The Yongbong Tournament Finals Begin
Unlike the preliminaries, where they lump everyone together in massive groups and basically say, "You get it, right? Go kill each other!", the main tournament follows a strict one-on-one bracket format. Drawing up the matchups takes some time, and that's where the Murim Alliance flexes its showmanship. For instance, they'll try to keep the top contenders from facing off too early.
Put another way, it leaves room for some artificial meddling. Of course, the Murim Alliance isn't some backwater alumni club—they can shrug off most outside pressure without batting an eye…
"Leave it to me. It's rare for the heads of the Five Great Families to show up in person, so arranging things for you all to meet as late as possible won't be hard at all."
"You sure that's okay?" Isn't that corruption?
"We're not talking match-fixing here—what's the problem? Besides, with your skills, you'd end up in the later brackets anyway. It's just a matter of how late."
Fair enough. Anyway, that bought us a few more days of downtime. Life at the estate was still comfortable, but comfort didn't mean relaxation. True to his word, Paeng Ojin ramped up my training even harder, and he finally started properly teaching Paeng Soso her martial arts too, unlike before.
But there was one exception: Hong Yeonhwa.
She'd oversee our sessions, but now with Paeng Ojin around, it didn't eat up nearly as much of her time as it used to. Prep for the Yongbong Tournament? She could probably take on the Murim Alliance Leader himself right now and win. No need to sweat some juniors' contest.
She wasn't slacking on her own training, though… She just did way more meditation than physical drills. You know, that mental simulation stuff from wuxia novels where you fight imaginary battles in your head.
Even that didn't last long. Time flows differently in there, so overdoing it is a no-go. Recovering inner energy? At her level, she can circulate qi while doing other things just by breathing.
So what did she do with the rest of her time? The correct answer: play and eat.
Like someone from a post-apocalyptic hellscape finally getting to indulge, she went wild exploring everything. She'd hit the market herself for ingredients and try cooking. (She aimed for fried rice but botched the water ratio and ended up with fried porridge.)
Or she'd stare endlessly at street juggling acts. (I barely stopped her from jumping in, claiming she could do it too.)
Or she'd tail one of the maids all day out of curiosity. (That poor maid ended up working nonstop without a break, sniffling the whole time, so Paeng Soso chewed her out.)
And plenty more. Bottom line: she was living her best life these days.
Today, she was sprawled across my chest like a pillow, flipping through a book. She'd kick her feet excitedly now and then or giggle out loud. That title… Scornful Love's Tearful Roar? Something like that.
Apparently a hot seller at the markets lately. Word was it even won some contest.
I dragged my exhausted body over and sat beside her, kneading the knot-free nape of her neck. By the time my overheated body from training cooled down, she'd slipped in a bookmark, closed the book, and tucked it between her breasts.
She didn't get up, though—just stayed limp, enjoying my touch.
"You didn't finish it."
"Books can wait anytime. Right now, feeling you like this is better."
Purring contentedly with a loose smile, Hong Yeonhwa wriggled closer. "Nngh…"
She let out her signature nasal hum, then plopped her head on my lap and nuzzled in.
"What're you doing?"
"This lady is performing the smallest miracle she can muster, you see."
"Which is…?"
"A… dickacle!"
She gazed up at me with pink eyes brimming with smug expectation, like she'd just landed the perfect pun. Those sparkling eyes were too cute—I couldn't help petting her head. She burrowed deeper; tickle her nape and she'd shrink away giggling; cup her cheek and shoulder, and she'd kick her feet laughing.
We kept at it for a while until freshly washed Paeng Soso came sprinting from afar, sliding in with a "Hyah!" and planting her head on my other knee.
"Me next after Big Sis Hong, right? Right?!"
"I've got two hands—might as well do you both."
I chuckled and reached for her too—
"Ah, hold on a moment."
Hong Yeonhwa stopped me.
"Your hair's still damp. This lady will dry it—stay still."
