As expected, a vast number of martial artists gathered for the Yongbong Gathering preliminaries.

Despite setting high standards to prevent mediocre fighters from even entering the preliminaries, thousands still managed to qualify.

A competition limited to martial artists under thirty, yet with so many highly skilled participants? It seemed questionable, but it was also understandable.

Held every four years, this major event drew people from all over Zhongyuan, and more importantly, there was no way to definitively verify whether someone was over thirty or not.

In the end, judgment had to be based on appearance, and since martial artists spent their lives under the sun, many looked older than their age.

Unlike the esteemed members of major sects, most martial artists couldn’t avoid accelerated aging.

So, it was not uncommon for those past thirty to slip into the Yongbong Gathering under the guise of youthful wear-and-tear.

‘I may not be thirty yet, but I look weathered from all my hardships!’

Who could argue with that?

In truth, most people didn’t care much.

After all, anyone sneaking in like that was typically of mediocre skill.

Martial arts are, fundamentally, skills meant to kill.

Some pursue enlightenment through martial arts, but achieving good results in a tournament requires knowing how to confront people directly.

As a result, skilled individuals inevitably become known names (unless they secluded themselves in a remote valley, mentored by a reclusive master).

For those widely recognized as masters, it was hard to hide their age, so those who lied about it rarely made it past the preliminaries.

“Win…”

In the midst of this crowd, Chun-bong kept her eyes closed, striving to maintain her calm.

A young woman meditating among rough-looking martial artists—she was impossible to ignore.

“Is she from a major sect?”
“Must be. Look at that clear skin.”
“Isn’t she too young?”
“If I’d chugged elixirs like those major sect kids, I’d be slicing through people at her age too.”
“Big talk.”

Chun-bong ignored them all.

There was no reason to pay attention to the chatter around her.

This was a time to focus.

- All martial artists in the arena, please proceed with the preliminaries!

With a booming voice, the examiner for Chun-bong’s arena gathered the participants.

“Amitabha… This humble monk is Hyebyeok, the examiner for Arena 13.”

Hyebyeok went over the rules of the preliminaries once more.

Twenty participants would duel simultaneously in one arena, with only two survivors advancing to the next round.

Given the chaotic nature of a multi-person duel, they dulled the edges of weapons to minimize fatalities.

However, hitting a vital point could still prove fatal, so lethal moves were strictly forbidden.

Any deliberate attempt to kill would be met with immediate intervention by Shaolin and harsh punishment.

Other than that, there were no restrictions.

He asked for everyone’s cooperation.

Chun-bong opened her eyes.

‘Unusual rules.’

Group dueling and blunted weapons.

It wasn’t common.

The blunting of weapons made sense since Shaolin was hosting.

But a group duel?

It seemed they didn’t want the Yongbong Gathering to drag on for too long.

Perhaps it was due to the ongoing war.

Chun-bong, vaguely understanding, showed her blunted sword to Hyebyeok and stepped into the arena.

After a short wait, everything was ready.

Twenty martial artists took their positions around the arena, waiting.

Some exchanged glances and seemed to be forming strategies.

Hyebyeok had no intention of stopping them. As long as it was within the rules, there was no reason to intervene.

In any case, those lacking skill would be eliminated sooner or later.

Hyebyeok scanned the participants with his eyes and declared, “Let’s begin.”

At once, about six martial artists rushed toward Chun-bong.

Only two could advance from a pool of twenty.

Instead of competing for the remaining spot, they’d calculated that it was best to first take down a strong opponent, then battle for the remaining spots.

“Martial artists, huh…”

Chun-bong sighed and unsheathed her sword.

Of the six, four wielded swords, one a spear, and one fought barehanded.

With a light leap, Chun-bong dashed toward the martial artists.

“Block her!”
“It’ll be troublesome if she closes in!”

A punch came at her first.

Chun-bong ducked to dodge it and dragged her foot across the ground.

Swoosh—

She slid into the group and sprang up in the middle.

Swords were all around her.

There was no need to use Cheongun Shingeom. She simply made a small circle with her blade, causing the four swords to tangle with each other.

