Dominating the Hunting Tournament
Making people hate you is no great feat.
The true art lies in calibrating the precise boundaries of that hatred — making someone despise you so viscerally they can scarcely bear your presence, yet never quite enough to raise a hand against you. This rarefied state of existence is known as becoming an absolute nuisance.
Maeng Chang-haeng had just pulled it off to perfection. The four dignitaries inside the tent now regarded him as an absolute nuisance of the highest order. Not quite enough to hit him — but more than enough that conversing with him made their blood pressure spike toward the ceiling.
In the end, all four of them wanted Maeng Chang-haeng out of that tent as fast as humanly possible, and they found themselves waving through the spirit-pill contribution ratios with a complete and utter lack of interest in how the numbers actually fell.
The hunting tournament's prize pool was ten thousand second-grade spirit pills. By longstanding custom, the Military Supply Bureau put up forty percent, the Cheonun Sect thirty, and each of the Three Great Clans ten. In truth, the split had been engineered specifically to squeeze the Cheonun Sect dry.
This year, however, the situation had turned on its head. The dignitaries' prevailing mood inside that tent was simple: so long as Maeng Chang-haeng left this instant, the Cheonun Sect could contribute whatever the hell it wanted.
And so Peak Master Maeng Chang-haeng succeeded, for the first time in the ten years the Cheonun Sect had entered this tournament, in driving their contribution down to a historic low of ten percent. This year, the Cheonun Sect would put up a mere thousand second-grade spirit pills.
"Hahaha! So that settles it, then?"
Maeng Chang-haeng's booming laugh rang through the central command tent.
"Gentlemen, you really won't have another round? I made this wine myself — it'll knock you flat!"
Get out. Please. Get out.
Four pairs of eyes glittered with barely leashed killing intent inside the tent.
The moment Maeng Chang-haeng stepped outside, the mirth vanished from his face.
These bastards. Year after year they wring every last drop of profit out of the Cheonun Sect, one scheme after another. In the old days a loser like Han Buri would come crawling in here, bowing and scraping. But this year I came myself — and I made damn sure the Cheonun Sect didn't take a loss!
A thousand spirit pills. If ten Cheonun disciples simply placed in the top hundred, they would break even. After that, every additional name on the ranking was pure profit.
Of course, the rest of those pills would almost certainly be gobbled up by the little monsters of the Heavenly Phoenix Legion, attached to the Military Supply Bureau.
Maeng Chang-haeng sneered and turned to head back to his own tent. That was when a magnificent phoenix-shaped burst of flame exploded across the sky. Every soul in every tent looked up, startled by the gorgeous crimson fireworks blazing against the dark.
Maeng Chang-haeng's eyes narrowed a fraction.
That's… the Military Supply Bureau's Phoenix Flame Fireworks? Don't tell me someone has already finished the hunt and made it back to camp. But that's far too fast…
He moved, heading for the reception desk at the outermost edge of the encampment. Everyone startled by those spectacular fireworks was already rushing in the same direction.
And there, indeed, a figure was standing. Beneath the moonlight he held himself with the lofty, untouchable bearing of an immortal. White robes. Upon his chest, a crimson phoenix spread its wings as if it might take flight at any moment — the uniform of the Military Supply Bureau's Heavenly Phoenix Legion.
The youth simply stood there, silent, and he looked every inch a prince receiving the adoration of the masses. Look closer and he was a striking young man with sharp, single-lidded eyes. Those tapered brows, that high-bridged nose, that lean and elegant frame — anywhere in the world, he would have set countless girls cheering.
But that otherwise perfect face was marked by a faint red scar running from his left eye all the way down to his throat. It ruined the original beauty and, in its place, stamped him with a cold, iron-blooded severity.
It was him. Of course it was him. The moment every person present laid eyes on the figure standing tall in the moonlight, not a soul was surprised. It felt as natural as breathing — as if his claiming first place had been decided long before the tournament even began.
In that instant, every member of the Military Supply Bureau — from Naeng Chu down to the lowest soldier — felt a swell of pride and fierce satisfaction at this young man's appearance.
Everyone else — even the patriarchs of the Three Great Clans, even Maeng Chang-haeng — felt their expressions darken.
The pressure this youth gave off was truly immense. The name Sa Cheonseong was destined to make the martial world tremble — not merely in Fengsang Commandery, but across the entire Great Jin Empire.
Last year, at only sixteen, he had already placed sixth in the hunting tournament, and he was ranked the greatest genius since Yi Hwawu of the Cheonun Sect. With the previous tournament's top five all aged out of eligibility, who could possibly stand in the way of his championship run? The answer had already been written.
The Autumn Hunting Tournament had been underway for less than a day when, at midnight on the second night, its first qualifier was born. Sa Cheonseong took his place as the tournament's undisputed prince.
The second competitor to complete the mission did not appear until dawn, two days in — a full night behind Sa Cheonseong. The gulf between them needed no further commentary.
From the morning of the third day, the wagering on the Autumn Hunting Tournament reached its most delicious pitch.
Naeng Chu, Gi Yeo-hae, Ouyang Cheong, and the rest gathered at first light upon a high platform erected in front of the camp. They sat taking the breeze and sipping tea, waiting for each camp's competitors to come home.
Every time a participant returned, a messenger reported it at once. The returning competitor's faction received one hundred second-grade spirit pills. A single harvest was nothing extravagant — but pile them up, and the numbers were more than enough to set every camp buzzing.
