Martial Tournament
There were spirit herbs you could buy for eighty nyang of silver.
If a medicinal peddler happened to have a special item, he would line up a row of wooden cases for display.
"Now then, this isn't an ordinary gromwell root. It's been aged at least thirty years, but because its shape is a little ugly, people have been undervaluing it and turning away. In this world, as long as a spirit herb has good medicinal effect, what does its face matter? You, too, surely understand that from a shared sense of sympathy with hardship..."
Even to someone like me, who knew next to nothing about herbs, it didn't look much different from the ones Do Goeng-il had rejected before.
After listening to the man's theatrics, I shook my head and stood up.
"When will you have higher-grade spirit herbs coming in?"
The peddler licked his lips, looking regretful.
"Spirit herbs aren't grown by people, so we can't promise anything. Even when we have stock, that price is hard to meet. You were really lucky last time."
He glanced at the saber tucked behind my lower back, then casually changed the subject.
"If your circumstances are urgent, why not try the martial tournament being held tomorrow? There should be spirit herbs among the prizes."
"A martial tournament? Here?"
"Of course. Wherever there's a black market, there are plenty of martial artists and plenty of reasons to fight. Putting on a grand brawl isn't difficult at all."
The place the peddler told me about was a five-story tavern called Eunbyeongru.
The wide first floor, which ought to have been packed with customers, had had all its tables and chairs cleared away and was being converted into a fighting arena.
Armed martial artists swarmed around the arena. Looking closer, I saw staff members taking registrations in several spots.
I lined up at a sensible distance and soon my turn came.
"Is this where the martial tournament is being held?"
"That's right. This tournament begins tomorrow night."
"I heard there are prizes?"
"They're different every time. Tomorrow's prizes are a Sun Element Sword for first place and Lake Lotus Herb for second."
I had never heard of either item.
I had no idea how impressive they were, but the peddler said the quality of the tournament prizes was guaranteed.
A martial tournament was the sort of place where a mistake could get you killed or crippled.
There had to be a reason they were putting up prizes that expensive.
If this had been before, I wouldn't have even dreamed of stepping into the ring.
Now I needed that spirit herb. With only five remaining pills, there was no telling how long I could keep going.
Besides, I had grown considerably stronger.
I hadn't been overpowered even when I fought the Black Night Gang's unit leader, and I had taken down a top internal-energy expert from Mount Heaven like Pyo Hol-deuk. Still, I had no way of knowing what kind of danger might be waiting.
Should I enter or not...
If I could use internal energy, then even in the worst case, I could at least get out with my body intact.
Once I pushed my true energy hard through my channels, the flow of qi changed completely.
At a thinness no thicker than a strand of silk, it made me feel as if I had eaten well, slept soundly, and woken up in perfect shape.
I became a little faster and a little stronger, to the point that it was hard to notice unless you were watching closely.
It was still a nuisance, but if I covered my face with a mask or veil, maybe it was worth trying.
A higher-grade spirit herb was worth that much. I had no other way to get one.
"I'll enter."
"The entry fee is one nyang of silver."
"Why so much? In other places it's less than half a nyang."
Used to this kind of reaction, the staff member smiled smoothly and explained.
"The pricier it is, the better the prizes. The Sun Element Sword is a fine blade made from white lotus refined steel, and the Lake Lotus Herb is a spiritual herb sought after not only by masters seeking to enhance internal energy, but also by high officials and the nobility as a restorative tonic."
In any case, I didn't have nearly enough money to buy a proper spirit herb in the black market. I paid the entry fee, treating it as money already gone.
The staff member handed me a pure white wooden tag.
"Write your sobriquet or your name here."
It wasn't wise to give my real name, and I didn't have a sobriquet yet either. After a moment's thought, I wrote Cobalt Blade.
It wasn't a name I had chosen for myself, but since I had become the heir to the Cheongsan Sect's saber lineage, calling myself the "saber artist of Cheongsan" wasn't exactly wrong.
