The Wooden Sword's Verdict
“Let’s begin.”
Yeon O-su raised his wooden sword.
“Hold on a sec.”
Kim Jun dashed to the corner and thrust the Cheonroegeom into the camera. Sparks flew as smoke billowed from the fried internals.
“I don’t like spectators.”
Kim Jun smashed every camera in the room.
“Same here.”
Yeon O-su had forgotten his opponent was just a carrier.
He can really wield the Cheonroegeom.
Yeon O-su stepped forward and jabbed lightly with the wooden sword—a quick punch like a boxer's jab, fast but low impact.
Kim Jun didn't retreat; he sidestepped, slipping behind Yeon O-su.
Yeon O-su's eyes gleamed at the footwork.
That's no swordsman's movement.
Yeon O-su upped the pace cautiously. It was the second form of the Yeonmu Shibil Geom: Yeon Chwi. The sword fused with his arm, accelerating several times over, menacing Kim Jun's chest and shoulder.
Clang.
Kim Jun swiftly raised his blade to parry.
Twice more, the wooden sword flicked toward his wrist. Kim Jun retracted the Cheonroegeom and twisted away. The tip grazed his skin by a hair's breadth.
As I thought! He's no swordsman.
Yeon O-su was certain now.
Kim Jun was a complete novice with the blade.
A true swordsman embodied stillness in motion—minimal body movement, maximal sword control. When blades met, you felt the opponent's skill through the vibration. But this?
It's like he's never held a sword before.
Yeon O-su tested him once more.
Just before their swords clashed again, he channeled internal energy into the wooden blade, alternating suction and repulsion.
The moment the Cheonroegeom touched it, the wooden sword sucked it tight to its surface. As Kim Jun gripped with both hands to pull free, the force flipped to repulsion. The blade flew from his grasp, spinning into the floor.
Simultaneously, the wooden sword stabbed his gut. Kim Jun's waist buckled, hurling him toward his sword. He vomited his breakfast before staggering to his feet.
“I'll let that one slide.”
Yeon O-su said.
“You looked just like him in his younger days.”
Yeon Un-jae remarked.
With all the cameras smashed, they couldn't watch from the monitor room. Still, Yeon Un-jae couldn't relax, so he and Choi Min-su headed back to the Dae Chun-jae hall.
“I'm liking him more and more.”
Choi Min-su hadn't expected Kim Jun to trash the cameras either, but scratching Yeon Un-jae's nerves was commendable. And those were Yeon Ga property—icing on the cake.
“Oh, right. I haven't mentioned that yet. Now that we're both his patrons, we can speak freely. The one who beat your son was Yeon O-su. You've raised him well. I was shocked to hear he took down six of the Yeonmu Chilsu.”
Yeon Un-jae said it brightly, like sharing delightful gossip.
“Is that so?”
“Didn't your son tell you?”
He turned away, muttering about the boy's silence—either stoic or a distant father-son bond.
Yeon Un-jae wanted Choi Min-su to explode. Lose control here, and all complications would resolve themselves.
Choi Min-su dashed those hopes.
“Did you know Sang-yeop tried to join Lunatic Moon as a dealer?”
Yeon Un-jae's face flushed with rage.
Yeon Sang-yeop was his late son. A prodigy destined to elevate Yeon Ga, he'd craved freedom from its stifling confines.
On the day he chose to join Moon Hyo-rin's Lunatic Moon, a tragic accident claimed his life.
Choi Min-su regarded him calmly.
“When it comes to children, your pain and anger as family head mirror mine.”
“I see. My mistake.”
A straightforward apology, uncharacteristic of Yeon Un-jae.
Moments later, they arrived at the Dae Chun-jae.
Yeon O-su and Kim Jun glanced their way but soon locked eyes again, ignoring the audience.
Choi Min-su smiled silently.
Yeon O-su lifted the wooden sword overhead—perfection incarnate.
The first time Kim Jun saw that stance, it evoked a church cross glowing red at night. The vertical blade atop broad horizontal shoulders eerily mirrored it.
The second glance shocked him.
The sword seemed massively larger. The air grew heavy. How? Kim Jun swallowed, focusing on it.
The slender blade emanated terrifying menace, soon eclipsing Yeon O-su's massive frame.
Only crossed wooden swords remained in view.
This man... is a true sword master.
Kim Jun faced the harsh truth.
Why he'd lost the Cheonroegeom. Why Yeon O-su had spared him once. The gap in their swordsmanship was heaven and earth.
He eyed the Cheonroegeom.
Flawless from razor tip to pommel... yet it hadn't met its true master.
I need to train like hell.
Kim Jun tossed it aside. It spun lightly, embedding deep into the solid oak table—dead center in the lotus carving.
