Thirty-Seven Strikes
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
The crisp ring of clashing steel echoed ceaselessly across the training ground. Both crossing blades carried a sharp, biting edge—enough to send chills down the spines of the onlookers. Yet the disparity in skill appeared painfully obvious.
Thwack!
Another blow landed. Past the vicious collision of their swords, a fist struck straight through. Infused with internal energy, it was a punch meant not to shatter bones entirely, but to inflict agonizing pain. Yet upon Namgung Yun's face, not the slightest trace of torment showed.
Perhaps that impassive look rubbed him the wrong way; Namgung In, the one throwing the punch, was the one scowling.
"You've learned to swallow your pain well. Only a few days ago, you were sniveling and shivering in terror."
"All thanks to you. After all, look at the caliber of master I had. It's entirely your achievement, Hyung-nim, so feel free to shout it from the rooftops."
"Then I won't hold back today's lesson either!"
Even while brandishing his sword, Namgung In continuously lashed out with punches and kicks, battering Yun’s body. By all appearances, the spar should have concluded in an instant, yet Yun refused to go down. Part of it was Yun's sheer endurance, but the underlying reason lay elsewhere: Namgung In was deliberately moderating the internal energy in his strikes so as not to end it too quickly. And everyone watching in the training ground knew it.
To any spectator, the gap in prowess seemed undeniable. Blue and purple bruises rapidly bloomed across Yun’s body—just like when he had first awakened in this flesh.
And still, he doesn't step in.
Yun’s gaze flickered toward the referee. Namgung Seong stood with his arms crossed, watching the exchange with an impassive face. There was no sign he intended to intervene. Was the Namgung Clan so ruthless that they would let such a beating continue under the guise of a spar?
Hardly.
It hadn’t been like this during his duel with Namgung Geol. The reason Yun hadn’t drawn out that match was partly that Geol had recklessly unleashed Sword Energy, but also because Namgung Hwan, the instructor refereeing back then, looked ready to call a halt at any moment. Yet with Namgung Seong, no such hesitation existed.
Still, it didn’t matter.
I think I’ve recalled everything I needed.
The reason Yun had endured Namgung In’s strikes was solely to draw out the original Yun’s memories. To the former owner of this body, Namgung In must have left a far deeper scar than anyone else; the longer the spar dragged on, the more dormant memories surged forth like an unsealed spring. And from those surfacing memories, the truth became clear.
Respect for the Strong, is it?
The reason Namgung In, Namgung Geol, and the clan at large had abused and despised Namgung Yun: ludicrously enough, the present Namgung Clan lived by the rule that might makes right.
What kind of madhouse is this?
He had thought he would be living in the Orthodox faction, where righteousness and chivalry were revered, only to find the Namgung Clan of all places drunk on the law of the jungle.
And it's not even real Gangjajon.
First of all, their training was laughably soft. Compared to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, where blood and flesh splattered daily from childhood and lives were forfeit at the slightest misstep, the Namgung Clan’s regimen was, without much exaggeration, child's play.
Nor did true survival of the fittest permit petty bullying. In the cult, wasting time and energy on such nonsense was unthinkable when every breath was meant for honing one's martial arts. While cruelty certainly existed, it was never flaunted out in the open like this. Anyone caught indulging in such trivial malice would be reprimanded with a harsh beating and ordered to swing their sword a thousand more times.
And above all else:
Someone like the original Namgung Yun wouldn't have survived.
Having unlocked more memories, he now understood the boy's former self in greater detail. No matter how resolved he was to live as Namgung Yun, the original owner of this body was someone he could never have respected.
In the Divine Cult, he would have been culled long ago.
Yet here he was, battered and tormented, but still breathing. The Namgung Clan was petty, sheltered, and soft. He understood why, of course; they weren't the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult. The real problem was that these fools dared to brandish the words "Respect for the Strong."
A vulgar farce put on by half-witted hypocrites of the Orthodox sects.
How a noble, prestigious orthodox family had degraded into a den of common ruffians was beyond him, but now that he had grasped the situation, there was no need to keep playing this foolish charade. Besides...
Letting him land a few hits has gotten to his head.