The staff member entered the name in the ledger and handed the wooden tag back to me.
"Come back here before sunset tomorrow evening and show this entry token. We'll take you to the waiting room. I wish you success, sir."
Just as I was putting the token into my breast pocket, someone clasped their hands to me in greeting.
"Young sir, may I have a moment of your time?"
He was a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man.
With clear eyes and a face marked by strong lines, he looked like the sort of man people would naturally call a righteous hero anywhere he went.
"What is it?"
The middle-aged man lowered his voice and glanced around at the people nearby.
"Ahem, ahem. If you don't mind, would you write the name on this wooden tag for me? I'm getting on in years, and my eyes aren't what they used to be, heh heh."
The tag he held out was smeared with black ink. It looked as if he had written a name, then crossed it out in dissatisfaction with more ink.
Quite a few martial artists were illiterate and couldn't even write their own names.
Even those who could barely write had never practiced their penmanship, so their handwriting stayed as ugly as a child's scrawl until the day they died.
"What is your full name?"
"Hwang Gang-ju."
Of all things, both his surname and given name used characters with a lot of strokes. If you didn't write them in the correct order, the letters tended to come out uneven in size and turn into a mess.
I flipped the tag over, held it against the wall, set the brush upright, and wrote his name in proper script before handing it back.
Maybe my calligraphy hadn't rusted from the lessons I had paid the scholars for, because it came out rather well.
Hwang Gang-ju took the tag and nodded with satisfaction.
"Beautiful writing. Thank you. Now how should I repay you..."
"It's nothing. It wasn't any trouble."
Waving it off, I left and returned to the inn.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"You're entering the martial tournament? When?"
"Tonight."
Over breakfast at the inn, I explained last night's events to Tang Hye-seo.
"Are you confident? Martial tournaments are pretty rough."
"I'll be fine."
"Hmm. Then I should go watch."
"Aren't you heading back to Seochon?"
"I'll stay one more day and walk around the black market. Then we'll leave tomorrow."
I nodded and worked my chopsticks for a while before something occurred to me.
"Do you happen to have that mask from yesterday? Another one?"
"Why?"
"I don't especially want my face getting around."
"You're planning to wear it in the tournament?"
As I picked up a dumpling, I nodded.
"Wouldn't I have to? If I win, a lot of people will remember me."
There was no such thing as a safe gambling den in this world. The martial tournament was no different.
If I won second place and took the prize, trouble could start right away.
There might even be some idiot among the people who lost money betting on me, the sort who'd want to settle accounts with their fists.
If I wanted to stay out of trouble, the safest course was to hide both my name and my face.
"Why not just wear a mask? In a martial tournament, the strongest-looking person is always the mysterious master in a mask. It would put pressure on everyone right away and fit perfectly."
"I'm saying that because I don't have one."
Tang Hye-seo looked at me with a puzzled expression.
"Why wouldn't you have one?"
For a moment, I was speechless. Why wouldn't I have one...
Was Tang Hye-seo, like Bok Ha-gyu, also imagining that I was the kind of man who could pull on a mask and go around committing murder and robbery whenever the mood struck?
"...Not every martial artist carries a mask around."
"I do. I even have one on me now."
"A mask? What for?"
Tang Hye-seo answered as calmly as if the reason were obvious.
"For when it's inconvenient to reveal my identity. You make a mask and put it on. A face covering is easier to rip off, so it's not very good in a fight. It also blocks your vision a little."
"Sounds like you've worn one often."
"You wear it when you need to. It's better to cover one face than have some idiot kill every witness just because they saw him. That way, you save a lot of people and avoid seeing blood."
It was thoroughly Tang Clan-like, yet oddly sensible behavior.
For the rest of the day, I accompanied Tang Hye-seo with Feihian and went around several places in the black market.
