Became a God-Level Martial Artist

Chapter 22: He Is My Disciple

Jin Seong-un’s Black High Sword and Hyeon-un’s Taiji Sword clashed head-on.

Cheng–!

A clear and sharp metallic ring thundered through the inn.

The clash of the two auras sent waves of qi rippling in all directions.

Kwa-jak–!

The shockwave shattered some of the tables and chairs that had been intact.

“……”

Jin Seong-un and Hyeon-un both looked at the wreckage of the table they had just broken.

Jin Seong-un looked somewhat crestfallen, while Hyeon-un wore the awkward expression of a child caught misbehaving.

At that moment, Seo Yu-gyeom came out from the kitchen with a frown.

“If you’re going to keep this up, why not just tear down the whole inn while you’re at it.”

Jin Seong-un had no words. The owner of an inn destroying his own inn—no matter what the cook said, there was no excuse for it.

Hyeon-un felt much the same.

After all, instead of helping, he was just wrecking the place belonging to someone connected to his disciple.

“Out.”

When Seo Yu-gyeom said that, both men nodded without a single objection.

They soon went out to the open yard behind the inn.

In one corner of the yard stood a small storage shed.

Jin Seong-un glanced at the shed where the Martial Gods stayed and spoke.

“I’d prefer that shed not get destroyed.”

Hyeon-un gave an awkward cough and nodded.

“That won’t happen.”

In truth, masters of their caliber could fight without causing major damage to their surroundings.

The reason the first strike had unleashed such a massive wave of qi was simply that they didn’t know each other’s strength.

Hyeon-un hadn’t expected Jin Seong-un’s aura to be so pure and vast, and Jin Seong-un had little experience fighting martial artists on Hyeon-un’s level.

Battles with the Martial Gods were a different matter entirely.

They were beings who had surpassed the limits of humanity to the point they could hardly even be called martial artists anymore.

And so, their fight resumed.

Jin Seong-un’s Black High Sword turned ashen in hue.

To be precise, the pitch-black blade was wrapped by a pure white aura, making it appear dark gray.

A glint of intrigue flashed in Hyeon-un’s eyes.

Even in the brief exchange earlier, he had realized that Jin Seong-un’s martial skills and depth far exceeded the ordinary.

Moreover, the pure white aura now visible was anything but ordinary, even in the eyes of a Wudang Sect elder like Hyeon-un.

‘Jeongsan was right.’

Among all martial arts in the world, only Taoist-style arts could produce such an aura.

Now he understood why that disciple of his had spoken with such certainty.

Suddenly, Hyeon-un’s sword, too, was infused with a matching aura.

Like Jin Seong-un’s, it balanced black and white—but unlike Jin Seong-un’s dark gray blend, Hyeon-un’s sword kept the black and white distinct, each color retaining its clarity.

It was unmistakably the Wudang’s Taiji.

Swae-aek–!

Hyeon-un did not yield the first move.

His plan was to press Jin Seong-un hard from the outset, drain his strength, and then steer the fight as he wished.

‘I’ll uncover every one of your attacks, defenses, and movement arts.’

Hyeon-un had absolute confidence in his martial knowledge.

As a Wudang elder, he had seen, heard, and crossed swords with countless martial arts across the land.

Especially with Taoist-style arts—no matter how well they were hidden—he could always discern their origins.

His Taiji Sword fell like lightning toward Jin Seong-un’s crown, employing one of the rare swift techniques in Wudang swordsmanship—the Taiji Swift Sword.

Its speed was like a thunderbolt.

Even Seo Yu-gyeom, watching from outside, was so startled that he jumped to his feet.

Whiiik–!

The Taiji Sword ripped through the air, vertically splitting the spot where Jin Seong-un had been.

By then, Jin Seong-un’s figure was already airborne. As if expecting it, Hyeon-un smoothly raised his sword upward from the vertical slash.

“Good.”

Hyeon-un was inwardly impressed.

Among Wudang disciples of Jin Seong-un’s apparent age, not one could have dodged that strike.

However, the choice to leap into the air was a mistake.

With a look of advantage, Hyeon-un poured strength into his Taiji Sword.

No matter how skilled, a martial artist in the air was always slower than one with feet on the ground.

