He Is My Disciple

Jin Seongun's Black Gorge Sword and Hyeon Un's Taichi Sword met head-on.

Clang—!

The clear, searing ring of struck metal thundered through the interior of the inn.

The collision of the two energies sent shockwaves rippling in every direction.

Crash—!

Tables and chairs that had been perfectly whole a moment ago splintered under the aftermath.

"......"

Jin Seongun and Hyeon Un turned in unison to survey the wreckage of the shattered furniture. Jin Seongun's face had gone somewhat ashen, while Hyeon Un wore the sheepish expression of a child caught causing mischief.

At that very moment, Seo Yugyeom emerged from the kitchen, his features knotted in a scowl.

"If this is how it's going to be, why not just tear the whole inn down and be done with it?"

Jin Seongun had no rebuttal. An innkeeper demolishing his own inn — even if the head cook raked him over the coals, there wasn't a single excuse he could offer.

Hyeon Un felt much the same.

He had come to the shop of someone acquainted with his disciple's young friend, and far from being any help, he was only smashing the place further.

"Out."

At Seo Yugyeom's flat pronouncement, the two men could offer no protest and simply nodded.

Before long, they had made their way to the open yard behind the inn. In one corner of the yard stood a small storage shed — the shed where the Martial Gods made their home. Jin Seongun gazed at it for a moment before speaking.

"I'd appreciate it if that shed stayed in one piece."

Hyeon Un coughed awkwardly and nodded. "That won't be happening."

In truth, masters of their caliber could fight without inflicting serious damage on their surroundings. The tremendous burst of qi in that first exchange had only erupted because neither knew what to expect from the other.

Hyeon Un had never imagined Jin Seongun's energy would be so pure and yet so majestic, and Jin Seongun, for his part, had little experience facing a martial artist of Hyeon Un's standing. His battles with the Martial Gods were a different matter entirely — those were beings who had transcended the limits of humanity so completely that the word "martial artist" hardly applied to them anymore.

And so the duel began anew.

Jin Seongun's Black Gorge Sword tinged itself gray. More precisely, a snow-white energy coiled around the jet-black blade, lending it a smoky, ash-gray sheen.

A flicker of intrigue crossed Hyeon Un's eyes.

Even in the brief exchange they'd shared moments ago, he had grasped that Jin Seongun's skill and depth flouted common sense. And this pure white aura before him now — even to Hyeon Un, an elder of the Wudang Sect, it was anything but ordinary.

So what Jeongsan said was true.

Among all the martial arts under heaven, only the arts of the Daoist lineages could emit an aura like this. He could understand now why the boy had spoken with such certainty.

In an instant, a matching energy gathered in Hyeon Un's own sword. Like Jin Seongun's, it wove together black and white — with one difference. Where Jin Seongun's blade blended the two hues into a single gray, Hyeon Un's sword kept its black and white intermingled yet unmistakably distinct, both colors preserved in perfect balance.

No further explanation was needed. It was Wudang's supreme Taiji.

Shraeak—!

Hyeon Un did not yield the first strike. He meant to press Jin Seongun hard, drain his strength, and then steer the battle wherever he pleased.

I'll pick apart every one of your offense, your defense, even your footwork.

Hyeon Un took pride in his knowledge of the martial arts. As an elder of Wudang, he had seen, heard of, and crossed blades with every technique the world had to offer. When it came to Daoist arts in particular, no matter how convincingly they were hidden, he was confident he could trace them to their source.

Hyeon Un's Taichi Sword came plummeting down toward the crown of Jin Seongun's head like a bolt of lightning — the Taichi Swift Sword, a rarity among Wudang's sword arts for its blinding speed. It was fast as a thunderclap. Even Seo Yugyeom, watching from the sidelines, jolted upright in alarm.

Wheeeik—!

With a howl of cleaved air, Hyeon Un's Taichi Sword split the space where Jin Seongun had stood in a long vertical arc.

Jin Seongun's figure was already airborne. As if he had expected it, Hyeon Un smoothly reversed the falling sword and swept it upward.

"Good. Very good."

Hyeon Un marveled inwardly. Among the disciples of Wudang his own juniors' age, not a single one could have evaded that strike.

But the decision to leave the ground had been a mistake. Wearing the look of a man who had seized victory, Hyeon Un poured power into his Taichi Sword. However formidable a master might be, in midair his movements inevitably grew sluggish compared to when his feet were planted on solid earth.

