The Sword Idiot's Diagnosis
Cheong had only offered the spar as a way of saying sorry. After Moyong Juhee’s spectacular explosion during their drinking duel, any lingering resentment had pretty much vanished. Still, the constant growling every time they saw each other was exhausting, and since she had to consider Moyong Jun’s face as well, it seemed best to settle things here and now. Besides, even though Moyong Juhee had gone around hurling insults at everyone, people had simply sighed and let it slide. If the young elites who kept bumping into each other were just glaring and nursing petty hatred, that was all there was to it—an adorable little revenge fantasy of I’ll humiliate you someday.
However, Moyong Juhee’s automatic sarcasm was an extremely dangerous habit. Even a witch from the Evil Faction would have no excuse if she accidentally provoked the wrong person and got her head chopped off. So, if this could fix that habit and save a life later, all the better.
Anyway, Cheong had achieved her goal for attending the Hidden Dragon Tournament. From now on she planned to stay at the Mucheon Pavilion, alternating between training and rest to sharpen herself. This final tournament was simply the last place to announce, “Anyone who wants to train with me, gather round.” It was time to shed the lazy Seomun Cheong and return as the prepared genius martial artist Seomun Cheong.
---
In the spar that ended after only a few exchanges, Namgung Sinjae spoke with a serious expression. Because Namgung Sinjae was always serious.
“As I felt last time, Sword-Friend’s technique has grown even more lacking. It seems you’ve relied too much on raw power lately. Hmm. Since martial arts were originally created for humans to surpass their limits—”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Sword-Friend, you’ve become a master of brute strength, haven’t you? So rather than refining your skill, you simply swing with power. I suspect your technique has actually regressed?”
Even if she had a hundred mouths, Cheong would have nothing to say. Her fighting style had always depended on overwhelming force and clever tricks. She used stupidly strong power and even stupider inner energy to create openings, then brought out the Buddha’s Palm, the Divine Maiden’s Hands—if there was poison, she used poison, and if the situation called for it, she even pulled out demonic arts now and then.
For reference, the Divine Maiden’s Hands were a technique that overlapped both orthodox and demonic cultivation. Since her own side saw it as orthodox, she could use it openly without shame. Naturally, the forms she preferred were simple, large, and overwhelmingly powerful.
Namgung Sinjae held up the wooden sword whose tip had broken off, revealing its jagged end.
“In a real life-or-death fight, I would have no way to defeat you. But in a spar, things are different. We compete purely in technique while taking care not to injure our opponent.”
“Hmm. As expected of Sword-Friend. This is exactly the diagnosis I wanted to hear. So what should I do?”
“There’s no need to obsess over victory or defeat. This isn’t a deathmatch. Instead of trying to win, think of it as experiencing unfamiliar techniques and learning how to respond.”
Cheong obediently accepted the advice. That was what friends were for, after all.
“Alright. Come at me, Sword-Friend! The Wooden Light Sword is starving!”
“Good! Here I come!”
And so began the match of Cheong versus Namgung Sinjae. One to nine. Cheong despaired at the unbelievable result. Even the single win she managed could be dismissed as invalid since she had simply crushed him with raw power.
“What the hell? Why does this body keep losing? Humans clearly weren’t designed to lose. Sorcery! It’s sorcery! Namgung Sinjae, you bastard, what kind of black magic did you use?!”
“Well, a spar was never meant to be a fair contest in the first place.”
A spar was not originally meant to determine a winner. Still, if one insisted on weighing the advantages, martial arts focused on subduing rather than killing were far more advantageous. Techniques based on softness rather than brute force, and skill rather than simplicity, held the upper hand.
And Cheong was a murderous star harboring heavenly killing intent who loved slamming down with power that transcended humanity. She was, quite literally, poison for sparring.
“This is a completely rigged playing field. What kind of contest is this after removing the tea, the cannon, and even the horses?”
“We can’t exactly have a deathmatch either. Besides, the Hidden Dragon Tournament isn’t all that different, so why not treat this as practice?”
No matter how much Cheong complained, the Hidden Dragon Tournament was never going to change its name to “Life-or-Death Struggle ~ Everyone’s Survival Competition ~.”
“Well, I can always just use force if I have to…”
Under the special rule for training spars, if either person’s wooden sword broke, it counted as Cheong’s loss. That was why the miserable record of one win and nine losses was inevitable. It was a special measure to reduce her dependence on physical strength and train her technique instead.
“Sword-Friend, leaving yourself an escape route like that is no good. You must think of winning purely through technique.”
“If there’s no escape route in the first place, you shouldn’t even go in, you know?”
“Haha, I can never win against Sword-Friend with words. Alright, here I come again!”
And so five more rounds passed. One win, four losses. Having doubled her win rate, one could call it rapid progress.
When Namgung Sinjae stepped back to catch his breath, Cheong beckoned to Paeng Daesan this time.
“Alright, next is San. Come on in.”
“You want to spar right now? Without resting?”
“My body feels perfectly warmed up. I’ve finally hit my stride, so I can’t miss this momentum.”
“Hmph. Your stamina is impressive. Just don’t make excuses after you lose.”
“Oh? Throwing down the gauntlet? You’re going to run your mouth when you have that nice saber sitting right there?”
“That damn saber again…!”
After Cheong won the next two bouts in a row, she lost the following eight consecutively. It was all thanks to Paeng Daesan’s dirty tricks.
“You’re only aiming for the weapon! You’re clearly trying to win by any means!”
“A rule is a rule, isn’t it? If the weapon breaks, it’s your loss.”
“It’s just a spar and you’re this obsessed with winning and losing?”
“After you win and brag about it, now you say that?”
