I Became the Martial God's Youngest Disciple-Chapter 163

The outcome would depend on a single strike.

I fixed my gaze on the ominous purple flame. The moment I summoned it, my mind had emptied of everything but swordsmanship and movement. Yet, as I looked at the Yin-Yang Dao, memories of Senior Brother He Lou flooded my mind.

Senior Brother He Lou excelled in both spear and sword techniques. In fact, even his askill with fists and palms surpassed mine by far. I often sparred with him on Spirit Mountain. Unlike when I trained with my master, I never suffered serious injury during those bouts. Above all, he was kind—unlike my master, whose harsh lessons bordered on neglect.

During our training, Senior Brother He Lou had shown me countless starting stances: some focused on overwhelming power, others on defense, and still others on swift evasion.

"What I need right now is the fastest strike," I muttered.

The purple flames wrapped around the Yin-Yang Dao meant I was not short on destructive power. I had never unleashed it before, but I was certain of this. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

I adjusted my breathing and took a steady stance. Without a sheath or belt, I slipped the Yin-Yang Dao into my waistband. Then, I bent my upper body slightly, curling my right wrist lightly around the dao's handle. The purple flames faded, replaced by the blade's eerie, cold edge.

I had not extinguished the flames; I had condensed them within the dao itself.

This was my first time drawing a dao in battle. I wasn't sure if I could wield it successfully, but I refused to turn away from the sudden surge of inspiration.

"It looks like you are ready," Khajitta said.

I nodded in response. I felt some gratitude for his silent patience, but I also understood him. He must have sensed the outcome of the battle was near.

Khajitta gathered his energy and aimed his outstretched palms at me. He pulled his left arm close to his chest while extending his right arm forward, bending his waist and knees slightly. The posture was unfamiliar, unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Was it due to the dark armor? Or the energy radiating from his entire body? It gave off an elegant, almost antique artistry, or the heavy presence of armor on display. This was a master's aura, faintly visible only after tens of thousands of tedious repetitions.

Is he going to use the Force Palm one more time? The irritation I felt at this thought confirmed the accuracy of his move. If he unleashed a wave of energy from his palm, it could suppress my purple flames, making them shrink for a moment.

No matter how fierce or persistent, my purple flame remained a flame at its core. The situation grew simple: a showdown of speed. It was the ignition of my flame against the release of my opponent's. The contest came down to the clash between the drawn dao and the Force Palm.

Even with the new power of the purple flames, I couldn't help but doubt my chances. Thigh muscles were vital for explosive speed, but after taking Khajitta's blow, all I felt was a constant throb. The battered state of my right wrist gripping the dao worsened my disadvantage.

"The secret of drawing a sword is in the lower body." Senior Brother He Lou's voice echoed in my mind. He always approached teaching with a serious attitude, so even someone like me had to focus completely.

"Drawing the sword involves the upper body, so it might sound strange. However, that is the truth.

"You must coordinate every muscle—from your abs and waist to your thighs and the soles of your feet—as if they move as one. The motion should feel like wringing it out. Not just the muscles, but every fiber and cell must align in the same direction.

"That is the ultimate secret to the swiftest attack. Of course, the hands play an important role as well. The right hand pulls the sword out while the left hand pushes it.

"Ah. Speaking of which, you're left-handed, aren't you?"

I realized something obvious. After my master, the person who had shaped my martial art the most was Senior Brother He Lou. Lessons I had long forgotten came rushing back, as vivid as if I had heard them yesterday. The scenery from that time, the scent in the air, the feelings I carried, Senior Brother He Lou's simple face, and his faint smile—all were crystal clear.

I'm not in a good condition to draw the dao. Without a sheath, my wrist injured, and my thigh muscles spasming, I couldn't help but laugh at my pitiful state. Still, I accepted it humbly. Most real battles were like this. It was arrogant to expect perfection in every fight, especially when life itself hung in the balance.

Just then, the hellfire surrounding me suddenly vanished, as if sucked into Khajitta's palm.

It's coming, I thought, holding my breath. I squeezed every ounce of internal energy available and performed only one movement with all the muscles in my body.

As I drew the Yin-Yang Dao, the motion was silent. Then, purple sparks burst forth like lightning, followed by a sound that truly resembled thunder. Naturally, the noise didn't come from unsheathing the dao but from my Thunder Stomp Footwork.

The vanished purple flames suddenly reappeared and surged through the area, revealing Khajitta standing right before me. I still couldn't read his expression, but I sensed the demon was laughing quietly with satisfaction.

This was no illusion—it was the truth. Sometimes, martial artists communicate emotions through the exchange of blows. Even if I had been blind like Second Senior Sister, I would have believed it.

Then a faint, dull sound broke through.

A groan welled up in my throat, but I forced it down. It wasn't the result of a blow. The strain from pushing my limits and overusing muscles struck back.

A metallic taste filled my mouth, as if the shock had reached my organs. I forced myself to swallow it down and kept my composure. I refused to show weakness now.

"You condensed your flames in your sword," Khajitta noted.

"That's right."

"Does it have a name?" Khajitta asked calmly.

