Martial Artists Speak with Their Swords (10)
“The winner of this martial contest is! Dan Mok-gyeong of the Patrol Unit!”
“Dan Mok-gyeong? Who’s that?”
“I don’t know either. Still… it seems we’ve found a promising young talent whose future is worth watching, don’t you think?”
“That much is true.”
The spectators erupted in cheers and applause for the young boy whose name had never been known in the jianghu. Mok-gyeong quietly surveyed the crowd, clasped his hands in salute, then turned and disappeared into the waiting room.
Song Mu-han staggered to his feet only after she was gone, staring blankly in the direction she had vanished. Grinding his teeth, he turned away.
What kind of monster is that…?
Why did he feel so hollow after fighting for so long? Song Mu-han shuddered at the terrifying talent that had identified the flaws in his martial arts within barely ten exchanges and exploited every opening. He picked up his beloved axe from the ground.
The blade of his weapon was riddled with notches.
As if it had blocked dozens of sword strikes.
Just how many times did he swing in that single moment?
A bizarre idea—compensating for lack of power with sheer volume of strikes—and the execution to make it work. Song Mu-han wondered if he had encountered a true monster.
Where on earth did someone like that come from…?
Hoo.
In the empty waiting room where no one could hear, a heavy sigh echoed.
When fighters of similar realms clash, the gap becomes obvious.
I was astonished by Mok-gyeong’s absurd talent, yet at the same time I understood. A protagonist of a martial arts novel should be at least this strong. Wuxia protagonists are overpowered by nature. They need to be strong enough to make you question whether they’re even human.
The moment they feel their strength faltering, they stumble upon some fortuitous encounter, advance a realm, and eventually reach a level where you wonder if they’re human or immortal…
…The original novel’s ending was so rushed that it’s unclear exactly what realm she reached, but since she succeeded in killing the Heavenly Demon, she must have at least touched the peak of the Hwagyeong realm, or perhaps gone beyond. The Heavenly Demon was a master of the Demonic Transformation realm, after all.
“Uncle, the round of sixteen is almost over!”
“Looks like everyone who needed to be filtered out has been filtered out…”
“Do you have to say that right in front of me?”
…Come to think of it, there’s a dropout right next to me.
I felt a twinge of absurdity as I watched Hye-ryeong puff up in anger, lightly biting my finger, but I let her be. She’d calm down on her own soon enough and start shouting about going to eat anyway.
“Eungong. I’ve returned.”
“That was a fine match.”
“No. I still… have much more to learn.”
For a brief moment, a flicker of longing passed through Mok-gyeong’s eyes as she spoke.
Revenge, huh.
She meant she still lacked the strength to reach her target. I turned my gaze from Mok-gyeong toward the stage.
Revenge is fine, but I hope she doesn’t charge ahead like the lone wolf she was in the original novel. Honestly, that kind of revenge didn’t seem particularly meaningful anyway.
She’d poke here and there, make a mess of things, only for the enemy to conveniently appear at the very end—leaving the reader feeling hollow. What kind of ridiculous “Murim Mutual Aid Service” was that, where enemies lined up one by one to die? The original novel didn’t care about plausibility at all, and that terrified me.
After all, the original was merely a fragment of this world’s setting. There’s no telling what kind of unimaginable absurdity might appear.
Just like how something resembling the murim had formed in the Western Regions.
…Maybe the Western Regions ended up in that state because there was a sequel or something.
“Today’s schedule is over… Let’s go eat.”
We’d moved around a lot, so it was time for a meal.
“I’m fine.”
“I know what you’re thinking, but rushing ahead won’t do you any good. Take it one step at a time. If you charge forward without looking around, even things that should work might fail.”
“…Thank you, Eungong.”
“Uncle, let’s eat outside today!”
“Outside?”
“The food here is good, but I heard Wuhan has plenty of restaurants with excellent chefs! So let’s go try one!”
Sounds expensive.
Then again, even the low-paid patrol members of the Wulin Alliance would eat at restaurants, so it couldn’t be that bad. At worst, it would just be a little pricier.
I accepted Hye-ryeong’s suggestion and turned around.
“Looks like we’re feasting tonight.”
