Spirit Fire's Trial (9)
This sword style was seriously unfavorable to me in every way. With the Three Powers Sword Art, it was hard to track the trajectory that changed with every moment, and even trying to memorize and counter the forms like I did against the Monster Monk was pointless because they shifted flexibly depending on the situation.
Pain I could endure. When I got poisoned, it hurt way worse than this, so thinking back to that, I could tough this out a hundred times over.
The problem was that my upper garments turned into rags, more of my body was sliced than intact, and I ended up drenched in blood without landing a single proper counterattack. I'd clashed swords countless times, but my strikes never broke through the Alliance Leader's blade.
Whenever I dove into what I thought was an opening, the sword path that had been heading elsewhere would suddenly curve languidly, not only blocking my blade but also carving a gash into my forearm. If I'd pushed deeper with the intent to trade flesh for bone, that gash would've been on my throat instead.
The same form always changed differently, so I couldn't get used to it no matter what. Even if I regressed and tried again, I doubted much would change.
How... how do I...
My head grew hazy from all the blood loss. Inside it, only my half-broken survival instincts—honed from repeated deaths—warned me of the killing intent's direction.
Muryeong Singong is a martial art of the mind. As long as the pillar of my will holding my body up doesn't break, I won't collapse. And as long as I don't give up, that will never break.
I hadn't given up yet.
But was this an opponent I could handle just by not giving up? There had to be some way...
Suddenly, a very old memory surfaced. The kind I probably wouldn't have recalled if I hadn't been gripping the sword in my mind's eye, retracing sword-related memories.
It was back when I was a kid, realizing I had no talent and moping about it. Master patted my shoulder and said,
"There's a saying that there's no such thing as perfect swordsmanship in the world."
"First time I've heard that, but it sounds plausible."
"Pah! It's not just plausible—it's true. The one wielding the sword is a person, after all, and where's the perfect person in this world?"
"Uh... yeah. But why bring that up out of nowhere...?"
"Think about it, Sochan. Doesn't that mean the sword grows stronger if the wielder is strong?"
Master said that and started creating Muryeong Singong the very next day. And sure enough, thanks to it, I'd crushed opponents with overwhelming power so far, so he wasn't talking nonsense.
Right. There's no perfect swordsmanship in the world. Maybe there is, but the person wielding it can't be perfect.
That thought cleared the fog in my head like magic. Beyond my sharpened vision, the plum blossoms soaked in my blood bloomed profusely.
This sword couldn't be fully blocked anyway, and even if it hit, it wouldn't kill me outright. So I half-assed my blocks, channeling every last drop of my inner energy into my eyes.
"......!"
Agony like my eyeballs were burning. In exchange, the world slowed down.
They say low-quality black sword qi sometimes can't handle it and shatters on its own—and the human body is no different. My flesh screamed that this was too much, but I ignored the warning.
Then, in the slowed world, I widened my eyes.
The Alliance Leader's sword, which had moved so complexly before, finally became visible. Of course, seeing it didn't mean I had an opening to exploit... but that didn't matter.
What I wanted to see wasn't the sword—it was the Leader himself.
I took in every single movement: his inhalations and exhalations, the blinks of his eyes, the twitching of his muscles, and so on.
And I realized one thing. Obvious in hindsight, really: no matter how amazing the changes, it was still one man with one sword performing feats.
So there was no reason I couldn't match him with my one sword.
I just had to stop doubting myself and my blade.
My mind, swaying this way and that following the scattering plum blossoms, finally settled in place. My instincts no longer got swept up by the ambient killing intent.
Instead, an inhuman level of focus bloated my consciousness outward.
Splitting instants, splitting them again into fractions. I could see the surfaces the Leader's sword traced—and the trajectories of the lines forming those surfaces.
...And next, where will it slice me? I felt his gaze scanning my body.
Now.
I gripped the sword in my mind's eye hard. At the same time, I gripped the real one hard.
