaah!”

Yeo Ji-seung, who’d been too focused on his own training to follow the news, realized that this “Je Haryang” had already made quite the name for himself.

When he first appeared in the tournament, everyone had dismissed him for his refined looks and slender frame. But his fights had been anything but frail.

His first opponent, Gok Gil-sang—the Fuzhou Swordsman famed for crushing bandits in Jiangxi—hadn’t lasted three exchanges before being flattened.

Next, Je Haryang had faced Han Hong-seol, an inner disciple of Botadam Temple known for his vicious swordsmanship. Han’s blade techniques, sharp as a viper’s strike, were shattered to pieces beneath Je Haryang’s bare fists.

And most recently, he had defeated Kang Deuk of the Hosal Pavilion—an expert of throwing blades who had nearly reached the semifinals of the previous Yongbong Gathering. Kang’s knives, which usually flew with perfect precision, had faltered mid-air within Je Haryang’s aura, veering off course or falling uselessly to the ground.

Spectators were mesmerized. With every sweeping motion, a golden energy flickered around his body like lightning.

For ordinary eyes, martial power was invisible—but Je Haryang moved as though he truly commanded thunder itself.

His explosive, domineering style made every match a spectacle, and his charm sealed the deal. He smiled, waved, even greeted fans on the street. The more he fought, the more his popularity soared.

“Ryu Gokmun’s Silver Tiger Sword, Yeo Ji-seung!”

At the referee’s call, Yeo Ji-seung stepped into the arena, chest swelling with pride.

“Oh, Yeo Ji-seung?”

“He’s one of the most promising young swordsmen, isn’t he?”

“This will be a good one!”

“Silver Tiger Sword—they say he once slew a man-eating tiger in a single stroke!”

Yeo Ji-seung’s face flushed. That story about slaying a tiger in one blow had been exaggerated beyond belief. All the more reason to prove himself worthy of his title.

He clasped his fists politely toward his opponent. “Yeo Ji-seung of Ryu Gokmun. An honor to meet you.”

“Je Haryang. I have no affiliation.”

The youth’s clear voice was as calm as water, his expression serene as he assumed his stance. Yeo Ji-seung drew his sword in turn.

The referee descended from the stage. The drums thundered three times.

Not knowing his opponent’s full strength, Yeo Ji-seung decided to open cautiously. But Je Haryang showed no such restraint—he leapt forward the instant the match began.

Their clash rang out sharp and bright—fist against blade.

The first exchange alone was heavy enough to make Yeo Ji-seung’s wrist tremble. Je Haryang didn’t hesitate for even a breath; his fists kept coming.

Kang! Kang!

The sound of impact rang like clashing steel. Yeo Ji-seung had meant to defend and observe, but Je Haryang’s relentless strikes left him barely able to parry.

He’s strong!

“Swift Sword?” Je Haryang asked lightly, not waiting for an answer before his fists came again.

Barehanded, without gauntlets, his strikes were merciless. His pale fingers reddened slightly from the blows, yet his expression betrayed no pain—only fierce enjoyment.

“You’re fast,” Je Haryang remarked, voice teasing.

The words stung. Yeo Ji-seung’s defense was no longer deliberate—his body was reacting on pure instinct to the speed he couldn’t fully track.

“Damn it.”

He gritted his teeth and forced power into his arm, deflecting a blow with the flat of his blade and leaping backward to regain distance.

To his surprise, Je Haryang didn’t pursue. He simply stood there, smiling faintly, as if curious what he would do next.

No time to hesitate. If he retreated again, he’d be crushed.

I have to use my sword art.

Yeo Ji-seung steadied his breathing. He decided to use the Seven Tiger Sword technique—the very same move that had earned him his title years ago.

“Haah!”

His eyes gleamed as his sword swept sideways, then down. It was a fluid, practiced rhythm—each motion seamlessly leading into the next.

For a moment, everything aligned. His training, his instincts, his focus—it all flowed perfectly.

But—

“Kh!”

Je Haryang pressed down lightly on his shoulder and flipped over him, his movement so effortless it looked like acrobatics rather than martial technique.

The strike to his back nearly broke his stance, but Yeo Ji-seung twisted, forcing himself to stay upright. A fist shot toward his face. He barely dodged, countering with a slash toward the waist—but the hurried swing went wide.