“What the…!”

The martial artists were flustered. In front of her was only the spear wielder.

Since spears posed the biggest problem for allies in a coordinated attack, Chun-bong quickly lunged at him.

“Tch…”

With a sharp breath, the spear jabbed at her, aiming for her shoulder.

A sword that had taken position first was misaligned.

Clang!

The spear slipped off the edge of her sword and stabbed into the air.

“One down.”

With her left hand, she struck with a palm technique.

“Gah…!”

With a heavy thud, the martial artist flew back.

Turning her hand, Chun-bong gave a wry smile.

“Too easy.”

“You little…!”

One martial artist, face flushed with rage, charged at her.

If they needed teamwork, it was foolish of him to act alone, but she welcomed it.

Without a preparatory stance, Chun-bong’s sword flashed out.

“Urk…!”

The martial artist flinched and quickly turned his head.

Swish!

Her sword grazed his chin, but Chun-bong merely smiled.

“That’s two.”

Thwack! With a flick of her wrist, she struck his chin with the flat of her sword.

The force added by the internal technique shook the man’s brain, and he collapsed, vomiting.

The remaining four grew cautious.

They exchanged glances, slowly backing away.

Temporary alliances made it clear that everyone hoped someone else would make the first move.

Chun-bong seized the opening.

While they were distracted, she swiftly jumped into the midst of the four.

‘Maybe showing off a little isn’t a bad idea.’

If anyone recognized her Cheongun Shingeom, rumors would spread.

That way, when she revealed her true identity in the finals, it would cause an even bigger stir.

As Chun-bong thought this, the four opponents’ eyes gleamed.

She was vulnerable in the air, an opportunity too good to pass up.

Being skilled, they executed coordinated strikes aimed precisely at her.

And then, Chun-bong unleashed Cheongun Shingeom.

Unryu Cheongcheon (雲流淸天).

Though Lee Seo-jun used it to deflect attacks, Unryu Cheongcheon’s true purpose wasn’t that.

Chun-bong’s sword flowed as lightly as a cloud.

Three swords and one fist.

With her blade guiding them like a river current, the attacks redirected themselves effortlessly.

“Wha…?”
“Watch out…!”

Thud, thud, thud!

Attacks following the flow of Unryu Cheongcheon struck allies instead.

One fell back from a punch, another vomited after being hit by a blunt sword, and a knee collapsed with a scream.

Only one martial artist with empty-hand techniques managed to avoid it, staring in shock.

“How…!”

“Easily.”

With a wry smile, Chun-bong struck the martial artist’s head with her sword’s flat side.

“Ugh…!”

And that made six. Game over.

“Hehe.”

Grinning slyly, Chun-bong scanned her surroundings.

The preliminaries weren’t over yet.

You’re watching, right, Lee Seo-jun? Look at the skills of Geum Chun-bong!

Her smile was somehow reminiscent of Seo-jun’s.

•  

“Wow! Our Chun-bong is amazing!”

Seo-jun jumped excitedly among the crowd, cheering her on.

The grand debut of the “Number One Ghost,” Geum Chun-bong!

After swiftly defeating six martial artists, she charged at the remaining ones like a fierce squirrel.

Yet the clueless crowd’s attention was focused elsewhere.

“Whoa…!”
“Wudang is incredible!”

With each swing of Mu-hye’s sword, another person went flying.

The dark sword aura flowed like water, forming a Taiji pattern, and weapons and people caught in its flow soared through the air. It was indeed flashy.

But that was all.

If they understood the depth of the sword’s intent, they should be marveling at Chun-bong’s Unryu Cheongcheon.

Instead, these ignorant spectators cheered for the superficial spectacle, unable to appreciate true skill. Seo-jun felt the urge to gouge out those useless eyes that failed to recognize a gem.

“…Honestly, these people!”

Unable to hold back, Seo-jun forcefully turned a man’s head to look.

“This is way more impressive than some Wudang, don’t you see?”
“‘Some Wudang’? How dare you say… Let go of me!”

