Chapter 95
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: Let's Try a Spar That Feels Like Real Combat!
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“Biyeon, what’s this about killing them off where others can see? Killing them off.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Even if the nickname was given with the intent to belittle you, what do you think others will see if you act exactly like that vile nickname suggests?”
“I did wrong…”
“But, Master, does ‘Mount Hua Mad Sword’ really sound that vile…?”
“I’ve always told you. Words are the mirror of the mind. Look at Uiseong. Does your senior martial brother look like a proper Daoist anywhere? He shouldn’t end up like that, at least.”
“Yes, I think so too…”
Right after returning to Mount Hua, I was getting scolded by Uihyeon for those final words I’d thrown at Namgung Seheon back at the Murim Alliance headquarters.
I thought it had blown over since he didn’t say a word, but he’d been planning to properly chew me out once we got back to Mount Hua.
No, but does ‘Mount Hua Mad Sword’ really sound that bad? Sure, I don’t like it much either, but everyone was calling me that, and hearing it now is making this disciple feel quite troubled.
“Senior Brother? Why are you dragging me into this too?”
Uiseong, who’d been standing by and caught some stray fire, furrowed his brows and chimed in. Well, he does have that rough look and speech that suits a street thug more than a Daoist. A very handsome street thug, though.
“It’s because of you that Biyeon’s picked up such foul speech habits!”
“Our little kid’s been calling me a slacker since he was babbling as a toddler, you know? The signs were there from the start.”
“You were right there next to him even back then!”
“That was before I was fully glued to the kid’s side, okay? Wow, this senior brother blames me for everything the kid does!”
I watched the two bickering with a bored expression, then quietly got up and slipped away. A golden opportunity to escape more nagging!
The place I ended up was the dedicated training ground for the Plum Group, right before free training time.
I lightly stretched as my senior and junior brothers arrived one by one.
Normally, free training time consisted of half a shichen of chatter and slacking without Uijin around, followed by two shichen of training under his supervision.
The ones skipping out changed day by day. The only one consistently skipping the chatter to train was Biryeong.
Today, for once, I skipped the slacking and trained diligently. Biryeong, running laps around the training ground with me, glanced back at me with a look that said meeeow, what a surprise.
“What wind’s blowing today that you’re here instead of over there?”
“To raise my skills to the point where I can overwhelm two opponents at once with ease.”
“Even the Grand Little Senior can’t avoid that phase, huh…”
“No, that’s not it?”
I shot back curtly and picked up the pace. I easily ran five laps while the others did three, then joined the slacking group.
“The guy just froze up solid right there. He said spars and real combat aren’t even comparable. Swinging your sword to kill versus just clashing blades—the level of killing intent is totally different or whatever.”
I poked Bihwan while watching Bijun gesture wildly like some storyteller.
“What’s that about?”
“Oh, a third-generation Kongtong Sect disciple who got friendly with Bijun said they’d fought rogue warriors in real combat, not just spars. Their youngest is the same age as us, I think.”
“Wow, big age gap. Our youngest is fifteen.”
“Fifteen? Isn’t it sixteen?”
“Youngest by age. Can’t you just get it without me spelling it out? Our Bidam’s great in every way except he’s clueless.”
Bidam got chewed out by Biwon for saying something dumb again.
“Well, spars and real combat are bound to be different. Real combat’s a life-or-death fight.”
I blinked at Bijun’s words.
Huh, isn’t this a total cliché? The righteous sect young master/lady/disciple who only does textbook spars panics and loses when real combat suddenly hits.
And that… was very likely to be my future, treading the path of a solid supporting character among the later-generation talents of a major sect.
“How do we prepare for real combat?”
“Prepare…? Like studying for an exam?”
“No black faction guys in Shaanxi? When I was little, they used to raid sometimes, but why don’t these bastards crawl in when we need them?”
“Why on earth would we need black faction guys? Little Senior, are you listening to me?”
Right then, a brilliant idea flashed through my mind. This was it!
“Biryeong!”
My eyes gleaming as I shot to my feet happened almost at the same time as Bihwan frantically calling for Biryeong.
But I beat Biryeong—who was striking the training post with his wooden sword and now approaching—to the punch by opening my mouth first.
“Yeah, let’s have a spar that feels like real combat!”
Bihwan looked up at me with eyes screaming what nonsense is this. The others weren’t much different.
“No, listen. If we’re not planning to hole up in the sect forever, we’ll run into black faction guys someday. Or Demonic Cult bastards?”