Yun had promised to let bygones be bygones regarding the bullying inflicted upon the former Yun.
But the one taking the hits right now is me, isn't it?
Not that he intended to kill Namgung In, cripple him for life, or lop off a limb or two. Regardless of the clan’s rot, Yun's path was to learn and embody chivalry and justice. Still, returning blow for blow was only fair.
Exactly thirty-seven strikes.
No more, no less. I will return precisely the number of hits you landed, with the exact same weight behind them.
Clang!
Yun parried Namgung In’s sword. A heavy, unyielding force—entirely different from anything before—rattled down In's blade, his expression instantly contorting into bewilderment. Straight toward that dumbfounded face, Yun drove his fist.
Thwack!
"Urgh!"
Namgung In stumbled backward.
"What was that just now?"
"Did Namgung In just take a hit?"
The onlookers watching the spar were taken aback. But the shock didn't last long.
"Tsk, tsk. Looked like he let his guard down."
"He got knocked out cold last time doing the exact same thing, and he's at it again."
"Still, Yun did earn his way into the Intermediate Training Ground on skill."
"Looks like playing dead was just a trick to make In careless."
"Since when could Yun pull off cheap tricks like that? Has he really changed?"
Namgung In’s face flushed crimson.
It was only a single punch. To a martial artist, a blow like that hardly registered as damage. The problem was who had landed it. The stinging ache in his cheek felt sickeningly familiar—the exact same spot Yun had struck him before. How could he not remember that humiliation?
Worse, unlike that secluded incident, there were dozens of watching eyes today. Namgung In was engulfed in the deepest shame he had ever felt since picking up a sword—a humiliation that swiftly curdled into blind rage.
"You little bastard!"
Namgung In lunged, his eyes practically rolling back in fury.
The blade’s biting edge surged with wild ferocity. If he had previously been content merely pummeling Yun with fists and feet, he was now determined to leave a gash or two carved into his skin.
Clang!
Once again, his attack failed. No—calling it a failure was an understatement.
Thud!
"Guh!"
This time, the strike landed square in the gut. Yun’s kick drove cleanly into his midsection.
"..."
Silence fell over the arena.
The first time could be rationalized away; anyone could see In had been careless. But not the second time. Even if rage had thrown off the trajectory of his sword, that strike still should have been more than enough to smash Yun into the dirt. It should have been.
Yet the result was Namgung In taking another clean hit.
"Is the lesson over already?" Yun asked casually.
Until moments ago, Yun had been on the receiving end of a relentless barrage, his torn training uniform revealing flesh mottled with dark purple contusions. Yet somehow, something that should never have belonged to him emanated from every line of his posture.
Composure. Pure, unflinching leisure.
"Fine. I suppose you've picked up a trick or two to make it into this ring."
Namgung In's voice sank low. The wrath hadn't vanished; he had merely reined it in. Reckless fury would only hinder his true abilities, just as it had moments ago.
Namgung In shifted his stance.
Now he's actually treating this like a spar.
Not as a swaggering bully, but as a martial artist.
Yun observed In's opening posture.
Daeyeon Sword Art.
Even without the original Yun's memories, he recognized it immediately. It was the foundational sword style of the Namgung Clan, famed throughout the Jianghu, and something he had encountered countlessly in his past life as the Heavenly Demon.
Finally feels like I'm trading blows with someone from the Namgung Clan.
Namgung In closed the distance, his sword fanning out in an arc. The momentum and weight behind the strike were incomparable to his earlier flailing.
Clang!
Their blades locked. In an instant, several exchanges flashed back and forth.
Fascinating.
The rumor that In was the strongest disciple in this training ground wasn't an empty boast after all; his mastery of the Daeyeon Sword Art was surprisingly solid. It was enough to evoke distant memories from before he became the Heavenly Demon, when he had crossed blades with the Namgung Clan in his youth. Which made it all the more jarring.
Back then, those bastards burned with chivalric passion.
Thud!
Yun’s fist drilled directly into Namgung In’s chest.
"Kh, damn you...!"
In gritted his teeth. Even without dropping his guard, even after deploying proper sword forms, he had permitted another strike to breach his defenses. Yet his nightmare was only beginning.