As the man struggled, Seo-jun put an arm around his shoulder to keep him in place.

“No, seriously, look! That swordsmanship… Just ignore the flashy sword aura, okay?”
“Well… when you put it like that…”
“See that? It’s not just about the aura—it has the perfect blend of agility and precision…!”
“Yes, you’re right!”

The forced agreement didn’t bring Seo-jun much satisfaction.

In the end, by the time the preliminaries were nearing their end, most people were still talking about Wudang’s prowess.

A few mentioned Chun-bong, but her lack of flashiness meant she didn’t get much attention.

“People with no eye for martial arts…”

He suddenly found himself sympathizing with the view that anyone below Superclimax level was “inhuman.”

Should he enlighten them all right here?

As Seo-jun clicked his tongue in frustration, Chun-bong, who had finished her match, strode over confidently.

“Hey, did you see that?”

“My Chun-bong! I saw it!”

“Good, good. That’s how you wield Cheongun Shingeom. Take notes.”

Seeing her confidence, it seemed she didn’t care about the crowd’s reaction at all.

Seo-jun forgave the ignorant masses.

As long as Chun-bong was happy, that was all that mattered.

“So, are the preliminaries over?”

“Not yet. We passed one round, so there’ll be one-on-one matches to filter out more.”

“Really?”

“Hey, were you even paying attention?”

Chun-bong explained that only sixty-four participants could advance to the finals.

But since spots were already taken by the Nine Great Sects and Six Great Clans, the number advancing from the preliminaries would be smaller.

The sixteen factions could each send a maximum of two representatives, filling up to thirty-two spots.

If the Sixteen Great Factions occupied twenty of those spots, that left forty-four contestants advancing from the preliminaries to the finals.

“That’s… complicated.”

Seo-jun scratched his head, suddenly curious.

“Wait, so why is that guy here?”

He was referring to Mu-hye from Wudang.

Shouldn’t he be able to start directly in the finals?

“No idea.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Seo-jun grumbled.

“If only Mu-hye could meet our Chun-bong in the preliminaries, he’d be out right away.”

“That probably won’t happen.”

“What? Are you afraid?”

Chun-bong held up her middle finger.

“It’s not that. They’ll probably rig the match-ups to keep the big names apart.”

“Isn’t that unfair?”

“Who’s going to complain?”

“Oh, right.”

After all, if Shaolin wanted to rig things a bit, who was going to say otherwise?

And indeed, Chun-bong and Mu-hye both advanced to the finals without encountering each other during the remaining preliminaries.

With each round, they both delivered overwhelming victories, quickly becoming popular topics of conversation.

Mu-hye from Wudang and an unknown young master.

One martial artist who recalled the Mount Hua tournament mentioned the nickname “Faceless Snow Sword,” which quickly spread as Chun-bong’s title.

Naturally, the main question became, “Which one is stronger?”

“Well, obviously Wudang.”

“But Faceless Snow Sword doesn’t seem ordinary either.”

“Let’s be real. If they fought, I bet Faceless Snow Sword would lose within ten seconds.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Most people placed their bets on Mu-hye’s victory.

Seo-jun, tempted to overturn their assumptions, held back, knowing Chun-bong would prove herself.

And so, without any major surprises, she qualified for the finals.

“Not too challenging.”

Chun-bong confidently took her place among the sixty-four finalists.

She hadn’t even showcased her full martial arts.

Her progress had been so impressive that she could likely dominate most of the Sixteen Great Factions’ representatives.

“So the finals start in two weeks, right?”
“Yeah.”

Chun-bong, with her tousled hair, absentmindedly answered as she tried to tidy it—evidence of Seo-jun’s enthusiastic congratulatory pats.

“By the way, where are you off to? What’s with all the bags?”

“Oh, nothing big.”

“What do you mean, nothing? Where are you going?”

Chun-bong frowned as she eyed Seo-jun’s luggage. Seo-jun scratched his head.

“Uh…a little getaway?”

“With some woman?”

“Probably a guy, actually.”

“Hmm… that’s tricky.”