Chapter 96
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Faced with Real Combat
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“Yeon-ah, what do you think a sword is?”
The question came out of nowhere while I was sparring one-on-one with Uihyeon. I was reviewing the incantation for the twelfth form of the 24 Plum Blossom Sword Techniques we’d learned today, Plum Blossoms Gradually Opening, so my first answer was straightforward.
“A tool for cutting.”
He seemed caught off guard by how overly simplistic it was, like he hadn’t expected that response. After a brief pause, Uihyeon rephrased the question.
“Then let me change it a bit. What is a sword to a martial artist?”
“A companion?”
“And?”
“A tool that forces your opponent to their knees, cuts down enemies, and prolongs your own life.”
“Give me an answer like a Daoist from the righteous sects, not some black path wanderer.”
“Something that aids the refinement of body and mind, helping you break through limits into higher realms?”
Even though it was just a simple question on the surface, it was surprisingly hard to answer. Uihyeon let out a heavy sigh as he sheathed his sword.
“I guess all those Daoist scriptures you’ve read so far haven’t helped you much.”
I recalled the Daoist texts I’d devoured just to bloom a single plum blossom. So far, they’d given me more boredom than enlightenment.
Still staring down at the sword in my hand, I muttered.
“Master, I still don’t get it. How can a sword that takes lives become the Dao?”
Bihwan was the first one to plant that doubt in my mind, so I’d hounded him relentlessly to see if he’d figured it out. But he’d only ever consistently replied that he was still searching for it himself.
“That’s not something I can answer for you. That answer, you’ll have to find on your own, without your master’s help.”
“Why?”
“Have you ever seen someone else define your own code of chivalry? The convictions and justice that you vow to uphold as you live in this world—those are things you must establish yourself.”
What were my convictions and justice? That the strong make the rules and the law? No, this isn’t the Demonic Cult.
Should I make up a motto or something? In all the wuxia novels I’d read, they usually formed theirs while wandering the jianghu and experiencing the world.
As I racked my brain over what my code should be, Uihyeon asked again.
“Then, what’s the meaning of sparring?”
This one was easy, so I answered right away. It was something Uijin always said.
“It’s exchanging swords with each other to learn from your opponent’s blade, refining your own swordsmanship, and learning respect and courtesy toward them.”
“Good, you know it well. So, what did you learn from that little ‘real combat game’ with your fellow disciples?”
I spat out the water I’d been drinking. After coughing a few times, I played dumb and asked.
“Master, real combat game? What’s that?”
“I already heard from Uigang sunbaenim. Bihwan told him everything—even that you were the one who led it.”
I swallowed hard at the chill beneath his gentle smile. My throat stung, probably from the water I’d just choked on.
For now, I hurriedly denied it.
“That traitor Bihwan! And it wasn’t a game—it was real combat sparring! The point was to get used to lethal techniques so we don’t panic or get hurt in actual fights…”
“Didn’t you just tell me the meaning of sparring? Lethal strikes aren’t refinement. In a fight where the only goal is to render the other combat-ineffective, there’s no respect or courtesy for your opponent. Can you even call that sparring?”
“…….”
Realizing the contradiction in my words, I clamped my mouth shut.
“I hear black path thugs have been showing up frequently in Heyang lately.”
My gaze snapped up from the floor at those words. He wouldn’t say this unless…
“We’re going too?”
Uihyeon nodded and patted my head as I failed to hide my excitement.
“A hundred words can’t compare to seeing it once. Sometimes, experiencing it firsthand is the best teacher.”
* * *
Heyang County, Shaanxi Province.
“We’re finally getting some real combat too? Those Shaolin guys kept bragging about their exploits like tall tales, and I was getting curious. Now I’ll have my own story to tell.”
“You don’t think we’ll get badly hurt, right…?”
“Pfft, with Master and the sunbaes here, you think they’d let us get hurt?”
“I’m gonna cut down ten black path scum and head back to the palace. Don’t try to stop me.”
You idiots. Watching my excited, flushed fellow disciples, Bihwan clicked his tongue in cold disdain.
Did they come prepared to cut down living things and take lives?
All they’d ever sliced so far were empty air, straw dummies, and wooden training posts.
If they were truly resolved, they wouldn’t have such a lighthearted attitude. At the very least, they should be acting like this.
He thought as he watched Biryeong standing there, gripping her sword tightly with a hardened expression.
“Biryong-ah, you nervous?”
When he spoke up, she turned to look at him.
He’d grown close to his junior sister Biryeong while looking after Biyeon, the actual eldest but youngest in age.
