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Sulesphere V5.2 Beta
A specialized program for translating Korean manhwa into English, allowing users to understand texts and stories easily and accurately.
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Thinking...
Episode 2: Dismantling the Sword Saint
Is doubt important?
Hugong shook off his rising thoughts and increased his speed.
Kwakwakwakwa……
A sinister energy grew increasingly intense.
From afar, the Sword Saint’s cry echoed alongside mad laughter.
“I’ve slaughtered Shaolin’s 108 Arhats, yet you two mere Ten Guests dare block my path?!”
The Ten Guests referred to the Ten Heroes of Jianghu.
They were called the Ten Pillars of the Murim Alliance.
Their martial prowess surpassed even the sect leaders of the Nine Great Schools. Each possessed strength sufficient to dominate an entire region.
“Sword Saint, regain your senses! What does it matter if you’re not the world’s greatest? Countless in the martial world revere you—what more could you lack?!”
“Yes, correct. I am humble and benevolent.”
“Your virtue is unmatched—how could you fall to this state?!”
Cheongwooza screamed.
Only four remained.
Cheongwooza and Sohyanggaek of the Ten Guests.
Shaolin’s Abbot Neungin and his disciple Neungcham.
Around them lay the mangled corpses of Shaolin monks who had formed the 108 Arhat Formation, their blood and flesh scattered like refuse.
The Sword Saint began muttering.
“Yes. True. I am… humble. Humble and humble and humble. And humble and humble and humble…! Kehahahahahaha!”
Though the Sword Saint stood here, the Sword Saint no longer existed.
Only a lunatic drowned in madness remained.
His form had transcended humanity.
Black smoke engulfed him.
The smoke writhed in a shape mimicking human contours.
Were it not for the blazing crimson eyes and grinning white teeth within the haze, one might have mistaken it for mere coincidence.
“That hideous, bloated Hugong acts as he pleases.”
“Praised as the world’s greatest, yet he looks down on all.”
“How utterly arrogant.”
“He surely laughed at me inwardly while offering praise.”
“To think a runt like him bears the title ‘Sword Saint’—laughable!”
“Thus, I’ve no choice but to remain humble.”
“I must stay humble.”
“Hehehe… I am humility incarnate.”
“Hence, I must endure—humble, humble, ever humble!”
The Sword Saint’s frenzy intensified.
“Some claim… I feign humility because I cannot reach his heights.”
“Is that so?!”
“My talent! My skill! My bones! My martial spirit! My wisdom! My knowledge! My etiquette!”
“In what way… In any way… Could I… Be inferior… To that wretch?!”
“I! The Sword Saint! Shall make that swine kneel and teach him true humility!”
“Hugong! Swine! Pig bastard! Pig spawn! Kehahahaha!”
……
……
……
……
The four survivors trembled silently under the Sword Saint’s madness.
“Now I am the world’s greatest! The Supreme Blade! All shall bow and worship me—the culmination of scraping bones in darkness, enduring flesh-rending agony through endless days of patience upon patience!”
“Namu Gwanse’eum Bosal… Sword Saint, this is not your true self! How have you fallen to madness?!”
Abbot Neungin’s plea fell on deaf ears.
“Brainless monk! You who nibble grass like rabbits dare call me mad? Me? Meeeeee?! Kehahaha!”
Black smoke surged violently with the Sword Saint’s laughter.
“Now I—I—I am supreme! None can stop me! None survive my blade! The power to destroy all things boils within!”
The Sword Saint’s aura erupted like storming blades. A whirlwind of dark smoke lashed toward the four—including Abbot Neungin.
‘This is the end.’
Despair shadowed their faces.
This black martial force surpassed even divine weapons in lethality—inescapable, unimaginable.
Then—
Kwa-gwang!
A violet light struck the smoke head-on.
The radiance coiled around the dark mass, spinning like a vortex until the smoke dissipated completely.
Simultaneously, two more beams slammed into the Sword Saint’s true form. A scream tore from the smoky figure.
“Kyaaaaaaagh!”
When the light faded, no trace of burning darkness remained.
Only a broken old man stood in its place—the Sword Saint.
Both arms severed, blood gushing from tattered flesh. His chest gaped open, wind whistling through the cavity.
The Sword Saint stared at his hollowed torso.
Disbelief flooded his eyes.
“Ghk…”
He vomited a mouthful of blood and looked up.
Beyond the violently swirling violet light around him, a figure floated celestially in the sky.
The Sword Saint whispered:
“Hugong…”
He laughed, crimson dripping from his lips.
“Splendid… A magnificent display. So I… Could never… Reach you…”
Staggering, he retched more blood.