Thwack! Thud! Bam! Crack!
The dull, rhythmic sound of impacts resonated through the training ground. The situation mirrored what had transpired minutes ago—except the roles of attacker and defender had completely reversed.
Smack!
"Keugh!"
Namgung In clutched his stomach, vomiting out a ragged groan. His condition was an utter mess. His training uniform was torn to shreds, exposing bruised, purple flesh underneath—a mirror image of the battered state he had inflicted on Yun.
The spectators stood in stunned silence. "Dumbfounded" was the only word for it.
Namgung Yun was systematically thrashing Namgung In. Not a single soul present—neither when Yun first stepped into the Intermediate Training Ground nor when the match began—could have dreamed of witnessing such a spectacle.
"Well then, will you concede?" Yun asked smoothly.
"Like hell I will!" Namgung In roared.
It was pure obstinacy—foolish, desperate pride. But In simply could not accept this reality.
I have to win, no matter what!
The very terror that had seized Namgung Geol days before now gripped In with icy claws.
"Anyone can see you're being overwhelmed," Yun provoked gently. "Take it as sincere advice from your younger brother. Graciously accept defeat."
Of course, Yun didn't mean a word of it. Quite the opposite.
Refuse. Go on, refuse.
"I told you to shut your mouth!"
Hook, line, and sinker.
As a former supreme ruler who had once reigned as the Heavenly Demon, manipulating a greenhorn who hadn't even shed his baby fat was child's play. With this, he had successfully prevented In from hastily surrendering.
Next, the referee.
Yun flicked a glance toward Namgung Seong. The instructor was equally thrown into confusion, yet showed no inclination to halt the spar prematurely.
He let the match drag on while I was taking a beating; he has no justification to stop it now.
That eliminated any chance of the referee stepping in. Which meant Yun could take his time repaying every single blow.
Thud! Crack! Bam! Thwack! Pow!
The sound of blows landing like drumbeats echoed once more across the grounds.
"Gah! Urgh!"
Groans spilled continuously from In's lips as his movements grew visibly sluggish.
Tsk, tsk. So eager to dole out violence to others, yet falling apart the moment it's turned back on you.
Still, Yun had no intention of stopping.
I still have eighteen more hits to return.
Smash!
"Aaaargh!"
Namgung In’s knees buckled. Drool and spittle dribbled from his trembling lips.
"Come now, raise your sword, Hyung-nim," Yun drawled. "Shouldn't you continue your noble lesson? At this rate, someone might mistake this for me educating you."
"You little piece of...!"
The smug leisure he had worn while mocking Yun was gone without a trace. Namgung In raised his sword with trembling hands.
Wuuung!
The blade hummed, and a hazy, mist-like aura began to shroud the steel.
"Sword Energy?"
"In a routine spar?!"
The spectating disciples gasped in horror. As a rule, Sword Energy was forbidden during spars in the Intermediate Training Ground. Inexperienced youths channeling lethal qi during casual bouts was an invitation to catastrophe. Even on the rare occasions it was permitted, thorough safeguards had to be in place.
"H-Halt! Stop the spar immediately!" Namgung Seong shouted in alarm.
Namgung In didn't stop. Or rather, Seong’s voice no longer reached his ears.
"Aaaaaargh!"
In charged like a madman.
His Sword Energy was on an entirely different level from Geol’s crude display. Thick, mist-like qi swirled densely along the length of his blade. If he could compress that energy further and stabilize its form, it would become a Sword Thread—the unmistakable hallmark of a First-rate master. Namgung In stood right at that threshold.
Of course, standing at the threshold did not guarantee he would attain the First-rate realm anytime soon. Countless martial artists spent their entire lives stranded on that precipice, never grasping the enlightenment needed to take the next step. Yet here, in this Intermediate Training Ground populated entirely by Second-rate disciples, Namgung In was undeniably the strongest.
Second-rate is still Second-rate, though.
Still, that wasn't what annoyed Yun right now. Watching In hurtle toward him in a frenzied charge, Yun clicked his tongue in genuine irritation. The boy had lost his mind sooner than expected.
I still have seven hits left to deliver!