The Final Punitive Trial
I had passed the second punitive trial.
There was nothing they could seize on. The factor that had gotten me eliminated from the first—the time limit—was no problem this time. I had also submitted the golden incense burner without issue, satisfying the exact passage conditions the upper ranks of Cheonsubaekryeonsa wanted.
Now only one punitive trial remained for me.
Finally, just one left.
One more, and the long, grinding period of punishment would at last be over. Of course, even once the punitive trials ended, nothing would magically improve. Only then would I finally be allowed to start from the same line as everyone else.
Still, that doesn’t matter.
It was only a hypothesis, but the faction currently working to sabotage me was believed to be entrenched in the disciplinary committee of Cheonsubaekryeonsa that oversaw the punitive trials. Once I entered the regular trials that Cheonsubaekryeonsa itself administered, their influence would no longer reach me. I would no longer be handed trials of absurd, impossible difficulty.
My strength had soared. Without anyone to compare myself against I could not say exactly where I stood, but one thing was certain: my level was nowhere near that of an ordinary Ha-mu-gwan disciple of Cheonsubaekryeonsa. A regular trial would be no problem at all.
In the end, this final punitive trial was the last hurdle—for the forces trying to ruin me, and for the me I was now.
“Here it is.”
I had already submitted a provisional request for the reward for passing the second trial. Because it was issued from central stores, I could receive the fastest of the three available options.
—Click.
A small case. What rested in my hand was the Lesser Recovery Pill awarded as a reward for boosting internal energy.
“…Cute.”
It was almost meaningless. Even if I took it from a near-empty state, it was doubtful I would gain even a quarter of a gapja of the internal energy I needed. Of course, most people would still be grateful for that much. But for me right now, I could state flatly that it was worthless.
The internal energy I had accumulated through countless brushes with death already approached three gapja. For someone who had trained orthodox martial arts in the normal way, that amount would be more than enough. My situation was different. The way I mastered martial arts was completely different from ordinary warriors. Using the Heavenly Demon’s power, I had learned countless high-level techniques from many different sects. Strictly speaking, it was the same as forcibly taking arts tailored to other people’s bodies and forcing them to run through mine. Compared to a normal martial artist, it demanded far greater internal energy and exacted a heavier toll on body and mind.
The process of true mastery had improved things a little, but the fundamental flaw remained. The harder I pushed and the more violently I moved, the more my entire body rebelled, spewing the brain-fire born from the internal energy I had absorbed from the Heavenly Hundred Ginseng. It felt like metal being ground down and worn away with every motion. On top of that, internal energy leaked from me in places. The efficiency was abysmal. That was the price I had to carry for growing so quickly. For me, internal energy would always be insufficient no matter how much I had.
Of course, that isn’t why I chose this.
I had a reason for selecting the Lesser Recovery Pill. I returned to my assigned quarters, set the pill on the table, and cut it into four pieces with a knife. I rolled each quarter between my fingers into four smaller pills. Even if its energy-boosting effect was weak compared to the Heavenly Hundred Ginseng I had been taking, this was still something Cheonsubaekryeonsa issued as a reward for a trial. It was no cheap junk.
I don’t know what dangers I’ll face next. I have to prepare. Otherwise I die.
A pill of the Lesser Recovery Pill’s grade could not only replenish internal energy but also instantly treat a certain level of internal injury.
Mumyeong spoke.
It feels like preparing for war.
“I have no allies. No faction of my own. The only person I can trust is myself. My enemies, though—they’re different. So no amount of preparation is ever enough.”
I carefully stowed the four divided pills in my robes.
—Clink.
I layered the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet over my left hand and wrapped bandages over it.
I have to hide myself. Hide my methods. I can’t let them see everything.
I ordered new martial robes. The design was inspired by Baekho’s attire. Before, like most martial artists, I had bound my wrists tightly for ease of movement. The new robes had wide sleeves; when my arms hung at my sides, my hands were almost completely hidden. Baekho himself wore a cloak that fell from his shoulders all the way to his ankles. I had once asked him why he dressed that way.
