Murim Nymph # 7
My opponent was supposed to be the Red-Faced Swordsman, Liu Hua.
China's number-one A-rank, no less.
Thump-.
Seo Yerim sank onto the sofa and explained.
"They've probably been planning to pit their prized up-and-comer against you from the start — humiliate you in front of everyone and inflate China's prestige. And honestly? It might actually work out that way. I'd bet they rigged the lottery drawing too."
China's golden boy, the A-rank number one, toppling the famous Ha Ildo of Korea —.
It was certainly the kind of story that would make Chinese shoulders swell with pride.
"So you don't need to chase after that Dang So-hae girl, right? If you ran after her now, you might still catch up. She probably tried to sweet-talk you too — 'I'll get you the championship win at the tournament' — something like that?"
Was she suggesting it would be smarter to chase Dang So-hae down and join hands with her right now?
No. Winning the tournament by clutching Dang So-hae's hand would be more shameful than being brutally defeated in front of everyone.
And besides, you never know how a match will go until you fight it.
"I just have to win. That's all there is to it."
"You say that so easily. I wouldn't underestimate A-ranks if I were you."
Seo Yerim had a point.
A-rank awakeners were formidable in their own right.
Under the right conditions and circumstances, an A-rank could sometimes put out firepower comparable to an S-rank.
But what if I beat an opponent like that?
The shock and the ripple effect would be doubled!
My back was already tingling at the thought of every post on the internet plastered with the name Ha Ildo.
It felt like honey ants were swarming up my spine!
━Zzji…!
Slide-.
As I lifted Ang-ang-i, the honey ant that had been clinging to my back, onto my palm, Seo Yerim spoke up.
"By the way, Liu Hua's hands are known to be rather merciless. They say not a single opponent has ever walked away from a duel with him unscathed. What are you going to do if Keong-keong-i or Ang-ang-i gets hurt?"
"Hmm. That does give me something to think about."
And then a thought suddenly struck me.
When I shared it, Seo Yerim stared at me in horror.
"Are you insane?"
A VIP room in Shanghai.
Beneath chandeliers and lighting that might as well have belonged to a Renaissance banquet, bearded men occupied every table.
In front of them loomed an enormous screen, its display flickering with the fireworks announcing the start of the tournament and the MC's animated gestures.
"Then let the 2nd Grand Martial Tournament of the World begin!"
Viewership had already broken fifty percent.
That meant half of China was watching the exact same scene.
And the ratings would only keep climbing.
At the scent of a runaway success before the event had even properly begun, the Sect Master of Mount Hua — the "Red Dog, Againu" — stroked his beard with slow, deliberate satisfaction and smiled.
"A magnificent bracket indeed. For the very first match to feature our Mount Hua Sect's finest disciple, the Red-Faced Swordsman! Ha Ildo — one might say this man is simply unlucky. Our Liu Hua, the moment he takes up a sword, is the finest martial artist of the late era!"
Liu Hua was the strongest of all A-ranks when he held a blade.
That was a fact no one could deny.
But if he were ever to lose his grip on that sword, it could spell disaster in all sorts of ways….
The Mount Hua Sect Master, Againu, felt a flicker of unease.
Still, he reasoned there was no conceivable way Liu Hua would drop his sword against a mere B-rank like Ha Ildo.
It was then that Zhuge Thompson, head of the Zhuge Clan, spoke up.
"'Unlucky with the bracket'—? Actually, you're quite wrong there, my friend! We rigged it to come out exactly this way! An exquisitely cunning stratagem! THIS is the true art of war!"
"Shh! 'Rigged,' you say? Watch your tongue! There are guests here in this hall from every corner of the world besides ourselves!"
Beyond the elders of the Murim Alliance, this banquet hall was packed to the brim with VIPs invited from across the globe.
Yagami, who dominated the Japanese Awakener Alliance, the Vice President of the United States, the heads of the megacorps and their aides — all of them were in attendance.
And there was a very good reason they had gathered so many powerful people in one place.
"In a hall filled with the powerful of every nation, an awakener of Korea will be crushed beneath the feet of China's most beloved son! Surely that alone will elevate the standing of our Murim Alliance!"
China had fallen badly behind in the Fifth Industry era of the twenty-first century.
But if a Chinese awakener thoroughly crushed Korea's rising star before the eyes of the entire world?
