Chapter 3……The Power of the Blood Spirit Bead
“Both young masters are dueling? Now that’s interesting!”
“Who do you think will win?”
“Is that even a question? Of course, Young Master Wang Yun. They say he’s the greatest prodigy of Mokgun Fortress.”
“Could Young Master Cheon Yi possibly compare to him? The real question is how many moves he can withstand before going down.”
As the news of the duel spread, the pavilion quickly became abuzz.
The murmurs grew until the banquet erupted into heated debate.
“Brother…”
Cheon Wol muttered quietly from her seat.
Her brother’s back stood tall before her—preparing to fight for her sake.
Worry clouded her eyes.
At that moment, Cheon Yi turned his head and looked at her.
He silently walked up, lightly patted her shoulder, and whispered:
“Don’t worry.”
Cheon Yi smiled faintly.
“The one who’ll collapse in disgrace… will be him.”
With that, he calmly ascended the stage.
The sight made Wang Yun grind his teeth.
Those mocking eyes—he felt utterly ridiculed.
Fittingly, the Cheon Clan’s banquet was being held in the outdoor martial arena, where a platform had been set up. It was a perfect stage for a duel.
The two young men stood face-to-face atop the stage.
Their swords remained sheathed, but the force of their auras was already clashing violently.
“Begin the duel!”
One of the Cheon Clan’s elders raised his hand sharply and declared.
“I’ll show you who’s been barking nonsense!”
Wang Yun roared.
His shout ripped through the air as an overwhelming aura burst from his body.
The space around the stage warped.
A crimson energy enveloped Wang Yun like a storm.
“Spiritual Qi Realm, Eighth Heaven!?”
Those who sensed it turned pale.
Their reactions went beyond surprise—close to sheer shock.
The cultivation stages of the Southern Cloud World were divided into five great realms:
Spirit Qi Realm, Eternal Origin Realm, Crystal Realm, Lord’s Embodiment Realm, and Heroic Embodiment Realm.
The Spirit Qi Realm itself was split into ten stages, from the First to the Tenth Heaven—the very first major wall every cultivator had to surpass.
To reach the Sixth Heaven before the age of sixteen was enough to be called a genius.
The Seventh Heaven meant one was among the most gifted in the entire fortress.
But the Eighth Heaven?
That was a level that could crush all peers—a talent recorded only a few times in Mokgun Fortress’s history.
And Wang Yun… had already reached it.
The crowd was struck speechless.
So the rumors had been wrong.
All they could do was gasp in awe.
“I thought it was an exaggeration, but… it wasn’t.”
“Indeed. The Eighth Heaven of Spirit Qi—Young Master Wang Yun truly is a monster.”
“To reach that at seventeen… will Mokgun Fortress ever see such talent again?”
The banquet dissolved into murmurs of admiration and disbelief.
All eyes turned to Wang Yun, filled with sighs of wonder and envy.
From above, even Cheon Sanhang’s eyes reflected unease.
The Wang Clan had been preparing for this all along.
Meanwhile, a smug smile crept across Wang Yun’s lips.
The praises brushing his ears only deepened his pride.
‘Now you’ll realize it, Cheon Yi. Time to taste humiliation in front of everyone!’
Yet, the face that stared back at him showed neither surprise nor fear.
Even when faced with the aura of the Eighth Heaven, Cheon Yi’s gaze did not waver.
It was as if the words “Spirit Qi Realm, Eighth Heaven” were nothing more than dust blown past in the wind.
‘Arrogant bastard!’
Wang Yun sneered inwardly and began gathering energy in his palm.
Crimson spiritual power swirled and condensed at his fingertips.
With a stomp, he launched himself forward like a predator lunging at prey.
“Hahh!”
“So fast!”
Gasps escaped the lips of onlookers.
At this speed, few within the Spirit Qi Realm could react.
But Cheon Yi’s eyes did not so much as flicker.
He stood there like a calm, unmoving lake.
‘Slow.’
Cheon Yi waited until Wang Yun was right upon him.
Then, feigning hesitation, he raised his arm belatedly as though caught off guard.
Boom!
Wang Yun’s aura-infused strike slammed into Cheon Yi’s arm.
His body shook violently.
The force drove him back to the edge of the stage, where he barely stopped himself on tiptoe.
Blood spilled from his lips.
‘This body… is worse than I thought.’
In his past life, such a blow would’ve been nothing.
But now—it was a different story.
He couldn’t withstand this head-on.
Lowering his stance, he began deflecting Wang Yun’s strikes, letting the force flow past instead of blocking directly.
Still, each impact tore at his body like it might break apart.
But Cheon Yi’s true concern was elsewhere.
‘There it is!’
He lowered his gaze to his inner arm.
Embedded beneath his skin was a tiny crimson dot.
Barely the width of a hair—almost imperceptible.
The Blood-Sign Gu.
A vile parasite, forbidden and insidious, feeding on blood.
The very same thing that had ruined him in his previous life.
A faint smile tugged at Cheon Yi’s lips.
This was why he had deliberately left himself open—so the Gu would be planted in him.
‘Absorb it.’
He awakened the Blood Spirit Bead within him.
A crimson power surged from his dantian, flowing through his meridians.
