Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Chapter 2: If There Is Something That Changes, There Is Also Something That Doesn't (3)
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"They're summoning you to the True Martial Hall now."
A boy who looked barely thirteen or fourteen was staring at Damho. He was Won-yul, a second-generation disciple of the Mount Hua Sect.
Though Won-yul was only two or three years younger than Damho, their seniority was worlds apart. Damho was a first-generation disciple, while Won-yul was second-generation—Damho's martial nephew. Yet Won-yul's gaze toward Damho flickered with a mischievous glint.
The corner of Won-yul's mouth twisted upward.
'A cripple like this is my martial uncle? No way in hell I'll accept that.'
Damho didn't know it, but his nickname within the Mount Hua Sect was "Lame Dog"—a jab at his limp.
Many first-generation disciples saw Damho as little more than a lucky fluke who'd risen to their rank by chance. The second-generation disciples outright refused to acknowledge someone their own age as a martial uncle.
The Mount Hua Sect prized strength above all, renowned throughout the world for its swordsmanship. In such a place, accepting Damho—who couldn't properly perform even a single sword form due to his congenital defect—was no easy task.
Above all, Damho had almost no interactions with the other disciples. By the rank of first-generation disciple, one was expected to instruct the second-generation, but Damho rarely showed his face. This bred misunderstandings among the younger disciples.
Many believed he received special treatment without earning it. They paid him nominal respect due to seniority but never called him martial uncle. That was the pride of Won-yul and his fellow second-generation disciples.
Damho stared blankly at Won-yul for a moment. Won-yul met his gaze provocatively, without flinching.
Then Won-yul flinched.
Those unusually deep, pitch-black eyes held no emotion toward him whatsoever. Yet Won-yul felt an inexplicable chill.
'What the hell?'
As he tried to pinpoint the reason—
"Let's go."
Damho brushed past him. The chill vanished like a lie.
'Was it my imagination?'
Won-yul tilted his head.
By then, Damho was already walking far ahead. Won-yul hurried after him without time to think.
'Almost a month already?'
Han So-yu had told him they'd gather at the True Martial Hall nearly a month ago. Damho had completely forgotten amid his training in the Midheaven Heart Technique and Bamboo Leaf Hands.
'The Sword Elder.'
He was curious about the man, but it was a shame to lose time cultivating the Midheaven Heart Technique. Still, he couldn't skip a summons from the sect's elders.
Damho suddenly looked up and glanced around. The plum blossoms that had blanketed Mount Hua in white not long ago were gone.
He missed the faint plum scent, but felt no real regret—just a pang that so much time had already passed.
Meanwhile, a look of bewilderment crossed Won-yul's face as he trailed behind. At first, the gap between them was negligible, but it widened with every step.
Damho was clearly walking with a slight limp. Yet the distance kept growing. No matter how fast Won-yul walked, it didn't shrink.
In the end, Won-yul had to use lightness skill. Only then did he catch up—but by that point, Damho was nearly at the True Martial Hall's main gate.
Damho turned to Won-yul.
"We just go in like this?"
"Uh? Y-Yes... that's right."
"Thanks for guiding me. See you around."
Damho stepped inside. Staring at his receding back, Won-yul muttered,
"Has he learned some special lightness skill or something?"
It made sense. Even if they treated him like a lame dog, he was still a first-generation disciple.
"Getting perks like that—guess that's what being first-generation means."
Won-yul bit his lip.
Over fifty first-generation disciples of the Mount Hua Sect had gathered inside the True Martial Hall. For a massive sect like Mount Hua, assembling them all in one place was nearly impossible.
As the sect's core strength, first-generation disciples were assigned to halls or sub-sects to teach disciples or handle official duties.
This was the first time most had gathered like this—at least as far as Damho knew.
Despite the crowd, not a single voice broke the silence. A solemn atmosphere dominated the hall.
As Damho entered, the eldest martial brother, Mu-kyeong, gave a slight smile in greeting. Mindful of the mood, Damho silently bowed his head.
A few nodded in acknowledgment, some looked at him with pity, and others scowled in displeasure.
But Han So-yu was different. She gazed at Damho with a gentle smile. He bowed to her as well.
Creak!
Rusty hinges screeched as the True Martial Hall's doors swung open. An elderly Daoist stepped out.
He appeared ordinary at first glance, but he exuded the sharp aura of a finely honed master sword.
His gaze swept over the first-generation disciples. Those who met his eyes felt a bone-chilling cold, as if standing naked in a frozen wasteland.
Damho felt it too.
Gooseflesh crawled up his hands and spine. His lips trembled involuntarily.
The elderly Daoist said nothing, but Damho instantly knew he was the True Martial Hall Master and Mount Hua's top expert—the Sword Immortal. No one else could radiate such presence.
At last, the elderly Daoist spoke.
"Good to see you all. I am the Sword Immortal."
"We pay respects to Sword Elder."