The bland sword in my mind's eye—which had only captured the essence of "sword" until now—transformed into the exact shape of the blade Master had passed down to me.
I instinctively knew: gripping the sword in my mind moved my body as I thought. And now, my sword would do the same.
"Hup!"
I swallowed a breath and thrust straight out.
No one stays dry in a storm raging from all eight directions—this is an unavoidable strike. I would make it so.
The instant the Leader's wrist twisted and his focus shifted elsewhere, I pierced through every possible path, slipping in like a single raindrop.
He panicked and twisted his other wrist to block, but... the surface wasn't complete yet, and my pinpoint thrust was too fast to reach the line.
"Kuhuk!"
The sword plunged into his heart, and he vomited blood. Then, looking utterly incredulous, he stared alternately at me and the blade in his chest before speaking.
"Wh-what's... the name of this sword technique?"
"Three Powers Sword Art. The final form: Eight Directions Wind and Rain."
"Don't lie! How could I, of all people, fall to something as basic as the Three Powers Sword Art from Hwasan...!"
I'd told him since he asked, but he started freaking out, so I twisted the blade sideways. The sensation of his heart tearing completely from my fingertips. His struggles slowed, and finally, his eyes met mine one last time.
"Ah... so that's it... you Sword Ghost bastard..."
With those words, the New Murim Alliance Leader lost focus entirely.
I pulled the sword from his corpse, and blood fountained out. Too drained to even move quickly, I just grumbled while getting drenched in the metallic spray.
"I've got the perfectly fine nickname Three Powers Sword Dragon, so what's with 'Sword Ghost'?"
Muttering that, I shook the blood off my blade—then something pinged on my senses, so I turned around.
Was it trying to backstab me while I was worn out? An enemy had been sneaking up, stifling his presence.
Our eyes met, and he froze for a second before going pale as if he'd seen a monster. He didn't stop there—he even hurled his sword away and bolted like a rabbit.
What the...?
Stunned, I stared blankly at his retreating back. Then something shiny caught my eye from the side.
Looking closer, it was the sword that guy had thrown. Pristine, never swung before, gleaming like new. And reflected on its surface...
...A blood-soaked madman with only his eyes gleaming fiercely.
......Yeah, whatever.
I was exhausted enough that even Muryeong Singong couldn't fully recover me. The remaining enemies were just first-rate at best, so if my looks scared them off, all the better for me.
I smirked, curling my lips, and scanned the surroundings.
There was no escape here. I knew that better than anyone.
The last survivor threw himself into the forest path said to be blanketed in all sorts of formations as a final gamble. He didn't make it a few steps before flailing in place.
So that's what it looked like from outside. I didn't get too close and just picked up a random sword from the ground, tossing it at him.
With that, the last life snuffed out, and I felt the veil-like barrier enveloping the area dissipate into the air.
Guess it was a formation that held as long as one person lived. Come to think of it, they said the Jegal family made it, but I never saw anyone who looked like they were from there. Did they not come, or did they bail when things went south...?
Either way, the formation suppressing the dimensional gate—presumably—had been dispelled.
Staggering, I headed to the center of the area. The spot where I'd always regress upon death.
Soon, massive energy swirled, gathering light.
"Ah..."
The cluster of light gradually formed a gate. Someone on the other side must've been opening it.
Sure enough, beyond the completed dimensional gate lay the scenery where I'd thrown Hong Yeonhwa and Paeng Soso.
I sheathed my sword, which I'd never let go of even for a second. Then I wiped my face roughly with my sleeve and straightened my clothes.
Suppressing the welling emotion, I took one step forward...
"My lord! You've finally opened your eyes."
"Oppa! Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"
Before I knew it, Hong Yeonhwa and Paeng Soso were hugging me from front and back.
What the...?
Now that I looked, the scenery seemed a bit different too. But more importantly...
"Opened my eyes? What're you talking about?"
Don't tell me... this is that?