Chapter 56: The Game World Is Truly Terrifying

From the very beginning, Tang Shen had left a poor impression on Geng Shiro. After all, he’d been bested by him countless times. To make matters worse, his own daughter now seemed closer to Tang Shen—she’d even forgotten her old father. In conversation, all she ever talked about was how wonderful her master was, how good he was at everything, and how she admired him endlessly; it made Geng Shiro so angry his nose was bent out of shape. Getting beaten black and blue was one thing—some, in their fury, would simply draw their swords and strike. He was no saint himself; in his youth, he’d slain more pirates than he could count.

Moreover, he knew these so-called Chosen Ones couldn’t die for real. After a while, they’d just resurrect, so he vented all his frustrations and jealousies—whether from dealing with Tang Shen or otherwise—on these players. Instantly, he felt at ease, almost light enough to float as he walked.

The poor players, thinking they’d found a master worthy of apprenticeship, had no idea that their would-be mentor would cut them down at the slightest provocation—or, more often, without a word. It was infuriating, and worse still, they had no idea why. Forced offline by death, they hurried to the forums to share their grievances: the NPCs in this world were outrageous, striking without warning. The navy base, while tough and sometimes unfair, was still preferable to this senseless violence. The game world was just too terrifying. The people here were powerful—one moment all smiles, the next, drawing their blades.

Of course, Tang Shen knew nothing of any of this. He never paid any attention to the players, and even if he saw them, he wouldn’t greet them. He had his reasons: he wished to keep his identity hidden. To this day, only Kuina and Zoro knew his name; even Geng Shiro didn’t, for Tang Shen always lurked in secret, ‘stealthily’ observing from a distance. The times they’d actually spoken could be counted on one hand, and with his daily grueling training sessions with Kuina, when would he have had the time?

He’d long since changed into the local style of clothing, and with the intensity of his training, no player mistook him for one of their own—he was simply too strong. It would take at least a hundred of them to match him.

...

Thunderous crashes echoed from deep within the forest after half an hour’s walk. The sounds were relentless, reverberating through the trees. A faint smile appeared on Tang Shen’s lips as he said, “We’re here. Just ahead.”

Kuina’s spirits soared at the announcement. Here came the next training regimen. Along the way, Tang Shen had dispatched numerous ferocious beasts, which explained why their journey had been slower. Their current sprinting speed was astonishing. Kuina had already grasped the basics of the Eight Trigrams Step atop the Bagua posts, and her stance training had given her formidable leg strength. In terms of speed and explosive power, she was leagues beyond her former self.

Since meeting Tang Shen, Kuina had followed the same path as him—a path of well-rounded development. Not only had she fully absorbed the fundamentals of swordsmanship, but those foundations had transformed, becoming something entirely new.

A few more steps forward, and a cliff face suddenly emerged before them. From atop the cliff, a waterfall cascaded hundreds of feet, facing the two of them directly. The torrent plunged into a vast pool below, producing a deafening roar; even standing at its edge, they could feel the force of the falling water. The pool was fed by this waterfall and drained into a river that wound through the entire forest. The pounding they’d heard earlier was the sound of the waterfall’s relentless descent.

Upon seeing the waterfall, satisfaction blossomed on Tang Shen’s face. This was a training ground he’d discovered long ago, deep in the forest. But he wasn’t reckless, like some characters in novels, who’d drag their disciples into perilous training without preparation—that would be suicidal. The waterfall’s torrent was too fierce, and its force too great; without a solid foundation, disaster was inevitable.

“Today’s training ground is this waterfall,” Tang Shen declared, his gaze burning. “The method is similar to practicing swordsmanship in the sea, except this time, we’ll do it beneath the waterfall. It’s far more dangerous, because the current is so violent. If you try to resist it head-on with your body, accidents will happen. So, we’ll start by training near the waterfall, and only when you are able to cut the waterfall in half with a single stroke will you be ready.”

“Ah?!” Kuina, who had been listening intently, cried out in astonishment, her face full of disbelief. “Master, is it really possible to cut a waterfall in half?”

She stared at the waterfall before her. The flow was incredibly fast, and the tremendous noise as the water struck the pool spoke to its immense power. Could such a flowing torrent truly be cut? Wood could be split in two, stone could be parted, even ocean waves could be cleaved. But this never-ceasing cascade—could it really be severed?

“Of course,” Tang Shen replied with utmost seriousness. “And not just a downward cut, but horizontally. As long as your sword is powerful enough, you can slice through the waterfall and make it stop.”

He remembered that a true sword master could split mountains and part the sea—a waterfall was nothing in comparison. He was confident, even if he had no idea how long it would take to reach that level.

At this point, Kuina’s trust in Tang Shen was absolute. Hearing his words and gazing at the surging waterfall, she was filled with longing. She dreamed that one day she could cut the waterfall before her, slice through water with a single stroke. To cleave a waterfall so that even the torrent itself would come to a halt—what realm of mastery would that require?

All the while, Geng Shiro, who had been quietly trailing behind them, couldn’t help but purse his lips at Tang Shen’s words. To cut a waterfall in one stroke was far more difficult than splitting a hill. He could forcefully part a stretch of ocean, but cutting a waterfall was another matter. For a torrent that plunged from such a height and with such speed, severing it in an instant—stopping the flow itself—was a feat of extraordinary difficulty. Even now, at his peak, he couldn’t do it.

But he couldn’t deny that Tang Shen spoke the truth. It was indeed possible, for he’d once witnessed it with his own eyes—someone not only cleaving a waterfall, but making the flow reverse, without harming the cliff or rocks in the slightest. For over ten seconds, the waterfall had hung motionless before resuming its course. That scene remained vivid in his memory. At the time, he hadn’t understood that level of swordsmanship, thinking he could achieve it once he became a true sword master. But now, having reached that rank, he realized just how far he still had to go.

...

Tang Shen took a deep breath, then leapt headlong into the deep pool. “Kuina, let’s begin!” he called.

“Yes, Master!” Kuina quickly followed.

The closer they drew to the waterfall, the stronger the undercurrents became. It was far more intense than at the seaside, where sword training was confined to the shallows. The dangers of the ocean—sea kings and monstrous fish—were still fresh in Tang Shen’s memory. Here, the raging currents relentlessly pushed them back as they advanced.

Had they not already adapted to the ocean’s surging tides, they would have been swept away long before.