If only the Kunlun lot weren't in the picture...

Just as the thought crossed his mind —

Jin Seongun's form twisted in midair.

Hyeon Un's eyes went round as saucers. Jin Seongun had kicked off empty air and changed direction in an instant.

The movement was uncanny. To Hyeon Un's knowledge, only one such movement art existed in all the world.

Hyeon Un unfurled the Seven Stars Sword Art, chasing Jin Seongun's dizzying trajectories. But Jin Seongun's form shifted direction again and again even in midair, slipping past Hyeon Un's blade with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠effortless grace.

Did he learn the sword at Kunlun?

The Cloud Dragon Eight Forms — the signature art of the Kunlun Sect. A movement technique that let its user change direction freely in the sky, like a cloud-dragon sporting among the clouds. It was the very technique that had thrown Hyeon Un into considerable difficulty during a friendly exchange with a Kunlun elder long ago.

Of course, it wasn't identical to the Cloud Dragon Eight Forms. The underlying principle looked similar, but there were clear differences. Which, considering Jin Seongun's age, was only natural — even within Kunlun, few had ever brought that art to mastery.

Hyeon Un's thoughts grew complicated.

If that's the case, then it begins to make sense.

The Kunlun Sect was a somewhat peculiar sect. Bordering the Demonic Cult's territory, they kept more secrets than the other Daoist sects and moved with unusual caution.

So that's why he couldn't reveal his sect. And earning money, too...

Hyeon Un's misunderstanding swelled by the moment. A suspicion took root: could the relatively impoverished Kunlun Sect have sent a young disciple into the Central Plains to run an inn just to make money? What a heartbreaking tale that would be.

Then it happened.

While Hyeon Un's misunderstanding deepened and he found himself wondering whether he owed the boy an apology, Jin Seongun, back on the ground, assumed his stance.

The sword thrust forward. Shoulder, arm, and blade aligned in a single unbroken line, radiating a keen momentum like an arrow loosed from the bowstring.

Hyeon Un's eyes wavered at the sight.

The Sun-Piercing Sword Art?

First Kunlun's Cloud Dragon Eight Forms, and now Jeomchang's Sun-Piercing Sword Art. Hyeon Un simply could not make sense of the situation. But regardless of his confusion, Jin Seongun was already hurtling toward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him at terrifying speed.

Hyeon Un hastily gathered himself and swept the Taichi Sword around — the Taichi Flowing Cloud Sword. Unlike the swift blade he had shown earlier, this was the sword art that best embodied everything Wudang stood for, and the very technique that had earned him the title of White Cloud Sword.

Clang—!

Jin Seongun's direct, forceful energy scattered in an instant before the Flowing Cloud Sword. Strength within softness — the sword arts of Wudang sought power cloaked in yielding grace. Having dispersed Jin Seongun's energy without difficulty, Hyeon Un was preparing his next strike when —

Shraeak—!

Jin Seongun's sword, which had seemed drawn back, came falling from above in a vertical slash. Hyeon Un was flustered for a heartbeat, but deflected the blade once more. The great strength of Wudang's swordsmanship had always been its capacity to respond instantly to an opponent's movement.

Twice, three times, four times he deflected the incoming strikes — and still Jin Seongun's sword came rushing back along trajectories that defied prediction.

Hyeon Un's eyes widened further and further. This sword art, too, was achingly familiar. His astonishment had passed beyond surprise into open disbelief.

After Kunlun and Jeomchang... Mount Hua as well?

It was Mount Hua's signature phantom sword, scattering plum blossom petals in its wake. What Jin Seongun wielded was not the Plum Blossom Sword Technique itself, yet it plainly carried a kindred principle at its core.

Most staggering of all was that none of these arts were mere imitation. Every one of them was steeped in profound, layered depth. Hyeon Un had been called a genius his whole life — a master counted among the Wudang Seven — and even he could not read the full depths of these techniques at a glance.

His heart in disarray as he deflected blow after blow, Hyeon Un suddenly remembered a single sect.

...That's impossible.

It was a sect already vanished — one that existed only in the deep annals of history, whose influence now merely flowed on through the scattered Daoist schools of the present age. It defied reason. And yet nothing else could explain it.

Hyeon Un's expression settled into grave seriousness. It was unmistakably different from his bearing until now. Where the earlier exchange had felt like a master gathering information about a promising junior, his manner now was resolute and heavy — the bearing of a man facing an enemy to the death.

Kung—!