As the practical eldest, Bihwan handled things the young eldest Biyeon couldn’t, and Biryeong was Biyeon’s third guardian.
They’d started out distant, but after spending more time together than even the twins Haeyoung, they were now practically like blood siblings.
Staring at him intently with her deep blue eyes—often said to glisten like they were wet—Biryong parted her red lips.
“If I said my thirst for revenge outweighs the guilt of taking a life, so it doesn’t bother me—what would sunbae think?”
They’d cast aside their names, severed all ties to the secular world without regret, and chosen a life swinging the sword endlessly. How smooth could such lives have been?
There were plenty among the disciples who never spoke of their pasts.
Bihwan had no qualms revealing his ordinary upbringing from a common household, since his only notable past was taking the Wudang and Mount Hua entrance exams with his twin.
But people like that were few.
Biyeon, abandoned as an infant at the sect gates and raised on Mount Hua.
Bijun, the fifth grandson of a major merchant house, unlikely to inherit the family business.
Biran, the daughter of a wealthy family in the west, who’d run away because she hated her prenatal betrothed.
Only those three had shared bits of their somewhat special pasts.
Even after nine full years together, he still didn’t know everyone’s histories.
Unsure what to say since he didn’t know Biryeong’s past, Bihwan scratched his head and answered cautiously.
“That could be the case, couldn’t it…?”
“Good. I was worried I was weird. I’ve heard that kind of thing a lot.”
Having glimpsed a fragment of the past she’d kept hidden, Bihwan felt a strange mix of emotions.
“But… when the time actually comes to swing the sword, when the moment arrives to take a life, it’ll probably be different.”
“Yeah, probably.”
It might sound perfunctory, but Biryeong read the hesitation and contemplation in it. With an unperturbed expression, she turned toward Biyeon.
“Eldest brother’s tense too, for once.”
His face was the same as always, but those bright brown eyes—often compared to a beast’s—were darker than usual today.
Letting out a deep sigh, Bihwan muttered in lament.
“That’s what’s normal. Master said these black path guys might not even be third-rate, but the problem is…”
“Third-rates who’ve actually harmed people versus second-rates who’ve never swung a sword at a living thing with intent to kill—they’re different.”
Biryong smoothly finished his thought.
With the masters and elders here, nothing major would happen, but variables always existed, so caution never hurt.
Glancing at his still hyped-up juniors, Bihwan looked up at the sky.
And then,
“These greenhorns have come looking for a place to die!”
He killed a man for the first time.
For the first time, he confirmed firsthand that the sword he wielded could harm a person. The spurting blood felt unreal.
Suppressing the rising nausea, Bihwan swung his sword form. After all their mock real combat, the actual battlefield offered no time to wallow in the shock of his first kill.
Even Biryeong’s hands—who’d said it didn’t faze her—were trembling visibly to the naked eye.
At least their reactions were calm by comparison. Uimin, Bidam’s master, blocked a sword hurtling down at terrifying speed toward Bidam, who’d cut down one black path thug only to start shaking and drop his sword.
Quite a few disciples reacted like Bidam, and those barely holding it together weren’t much different from Bihwan or Biryeong.
But one person was different.
‘…How can he do that?’
There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in the motions of swinging his sword at a person, of slicing through flesh.
His expression? Even watching blood spray and a body split apart by his blade right before his eyes, there was no disturbance.
To the point where his earlier tension seemed like an act.
It even felt familiar, like he’d done it dozens, hundreds of times. Even though he knew that couldn’t be true.
A shadow fell over his head. Noticing the blade descending on him too late, Bihwan gritted his teeth.
Right—this was a battlefield that allowed no stray thoughts.
“Stop getting distracted. I told you to stay focused in real combat.”
Splash. Hot liquid splattered across his cheek. Wiping it unconsciously with the back of his hand, it came away covered in red.
The body of the man who’d been alive and breathing in front of him just moments ago tumbled to the ground, revealing Biyeon’s face clearly behind it.
Unfamiliar.
It was a face he’d seen for nine years, yet the eldest brother now looked utterly alien.
One of the few with a clear past. It was an illusion, as if fragments of a past that shouldn’t be visible were shining through.
“You’re flying around more than usual today, brother.”
Trying not to let his voice shake, Bihwan forced a smile.
Flashing a refreshingly bright smile that didn’t match the blood-soaked scene, Biyeon lightly shook the blood dripping down his sword.
“Yeah. The sword feels lighter today.”
It was only Bihwan who noticed Uiseong’s piercing gaze fixed on Biyeon as he finished off what the shocked disciples couldn’t.