Their fallen prestige would soar, and China's awakener alliance — the Murim Alliance — would reap publicity beyond measure.
"If this affair spreads the fame of Chinese martial arts across the world, awakeners will come streaming to us from every land to learn our ways — and those awakeners will bear children right here in China, won't they!"
"Then even more rifts will open upon Chinese soil, and at long last we shall reclaim hegemony over the world! No one alive could have conceived so brilliant an idea as this!"
The elders of the Murim Alliance bustled about praising one another.
By every measure, the mood was one of triumph.
It was broken by the acerbic question of a certain man.
"So, when does the first match actually start? How long are you planning to make people wait?"
Slide-.
Every gaze turned toward the man who had propped his boots up on the table in open disregard of etiquette.
He wore a wide-brimmed hat like a cowboy, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth, and two enormous revolvers holstered at his waist.
"I hate being bored. Move things along, quick-quick."
At his insolence, the elders of the Murim Alliance bristled.
"Do the short-lived people of America simply not understand the aesthetics of waiting?"
"Insolent whelp."
Yet they could hardly protest too loudly — for all that they styled themselves "Elders," they were, in the end, ordinary people who had cultivated martial arts and the Dao in mountains and caves.
They were not awakeners of the Fifth Industry era.
They could serve as teachers to awakeners, nothing more.
That man, by contrast, was a true superhuman.
S-Rank, world number 8.
"The Vagrant" — Bron Bright.
A fixer rumored to be the rudest, most ill-mannered man alive.
But his skill was every bit as certain, and so no one ever dared cross him.
"Ha Ildo. Let's see the face of this fellow everyone talks about."
Bron had a score to settle, of sorts.
His little sister Casey gabbled about "Ha Ildo" to him day in and day out. Dog-squirrels this, honey ants that — he'd heard so much about it that his ears had grown calluses.
They say the winner of this tournament gets to marry that Xiaoxiao woman, huh? So, Ha Ildo. You've got my baby sister Cassie wrapped around your finger, and now you're turning your eyes to other women? You dirty bastard!
He was in the middle of that thought when—
"Well, if it isn't…."
Bron was so shocked he actually pulled his boots off the table.
An unexpected man had just arrived at this dreary banquet.
The moment the elders laid eyes on his face, color bloomed across every one of their expressions.
"Lord Achilles! Sit here, sit here!"
"What a journey you must have had — welcome, welcome!"
He was a strikingly tall man with flowing golden hair and the face of a living Adonis.
His name was Achilles Legion.
Greece's S-ranker, glittering at world number 5 — a titan among titans, and a man of noble bearing known as the "Hero, Achilles."
"Thank you for inviting me to such a magnificent venue."
As Achilles, dressed impeccably in a gentleman's suit, bowed courteously to those around him, Bron rose from his seat and rested a hand on the revolvers at his waist.
"Achilles. Of all the places, of all the people! You, who never show your face at official events, coming here! Weren't you joining the Argonaut?"
Click-.
Bron's quick-draw was swift and precise enough to empty both revolvers in a tenth of a second.
And yet this Bron could not draw his gun — because something had seized his wrist.
"Domo-. Bron-san. S. Ninja desu."
The thing restraining him was a ninja clad in a futuristic cyborg suit.
Japanese awakener and world rank 11 — "S. Ninja."
Thwarted by the interference of the ninja called the fastest of all S-rankers, Bron ultimately failed to free his weapon.
"Achilles — the man this world calls the strongest. Bron-san is not the only one who wishes to test himself against him. But — this is neither the time nor the place. We ask for your understanding."
At the mechanical rasp of that voice, Bron's fighting spirit only flared hotter.
If it came to it, he could just as happily put a few rounds into this "S. Ninja" instead.
"Fastest S-ranker, huh — the cyborg ninja himself? Yeah, I don't buy it. How about we settle it right here and now which is faster — your ninja throw or my bullets?"
"Any time."
But their clash never came to pass — because the strongest S-ranker of all, Achilles, said a single word.
"I am not the strongest. The strongest S-ranker is not me — it is another. If you wish to face the strongest, you would do better to fight him."
"Tch-. That line again?"
"I have a deep interest in combat and the martial arts. With luck, I may be able to draw one step closer to the strength and the sublimity that man possesses."
Achilles took his seat and fixed his gaze on the screen.
The elders of the Murim Alliance were beside themselves with delight.