She stroked Paeng Soso's hair, and with a wisp of steam, the wet locks turned fluffy dry in seconds.
Using Three Flames Divine Fire as a hairdryer? Neat. Gotta ask her to do mine next time.
I mentally noted it while groping them both wildly—then felt something brush my lower half. Looking down, their dazed faces were inching toward my crotch.
"My dear. No one's around, perfect."
"It's the training ground. Maids don't barge in, and Dad's out on business."
Hong Yeonhwa and Paeng Soso stared intently, expectant.
A quick one couldn't hurt, right?
Time flew by in a blink, and the Yongbong Tournament finals finally kicked off. The stands were packed again, plus a bunch of big shots who hadn't shown for prelims. With Hong Yeonhwa in the participants' waiting area now, the only familiar face up top was Paeng Ojin.
Forty who clawed through prelims, plus twenty-four recommendation passes straight to mains—for a total of sixty-four righteous faction prodigies. Can't just crown a winner and send the rest packing, so they always award special titles to the top fourteen: the famous Nine Dragons and Five Phoenixes.
Guys get "dragon" titles, girls "phoenix"—though the gender split varies, they still lump 'em as Nine Dragons Five Phoenixes. First tournament had a 9:5 ratio among the top fourteen, so it stuck to honor that.
Speaking of which, Nine Dragons Five Phoenixes? Rings a bell immediately, doesn't it? You'd be right.
Most past recipients hailed from the Nine Great Clans and Five Great Families. Not match-fixing—just martial world's old guard passing down strength generation after generation.
That said, the quirky system of titles all the way to fourteenth place probably owes a lot to those clans' influence. Tournament's every five years, so some lack juniors or skip if they already have titles. End result: they rotate the flashy monikers like Sword Dragon or White Phoenix among themselves.
It's not just their league, though. Standouts without a top-fourteen spot might get custom nicknames or recruitment offers. Recommendation passes are basically scouting tools for unaffiliated talents—sell 'em for cash or fast-track to mains, either way it builds loyalty.
In a world where favors and grudges rule warriors' lives, that's no small perk.
Long story short: main draw quality skyrockets. You either proved yourself in prelims, got pegged as useful talent, or you're martial world's rotten elite. One of those three.
…So my opponent had to be no slouch.
"Haha. Even if you lose, don't take it too hard. Facing Blitz Sword Yang Soyu is only natural."
"Ah, yes. Please guide me."
I gave a half-hearted greeting, eyes flicking over him top to bottom. Slicked-back oily hair gleaming, gaudy robes embroidered with gold thread, teeth flashing rice-noodle white in the sun—intimidating as hell.
But that voice, the arrogance, and the self-proclaimed Blitz Sword Yang Soyu… Wasn't this the asshole from registration who tried cutting in line behind me?
Despite the empty cart vibe, his presence felt legit. I steeled myself, channeling Martial Spirit Divine Art.
Zing!??
The gong rang out. His cocky eyes sharpened instantly. He charged without drawing—and yeah, I got why the "Blitz" nickname. Fast.
Before I fully unsheathed, he was in my face, slashing at my throat on the draw.
"Hup!"
Clang!
Parried with half my blade out, barely. But he didn't stop—wrists, armpits, flanks in a relentless sword storm. Even with Martial Spirit Divine Art boosting me, keeping up was all I could manage.
Credit to Paeng Soso's crash course on handling rapid strikes.
But same frenzy, one key flaw:
"Light…!"
Speed meant featherweight blows. Sure, sword qi made 'em lethal enough…
Kagak.
Instead of blocking, I shoved back on clashes. Rinse and repeat—his stance crumbled first.
He fell back a beat to reset. No mercy, though. I leaned forward, shifting center of gravity.
Then a full-body recoil step plunged me deep after him. Closed the gap, thrust.
"Hah…"
His throat bobbed before my halted blade tip. Arms dropped.
"I lose."
Gong sealed it. I sheathed and cupped fists lightly.
"Good match."
Surprised me, but solid start.