Chapter 57
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Warm-Up
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For a sect leader, internal energy was a resource that was practically infinite, with virtually no concept of depletion.
The internal energy expended was naturally restored through supreme mastery.
Even the minuscule amount inevitably lost was replenished in real time by drawing in natural qi.
One might wonder, then why not simply gather natural qi now to recover internal energy? But in this moment, that wasn't possible.
Because qi was accumulated through 'effort'.
Just as money begets money, qi naturally drew in more qi.
It followed the principle of rolling a snowball, with recovery speed determined proportionally to the amount of internal energy within the body.
"If only I had half—no, even a third of my internal energy left...!"
With less than a tenth remaining, nearly depleted to the brink of exhaustion, he could no longer unleash the divine prowess of before.
"When discussing martial arts, is there anything more meaningless than entertaining hypotheticals?"
Laughing leisurely while barely evading the opponent's sword swung without leisure, the sect leader gritted his teeth.
The unprecedented scandal of an outsider woman setting foot in his master's quarters.
She was even younger than him, beautiful, and possessed a body so vulgarly alluring it was unmatched.
And to be pushed back, yielding moves in a spar against such a woman—his composure had shattered in that instant.
It was a blatant error in judgment to pour out all his power without even grasping what ultimate technique the opponent wielded.
And this was the result.
A hopeless situation where he could only counter ferocious sword strikes with raw physical movement, unable to properly circulate his qigong.
The sensation of sluggishly propelling himself by kicking the ground without qi's aid felt endlessly stifling.
Without protective gang qi, the sharp sword intent grazing his skin sent chills racing across his flesh.
The awkward vibration, resounding through his arm and into his bones with a metallic ching, was utterly unfamiliar.
The most revolting part was realizing he was currently being shown mercy by his opponent.
She hadn't suffered a single effective blow in their prior exchange; instead, she had absorbed and assimilated his ultimate technique, emerging in a state surpassing perfection.
That he still drew breath before her sword meant she was merely toying with him.
Like a superior master lowering their level to instruct an inferior in a training bout.
The sect leader could not conceal his bewilderment.
"What in the world are you trying to accomplish...!"
What meaning could there be in this pointless farce? Did she expect some epiphany from actual combat without qi circulation?
His path was clear.
And he had real accomplishments to show for it.
Of course, his failure to prepare for the anomalous situation of having his internal energy drained was his own shortcoming.
But if that were the case, he should seek ways to prevent his internal energy from being absorbed next time—not waste effort preparing for what came after depletion. What sense did that make?
So-hyang severed those doubts and grievances.
By igniting his survival instincts.
"-Hiyaak!!"
The sect leader let out a shrill scream as the encroaching blade bore down, twisting his body with desperate effort—barely, truly barely—out of the sword's trajectory.
His sleeve tore, and a thin red line etched across his skin, beading with droplets of blood.
Clutching his left shoulder, where a red haze began to form, he cried out in a voice like a scream.
"...Y-You're really trying to cut me!?"
Had his evasion been even a fraction slower, that strike would have cleanly severed the sect leader's left arm.
"As I said, I'm prepared to lop off an arm or a leg. But don't worry too much."
Without even giving him time to speak, pristine white trails began filling the air in rapid succession.
"I'll adjust my level so that even in your current state, if you give it your all, you can dodge comfortably, right?"
There wasn't even a moment to grumble that she clearly wasn't worried at all.
Survival came first.
First, an honest frontal advance—a diagonal slash from upper left to lower right.
Not overly weighted, not impossibly fast, not even clad in sword qi: a perfectly measured strike.
No matter that the sect leader hadn't wielded a sword in years, he wasn't so inept as to fail against such a move.
The sect leader's choice: a similar diagonal downward cut.
So-hyang's spirit sword and the sect leader's Pine-patterned Ancient Sword clashed diagonally, locking in deadlock.
Their blades met.
The sect leader tried to infuse his scant remaining internal energy into his sword and explode it forth as impact force.
But So-hyang twisted and spun her locked blade even faster.
"-What?"
With deft wrist rotation, she shoved his sword outward, simultaneously shifting her stance to slice upward into his armpit.
"Kyaaak!"
A strike brimming with clear intent to burrow deep and sever his arm outright.
Terror-stricken, the sect leader dropped his sword and lost balance, tumbling backward onto the ground.
His arm was spared mutilation, but this only provoked So-hyang's ire in turn.
"Oh dear, aren't you getting up?"
For a martial artist to so easily release his sword and cower on the ground out of fear—what kind of warrior was this?
A faint crease formed in her softly arched brows, her voice tinged with irritation.
Without waiting for him to rise, she dropped her sword upon the fallen sect leader like a thunderbolt.
"No, wait-!?"
Without time to speak, he rolled away on his backside, escaping the spot.
The Wudang sect leader resorting to the lazy donkey roll—flushing with shame at the fact—
"Huu, huuuk!"
—he didn't flush.
He'd rolled, yet his earlobe and side of his head were still nicked. Had he not rolled, his head would have come off.
Thus, the only emotion was relief.
So-hyang didn't pursue the sect leader in that state, instead kicking his sword on the ground to plant it before him.
"Pick it up."
"Ah."
Pine-patterned Ancient Sword.
The sect's divine treasure and the sect leader's insignia.