‘Except for those damned Kunlun brats…’

Just then—

Jin Seong-un’s body twisted in midair.

Hyeon-un’s eyes went wide. Jin Seong-un had kicked against the air, abruptly changing direction.

The movement was uncanny. To Hyeon-un’s knowledge, only one movement art in the world could do such a thing.

He unleashed the Seven Stars Sword Art, tracing a chaotic path to pursue Jin Seong-un’s movement.

But even in midair, Jin Seong-un repeatedly shifted direction, evading Hyeon-un’s sword with ease.

‘Did he learn his sword in Kunlun?’

The Kunlun Sect’s signature, the Cloud Dragon Great Eight Forms—

A movement art that allowed one to freely change direction midair, as if wandering between clouds.

It was the very same that had once troubled Hyeon-un greatly in a duel against a Kunlun elder.

Though not exactly identical, the essence seemed similar, yet there were clear differences.

But that was to be expected, considering Jin Seong-un’s age. Even in the Kunlun Sect, few reached mastery of the Cloud Dragon Great Eight Forms.

Hyeon-un’s thoughts grew tangled.

That would explain some things.

The Kunlun Sect was a rather peculiar school. Being close to the Demonic Cult, it kept more secrets and acted more cautiously than other Taoist sects.

‘So that’s why he didn’t reveal his sect. And to earn money…’

Hyeon-un’s misunderstanding deepened.

Could it be that the relatively poor Kunlun Sect sent young disciples into the Central Plains to run inns as a way to make money?

Truly, a story to bring tears to one’s eyes.

It was then—

While Hyeon-un was growing increasingly convinced of his mistaken notion and even pondering an apology—

Jin Seong-un landed and assumed a stance.

He extended his sword forward. His shoulder, arm, and blade formed a straight line, exuding a sharp momentum like an arrow.

Hyeon-un’s pupils quivered at the sight.

‘The Shooting Sun Sword Art?’

First the Kunlun’s Cloud Dragon Great Eight Forms, now Diancang Sect’s Shooting Sun Sword Art?

Hyeon-un could make no sense of it.

However, regardless of his confusion, Jin Seong-un was already shooting forward at incredible speed.

Hyeon-un hastily regained focus and swung his Taiji Sword to meet him.

The Flowing Cloud Taiji Sword. Unlike the swift strike he had used earlier, this was the technique that best embodied the essence of the Wudang Sect.

It was also the sword art that had earned Hyeon-un the alias of White Cloud Sword.

Cheng–!

Jin Seong-un’s direct and forceful energy instantly dispersed before the Flowing Cloud Sword.

Strength within softness—Wudang swordsmanship aimed for that very ideal.

Just as Hyeon-un was preparing his next move after easily scattering Jin Seong-un’s force—

Swae-aek–!

The sword he thought had been withdrawn suddenly dropped vertically from midair.

Hyeon-un felt a flicker of alarm but once again deflected Jin Seong-un’s blade.

The greatest strength of Wudang swordsmanship was its ability to immediately respond to an opponent’s movements.

Two, three, four strikes in succession were all deflected. Yet, Jin Seong-un’s sword surged in again from unpredictable angles.

Hyeon-un’s eyes widened.

This sword art too was strangely familiar.

Now his surprise turned to shock.

‘From Kunlun Sect to Diancang Sect… now Mount Hua Sect?’

It was Mount Hua’s signature illusionary sword, like plum blossoms scattering in the wind. What Jin Seong-un displayed wasn’t exactly the Plum Blossom Sword Art, but it held a clearly similar principle.

The most astonishing part was that none of these martial arts were mere imitations.

Every one of them contained deep, profound principles.

Even Hyeon-un—who had been called a genius all his life and was counted among the Wudang Seven—could not read them all at a glance.

While blocking with a complicated heart, Hyeon-un suddenly thought of a certain sect.

‘…Impossible.’

It was a sect that no longer existed.

It lived only in deep history, its influence carried on by various Taoist schools.

It was unthinkable.

But there was no other explanation.

Hyeon-un’s expression grew serious.

His demeanor shifted completely from before.

Earlier, he had been a senior probing a distant junior for information. Now, he faced him with the grave air of one confronting a life-or-death enemy.

Boom–!

Hyeon-un suddenly stomped his foot in a true step.