I asked around whenever I had a chance, but with eighty nyang of silver, it was hopeless.
If I wanted to bring even one spirit herb back to Seochon, I had no choice but to take second place in the martial tournament.
Late in the afternoon, I returned to the inn and made a mask from cloth I had bought at a fabric shop.
After dinner, the four of us headed to Eunbyeongru.
The sun had only just begun to stain the sky with dusk, but the tavern was already noisy enough to shake the ears.
BOOM!
"Thunderbolt Saber wins!"
"That's right! I knew it, Thunderbolt Saber!"
"Gyeongseobi Guest! You bastard! You couldn't even take that?"
Before I had even crossed the threshold, a staff member hurried over to greet us.
"It has already started?"
"This tournament hasn't been held in half a year, so there are quite a few participants. We're running the preliminaries immediately as each person arrives. Otherwise, even staying up for several nights wouldn't be enough."
It wasn't only the martial artists in Baekgye-hyeon with a blade in hand who had been waiting for this day.
Gamblers from the surrounding area and spectators looking for entertainment had all flooded in, and there wasn't a single empty seat to be seen on the first floor.
Outside, the air was cold enough to make you think of a drink, but inside the tavern it was hot with the heat and excitement people gave off.
"The admission fee is one hundred wen."
I showed my entry token and passed through without paying.
Tang Hye-seo, wearing the middle-aged man's mask, and Feihian paid extra and were guided to special seats on the third floor.
The tournament participants leaned against the railing on the second floor, looking down at the stage.
Even after I went up, no one tore their eyes away from the matches. I took up a spot at one empty section of railing.
The next match began right away.
A broad-shouldered man with a pitch-black face worthy of the name Black Bear faced off against a lean fellow called Crazy-Laugh Sword.
Black Bear used a typical saber style that pressed forward with brute force, while Crazy-Laugh Sword employed a sly sword style that darted in and out, probing for openings.
Who won didn't matter to me, but I still found myself hoping for Black Bear.
The match didn't even last ten exchanges.
Crazy-Laugh Sword slipped Black Bear's saber strike with a crafty sword thrust and cut his arm. Then he split Black Bear's side as well, spilling blood.
"Die, you rat-faced bastard!"
Black Bear's eyes went wild as he charged in, taking the sword on his body as he pushed forward. He closed the distance in a single burst and managed to slash Crazy-Laugh Sword's shoulder.
The moment a savage look of joy spread across Black Bear's face, blood burst from his throat.
"Hurk!"
Clutching his half-severed neck, Black Bear stumbled backward. You have to know when to advance and when to retreat if you want to live long, and Black Bear had been a step too late.
THUD!
With a heavy crash that shook the floor, Black Bear collapsed.
"Crazy-Laugh Sword wins!"
Waaah!
"That's why fights aren't decided by size! Crazy-Laugh Sword is paying seven-to-one! Hahaha, I'm on a roll from early evening!"
"Black Bear! You stupid, useless lump of meat! Get up! Do you think I bet on you so you'd lie there like that?"
Even when the gamblers cursed him fiercely, Black Bear didn't rise.
Blood spread widely around his head, his body twitched in spasms, and then he died there and then.
Several staff members rushed in and dragged the limp Black Bear away. A long smear of blood remained on the floor.
A man had just died, but no one screamed in shock or loudly demanded responsibility for Black Bear's death.
Those who had bet on Crazy-Laugh Sword cheered, while those who had bet on Black Bear only hurled curses and insults.
That was a martial tournament.
Even if they all carried swords and sabers and fought on the same stage, it was completely different from a formal spar, where people tested their skill, gained experience, and brought honor to their sects.
A martial tournament was about money from beginning to end.
The organizers made a fortune from entry fees, admission fees, and gambling on the matches.
Most of the participants died or were injured, and most of the gamblers who bet on them ended up broke as well.
Only the winner and a few eliminated contestants who had shown real skill got a chance to stand one step closer to being taken in as guests of a smaller gang or sect.