“That was close,” Je Haryang said, grinning.

Close? Yeo Ji-seung felt as though he were fighting a ghost. No matter how fast he moved, Je Haryang stayed just one step ahead.

He’s holding back… isn’t he?

“This is your limit, then?” Je Haryang murmured to himself.

Shame burned through Yeo Ji-seung. He was fighting with everything he had—and his opponent wasn’t even taking him seriously.

“HAA!”

He roared, summoning every last drop of strength. His hands tingled, but he refused to yield.

“Ah—sorry,” Je Haryang said with a light laugh. “That wasn’t meant for you.”

The casual apology only stoked his fighting spirit. I haven’t shown my full strength yet either!

He hadn’t yet revealed the move that had made him famous—the Silver Tiger Strike.

With a deep breath, Yeo Ji-seung focused his inner energy. His vision sharpened. The world seemed to slow.

“Seventh Moon Slash!”

A faint aura flared around his blade as it sliced through the air toward Je Haryang.

And then—

He saw it.

The lightning.

Golden arcs of energy danced along Je Haryang’s fists—chaotic, wild, yet perfectly under control. They converged, gathering into a single devastating force aimed directly at him.

“Kh… Khhhh!”

Their attacks collided midair.

Even with his hands protected by inner energy, the impact sent numbing pain through his fingers. Sweat poured down his back as the sheer pressure pushed him backward, his boots dragging furrows into the dusty floor.

“What… what is that…?” voices gasped from the audience.

Yeo Ji-seung looked up—and met those golden eyes. Beautiful, yes—but beauty wrapped around terror.

He froze. Completely. His body refused to move, as though caught in a predator’s stare.

Sweat streamed down his temples. He knew—rationally—that his muscles had locked up from overexertion. But knowing didn’t help. His body ignored every desperate command.

Move! Move, damn it!

The match wasn’t over yet—he couldn’t just stop now!

But Je Haryang landed lightly, looking at him with a bright smile.

“Out of bounds,” he said simply.

He was pointing to Yeo Ji-seung’s feet.

A rush of air escaped Yeo Ji-seung’s lungs. He hadn’t even realized he’d stepped beyond the boundary.

“Hah… hah…”

He could’ve sworn he was about to die—but it was just a ring-out. The realization sent relief crashing through his body like a wave of heat.

The referee finally reappeared, shouting, “Yeo Ji-seung is out of bounds! Je Haryang wins!”

“Waaaaaaah!”

Cheers erupted once again. Je Haryang smiled brilliantly and waved to the crowd.

The terror that had gripped Yeo Ji-seung melted away like a bad dream.

“Hah… hahh…”

His knees nearly gave out—but before he could collapse, someone caught his wrist.

“Are you all right?”

It was Je Haryang. He had already stepped close, steadying him.

“Th-thank you, sir.”

The golden hue was gone from his eyes, replaced by warm hazel light.

“No problem. You seem to have your wits about you again.”

He released his hand with a brisk pat. Even that brief touch sent Yeo Ji-seung’s heart pounding.

“It was a fine match. I wish you luck in the future.”

“I… I’ll do my best,” he managed to say, though Je Haryang’s tone was too casual, too light.

It was as if he weren’t a contestant in the greatest martial tournament in the land, but merely a man taking a stroll through the park.

With an easy turn, Je Haryang waved once more to the cheering spectators and stepped down from the stage.

Yeo Ji-seung, still stunned, could only stare at his departing figure for a long time.

Whistling softly, Yegyeol—Je Haryang—left the arena.

He was on a winning streak.

By luck or design, his opponents so far had all been from minor sects or lesser families—not one from the Nine Great Sects or the Five Great Clans.

They must’ve planned it that way, he thought wryly. The great sects can’t be bothered to dirty their hands with us small fry, so they let us tear each other apart first.

Indeed, the matches involving the Nine Sects and Five Clans were scheduled much later. Even Tang Segi, as far as Yegyeol knew, had only fought once so far.

But now, the screening process was over.

He glanced at the next bracket and smiled.

Wudang’s Azure Dragon.

The corner of his mouth curved upward.