"The martial arts of China are the finest in the world! Lord Achilles, you shall not regret this!"
"Have you any interest in learning Taijiquan? I would gladly instruct you free of charge, starting today!"
"Perhaps the man Lord Achilles speaks of is one of China's immortals as well!"
By every measure, the VIP banquet hall had grown deafening.
And at last, their eyes turned to the competitors filing into the arena below.
Even Achilles stared at the screen with astonishing intensity.
WAAAAAAH-.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, and my heart pounded like thunderbolts cracking one after another overhead.
China truly was a country of people.
They had built the largest stadium in the world here in Shanghai for this tournament, and it wasn't merely full — there wasn't even a square inch of floor left to stand on. It was genuinely astonishing.
"Feels like I'm about to be crushed."
It was my first time standing before so many people.
Merely standing there made me feel flattened, as if several elephants had climbed onto my back.
And at the same time—
in some corner of me, I was trembling.
"How far can I actually go?"
I had been stuck at D-rank for an agonizingly long time.
Like a dam finally bursting, my growth had resumed — but "I," the person, had never once tested myself against a world that had climbed high and far out of reach during those stagnant years. There had never been a clear chance to measure it.
To fight here with everything I had─.
That was my goal.
Then someone appeared before me.
He wore a red mask, a sword at his waist, and his ponytail was grown out remarkably long — like a woman's.
WAAAH-.
The crowd's cheers for his entrance showed no sign of ending.
The red-faced Liu Hua.
He took his place in front of me, then tilted his head quizzically.
"You're not bringing out the dog-squirrel?"
"Right. I wanted to face someone with nothing but my own strength at least once. And this seemed like the perfect occasion."
Without borrowing the power of Keong-keong-i, Ang-ang-i, Kwang-kwang-i, or Kalinoi — to fight with my strength and mine alone─.
That was the greed I harbored.
And since Seo Yerim had warned me that Liu Hua's hands were merciless, I had no wish to see any of my companions get hurt.
Seo Yerim had been aghast — "The dog-squirrel guy wants to fight without his dog-squirrel? Are you insane?" — but the Red-Faced Swordsman, Liu Hua, merely gave a dismissive snort.
"The dog-squirrels are your weapons. No one would reproach you for wielding them. Taming and commanding them is a legitimate capability of yours as an individual. I will ask once more. Will you not summon the dog-squirrel?"
"No."
"What consummate arrogance. Beating you in an incomplete state would hardly stir my blood anyway. Very well then! I too shall set down my weapon. But do not mistake that for weakness!"
Slide-.
CLANG-!
Liu Hua drew the sword from his waist and hurled it far across the arena.
BOOOM-!!!
The spot where his blade landed caved inward, leaving a deep crater.
Just how heavy a sword had this man been carrying at his hip?
Liu Hua now clenched his fists and took his stance.
"Ha Ildo. For you alone, I shall display the fist-and-claw arts that four thousand years of Chinese history boast of. Do you know what the strongest of all Chinese martial arts is? With your narrow island-peninsula imagination, you could never even conceive of it!"
His stance was uncanny.
The strongest martial art─.
Just as the name itself set my nerves on edge, a voice rang out from far away in the VIP stands — Oinoi, clutching a paper cup brimming with popcorn, shouted at the top of her lungs.
"Aaah! That stance is the stance of Pankration, it is…! This Oinoi can recognize it, she can…! It is the martial art the ancient heroes once mastered, it is…!"
Pankration?
At that strange-yet-familiar name, the red-masked swordsman Liu Hua threw back his head and laughed — hahaha-!
"Exactly! The supreme and ultimate Chinese martial art is none other than Pankration! It is a historic fact recorded even in the greatest of all Chinese military treatises — the Book of Exodus! Well? You never imagined it, did you?"
He was right about one thing: I truly could not have imagined it.
"Um. Neither Exodus nor Pankration is actually Chinese, though."
I was honestly a little flustered.
Exodus was a chronicle of the Israelite people, and Pankration was an ancient Greek martial art — was it not?
But Liu Hua trembled from head to toe and roared at me as though I had murdered his parents.
"You — those words are an insult to four thousand years of Chinese history…! DAH-HAI-YAAT…!"
FWIP-!
Liu Hua lunged at me.
And I could not help but be utterly astonished by his movement!
"Th-this is—."