The first-generation disciples' voices boomed through the hall, laced with reverence for the Sword Immortal.
After the thunderous greeting subsided, the Sword Immortal continued.
"I've gathered you all here by order of the sect leader. He wishes me to impart as much of my insights as possible to you."
The disciples stirred in excitement.
Even a fraction of the Sword Immortal's insights could lead to tremendous breakthroughs. But his next words doused their enthusiasm like ice water.
"However, I have no need for a handful of adepts slightly better than the rest. I need one truly exceptional individual."
The Sword Immortal's eyes gleamed sharply.
He had entered Mount Hua as a toddler and walked the path of the sword for over fifty years. While his peers turned to worldly affairs or neglected their martial arts, he stayed true to the blade.
A swordsman who lived by the sword and would die by it.
For one whose ultimate goal was to ascend to immortality through the sword, mediocrity held no value.
He sought a singular genius to inherit his insights.
"You will undergo a trial. The sole one who passes will become my direct disciple. Be they first- or second-generation, even a lay disciple—if they show exceptional talent, they will inherit everything."
Hum!
The declaration was shocking.
It shattered the hierarchies and seniorities most sects held sacred.
A lay disciple becoming the Sword Immortal's pupil would instantly elevate them to first-generation status. An unprecedented breach of convention.
Faces that had been relaxed now hardened. Even Mu-kyeong and Un-kyeong, leaders among the first-generation, were among them.
They hadn't expected such radical terms from the Sword Immortal.
Mu-kyeong spoke on behalf of the group.
"How will you select your disciple, Elder?"
"What, do you crave it too, Mu-kyeong? You've already begun the Violet Haze Divine Art—my insights would be redundant."
Mu-kyeong was a direct disciple of Mount Hua's sect leader, Sword Heaven Immortal, and the presumptive next leader. He had surely accessed the sect's supreme art, Violet Haze Divine Art.
Mu-kyeong smiled.
"Honestly, who wouldn't covet your insights, the greatest swordsman of Mount Hua? But as you say, I've begun the Violet Haze Divine Art. Our paths diverge."
"You understand well."
"Whoever inherits your insights will become Mount Hua's representative sword. How could I not care?"
The Sword Immortal smiled. Mu-kyeong's words rang true.
"All present will spar."
"The final victor of the spars inherits your insights?"
"Think what you will."
Mu-kyeong's brow twitched at the ambiguity, but he soon smiled.
"I'd only embarrass myself against the martial brothers, so I'll sit this out."
"Do as you please."
The Sword Immortal nodded.
He didn't want Mu-kyeong. As the sect leader's prized disciple, he walked a different path toward completion. Taking him as a disciple would only bring headaches.
The others eyed each other warily but didn't withdraw. Though they had masters already, inheriting the Sword Immortal's insights was a great honor.
Broadly speaking, they were all sect brothers— their masters wouldn't oppose it.
"No time to waste. We'll begin the spars now."
As if prepared, the Sword Immortal named the first pair.
"First, Seom-kyeong and Un-kyeong. Prepare."
"Y-Yes!"
The designated Seom-kyeong and Un-kyeong stepped forward, flustered. They hadn't expected to go first.
Tension etched their faces.
Seom-kyeong belonged to the Golden Heaven Hall, Un-kyeong to the Peaceful Heaven Hall. They'd trained together as children, but diverging paths meant no spars since.
Their knowledge of each other was a decade old. They'd have to clash to gauge current levels.
'I'll win for sure.'
'I'll inherit Sword Elder's insights.'
Battle spirit ignited in them, spreading to the others.
The two faced off in the training ground before the True Martial Hall. The other first-generation disciples formed a circle around them.
"Begin."
At the Sword Immortal's command, Seom-kyeong and Un-kyeong glared and began circling.
Both heirs to Mount Hua's arts, they knew each other's styles, if not exact prowess.
"Ya!"
Un-kyeong struck first with Seven Star Swordsmanship. His wooden sword flew toward Seom-kyeong's chest in an instant.
Seom-kyeong dodged with Nine Palaces Step. As the sword missed, he unleashed Plum Blossom Fist.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh!
The open ground filled with their shadows in moments.
They exploited the space to gain the upper hand, chaining Mount Hua's signature techniques. Their near-miraculous movements drew gasps from the onlookers.
Damho watched from among the first-generation disciples, his eyes gleaming coldly.
'This is my chance.'
Solo practice differed vastly from sparring a real opponent. They had to reveal their true skills, long hidden.
Seom-kyeong pressed with Plum Blossom Fist to close in; Un-kyeong wielded Seven Star Swordsmanship to keep distance.
Observing fist-versus-sword combat, Damho absorbed how to counter.
A golden opportunity rare for his solitary training. He focused every fiber to miss nothing.
Inheriting the Sword Immortal's insights? Not a thought in his head. Damho immersed in the duel.
Each clash made his shoulders twitch.