In the span of a short morning, some ten-odd competitors made it back in one piece. They belonged to various camps: nine from the Military Supply Bureau, and two or three from the Three Great Clans among them. The gap between the Bureau and everyone else was laid out in the open for all to see.
Naeng Chu was in excellent spirits. As chairman of the hunting tournament, he occupied the seat of honor on the high platform, pouring tea for the three clan patriarchs and making no effort whatsoever to hide his smile.
"Come, come — another cup, gentlemen."
Gi Yeo-hae, Ouyang Cheong, and Gongsun Hong held the spirit tea in their mouths. It tasted only of bitterness. The looks they exchanged were heavy.
The Military Supply Bureau's strength was even greater than they had imagined. The invincible Sa Cheonseong was one thing — but the other little monsters were terrifying in their own right.
They took stock of their own situation. Aside from a handful of disciples from the Ouyang and Gongsun clans, not a single one of theirs had cracked the top ten. The gulf between the Military Supply Bureau and the Three Great Clans was enormous. Barring some genuine upset, this tournament's championship was as good as locked in the Bureau's fist.
That was right — why hadn't the Gi Clan's disciple arrived yet?
When a few of them asked after Qi Gongtian, Gi Yeo-hae answered with a leisurely smile. He was certain the boy was off hunting down that worthless brat Yeop Pung, and so of course it would take time for him to return.
Then Gi Yeo-hae's eyes rolled, and a scheme clicked into place.
"Say… shouldn't we call over that Peak Master of the Cheonun Sect by now?"
"That's right!"
The other three clapped their hands.
Damn it all — Maeng Chang-haeng had played them beautifully earlier. Now was the perfect moment to pay him back.
Not a single Cheonun Sect disciple had arrived yet. That would be the supreme humiliation for him.
Yes. Fetch him. Quickly.
The four of them were itching to watch Maeng Chang-haeng squirm.
Maeng Chang-haeng arrived shortly thereafter.
Yes — at that particular moment, Maeng Chang-haeng was of course drunk and sprawled in bed. Gi Yeo-hae and the others had not the slightest intention of letting him off so easily. Even lying down, he would endure their mockery right here.
Hmph. You old good-for-nothing. Today's the day you eat dirt.
And so, from that point on, the conversation on the platform ran more or less like this:
"Oh, Lord Naeng — another of the Bureau's talents has returned. My congratulations."
"Hah, well now. Brother Gi, next time one of yours comes in, we'll all celebrate together, eh?"
"Haha — and what number is the next one?"
"If memory serves, this makes twenty."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Twenty already, and still not a single disciple of the Cheonun Sect? Peak Master Maeng, as I said — you sleep so very soundly. Clearly nothing to be anxious about…"
"Hahaha! Peak Master Maeng's heart is truly vast. Vast as the sea itself. Sleep well. Come, another cup — this tea really is excellent!"
Beside them, Maeng Chang-haeng lay on a military cot, breathing evenly, playing at sleep. Inwardly, he was cursing the four men in front of him to a thousand different hells.
Damn it! These four sons of bitches really know how to twist the knife! This is how they want to humiliate me, is it? Shit!
And those young brats are something else too — not a single one of them back yet? Yeop Pung, you little bastard, where the hell are you loafing around?
Then, from outside, a report suddenly rang out.
The twenty-first competitor has arrived!
Disciple of the Cheonun Sect — Beom Undae
Maeng Chang-haeng's closed eyes twitched, just barely.
Beom Undae? Why this brat? Where the hell is everyone else?
"Hahaha! At last!"
The news, however, only handed the four men beside him fresh ammunition.
"No small feat, Peak Master Maeng. Someone from the Cheonun Sect has finally arrived — shouldn't you get up and greet him?"
"That's right — go on, check what number the next one will be!"
These dog-born bastards!
Maeng Chang-haeng rolled over, grinding his teeth, and went on pretending to sleep. That helpless reaction only delighted Naeng Chu and his companions further. They were beside themselves — they had finally gotten their revenge.
The situation dragged on like that until the third night. The four men, in such fine spirits, found they had no desire to leave their seats. They waited through the whole night for competitors to return, and they never once stopped needling Maeng Chang-haeng.
About an hour after the thirty-fourth competitor reached the tents, the moon climbed over the mountain ridge. The camp lights blazed bright, and another report rang out.
The thirty-fifth competitor has arrived!
A disciple of the Cheonun Sect!
"Oho?"
The four dignitaries, who had by now drunk several pots of tea, looked at one another and burst out laughing.
"Hah! After all this time, another Cheonun Sect disciple has finally arrived!"
"Peak Master Maeng, sleeping through this can hardly be the answer, can it? Your sect's second competitor is here — get up and greet him!"
Gi Yeo-hae, in particular, spoke with a cold curl at the corner of his mouth. He was quite certain that a great many of the Cheonun Sect's disciples had already been culled by Qi Gongtian.
"Do get up, Peak Master Maeng. You'll be lucky to see even one more. Who knows how many of the Cheonun Sect will make it back in one piece. Even if they only put up a thousand spirit pills, they'll probably come crawling in covered in blood!"
The words had barely left his mouth when another messenger came running — and this time, the man's face was stamped with genuine shock.
The thirty-sixth competitor has arrived!
Another disciple of the Cheonun Sect!
Maeng Chang-haeng, still facing away from the four of them, cracked an eye and murmured,
"Oho? They came together, did they?"
The four dignitaries went slightly blank.