Yeon O-su smiled.
Kim Jun stepped forward. Now he saw him clearly.
“Alright, round two.”
The wooden sword sliced the air.
Kim Jun had already dodged sideways, but the wind whipped his hair, slashing his cheek.
In Yeon O-su's grip, the blade rampaged freely.
Kim Jun became a gust, evading the ferocious beast.
After fifteen relentless seconds, Yeon O-su realized: this carrier was unimaginably fast. Victory wouldn't come easy.
Whoooosh. The hall echoed with gale-force winds.
A one-sided assault.
Yet Kim Jun felt no real threat.
His swordsmanship is incredible—sharp, swift. But...
His footwork was slow. If Yeon O-su matched his Yeon Yuksu mobility, Kim Jun would struggle.
Footwork was Yeon O-su's weakness.
He couldn't pursue Kim Jun's retreats.
Thirty minutes of tempest passed.
They stared across the gap, both panting—the attacker and the evader alike.
Yeon O-su grinned at Kim Jun. Kim Jun grinned back.
Yeon Ga was insidious. That was Kim Jun's impression. Yet its members stood tall, proud.
Which was the real Yeon Ga?
“Your evasion is impressive. But it won't decide the fight. A draw isn't bad, though.”
Yeon O-su said.
“Now I'll fight back.”
“Oh? Will you?”
“Yeah.”
Kim Jun lunged.
Yeon O-su frowned, unleashing the first form of the Yeon Ga Shipil Geom: Yeon Yeop. Like a leaf in the wind, the wooden sword thrust at Kim Jun's left shoulder.
Unlike before, Kim Jun twisted aside, sliding low to target the ankle.
Startled by the sharp counter, Yeon O-su reflexively lifted his foot, losing balance. A split-second slower, and it might've snapped.
Kim Jun sprang up, charging.
Yeon O-su responded cautiously with the second form: Yeon Chwi. Light as Yeon Yeop, but blindingly fast.
Reading wrist angle, foot position, shoulder and waist twist, Kim Jun slowed fractionally.
The sword whistled past his chest.
Seizing the moment, Kim Jun burrowed in, striking the ankle again.
As Yeon O-su retreated, Kim Jun accelerated, smashing a fist into the sword hand.
Crack.
Bone snapped.
Yet Yeon O-su clung to the hilt. Suppressing agony, he smashed the pommel into Kim Jun's chest. Unprepared for the technique, Kim Jun took it full force.
Crunch.
He flew back, skidding seven meters before rising.
His chest burned like searing coals charring bone and flesh. Ribs fractured.
A finger for a rib.
Not worth it.
Kim Jun assessed coldly. Victory odds plummeted.
Yeon O-su charged.
Whoosh, whoosh.
Ignoring his broken finger, attacks grew fiercer. Each breath, each step, Kim Jun's ribs screamed in collision.
Regeneration was useless now.
Sensing defeat, a absurd plan sparked—the one chance left. Kim Jun gritted his teeth, watching for an opening.
Yeon O-su's strikes were powerful but simple.
Just seven forms all duel. Variations, but the roots unchanged.
Kim Jun would exploit that.
Here it comes!
Yeon O-su opened the fifth form: Yeon Gang.
The fiercest of the Yeon Ga Shipil Geom, his specialty.
The wooden sword hurtled like a cleaver.
Kim Jun dove forward. Brutal as it was, altering its path was tough. Flattening himself, he let it slice empty air behind.
Yeon O-su stepped back, instantly shifting to Go Du—the rib-breaker.
My win. Swords stab and slash, but in close quarters, the pommel hammers like a mallet. Your ignorance dooms you.
Ankle or hand—Yeon O-su could block either.
But Kim Jun, nearly prone, planted both hands. Knees tucked to chest, he handstood, kicking like a raging stallion at Yeon O-su's chest.
Yeon O-su smirked.
No power from that angle. Your strength can't topple me. And with cracked ribs, you can't push hard.
But!
Thwack!
An unnatural impact rang out.
Snapped to reality, Yeon O-su floated midair, his precious wooden sword spinning solo.
He slammed into the ceiling.
Thud.
Vision blurred. Mind reeled. Pain faded.
One attempt succeeded. Kim Jun froze briefly.
Using Mokhonbo's Tan as an attack, not footwork—and it worked. He clenched his fist, rising.
Kim Jun approached the motionless Yeon O-su. Twin footprints marred his chest.
Choi Min-su checked him.
“Multiple fractures. Hospital bound for a while. You okay?”
“...Just one broken.”
“Just one?”
Choi Min-su stifled a laugh.
He had to consider Yeon Un-jae, this room's master and event host.
People carried Yeon O-su out on a stretcher.
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