Chapter 137. The Rabble (1)
New Year had passed. As everyone had anticipated, the establishment of the Murim Alliance was officially decided.
Though it came after sufficient discussion, those in the know understood it was a decision pushed by a simple majority.
Once the Murim Alliance's creation was confirmed, its organizational chart was assembled at a terrifying speed. There were precedents from the ancestors of old, and the process of reviewing and adjusting the blueprints already drafted by the heads of each sect before the announcement had been remarkably swift.
And so, the White Path Martial Alliance was formed.
The leaders of the Nine Great Sects and Six Great Families received the title of Alliance Envoys, while the position of Alliance Leader remained vacant.
The news spread like wildfire across the Central Plains.
The revival of the Murim Alliance. It marked the beginning of a massive upheaval that would shake the Central Plains martial world, tamed by years of peace.
BOOOOM!
“Kuh!”
“Don’t fall back!”
Crack!
Yeon Hojeong closed the distance in an instant and unleashed a single punch.
Ok Cheong’s eyes widened in shock.
Again!
It was a plain, ordinary punch. Straightforward, without any feints. Not particularly fast, nor overwhelmingly powerful.
But he’d fallen for that very punch time and again. To be precise, he’d been done in by the unimaginable follow-up attacks hidden behind it.
No more!
He couldn’t let it happen this time. Ok Cheong’s eyes blazed with resolve as Mixed Origin Qi flickered within them.
Whoooosh.
A glint flashed in Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.
Ok Cheong discarded the iron sword in his hand and gripped his fist with both palms. His hands, infused with Mixed Origin Qi, began a bizarre rotation.
Hmm.
Whoooosh!
Yeon Hojeong’s body spun along with that rotation of true energy. Joy lit up Ok Cheong’s eyes.
He’d finally disrupted the charging bull-like assault of his opponent.
That was when it happened.
Yeon Hojeong, his stance crumbling, slammed a kick straight into Ok Cheong’s shoulder.
Crack!
“Kuhuk!”
Ok Cheong dropped to one knee.
The power of the Taiji Scattering Hands contained in his double palms lost its path and scattered.
No!
Crack!
The moment he knelt, he reeled backward. Yeon Hojeong was a master of real combat martial arts. He could topple any foe from any position at any time.
For now, he had to retreat and find a counter.
Fwoosh!
But Ok Cheong, hardened by their brutal spars, hadn’t yet grasped Yeon Hojeong’s limits.
Whoooosh!
Huh?!
Terror filled Ok Cheong’s eyes.
Yeon Hojeong hadn’t moved from his spot. He simply extended his hand, pouring pure white White Tiger Qi over his body. The force was so immense it felt like his entire form was bound.
He couldn’t move, not even for a moment.
Though he unleashed his Mixed Origin Qi to break free of the White Tiger Qi coiling around him, that brief window was more than enough for Yeon Hojeong to land ten strikes.
Wham!
Thud!
“Kyaaak!”
Ok Cheong sprawled flat on the ground.
Yeon Hojeong grinned.
“Eighty-seven matches, eighty-seven wins, and undefeated.”
“Cough, cough!”
“You okay?”
“I-I’m fine. Urk!”
Ok Cheong finally spat up blood.
Yeon Hojeong had pulled back on the final blow, but even so, his palm strike carried monstrous power.
Ok Cheong staggered to his feet.
“Not bad.”
“Pardon?”
“This fight wasn’t bad. You’re finally starting to get it.”
Surprise bloomed on Ok Cheong’s face.
Until now, Yeon Hojeong had never praised him, not even as empty words. He’d cursed him out instead, mocking him so viciously it shredded his pride.
He’d utterly denied the sword intent Ok Cheong had cultivated thus far.
And now, for the first time, Yeon Hojeong was praising him.
…Huh.
What was this? A thrilling buzz, perhaps.
It felt even better than praise from his master.
“Th-thank you.”
“What’s there to thank? It’s your sheer grit that got you this far.”
In truth, Yeon Hojeong did respect Ok Cheong’s tenacity above all else.
Anyone with a temper would’ve buckled under his savage barbs.
His pride must’ve been crushed. His confidence shattered.
Around the seventieth bout, hadn’t his skills even regressed?
Yet Ok Cheong endured that hellish regimen and reached this point.
“Whether cultivating alone or clashing with a foe, time isn’t what matters in training. It’s efficient effort.”
“Efficient…”
“You dropped your sword just now, right?”
“Pardon? Ah, yes!”
“Why’d you drop it? You clutched it tight until you collapsed.”
Ok Cheong stared blankly at the fallen sword.
I dropped my sword?
Only now did it hit him. He’d let go of his sword and twisted Yeon Hojeong’s attack with Taiji Scattering Hands.
How could this be?
To a swordsman, the sword was inseparable. Dropping it in a crisis wasn’t the act of a true swordsman.
Thud!
Ok Cheong knelt with a dazed expression.
Yeon Hojeong, who’d meant to praise him, frowned.
“What’re you doing?”
“I-I dropped my sword.”
“Huh?”
“A swordsman dropped his sword. What a disgrace…!”
Thwack!
“Guhk!”
