Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Nine Deaths One Life (7)
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It felt like the sky was collapsing. The terror of falling into an unfathomable abyss where even the ground was out of sight. Was this the sensation a frog in a well felt upon beholding the vast sea?
For Sua, who had been hailed as a genius day in and day out ever since she began learning martial arts, the notion of a "wall" was something utterly alien—and terrifyingly unknown.
In truth, considering just her cultivation level, she wasn't the only martial artist to have reached second-rate at her age. In fact, those commonly called child prodigies had often progressed at a similar pace, or even faster.
Yet the reason Sua was dubbed an unprecedented genius in the history of the Moyong Clan came down to one thing: her monstrous intellect that allowed her to perfectly comprehend any martial art just by seeing it once.
Insight was the power to perceive and understand martial arts. While those with naturally superior muscles and bones had an advantage at the start, true advancement ultimately came through enlightenment.
The insight to grasp the subtleties embedded in forms and execute them flawlessly was undoubtedly a crucial talent. But Sua went beyond that. It couldn't even be captured by the word "insight" alone.
It was comprehension bordering on the monstrous.
That power was a weapon strong enough to erase even the resentment and hatred toward her unreasonable patriarch. Isolated and forsaken in the clan, all Sua could do was mimic what she saw.
At the time, no one dared teach her martial arts for fear of drawing the patriarch's ire. Even Moyong Hyeon, who had quietly looked after her, was too young himself and had to watch his step.
The only pinnacle realm master in the Moyong Clan, Retired Patriarch Moyong Jin, was there too. But even he, as a member of the clan, couldn't openly defy the patriarch's commands to her face.
With no one willing to stand by the girl's side or even speak to her... In that utter solitude, the only thing the child could do was pick up a sword and imitate the adults.
Perhaps the child was simply starved for attention. At first, no one paid it any mind, but soon enough, they began to notice something off, one by one.
The forms the child executed were too sharp and solid to dismiss as clumsy imitation. Of course, there were still deficiencies, but she had long surpassed mere mimicry.
"Her insight is extraordinarily keen—beyond words."
"Letting a talent like this rot away would be folly, Patriarch."
"Sua. Do you truly wish to learn martial arts that badly?"
"...Yes!"
That was the day. The day her father—who had never so much as glanced at her before—finally called her by name and looked upon her. It was then that the girl finally realized.
I'm good at this.
I'm a genius.
So Father loves me.
She no longer had to curl up in the cold and sleep. She could eat her fill without watching her manners. And yet, not a single day passed where her heart felt at ease.
She lived in constant fear of being discarded again. Everything she now enjoyed felt like it could vanish in an instant, like bubbles on the water.
That was why she desperately engraved her father—no, the patriarch's—teachings deep into her heart. She didn't care if his words were right or wrong. The only thing that mattered was earning his recognition.
Under the patriarch's direct guidance, Sua had rocketed to second-rate in a single leap—and ever since, she had never once felt a wall. Of course, there were martial artists stronger than her.
Her own brother, Moyong Hyeon, for one. And the warriors of Dragon Hall, an elite unit in the Moyong Clan accessible only to first-rate and above—they were far stronger than her.
'Hmph. If I had the same amount of time as them, I could do that much. No, I could do even better.'
But Sua had never once felt a wall against them. On the contrary, a competitive fire blazed deep in her heart. With just a bit more effort, she felt she could win.
Of course, she couldn't even picture victory in her mind against Elder and Retired Patriarch Moyong Jin, who had reached the pinnacle realm. But he was already over seventy years old.
If they had trained for the same amount of time, could she confidently say she couldn't reach the pinnacle? Sua, at least, didn't believe that.
But this man called Nameless was on another level entirely. A pinnacle realm master at just thirty? It was a shock that upended everything she'd learned.
Sua could easily imagine herself reaching the pinnacle. But reaching it at thirty? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't draw that picture in her mind.
'Impossible. A pinnacle master at thirty? No way. Looking at his face, he's clearly just bluffing.'
She desperately denied it as nonsense, yet Sua never demanded proof from Nameless. Because if she saw him truly wrap his sword in sword ki with her own eyes...
She knew her mind would crumble under the weight. For Sua, martial arts were her means of validation, and talent her sole worth. If even that faded...?
If the talent that had let her look down on others in arrogance turned out to be worth a mere handful? She didn't want to accept it, so she thrashed about in denial.
She never missed a chance to challenge Nameless to spars. Each time, she poured every ounce of her power into her forms with desperate resolve. But nothing ever connected.
'Even if I train my whole life, I don't think I could win. Am I really a genius? Or am I just a common stone masquerading as a jewel?'
"The murim isn't so lenient that talent alone can conquer it, Sua. I hope that, under his guidance, you realize at least one of your shortcomings."
It was already the fourth night here, yet her brother's parting words echoed relentlessly in her ears, keeping Sua tossing and turning sleeplessly.
For Sua, who grasped ten truths from one lesson, this frustration born of ignorance—this feeling of being stuck—was a first. She knew something was there, but what it was eluded her completely.
Finally deciding she couldn't sleep like this, Sua sighed and stepped outside. Whenever the loneliness became unbearable, she would gaze at the stars to soothe her heart.
But the moment she stepped out, what caught her eye was Nameless, swinging his sword alone in the courtyard. Her eyes widened like saucers at the unexpected sight.
Sua remembered and understood every martial art she had ever seen. So she easily recognized what Nameless was practicing now. Yet that only deepened her confusion.
What he wielded was none other than the Three Disasters Sword Art. At least, the version she knew was a third-rate basic technique, nothing more than the fundamentals.
'Even in the Moyong Clan, it's only taught to warriors lacking basics or raw initiates just starting out. Why is he practicing it alone...?'
The ignorant dismissed the Three Disasters Sword Art as mere third-rate trash. But for true beginners, no sword art was finer.
Other techniques and arts presupposed internal energy circulation. Without sufficient inner power or familiarity, one risked internal injuries.
The Three Disasters Sword Art, by contrast, detailed only the basic mechanics of swinging a sword—no internal energy required. Perfect for novices.
In other words, any first-rate—let alone pinnacle—master would have outgrown it long ago. And yet, here he was, practicing it.
What's more, his monotonously repetitive strikes gleamed sharper than any she'd seen from other warriors. From Sua's perspective, it was maddening.
"Why are you practicing something like the Three Disasters Sword Art?"
"...Why aren't you asleep yet?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I came out to gaze at the stars—and happened to see you."
"I see."
Nameless nodded, fell silent, and pondered for a moment. Sua waited patiently without pressing, hoping this might resolve her frustration.
"To return to beginner's mind and solidify the basics further."
"But Great Hero, don't you already have basics overflowing?"
"Who decided that? No matter how much you train your whole life, the basics are always lacking."
'In truth, I have to hide that the Three Disasters Sword Art is all I know.'
In reality, Nameless was merely acting as if he knew other arts to conceal his own flaw. But the same words could hit differently depending on the listener.
"...!!"
It felt like being struck hard on the head with a hammer. They said ripe rice bends low. How true. Even a pinnacle master spoke thus.
Was she arrogant for her meager achievements? Shame flooded her; she couldn't lift her head. And with it, a desire took root in her chest.
'If I show him my diligent efforts here...'
Would the Great Hero acknowledge me?