“Hehe…”
“…”
We set off toward the streets of Wuhan.
“Now it’s the quarterfinals.”
I stood with my arms crossed, feeling the emptiness at my side, waiting for the eight qualifiers to arrive at the stage.
Those who had reached this round wouldn’t be easy opponents.
If things had followed the original novel, most of them would have been the rising stars of the Five Great Clans and Nine Great Sects…
“Eungong.”
“Ah, you’re here.”
Because I’d interfered, the composition of the quarterfinalists had changed. The original flow wouldn’t hold. My own opponent being some guy named Yang Seo-yu I’d never heard of only made things more tangled.
It made sense that my appearance had twisted the bracket from the preliminaries onward, causing several people to drop out.
“Mok-gyeong, have you heard anything about the other quarterfinalists?”
“…I heard that aside from us, they’re all direct descendants of prestigious orthodox sects.”
“Just as expected…”
I already knew Cheong Mae-hyang, Namgung Huy, and Paeng Jeok-san since I’d watched their matches myself. The rest were unknowns.
Still, there were only three of them, so more would probably come from the Nine Great Sects.
Only about three people from the Five Great Clans stood out. Since Dang Myeong-jin, one of those three, wasn’t participating, I wouldn’t see him unless I went to the Sichuan Tang Clan.
While I was lost in thought, footsteps began to echo. I immediately looked up toward the sound.
“…Wudang, Shaolin, and Zhongnan.”
All of them were characters from the original novel.
The bald one in monk’s robes was Mujin, I think. The Wudang one was some Daoist named Hak something. Zhongnan… what was his name again? I couldn’t remember the names of characters who barely appeared.
“Ahem. All quarterfinalists, gather here!”
At the judge’s stern call, we assembled before him. After confirming everyone had gathered, he cleared his throat a couple of times and spoke.
“From now on, we’ll determine the quarterfinal matchups! The method is the same as the round of sixteen!”
“We’ll draw lots in order from the left!”
I wonder who I’ll fight.
Watching Mujin, who had been standing at the far left, step forward, I felt a surge of anticipation.
Non-lethal matches were quite entertaining, so I hoped for a strong opponent. A weak one wouldn’t provide much experience. Ideally, it would be Namgung Huy or Paeng Jeok-san.
“Mujin! Group 2!”
“Jin Mok-yeon! Group 3!”
“Paeng Jeok-san! Group 4!”
“Cheong Mae-hyang! Group 1!”
One by one, they stepped forward and drew their lots. So far, no overlapping groups. I was fifth, so I stepped up and reached into the box.
This slip looks good.
I pulled out a slip and handed it to the judge.
“William! Group 4!”
“Haha! To think I get to fight the famous foreigner! I’m looking forward to it!”
“Paeng-hyung, keep it down. My ears are starting to hurt just standing next to you.”
“How can a martial artist react like that to a mere voice! Hahaha!”
…He really is loud. He’s not even using internal energy.
The original novel did mention he was noisy, but still…
“Dan Mok-gyeong! Group 3!”
“Hak-un! Group 2!”
“Namgung Huy! Group 1!”
The quarterfinal matchups were set.
Group 1: Cheong Mae-hyang vs. Namgung Huy.
Group 2: Mujin vs. Hak-un.
Group 3: Jin Mok-yeon vs. Mok-gyeong.
Group 4: Paeng Jeok-san vs. me.
A fairly standard set of matchups.
“The quarterfinal matches will be held in three days! Gather at the stage at the hour of the Snake!”
“Yes!”
“Then let’s meet in three days. You who will shoulder the future of the murim… liangs.”
Did he just glance at me? He stopped mid-sentence because calling me a “liang” felt awkward with a foreigner mixed in?
…Well, it’s understandable. If it were someone like the Hainan Sword Sect—originally not from the Central Plains but still part of the Nine Great Sects—that would be one thing. But I’m a pure Westerner.
A strange reaction is only natural.
“Three days, huh.”
Not too short, not too long. But just enough time to prepare for the quarterfinals.
I watched Namgung Huy and Paeng Jeok-san’s backs as they left, chattering noisily like they weren’t just rivals, then turned away.
“…”
Mok-gyeong quietly followed behind me.