“To end… So meaninglessly… I thought… I’d surpassed you… Yet…”
“But Hugong… You too… Cannot last forever… In the darkness… I saw it… Whether delusion or dream… I saw you losing everything… Becoming frail as wind-tossed grass… May that… Be your ruin…”
“You talk too much.”
Tak!
Hugong flicked his finger.
Swaak!
A violet blade-light engulfed the Sword Saint. Flash—! His head flew free, body disintegrating before a scream could form.
In that moment, Neungin collapsed.
The Shaolin Abbot had barely remained standing until now.
Chuk.
Hugong—now a streak of light—caught Neungin mid-fall.
The abbot’s crimson kasaya lay shredded, his face ink-black. Hugong laid him down and pressed a palm to his crown.
Soon, a mass of black mist flowed from Neungin’s head.
The fog squirmed desperately in Hugong’s grasp.
Whoosh.
Blue flames erupted from Hugong’s hand, erasing the mist instantly.
Color gradually returned to Neungin’s face.
“Alliance Leader… My gratitude…”
“…….”
Hugong stared silently.
Genuine thanks? Impossible.
Among the 108 Arhats’ corpses surrounding them, Neungin couldn’t possibly feel grateful for being the sole survivor.
The abbot likely only regretted outliving his disciples.
Hugong turned away.
“Cheongwooza.”
“Yes, Alliance Leader!”
The Ten Guest member prostrated.
“Use your Myeongwon Art to cleanse the remnants.”
“By your command!”
“Sohyanggaek.”
“Your order?”
“Seek immediate aid from Wudang.”
“By your command!”
“I shall investigate where the Sword Saint resided.”
Hugong vanished as a light streak across the heavens.
The Ten Guests and Shaolin’s Neungin-Neungcham pair gazed skyward.
Six months later.
Dawn.
The Alliance Leader’s quarters.
Paat!
White light flashed through the 100-square-foot room, vanishing faster than a lie.
The Alliance Leader’s face contorted on his bed.
Suddenly—
“Hurk!”
He gasped violently, eyes snapping open.
After holding his breath endlessly, his desperate inhale shook blankets and bedframe. He sat up, exhaling rapidly until composure returned.
The bed creaked under his massive frame as he moved.
“…A dream?”
The Leader tilted his head, examining his plump right hand front and back. He touched it with his left, then felt his face, chest, and stomach before frowning again.
Thick suspicion clouded his eyes.
‘My body couldn’t grow obese overnight. Whose flesh is this?’
Now noticing—this wasn’t his room.
‘Where is this?’
The unfamiliar chamber felt utterly alien.
He rose and paced.
Traced fingers over ceramic displays, studied wall paintings, then reached the right wall.
Three swords hung there in a 三 pattern—middle, short, long from top.
Identical swirling dragon patterns adorned each scabbard and hilt.
At a corner mirror, he inspected his reflection—a portly old man tilting his head.
One corner of his mouth rose. But his eyes turned icy.
“Not a dream. A body swap? Or soul transmigration? Intriguing…”
The possessor smiled.
Softly, he spoke:
“Where is Songhwa?”
No answer came.
His eyes now held laughter.
“Songhwa isn’t coming. Ah, cannot come. If this is possession… Who… No, reasons matter not.”
He approached the swords, grasping the central short blade.
Drawing it released a violet glow that dimmed to soft luminescence.
“Hoho…”
He pressed the blade to his throat.
The keen edge barely touched skin before biting deep. Blood welled as the sword hummed mournfully.
He soothed it.
“Weep not. I’m not your master.”
Gripping tight:
“To fulfill my wish like this… How joyous to finally die. Thus…”
He plunged the sword through his neck.
Thunk!
“Never return… Eternally…”
Blood gushed from the pierced throat. He dragged the blade rightward, arterial spray arcing as his body collapsed forward.
Thud!
Blood pooled beneath his head, gradually soaking his robes.
“Kyaaaaaaaagh!”
A maid’s scream tore through the Leader’s chamber at dawn.
The cleaning maid who discovered the corpse stumbled to Jegalhye in disarray—a teenage girl trembling like aspen leaves, hair disheveled, utterly deranged.
“Enough! Enough!”
Jegalhye waved her off.
Frowning slightly, she interrogated:
“Sleepless? Or ill?”
The Alliance Leader dead in his quarters? Preposterous.
“No, I saw with my own—”
“Silence.”
Jegalhye clicked her tongue dismissively.
When the maid continued sobbing and finally collapsed wailing, she relented.
“Rest today. I’ll inspect the Leader’s quarters myself.”