Everyone here knew we couldn’t just spar among ourselves in the sect our whole lives—we had to venture into the jianghu and experience the world.
“When that happens, will we stay calm, stick to what we’ve learned, and swing our swords without panicking against black faction or Demonic Cult thugs who don’t play fair?”
I scanned the faces shifting to intrigued expressions—it made sense, right?—then slammed my foot down like stamping a seal.
“That’s why we need it! A spar that feels like real combat!”
Bidam timidly raised his hand.
“Um, a spar that feels like real combat means…”
“No rules when facing each other, no holding back on methods, aim for suppression or combat incapacity over disarming. But since injuries are risky, wooden swords only.”
Biryeong, who’d been standing there with arms crossed listening, spoke up.
“Sounds good.”
“Biryeong? You serious?”
Bihwan let out a shriek-like cry. Biryeong nodded with a satisfied smile.
“It’s been a while since the Grand Little Senior suggested something decent.”
“What do you mean, agreeing without stopping him!”
Bihwan’s glare at Biryeong was full of betrayal.
But Bihwan was the only one objecting—the rest of the juniors had already bought into my pitch, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Good, then the one who suggested it should demonstrate first!
“Alright, who wants to real-combat spar with me!”
The guys who’d been nodding enthusiastically with sparkling eyes just moments ago scattered their gazes away from me. Even trusty Biryeong sidestepped back a pace.
No one? For real?
These cowardly bunch. How do they plan to make it in the jianghu later?
Clicking my tongue, I immediately swung my wooden sword at Bihwan. He desperately raised his own to block, eyes bulging.
“Hey, Little Senior, have you lost it? I didn’t agree!”
“I said real-combat spar. Do black faction or Demonic Cult guys ask your opinion first?”
“You’re insane!”
Oh, is my speech habit contagious or something?
* * *
“Bihwan’s sword feels off lately. Sharper somehow, more aggressive…”
Uigang started, and the gazes of the Second-Generation disciples—gathered together after a while—turned to him.
“Bihun’s got noticeably more killing intent in his sword too. And he was already a fierce one.”
“My disciple suddenly started going for killing blows out of nowhere…”
“Our Bikyung too…”
The comments piled on endlessly until Uihyeon calmly wrapped it up.
“I thought it was just my kid, but looks like it’s all of them.”
The eyes soon focused on Uijin, who oversaw the Plum Group’s free training.
“Uijin, know anything?”
“About a month ago, it seemed like they were plotting something among themselves, but whenever I’m around, they act like ghosts and don’t do it.”
If even sharp-eyed Uijin hadn’t caught it, they were being pretty careful not to get busted.
As the mood grew serious, Uiseong—who’d been lounging with his back fully against the chair back, feet up on the table—spoke up indifferently.
“Obvious, isn’t it? That phase has come.”
Uihyeon yanked his ear, telling him to sit straight, and Uiseong grumbled but obediently lowered his legs, chuckling.
“Why, we did the same thing around that age, didn’t we?”
“We did? What’d we do around then?”
Uigang scratched his head. The other Second-Generation disciples wore the same puzzled looks. No, there was one memory surfacing, but…
“You all erased it from your minds or something? Our intense, unforgettable real-combat playtime?”
The Second-Generation disciples clutched their heads and writhed at Uiseong’s snide question dredging up their buried black history.
Uihyeon muttered with a weary face.
“…Yeah, Uiseong, you especially wouldn’t forget. You were the ringleader.”
Surely the Plum Group wasn’t led by Biyeon this time. Even as he desperately denied it—our kid wouldn’t—Uihyeon rubbed his throbbing brow.
Uimin, who’d been grinding his teeth, slammed the table.
“I sure as hell haven’t forgotten. My shoulder still throbs on rainy days from that lunatic—no, Senior Brother Uiseong’s hole in it.”
The game only ended when Uimin got injured and the masters found out. It was back when they were all hot-blooded teens in their teens.
“Wow, Master did say raising a disciple like you would make it happen, but how are they following the exact same path.”
Unlike the Second-Generation who’d idiotically used real swords and caused a disaster, the current Plum Group only used wooden ones—so in a way, they were an improvement.
“So what now? They’re not the type to obediently stop just because we say so…”
At that headache-inducing mutter, Uiseong—the only one free of the issue with no disciple—grinned and gave a clear answer.
“What else? Just prescribe the exact same remedy our masters gave us.”