A massive wave of qi erupted, shaking heaven and earth.

That great energy flowed from his foot, through his legs, waist, chest, and shoulders, finally filling his Taiji Sword.

The Wise Taiji Sword.

A modified version of the Enlightened Taiji Sword—permitted only to the sect leader—adapted so elders could also practice it.

The Taiji Sword harmonized with the principles of heaven and earth in that instant, concealing its presence.

It was neither particularly fast nor fierce, yet the blade, its presence faint, moved toward Jin Seong-un’s neck as naturally as wind or air.

Even a seasoned master might not realize death had come until their head was already severed.

At that eerie sight, Seo Yu-gyeom’s eyes went wide in alarm and he launched himself forward, grasping the Heaven-Slaying Dagger.

“You insane bastard!”

Wudang elder or not, this man was about to kill his friend—it was only natural for curses to spill out.

Tung–!

Just then, a heavy metallic sound stopped Seo Yu-gyeom in his tracks.

Hyeon-un’s sword art was truly profound.

He couldn’t even read the trajectory of the sword.

Sure enough, the Taiji Sword was aimed at Jin Seong-un from a direction completely different from Seo Yu-gyeom’s expectations.

The problem was that the sword was blocked by Jin Seong-un’s Black High Sword.

In their earlier exchanges, Hyeon-un had been left in awe and disbelief to the point of jaw pain, but now he couldn’t even muster a bitter laugh.

And of course, this surprise was nothing compared to the one holding the sword.

Hyeon-un saw clearly what had blocked the Wise Taiji Sword—Jin Seong-un’s technique was none other than the Zhongnan Sect’s Thirty-Six Swords of the World.

A heavy sword art that defended against all directions.

It too was a technique only a sect leader could display.

Now, Hyeon-un’s suspicion became certainty.

Jin Seong-un’s sword arts belonged to the Taoist lineage.

But not to Wudang, Mount Hua, Zhongnan, Diancang, Kongtong, or Qingcheng.

No—in truth, it couldn’t belong to any of them.

Because Jin Seong-un’s sword was the very origin from which they had all flowed.

Quanzhen Sect.

Mount Hua and Kunlun had their direct roots in Quanzhen.

Mount Hua’s founder, Hak Dae-tong, was one of the Seven True Masters of Quanzhen, while Kunlun had been established by Quanzhen Taoists who had interacted with the Western Regions.

Zhongnan and Diancang were much the same.

Many sword lineages within Quanzhen had gone their separate ways, forming today’s various Taoist sects.

Of course, some sects had no such ties.

Wudang, for example, had little direct connection with Quanzhen.

Its founder, Grandmaster Zhang Sanfeng, had synthesized the martial arts of all Taoist, Buddhist, and Confucian schools of his time, founding Wudang through new enlightenment.

Yet even Zhang Sanfeng could not be wholly free of Quanzhen’s influence—martial arts could not develop in isolation.

As a Taoist, he would have been greatly influenced by Quanzhen martial arts.

Hyeon-un asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“…Who on earth taught you martial arts?”

Hyeon-un knew there were countless Taoist schools outside the Nine Sects, some full of eccentric hermits.

But he had never imagined that Quanzhen’s lineage could still exist—it had vanished centuries ago.

At his question, Jin Seong-un recalled a conversation with the Sword Immortal.

— “Then, Sword Immortal, are you saying you are the founder of Quanzhen Sect, Elder Wang Chongyang?”

It had been Jin Seong-un’s question.

Perhaps finding it innocent, the Martial Gods had smiled in amusement.

The Sword Immortal looked down at Jin Seong-un with the most dignified expression in the world and said—

— “Even Wang Chongyang was my disciple.”

Sword Immortal Lü Dongbin.

The only person in all of history who could truly be called a Sword Immortal.

Jin Seong-un thought it was remarkable that such a being was staying in the storage shed of Seong-un Inn and said calmly—

“The one who taught me the sword called himself the Sword Immortal.”

Leaving the stunned Hyeon-un behind, mouth agape, Jin Seong-un returned to the inn.

A customer had arrived.

Quanzhen Sect or Sword Immortal, right now Jin Seong-un was just a waiter. All he could think about was fixing the tables and chairs quickly.