Ok Cheong rolled across the dirt. His pristine training robes were now caked in mud.
“You idiot, you should be praising yourself for finally dropping it. Why’re you shocked?”
“…Pardon?”
Ok Cheong blinked innocently, his eyes like those of a sad puppy. Yeon Hojeong continued.
“All your martial arts are like that. Rigidly framed.”
“Framed?”
“Why can’t you drop the sword? If this were real combat, you’d be dead. Clutching it to the bitter end like a ‘true swordsman’?”
“…!”
“See? ‘A swordsman must do this, this heart method requires that operation, that footwork must be soft so use it softly.’ All cookie-cutter bullshit.”
“Th-that’s…!”
“It’s amazing you reached the peak realm stuck in those molds. How? Pure talent, no doubts or second thoughts.”
“…”
“In a way, it’s monstrous talent. A mediocre hack grinding like you would’ve stayed third-rate forever, never even scraping first-rate.”
Ok Cheong’s eyes bulged like beads.
Yeon Hojeong’s face grew serious.
“All this time fighting me, you must’ve reflected only on your own arts. Right?”
“…Y-yes.”
“Why didn’t you mimic my techniques?”
“Pardon?!”
“I didn’t beat you with fancy moves. Just simple street-thug stuff loaded with power and speed.”
“Ah…”
“Read your opponent’s movements and counter— even basic arts become peak-level. Your combat sense is abysmal. Why? You never break out of the mold.”
Shock washed over Ok Cheong’s face.
Yeon Hojeong smirked.
“I could’ve explained it verbally. But you were too deep in the hole. You’d agonize for days over a few words from me.”
“…”
“Better to beat the pain and responses into your body.”
Talent couldn’t bridge the gap in real combat experience.
Survival odds in a first real fight favored the talented over the average, but not by much.
In the end, it was focus. Will. Those who immersed fully could shatter molds, fast or slow.
Ok Cheong had lacked that.
And now, he truly felt what Yeon Hojeong had been teaching him.
“I’ve brought you to the door. Opening it and stepping out is on you. You’ve worked hard.”
“Hah! I-is the training over?”
Yeon Hojeong frowned.
“What more do you want? I’ve done plenty.”
“B-but I’m still so lacking! I want to see more of your devious counters!”
This punk’s stabbing me with that innocent face.
“Shut it. More spars would be pointless now.”
Ok Cheong drooped, head hanging.
A disciple of a former grandmaster should outrank Yeon Hojeong in status, yet here he was, utterly deflated—a rare sight.
By the way, what was that Sword Sage guy doing?
It was a question that had nagged him during their bouts.
Didn’t teach him this until his disciple turned into a wallflower? Some master.
Yeon Hojeong gave Ok Cheong a pitying look, then shrugged.
“Whatever, not my problem.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Head back to your quarters. No need to come tomorrow.”
“…Yes.”
Ok Cheong rose limply and clasped his hands in salute.
“I learned much thanks to you. I owe you a great debt.”
“Nah. I learned plenty from you too. If anything, I’m grateful.”
Ok Cheong smiled.
What a good guy.
In battle, he spewed creative curses that scraped the soul raw, but afterward, he’d loosen his muscles and pat his shoulders.
A great man. Could I become like him?
Someone of his caliber had nothing left to learn from Ok Cheong, yet claimed otherwise.
A man of refined character.
Then Yeon Hojeong bellowed.
“Done with goodbyes? Scram already!”
“Hiiik! Yes! See you later!”
Ok Cheong bolted from Pa Gun Pavilion.
Tsking at his retreating figure, a sinister smile crept over Yeon Hojeong’s face.
“Hmm. Hmmm. Heh heh hum.”
Thud!
He stomped firmly, lowering his stance.
Probably felt like this?
Whoosh.
His fists sliced softly through the air. Astonishingly, it was the Wudang Taiji Fist.
Not the gymnastic street version, but the true Taiji Fist taught only to Wudang disciples.
And here…
Pop pop pop!
Seven piercing strikes erupted in an instant, bold yet fluid. Lightning-fast, yet carrying a long, flowing wave of true energy surging wildly within.
Good. Nailed it perfectly.
Ok Cheong hadn’t made the forms his own. He wielded them near-original.
In other words, authentic Wudang arts.
And through teaching him, Yeon Hojeong had mimicked most of his techniques.
Outer forms only, of course.
“Kuh, Wudang’s the real deal. Just copying the forms creates this much flow in the air? Freaky bastards.”
Then a voice cut in.
“Dirty cheater.”
“Gah!”
Yeon Hojeong jolted. He’d been so focused he hadn’t noticed her approach.
Muk Bi frowned.
“Stealing someone’s arts feels good?”
“Stealing? I just naturally picked it up while teaching the guy. Win-win, right? We both benefited.”
“Eish, eish!”
“Tch, don’t look at me with such contempt.”
Yeon Hojeong chuckled immaturely.
“Ugh, stop laughing and come on.”
“Huh? Where?”
“Father’s calling.”
“Me? Why?”
“No idea. Something about the army.”
The playfulness vanished from Yeon Hojeong’s face, turning grave.
“It’s begun.”