I thought about it for a moment before I replied, "Drawing Fire."

"It is fitting. They match well." As his voice faded, Khajitta's full-body armor cracked and shattered. Fragments scattered like fireworks, sparks trailing behind the debris

Did the armor serve as a kind of seal? Khajitta's hellfire soared upward like it had been freed, then vanished in an instant. Embers drifted down like snow, gently lighting the underground prison.

The sight overwhelmed me for a moment. It was so beautiful that even someone as dull as me found it mesmerizing. The embers floated like fireflies, then a voice came from the scattered glow. "It is my defeat, Luan Badniker. It is a shame. It would have been fun to fight you at full strength after you had grown..."

I slowly slipped the dao into my waistband.

We met, clashed, and dealt the final blow. As a result, one person died. It was an extremely martial art-like development and ending.

Khajitta's voice carried a paradoxical satisfaction as he expressed his regret. I understood how he felt. If I had lost, I would've felt the same way.

After a brief hesitation, I followed my instincts. I saluted him with a clasped fist and said, "I learned a lot."

This battle taught me more than I expected. I reached a kind of enlightenment that only comes from risking one's life. It differed from mastering the purple flames. I realized what I lacked, not just intellectually, but deeply, like a profound question engraved in my heart. That awareness could lead to a change in mindset and a definite improvement.

Khajitta was truly a martial artist. Initially, I couldn't believe it. Then I wavered. Now, I fully accepted it, and a deep, lingering feeling settled over me.

"You..." Khajitta, about to vanish, spoke suddenly. "You've already met my master. I can feel his aura on you..."

"I haven't met the Blood Moon Demon King yet," I said.

Khajitta laughed softly. "My master isn't Hadenaihar."

"What?"

"A soul able to embrace even hellfire... a lighthouse in a dark sea... sentenced to the abyss... the master of the Black Swamp..." His voice dropped to an eerie whisper. "My one and only lord, Ahop... Forgive me for my disloyalty as I meet my end in the Otherworld."

Then the embers died out completely. Only the armor that had wrapped Khajitta's body remained in the underground prison.

The prison, now free of hellfire, returned to its cold, lonely stillness. I stood frozen. There are still traces of the Black Swamp Demon King's aura on me? How?

The first time I encountered the demon king was at the training camp before my regression. In this life, I had not faced Ahop directly.

"Ugh..." I collapsed to the ground, unable to finish my thoughts. Pain surged through my body like relentless waves. I knew it wasn't just exhaustion from draining my internal energy or physical fatigue.

Was this the side effect of the purple flames? It felt far worse than the White Flame state. Exhaustion spread through every fiber of my being, making it difficult to even lift a finger. Perhaps it was the aftereffect of hellfire.

The lingering heat from the ground wrapped around me like a strange comfort. I was drained. All I wanted was to close my eyes for just a few minutes. Ten minutes would be enough.

"It's impressive. I never expected you to beat a legion commander." A hoarse voice shattered my brief peace.

I lacked the strength to lift my head, so I asked without moving, "What about Dean Alderson?"

"Naturally, I saved him. It'll take him a while to regain consciousness. You, though, are in serious trouble. Aren't you going to die soon? You don't look good." Leone's low laughter echoed. "Your right wrist is shattered, your thigh muscles are completely torn, and your internal organs seem badly damaged. In addition—"

At this moment, a gentle touch landed on my head, and I froze. Was this girl really stroking my hair?

"Your pretty platinum-blond hair is a mess. It's heartbreaking," she said softly.

"Take your hands away. I'm really feeling like I'm about to die. Do you have any potions or something?"

"There is no such thing." Leone grinned and kept stroking my hair, then suddenly grabbed my scalp tightly. "But I am relatively all-powerful for my church members."

Immediately afterward, a surge of energy flowed from Leone's palm.

Injecting energy directly into the upper dantian was usually extremely dangerous, but what kind of magic was she using? The energy she infused naturally seeped into my upper dantian and spread through my entire body without resistance.

The real surprise happened next. My body started to recover at an astonishing rate. It was more than healing—it was regeneration. My skin, badly burned before, regained color and elasticity. My parched eyeballs, charred airways, and damaged internal organs healed. Bruises, both large and small, vanished quickly, and my wrist returned to its original state.

"How did you do this?"

My eyelids still felt heavy from mental fatigue, but my half-destroyed body had instantly returned to normal. It was a miracle that happened in the blink of an eye.

"The effect is excellent," Leone said with satisfaction. "It works especially well on priests."

"What did you just say?"

"I said that it works especially well."

"No, after that."

"I said it's especially effective on a priest."

I locked eyes with her. "Priest?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"You." Leone stared at me, speechless. Then she added, "Ah, right. Congratulations. I've never seen a priest of the Colorless Demon King before. How does it feel to be the first priest in 100 years?"

I was mortified.

"Luan Badniker? Your complexion doesn't look good," Leone noted.

So, I, the youngest son of the Badniker family, am actually a priest of the Dark Church? The mental fatigue from the bloody battle overwhelmed me. My brain refused to process the sudden flood of information and faltered.

"Ugh!" I groaned, then blacked out.