The Blood-Sign Gu had no chance to resist. Drawn irresistibly, it sank into the depths of his dantian.
Cheon Yi quietly lowered his hand.
“This is the heir of the Cheon Clan?”
Wang Yun scoffed, sneering as he watched his strike leave Cheon Yi bloodied and parasitized.
Everything was going according to plan.
‘This is the so-called next patriarch? Pathetic!’
He gathered energy once more, arrogance blazing in his eyes.
“This time, I’ll finish it!”
His fist flared with red spiritual light as it shot forward.
Even before impact, the sheer force of it slashed at Cheon Yi’s face like blades of wind.
But at the last instant, Cheon Yi’s body twisted aside, slipping past the blow.
Whoosh!
The fist cut through empty air.
“He… dodged it?”
Wang Yun’s eyes widened in shock.
‘This nobody… dodged my punch?’
Rage bubbled inside him.
He attacked again, pouring his strength into a flurry of strikes.
But Cheon Yi moved as if he had already seen them coming—sidestepping, twisting, flowing around each attack with eerie precision.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Three times in a row, Wang Yun’s fists hit nothing but air.
“This is impossible!”
His voice shook with both anger and disbelief.
The Eighth Heaven.
He had absolute confidence in his speed—no one could rival it.
Yet Cheon Yi, only at the Seventh Heaven, was evading it all.
‘How… how is this possible?’
Confusion gnawed at him.
Then, crimson light began to surge from Cheon Yi’s dantian.
‘Finally… it’s over.’
A cold smile formed on his lips.
His eyes gleamed red, filled with killing intent.
“Now… it’s my turn.”
Thump.
Wang Yun’s heart thrashed wildly.
Cold sweat trickled down his back as if death itself had descended upon him.
Before he could think, Cheon Yi was already right in front of him.
“—!”
A crimson palm slammed into his chest.
BOOM!
The explosion sent Wang Yun flying into the air.
“Gah!”
Blood spurted from his mouth as he crashed outside the stage, trembling violently.
“Kuuhk! Aaaghhh!”
Agonizing pain coursed through his nerves like lightning.
He screamed uncontrollably—a scream that shook the entire pavilion.
Suddenly, silence fell.
The whispers, the taunts, the laughter—all vanished.
The greatest prodigy of Mokgun Fortress.
The Eighth Heaven of Spirit Qi.
Wang Yun… had fallen to his knees.
Every gaze turned, dumbstruck, toward Cheon Yi.
“Yun!”
Wang Sung, the Wang Clan’s patriarch, shattered the silence as he leapt down from the pavilion.
His ornate robes whipped through the air as he rushed to his son.
Wang Yun clutched his chest, writhing in pain.
Shock twisted Wang Sung’s face.
Impossible. He knew his son’s strength better than anyone.
The Eighth Heaven.
In terms of speed alone, even those at the Ninth Heaven couldn’t match him.
‘My son… lost to Cheon Yi, a mere Seventh Heaven…?’
It made no sense.
Then his eyes locked onto Cheon Yi.
He had seen it—though none of the others had.
Cheon Yi hadn’t simply dodged. He had read Wang Yun’s attacks.
Not once, but three times.
Wang Yun had given everything. His speed was flawless.
Yet Cheon Yi had predicted every strike as if he knew their trajectory in advance.
And in that final moment—
Wang Yun froze.
No resistance, no movement.
Wang Sung had caught it: the eerie red light flashing in Cheon Yi’s eyes.
He clenched his jaw.
He didn’t know what it was—but he knew that red gaze had sealed his son’s defeat.
‘Was it sorcery…?’
His glare pierced Cheon Yi, cold and venomous.
He had prepared for this day, even investigating everything about the Blood-Sign Gu.
He knew Cheon Yi’s record:
At sixteen, Spirit Qi Seventh Heaven. Talented, but nothing extraordinary.
And yet here he was, utterly humiliating Wang Yun.
Still—he was certain the Gu had taken root.
Cheon Yi might look fine now, but the poison would spread with time.
‘He won’t escape death.’
That thought brought Wang Sung a flicker of grim relief.
“…Today’s humiliation—I will never forget it.”
He spat the words coldly at Cheon Yi.
Then, with a sharp wave of his hand, he barked:
“Let’s go!”
Carrying his son, he stormed out with the Wang Clan.
Their steps were heavy with fury and shame.
Only then did the onlookers dare to whisper again.
“No way… Cheon Yi won?”
“But Wang Yun was at the Eighth Heaven! How could that fight end like this…”
“Hah! Because it’s Young Master Cheon Yi! That Wang Yun? Just a braggart with an inflated name!”
In an instant, the crowd’s attitude flipped.
Those who had worshiped Wang Yun moments ago now scrambled to praise Cheon Yi, boasting as though they themselves had triumphed.
Proud smiles spread across their faces.
Several Cheon elders approached Cheon Sanhang, stunned.
They had long known Cheon Yi’s talent.
Spirit Qi Seventh Heaven—brilliant, yes.
But no one had expected him to overwhelm Wang Yun.
Especially not the sight of his eyes, stained crimson in the final moment.
When they saw that… Wang Yun had stopped dead, as though his very soul had been stolen.