Hyeon Un stamped the earth in a sudden, decisive step. A colossal wave of qi reverberated out, shaking heaven and earth to their foundations. The immense energy climbed from his foot through his leg, his waist, his chest and shoulders, and at the last came to rest wholly within the Taichi Sword.

The Taichi Sagacious Sword — a variant of the Taichi Enlightened Sword permitted only to the sect leader, adapted so that the elders too might learn it. For a fleeting instant, the Taichi Sword fell into harmony with the very principles of heaven and earth, and its presence all but vanished from the world.

Neither fast nor ferocious in appearance, the now-near-invisible blade drifted toward Jin Seongun's throat as naturally as the wind, as naturally as the air itself. Any ordinary master would have remained oblivious to his own death until his head left his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shoulders.

Seo Yugyeom, startled by the eerie phenomenon, snatched up his Heavenly Killing Short Knife and launched himself forward.

"You insane bastard!"

Wudang elder or not, the man was trying to kill his friend — the profanity came spilling out on its own.

Tang—!

Then, a heavy ring of struck metal stopped Seo Yugyeom dead in his tracks.

The sword art Hyeon Un had displayed was truly sublime — so much so that Seo Yugyeom hadn't even been able to read the blade's trajectory. Sure enough, the Taichi Sword had come at Jin Seongun from a direction entirely unlike anything he had anticipated. The problem was that this sword now stood blocked, dead in its tracks, before Jin Seongun's Black Gorge Sword.

All through the earlier exchanges Seo Yugyeom had been so busy marveling that his jaw ached, but this time, quite literally, not even a hollow laugh would come. Of course, his shock was nothing compared to the astonishment of the man actually wielding the sword.

Hyeon Un saw, plainly and completely, the blade that had turned aside his Taichi Sagacious Sword. After Kunlun, Jeomchang, and Mount Hua — now came the Thirty-Six Swords of the World from the Zhongnan Sect. A middle sword that blocked every line of attack, exactly as its name promised. Another ultimate technique that only a sect leader could unfold.

With that, Hyeon Un's suspicion hardened into certainty. Jin Seongun's swordsmanship was of the Daoist lineage.

And yet it belonged to none of them — not Wudang, not Mount Hua, not Zhongnan, Jeomchang, Gongdong, or Cheongseong. No — more precisely, it could not belong to any of them. Because Jin Seongun's sword was the source from which every one of those sects had sprung.

The Quanzhen Sect.

Mount Hua and Kunlun both traced their roots directly to Quanzhen. Haedaetong, the founding patriarch of Mount Hua, had been one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen, and the Kunlun Sect had been established by Daoists of Quanzhen who traded with the Western Regions. Zhongnan and Jeomchang stood in much the same position. As the many sword-seeds of Quanzhen each began walking their own paths, the many Daoist schools of today had come into being.

Of course, there were exceptions. Wudang had no deep connection to Quanzhen — its founding patriarch, the Perfected Man Zhang Sanfeng, had systematized the martial arts of every Daoist, Buddhist, and Confucian school of his day and founded Wudang upon an enlightenment entirely his own.

But even Zhang Sanfeng could not stand wholly free of Quanzhen's martial arts. In the end, no martial art develops in isolation. As a Daoist himself, Zhang Sanfeng must surely have felt Quanzhen's influence profoundly.

Hyeon Un asked. His voice trembled, just slightly.

"...From whom, exactly, did you learn your martial arts?"

Daoist sects outside the Nine Sects existed as numerous as grains of sand, and Hyeon Un knew well enough that hermits and wanderers abounded among them. But never in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his wildest imagining had he thought the root of Quanzhen might still endure. Quanzhen had been a sect lost hundreds of years ago.

At Hyeon Un's question, Jin Seongun recalled a conversation he had once shared with the Sword Immortal.

The Sword Immortal, Yeo Dongbin. Across all of history, ancient and modern, the only being who could truly be called a Sword Immortal.

Still marveling anew at the fact that such a being resided in the shed behind Seongun Inn, Jin Seongun answered evenly.

"The Sword Immortal. The one who taught me the sword calls himself by that name."

Having said his piece, Jin Seongun walked back toward the inn — leaving Hyeon Un standing slack-jawed in his wake. He had a customer, after all. Quanzhen Sect or Sword Immortal or otherwise, at this moment Jin Seongun was a waiter, and the only thought burning in his mind was that he needed to fix the chairs and tables. Quickly.