The famed sword bequeathed by his master, Wudang's pride.
A sword of renown, the sword that bore Wudang's name.
Yet that Pine-patterned Ancient Sword lay rolling on the dirt from the challenger's kick.
Why?
Because of the challenger's insolence, So-hyang of the White Lotus Sword?
No. It was his own inadequacy.
Had he maintained composure and not overexpended his internal energy.
Had he not panicked and dropped his sword against that last strike.
No. That's not it either.
Cheonha. Cheonha. Disciple of Immortal Cheongheo, Cheonha.
As the opponent said, what meaning do 'what ifs' hold in discussing martial arts?
Instead of clutching his ruined dantian and indulging delusions like spilled water, he must seek revenge even with this frail body.
"...Right now. This instant."
Flames kindled in the sect leader's eyes.
Not the glow from circulating internal energy, but a fierce blaze born from the heart.
"Yes, now your eyes are finally getting interesting."
As if somewhat pleased, So-hyang's eyes curved into soft crescents.
-----
The exchange between So-hyang and the sect leader had lasted scarcely a fraction of an incense stick's time.
"Hah, hah...!"
Yet his breath rose to his throat, sweat drenching his brow and entire body.
The sect leader's stamina wasn't exhausted.
Even if he didn't use his body well, he was a transcendent warrior who had undergone bone transformation, shedding mortal limits with a superhuman physique.
The tension of knowing a single lapse meant losing a limb; the peril sensed in this clearly disadvantaged struggle despite his efforts.
Mental stamina depleted from nerves stretched taut by utmost focus and tension.
"Why...!"
He now harbored genuine intent to claim victory, yet odds of success remained remote.
Of course, he hadn't expected to be toyed with like this.
"Are you still just playing with me...!?"
Because the opponent was still matching his level.
No sword qi deployed, no faster movements, no greater power invested.
Movements clearly visible and reactable, yet impossible to counter.
He, who had been praised by his master not only for qi mastery but for sword talent as well.
Indeed, before reaching transcendence, he had bested superior experts with pure swordsmanship.
Even after attaining transcendence and focusing on qigong, his innate aptitude preserved his sword techniques flawlessly, his transformed body executing them without flaw.
Though his internal energy was depleted, he was still at a level to best most peak experts handily.
Meaning his skills hadn't rusted to the point of decline.
Yet an overwhelming gap—not merely superior, but utterly dominant.
"...Hm, you seem somewhat accustomed now. Shall I raise the speed a bit?"
"-What?"
With that brief declaration, So-hyang accelerated her sword speed further.
Between breaths, in time units splintered to near-instants, countless strikes poured forth.
Between sword and sword, between man and man, starlight bloomed belatedly in the air.
So myriad were those lights, it was as if the night sky had descended upon the earth.
Sharp clashes of metal on metal vibrated the air.
Relentlessly, incessantly, the din pierced his ears.
"Faster, faster!"
Even as So-hyang beamed radiantly, gradually increasing her pace.
Not just the swing speed of the blade, but shrinking intervals between assaults.
Reclaiming the grace periods she had granted for adaptation and respite.
"Urk, uurrgh...!"
The sect leader instinctively backpedaled from the storm of strikes but stomped the ground fiercely, glaring ahead.
"Oh?"
Admiration flickered in So-hyang's eyes; resolve filled the sect leader's heart.
In this already dire disadvantage, retreating to fortify defense would only lead to slow withering.
Impossible though it seemed, bordering on gamble—for victory, he had to press forward aggressively.
"Uwaaaah!!!"
Thus, crushing the heart-gripping terror with a full-throated roar.
No retreat.
Forward.
Further forward.
Advancing like a rhinoceros horn, writhing like an eel, barely deflecting the barrage and seizing tiny openings.
Infusing meagerly recovered internal energy into the Pine-patterned Ancient Sword, cladding it in sword gang.
And the technique he employed was a martial art pushed to the back of memory.
A subtle art deemed unfit for qigong emphasis due to its foundational nature over the Five Elements, relegated to lower priority.
Taiji.
The sword art deployed: Taiji Sword.
The form executed: Prime Circle.
A single stroke encapsulating yin-yang circulation, tracing a perfect circle.
Seeing the heavy, supple incoming arc, So-hyang smiled warmly and met it gladly with her spirit sword.
A thunderous boom echoed, the atmosphere rippling softly and shaking the peak.
"...Even this, you blocked."
In truth, it was only natural.
Not even at full strength, unleashing a sword art long unpracticed against a sword genius.
Rather, for it to land would be the anomaly.
But...
"...Hic."
Emptiness and rage welled up.
Knees buckled from exhaustion; though he knew he must rise, despair sapped strength from his legs.
Shame and regret left him unable to face his master's visage.
Gazing at the sect leader—eyes reddening, truly distraught—So-hyang smiled brightly.
"Good."
Until now, the sect leader had been mired in arrogant certainty of his achievements.
Kindly put, unshakeable confidence—but in his case, excessively so.
No words would reach such a man, and enlightenment through discourse, as with Gangpyo, was hopeless.
Thus, pressing him relentlessly to shake his emotions had finally straightened his mindset.
Now, her words could reach his heart.
"Sect Leader, may I ask you a question?"
"...What."
"What is the difference between martial arts and sorcery?"
It was time to pose the koan.