“Because of this, the other side can’t see the movement of my arms until the very last moment.”
Ordinary martial artists might face a life-or-death duel only once or twice in their entire lives. I had already been through more than I could count. In that process I had accumulated experiences beyond words. Because of those experiences, the moment I heard Baekho’s single sentence, a flash of insight had struck me like lightning.
This should be enough.
The gold bars I had received from the Namgung Family could not be used as they were. Using the excuse that they had come from the Moyong Family, I exchanged them for currency through Cheonsubaekryeonsa’s institutions. With that money I procured weapons.
Ever since my training in Yuk-bi-dong, the combination of weapons I prepared had always been the same: two long swords, one mid-length sword, ten short daggers shorter than my palm, and steel guards to protect my calves and elbows. Now that I had the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet on my left hand, I omitted the steel guard there. I arranged every piece so that a single reach of my hand could touch it, in places that would interfere with movement as little as possible. Finally I fixed them so they would not shift.
Good.
I jumped in place a few times, satisfied, and nodded.
There had been a time when I seriously considered forging a personal signature weapon. But until fate delivered me a truly overwhelming weapon, I decided that half-baked specialization would only poison me. That decision had been heavily influenced by one particular scene.
Would it not be better to know satisfaction at this point and withdraw?
The great clash between Eun Seollyeong, Guardian of the Mount Hua Sect, and the Heavenly Demon Cult was still vivid enough to flash before my eyes whenever I closed them. Even considering every fight I had ever witnessed, it had been a battle from another world—one that overturned every previous understanding. She had not used a single standardized weapon. She used whatever came to hand. When she seized a spear, enemies before her were shredded by a storm of thrusts. When she took a blade, they were cut down. When she grabbed an axe, skulls split and arms flew. A flick of her fingers turned the space before her into a finger-force technique that pulverized limbs. When every weapon was spent, her hands and feet themselves became iron maces that swept the surroundings. Before her, even the martial prowess of the Heavenly Demon Cult’s Surayeomrang Squad was no more than a praying mantis threatening a massive carriage wheel.
Other martial artists might simply gape at such a sight and leave it at that.
But I’m different.
I possessed something even she did not: the Heavenly Demon’s power that let me copy any martial art I saw with my own eyes. I might never reach her level completely, but in a way, the way she shattered the forms of every martial art and freely crossed the limits of every weapon might be the ultimate form I needed to reach.
High-level martial arts were rare. I never knew when I would next encounter one, or which weapon it might be bound to. Insisting on a single weapon was absurd. Far better to complete a body that could digest any weapon, then copy and master as many high-level arts as possible on that foundation. That was currently the fastest, most ideal path to strength.
With every preparation finished, I moved to eat. As I walked, I observed Cheonsubaekryeonsa. Compared to when I had left for the trials, almost nothing had changed. That made sense. Through my training in Yuk-bi-dong and the additional time after, I had trained for more than three hundred extra days. To be precise, I had spent two and a half years training in Yuk-bi-dong alone, then another year or so after that. In total I had devoted three and a half years solely to training. Outside, barely four months had passed. There was no room for change.
“One fried rice, please.”
I ordered and sat. Once seated I carefully scanned the surroundings. The food arrived quickly. From somewhere a group of people poured in. In an instant every seat was full. I watched them while I ate. We belonged to the same place, yet it felt like looking at another world. Their faces were free of any shadow; they laughed. Their bodies were whole.
—Tremble.
The hand holding my spoon shook faintly. I rapped it against the table a few times; the tremor stopped as if a temporary malfunction had been fixed.
“….”
