Chapter 779
Chapter 779
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 779
Chapter Title: Chapter 779 - #164_두 스승님
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 779
Chapter Title: Two Masters
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1.
Rinne and Eloa reached a single point of agreement without exchanging a single word.
This fight was no life-or-death duel bent on taking each other's lives.
Nor was it a clash between witches—it was a bout between martial artists.
Thus, they drew forth only the bare minimum mana needed to unleash their true swordsmanship.
Their figures locked eyes in midair before rocketing forward like repelled magnets, closing the distance in a flash.
It was a ferocious collision right from the opening move—no feints or probing, just pure intensity.
-Kagagak!
Sparks of mana erupted in every direction as Rinne's wakizashi tangled with Eloa's contracted sword.
Though forged of unyielding steel that refused to bend or snap, Rinne's wakizashi slithered up the blade like a serpent coiling around its prey, lunging straight for Eloa's wrist.
At the same instant, her odachi whipped out in a natural arc, rising diagonally from her waist to stab at the thigh—an angle impossible to dodge.
-Kwang!
Eloa spotted it instantly and thrust her body forward instead, stomping down toward Rinne's instep.
Even with mana throttled back, it was a single step infused with exquisite footwork technique.
Rinne twisted away to save her foot from being crushed, her movements faltering in the process.
Eloa seized the opening without mercy, flowing seamlessly into a shoulder charge that slammed into Rinne's chest.
-Kuwoong!
"Guhk!"
The simple shoulder bash boomed like a drumstrike, far louder than its simplicity suggested.
As Rinne tumbled across the garden floor, gasping for breath, Eloa gave chase.
She swung a finishing blow at Rinne, who hadn't yet recovered her stance.
Rinne rolled along the ground like a log, deflecting the overhead cleave from above.
But Rinne wasn't merely scrambling to evade.
-Hwiririk!
Mid-roll, she coiled her body like a striking serpent, her blade lashing out long and far.
A battojutsu strike that accounted even for the crouch.
The odachi's far longer arc slipped through a gap in Eloa's follow-up, landing a counter.
A few strands of pink hair sheared off, and a razor-sharp gust that nearly split Eloa's forehead brought her advance to a halt.
"……."
"……."
This was merely the close of the first exchange.
In time, barely two seconds had passed.
The two straightened their postures.
Eloa pressed the attack once more.
Her sword, raised high overhead, slashed down in a perfect diagonal.
To anyone who had ever pledged their life to the blade, it was the ideal strike—flawless in conception and execution.
Yet even breaching an opponent's guard offered no guaranteed victory.
Close in to exploit the weaknesses of long blades and two-handers, and she'd pry you open with full-body grappling.
Her bare-knuckle punches were as deadly as any sword stroke.
Rinne let out a sigh.
Eloa's sword was like a mountain.
The pinnacle of the martial way, built layer upon unyielding layer from the very foundation—no shortcuts, no tricks.
A noble, righteous blade that even a millennium could not erode.
And it wasn't shackled to swordplay alone.
True to her title of War God, every motion was an impenetrable shield and an unstoppable sword.
Rinne desperately parried the inexorable overhead slash, her body flickering like a phantom to seize Eloa's blind spot.
In movements as free and weightless as shadow, lethal strikes thrust out unpredictably.
Eloa marveled inwardly.
Rinne's sword was like twin serpents.
Unpredictable coils and lithe twists.
A nito-ryu style refined to its absolute limits in technique, skill, and indomitable spirit—all for raw power.
The sword's myriad flourishes typically sprang from wrist flicks and grips.
Yet Rinne wielded her dual blades to unleash eye-bewitching strikes that proved her might.
Up to this point, it would have mirrored their past clashes.
But the Rinne before her now was fundamentally transformed.
"You've changed."
"……."
The Rinne in Eloa's memory was a master swordswoman, yes—but one forever on the defensive, hounded by something unseen.
To foes outmatched by her skill, that air might have registered as sheer intimidation.
How could it not? Facing a blade that screamed at every moment, "If I can't kill you, then my death means nothing," would cow any spirit.
But Eloa saw past surface fears to the essence—and that Rinne's sword had been a hasty contrivance, nothing more.
And now?
The frantic edge of staking her life on every blow had vanished.
In its place bloomed calm assurance and conviction, laced with a hunter's patient leisure as she eyed her prey.
With her sole flaw erased, Rinne's sword could no longer be dismissed or overlooked.