A martial tournament was exactly like cockfighting or dogfighting. The only difference was that instead of chickens and dogs, the combatants were martial artists on two legs.
I had wandered around the Central Plains and watched a few martial tournaments in my time, but I had never once entered one.
I hated this damned atmosphere.
No matter how much people said a martial artist's life was worth less than a pig or dog, I had no desire to swing a blade like some fighting cock or bait dog.
If not for the spirit herb being offered as the prize, and if I hadn't cultivated internal energy, I wouldn't have given this martial tournament or anything else like it a second glance.
The staff wiped away the blood and moved the matches along again.
Two more martial artists climbed onto the stage, where the smell of blood still hadn't quite faded.
From among the spectators, those who recognized them raised their voices.
"Ooh, it's Hero Hwang! That's Hwang Gang-ju, the hero!"
The martial artists leaning against the railing and watching the arena also stirred.
I recognized the face too. It was the middle-aged man who had asked me to write on his entry token yesterday.
A saber user with a goat beard let out a sigh.
"Tch, even Hero Hwang entered this tournament. This just got harder..."
"Who's that?"
"A hero known around Juhangri."
A martial artist with two sabers strapped to his back gave a sharp snort.
"A hero? These days anyone and everyone is a great hero, and even the thugs extorting money on the street call themselves righteous men. What's the big deal?"
The goat-bearded man bristled, as if his own family had been insulted.
"Hero Hwang is a true righteous hero, different by nature from those ruffians."
The gloomy-looking swordsman who had been silent until then spoke up.
"If you're talking about Hero Hwang of Juhangri, I've heard of him too. They say he's a real man full of loyalty and chivalry."
The goat-bearded man broke into a hearty laugh, looking pleased.
"Ha! That's right. His roots are different from the rest of us day-laboring blades-for-hire. I have a relative in Juhangri, and he says when the villagers have a grievance, they don't go to the county magistrate first. They go to Hero Hwang."
Seeing that everyone was listening, the goat-bearded man puffed up and continued proudly.
"Whether they're petty hooligans, mountain bandits, or the thugs hired by landowners, there's no one Hero Hwang hasn't flattened. And he doesn't expect a single coin in return. Now that's a true hero, the kind who should be written about in the Records of Righteous Heroes."
"Hmph. You do talk a long way around to say he's nosy."
The two-saber man was still mocking him. Just as the goat-bearded man was about to respond, the swordsman spoke again.
"I've heard the Hwang family's circumstances are poor. Apparently his household doesn't always have enough to eat. I also heard his child got sick, and they even lost their house to creditors because they couldn't afford the medicine."
The goat-bearded man clicked his tongue, his expression troubled.
"Tsk. That's exactly why he's so impressive. In a world where people put on masks and vault over other people's walls just because they skipped one meal, he still puts the greater good first and does his duty as a righteous hero..."
People like us could never imitate that, even if we died and came back to life.
There were plenty of people in the orthodox martial world who cared about their reputation and managed it carefully, but I had almost never seen a true righteous hero.
The goat-bearded man looked down at Hwang Gang-ju standing on the stage with admiration and pity mixed together in his eyes, then muttered almost to himself.
"Keeping a hero's reputation is no easy thing. I really hope Hero Hwang wins today..."
Hwang Gang-ju clasped his hands to the opponent facing him on the stage.
"I am Hwang Gang-ju of Juhangri."
The other man returned the salute politely.
"I am Yu Chan-gyeong. I've long heard of Hero Hwang's reputation. It is an honor to have the chance to learn from you."
Once the greetings were done, the two martial artists drew their blades and pointed them at each other.
Lowering the tip of his saber, Hwang Gang-ju said with an easy expression, "I'll yield the first move."
"...Then I won't refuse."
Yu Chan-gyeong bit his lip and kicked off the floor, rushing in.