The Ha-mu-gwan disciples seemed to have fully adapted to life at Cheonsubaekryeonsa—so much so that it had become almost tedious. Some were building friendships and connections with members of their own groups, smiling. They looked satisfied with whatever small achievements they had gained. Not a single worry clouded their faces. They faced no assassination threats. The hopeful expectation unique to the young—wondering whether the handsome man or beautiful woman nearby might feel something for them—colored their expressions.
“….”
In the span of four months, an enormous gulf seemed to have opened between them and me. When I first entered Ha-mu-gwan I had barely scraped in past the threshold of elimination. Now it felt as though we lived in completely different worlds. We ate in the same space, held the same status, yet the light and shade, the very saturation of our worlds, were utterly different.
Even now, the moment I lay down to sleep even a little, the night terrors came. Jeokmaryeong of the Heavenly Demon Cult. Ryu Hwasa of the Blood Sect. So Yeomgyo of the Blood Death Sect. Eun Seollyeong, Guardian of Mount Hua. And beyond them Baekho, Mara Jin, the Heavenly Blood Demon, and others… They had always made it crystal clear that there were skies above the sky, and that above one madman stood an even greater madman. Would it have been better if I had never known those skies existed? Because I had witnessed them with my own two eyes, an impossibly distant goal had been planted in me. If I were still a frog in a well like them, I could have jumped for joy over something as small as passing into Chu-mu-gwan and been happy.
“Hey, if you’re sitting alone, mind moving?”
“…?”
A large, curly-haired disciple approached. He was powerfully built with hands like pot lids—clearly someone who trained external force. He tapped the belongings I had set on the table.
“One of our group is getting promoted to Chu-mu-gwan, so we need the table. I’ve been watching—you’ve just been sitting here alone stuffing your face. Waste of a table, right? Eat standing up.”
“….”
I scooped a spoonful of fried rice into my mouth and chewed slowly.
“Hey, you listening? Never seen your face around much. Eternal failure, are you?”
“….”
Without answering I brushed my falling bangs aside and kept eating. The disciple’s face twisted.
“You little bastard—I’ve been patient enough!”
He reached out and seized my belongings on the table. In that instant my expression changed completely.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
—Crash!!
The chair toppled. Every person in the restaurant turned to look. Through my swaying bangs my eyes locked straight onto the disciple’s. Sparks flew the moment our gazes met.
“…What, you gonna hit me? You little—”
At first the disciple’s face was full of contempt.
“Uh…”
Then it turned fierce. His gaze, locked with mine, slowly dropped. His eyes gradually unfocused. He blinked. The blinking sped up. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Ah, um, uh…”
He carefully released the belongings he had grabbed.
“H-hey… calm down. Calm down, okay? Just a joke. Why get so serious over a seat? I’m not throwing your stuff. Look. I let go.”
He showed me his empty hands again and slowly backed away. It was exactly the way one would retreat from a bear or some other great beast without ever turning one’s back, putting distance between them.
“….”
I righted the fallen chair, picked up my spoon, and resumed eating.
“What the hell? You went over all cocky to take the table and then lost a staring contest?”
The curly-haired disciple’s fellow group members snickered and mocked him as he returned empty-handed. He gave no reaction at all. He poured cold water and gulped it down. Even in broad daylight his face had gone deathly pale. Only then did the others realize something was wrong.
“Hey… what’s with you?”
“Th-that guy…”
The curly-haired disciple muttered, trembling.
“Just now… I mean…”
He swallowed hard.
“For a split second he was really going to kill me. Without a single hesitation!”
I kept eating regardless of the commotion. When I finished I poured tea and drank.
—Flutter.
A messenger pigeon flew in and perched on the windowsill. The waiter untied the note from its leg, read it, and approached me.
“Guest. You are Moyong Bi, correct? Your appearance matches exactly what is written on the note.”
“That’s right.”
The waiter spoke respectfully.
“The content of the third punitive trial has been decided. The secretary has sent word requesting that you visit immediately for the delivery.”
—I stood abruptly.
I clenched my teeth hard enough to taste blood and muttered,
“Finally. This is the last of this farce.”