Rinne's body shot forward without a sound.
This time, her signature inertia control wove into the motion.
Her blade scuttled along the ground from an impossible stance, at an impossible angle.
Eloa intercepted it at last, steel meeting steel.
-Kagagak! Kkak!
The two plunged back into a fierce sword lock.
Eloa's eyes narrowed.
A sticky blade.
Clinging like a woman coquettishly entwining a man... like tongues twisting together... like lovers slick with sweat, writhing atop the bed.
Sword strikes tracing four spiraling paths surged toward Eloa.
-Kwaaang!
Eloa pinpointed the vortex's heart and crushed it downward with brute force.
"You..."
Eloa bit her lip.
The "conversation of swords" sounded absurd on its face.
The average fool would insist that clashing metal revealed nothing of true hearts.
But Eloa read it clearly.
What Rinne's blade now conveyed was singular devotion—"I miss my husband"—mingled with raw competitive fire: "I want to steal him from this woman."
Mastering the sword's higher realms demanded diverse experiences.
And Rinne's blade now brimmed with an inner evolution born of one pivotal "experience."
What had reshaped her?
Eloa's mind reeled from a lurid fancy she'd known but resisted visualizing: her disciple embracing a naked Rinne.
"...Now I understand."
At last, Eloa pinpointed the deep-seated aversion she'd felt toward Rinne.
Viewed coldly, it was a childish notion, laughably immature.
Eloa had never vied with Si-woo's other lovers or bickered over him.
She was his lover, yes—but above all, his teacher. That awareness had defined her.
At first, it had been a yoke of conscience.
Now, it was a cherished, singular status.
Si-woo had many lovers, but only Eloa was called "Teacher."
Thus, from her core, she rejected the thief who'd stolen that "teacher" uniqueness—a stray cat who dared call him "husband."
Even knowing Rinne posed no vile threat warranting extermination, the truth stood unchanged.
And so Eloa declared it.
Rinne was her fated rival.
"I cannot acknowledge you."
As if those words finally aligned their hearts, Rinne curved her lips in a faint smile and replied.
"Nor I you."
Rinne harbored the same instinctive rejection toward Eloa.
When she'd first learned of his many lovers, she'd vowed harmony with every wife and concubine.
She knew her own temperament was prickly, ill-suited to easy bonds.
Yet for the sake of harmony with her husband Si-woo, she'd gladly bowed her head—even to her lifelong nemesis Eloa.
But the moment they faced off, Rinne had realized the truth.
She could never draw close to this woman.
She might yield to others, but never kneel before her.
Perhaps it was the primal arrogance of two martial artists treading the same path, yet blessed with divergent gifts, clashing at last.
-Seureung.
Rinne sheathed both blades.
Eloa returned her contracted sword to subspace.
The bowstring-taut tension between them slackened at last.
They understood.
Their skills had always been evenly matched, with scant gap between.
Rinne had ascended to a new realm and proven it.
Eloa acknowledged as much.
Now Rinne stood as her equal.
To settle a victor risked a fatal mishap.
And they both grasped how their disciple—their husband—would grieve if it came to that.
Thus, they sheathed their swords.
Victory would be decided another way.
2.
The match with Diana had dragged on longer than expected, so Si-woo headed back to the Gemernai mansion first.
Calling so late at night would be rude, and besides—perhaps the negotiations had wrapped up, with his teachers waiting.
For the record, it had been a total rout this time.
Even without removing his eyepatch, Diana hadn't laid a finger on him.
Seemed like pitting himself against that location-board AlphaGo, Roji, had honed his skills tremendously.
Diana herself had conceded with frank admiration.
"Huh?"
Strolling through the garden, Si-woo froze at the sight of Rinne and Eloa together.
Why were both his teachers here in one spot?
Had something gone wrong?
His anxious steps quickened—only for both women to turn toward him at once.
"My husband..."
"Si-woo."
Rinne, her face blooming with joy only he could detect, moved to embrace him—only for Eloa to intercept with exquisite timing.
A perfect tackle.
"Yes, Teacher?"
"I wish to duel the Sword Witch. Would you serve as judge?"
"What kind of duel?"
Rinne slipped past Eloa's blockade with a slick Marseille turn and stepped forward.
"A cooking contest."
"Pardon?"
And so the Si-woo Cup World's Greatest Teacher Cooking Tournament was born.
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