Cheong frowned. She had only said a few words after winning twice in a row, yet the guy got all sulky and started playing dirty. Paeng Daesan kept forcing head-on clashes with powerful strikes. If she met him with equal force, the wooden sword would snap immediately. Besides, these wooden swords were ridiculously fragile.
After the black sandalwood sword had broken during the previous Hidden Dragon Tournament, Namgung Sinjae had diagnosed Cheong’s condition and specially ordered softer, cheaper wooden swords. It was his warm consideration for Sword-Friend’s growth. There had been one whole crate of them in the carriage. When the consumption rate turned out to be alarming, two more crates arrived later. Though by then his heart had grown a little heavier.
When the hell did he prepare so many in advance?
“Sword-Friend, um… should I pay for the wooden swords? I’m the one breaking them all…”
“Even if you paid for all of them, it wouldn’t cover even half the value of the black sandalwood sword you broke last time. These are just random firewood logs I roughly carved into shape. Isn’t it interesting how the balance is all different on each one?”
“Hmm.”
“Besides, what is mere money at a place where Sword-Friend and I exchange swords?”
“Sword-friend! I’m moved! No—sword-moved! I’m sword-touched!”
“Sword-touched’ has a nice ring to it! Then I, too, am sword-touched! Come, let us exchange swords once more!”
At that, Paeng Daesan’s eyes narrowed. These two were clearly just messing around.
“Sword-Friend, take a break for a moment. San! Come here!”
“San, catch your breath. Sword-Friend! Switch!”
In the end, Cheong simply rotated the two of them. She focused solely on breaking perfectly fine wooden swords, and soon a neat pile of broken ones stacked up in the Mucheon Pavilion training ground. Anyone watching would think she harbored a grudge against wooden swords.
Once the pile of what used to be wooden swords had grown into a respectable mound of firewood, the sun had already set and darkness settled over the area.
“Huff, huff, next—San—huff, haa…”
Cheong, drenched in sweat, called for the next opponent. She had been swinging nonstop for two and a half hours straight, so it was only natural.
Paeng Daesan and Namgung Sinjae exchanged glances.
Brother Namgung, doesn’t this seem a bit strange?
Indeed. It looks less like training and more like she’s desperate to push her body to the limit.
Having silently exchanged opinions, the two men smoothly changed the subject.
“Sparring is good, but aren’t you getting hungry?”
“That’s right, Sword-Friend. Training is important, but one must also take proper meals.”
The effect of this perfectly timed topic change was tremendous! Cheong’s eyes widened, and she immediately licked her lips with a loud slurp.
“Oh? Wow, I completely forgot about eating. I’m starving. Let’s eat, let’s eat.”
---
In the fifth month, Gwangju was already in the full throes of summer heat. At night, however, it became pleasantly cool, so every inn, restaurant, teahouse, and tavern along the main road set out simple tables to welcome customers.
Between the buildings, strings of lanterns hung, casting a gentle glow. Beneath that soft light, an old woman and a young lady were having a meal.
They looked like a frail granddaughter out with her grandmother. Perhaps because they appeared easy prey even to a beast’s eyes, a stray dog was cautiously creeping closer, watching them.
The old woman looked down at the dog.
“Hmm? What’s this mutt doing here? How can something be this ugly? No wonder its owner abandoned it.”
Even as she spoke, the old woman smiled and stroked the dog’s head, rubbing its chin. The young woman smiled warmly and said,
“What a foolish creature. Out of all these people, how did it pick exactly the right one? Did it smell blood or something? How curious.”
“They say even dogs know who loves them. It must be animal instinct. Here, you look positively starving.”
When the Small Hand Witch tossed an entire large croaker at it, the stray dog that hadn’t eaten in ages wagged its tail so hard it looked ready to fall off and buried its face in the fish.
“Oh dear, Small Hand Witch. You shouldn’t give fish to dogs. The bones can get stuck in their throat.”
“That’s just its fate. Besides, dogs by the sea eat fish all the time. Only country dogs that have never tasted fish before choke on the bones.”
“Hmm. Even the Small Hand Witch is kind to dogs.”
The Small Hand Witch let out a cackling laugh.
“Of course. Dogs are far better than people. They wag their tails even for the owner who will eventually boil them. Aren’t they wonderful creatures that remember kindness and never change?”
“People always say things like that, but I don’t really understand. We can’t know what a dog is thinking, can we? What if one day it suddenly turns and bites? Only a dog itself could know a dog’s thoughts.”
Eon Yeonyeong looked down at the stray dog devouring the croaker with wild abandon. Her gaze seemed somehow distant, as if recalling a moment from the past.
The dog must have been very hungry. It devoured the huge fish in an instant, leaving not even a scrap of skin, crunching down the head and tail as well. Then it began wagging its tail furiously again and approached Eon Yeonyeong, panting happily.
Eon Yeonyeong quietly reached out and gently stroked the dog’s hard skull.
“When I was young, I was truly terrified of dogs. But now that I’ve become this insignificant, hmm… the Small Hand Witch is right. Dogs are better than people. At least a dog follows whoever feeds it. It doesn’t care what kind of person that is.”
“Most beasts are the same, aren’t they? When you think about it, humans are far worse than beasts. If everyone were like animals, how much better the world would be.”
“Mm. That’s true. Small Hand Witch, shall we stop this gloomy talk? It’s about time we got to work, isn’t it?”
Eon Yeonyeong clapped her hands together lightly. At once, the people seated at the outdoor tables lining the main road all stood up simultaneously.
Then Eon Yeonyeong raised her pale, slender finger and pointed in one direction. The straight line indicated by her finger crossed the main road and led directly to the massive front gate of a grand estate.
It was the estate of the Gwangdong Jin Family—the true masters of Gwangju.