Translator: RaidenTL

Chapter 7: The Duel (1)

“Don’t you need to warm up?”

That was the first thing Sim Geol said to me when I finally woke up from my late-morning slumber and stepped out onto the training ground.

Thick beads of sweat were dripping down Sim Geol’s face.

Despite his massive frame, he used a saber as his weapon. His forearms were nearly as thick as his thighs. It seemed he had chosen the saber over the sword simply because of his immense arm strength.

I had tossed and turned last night before finally falling asleep, but it looked like he had been up since dawn, honing his body.

Perhaps because he considered me a master, Sim Geol didn't suggest the typical warm-up routines that low-level martial artists usually performed. But then again, has anyone ever seen a true master neglect their warm-up?

“What are you talking about? I was merely resting for a moment to expel the lingering foreign energy from my dantian. For a low-level practitioner like me, if I don't even warm up my body, I’d have no right to complain even if I died at any moment.”

So Gu-chi chimed in after hearing my words.

“Hahaha! When the word ‘low-level’ comes out of Brother Eo’s mouth, it strangely sounds so sophisticated. It doesn't feel insulting at all.”

As I approached, Sim Geol straightened his posture and spoke with a serious expression.

“Brother Eo, since I’m scheduled to duel before you today, please give me some advice.”

His face turned slightly red as he spoke; it seemed his pride was a bit wounded.

Having shared a guest room with them for a few days, I had realized that Sim Geol and So Gu-chi possessed an extraordinary amount of warrior’s pride. Their skills barely scraped past the third-rate level, making them low-level at best, but their pride was easily on par with that of a grandmaster.

Taking his pride into account, I gave my answer.

“What would I know? Besides, I’m a complete layman when it comes to the saber.”

I meant it sincerely, but Sim Geol must have taken it as a sign of humility, as he immediately dropped into a stance.

“Even so, please take a look and point out my flaws.”

Without another word, he began swinging his saber.

Good grief. What does he think I’ll see? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Why does he keep doing this?

Part of me felt annoyed. However, thanks to the Iron Face Divine Skill I had polished for fifteen years, a natural smile formed on my lips. I had trained myself to maintain a smile in any situation.

It was all to project an air of composure.

A low-level martial artist has no business being composed. Composure is a luxury reserved for the strong, born from confidence and true skill. But I had spent twenty-five years cultivating enough deviousness to feign that composure.

The lower the level, the more one reacts like a cornered rat when faced with a crisis. Running around in confusion, panicking, and acting recklessly—those are the hallmarks of the weak.

“Haha, Brother Sim, you overestimate me. The only thing I truly know how to do is draw my sword.”

I never tell outright lies. I speak the truth; I just tweak the tone and nuance a bit. It’s not my problem how the listener chooses to interpret it.

Sim Geol’s movements as he unfolded his saber techniques were incredibly stiff.

How did I know? It was simple. The proof was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that his upper and lower body were moving independently of each other.

Even if my own martial arts were low-level, I could pride myself on having an eye for detail that surpassed the third-rate. Having spent years observing countless duels and eavesdropping on the battles of masters, I had developed my own sense of discernment. This, too, was a means of survival in the Murim.

Sim Geol’s saber wanted to move forward, but his feet hesitated, lagging behind. This was a common pitfall of following a manual too literally.

I knew this because I had done the same thing. Trying to mimic the illustrations in a manual without guidance usually resulted in nothing but dislocated joints. Mastering martial arts from a book without a teacher was a feat reserved only for geniuses.

Back when I had secluded myself in the mountains for three months, reading and re-reading a sword manual, my forms only became more tangled. There was no way someone who couldn't even swing a basic Three Calamities Sword properly could understand the illustrations and explanations of advanced martial arts.

That’s just how the world works. Nothing can be achieved without a foundation.

The beauty of freedom and breaking conventions is something that stems from the basics. How can someone without even a foundation understand the freedom of the sword or the subversion of a technique?

Still, it seemed Sim Geol’s saber would be quite powerful if only his lower body could keep up with his upper half. That was the reason he was out of breath after only a few swings.

The tragedy of being low-level is that you never realize these things on your own. If you did, you wouldn't stay low-level for long.

“Huff! Huff! How was it?”

Sim Geol panted, looking at me with expectant eyes.

“Brother Sim, have you ever wondered why you’re so out of breath after performing your techniques?”

“Well, isn't it because my internal energy is lacking and my stamina is low? Also, this saber style is heavily focused on weight and power, isn't it?”

When I nodded, Sim Geol offered a further explanation.

“That’s why I’ve been training my body so hard to compensate. Even though I have a short stature, these muscles are as hard as cobblestones.”

I could see why his forearms were the size of thighs.

“Come a little closer.”

I beckoned Sim Geol, not wanting others to overhear. Once he was near, I spoke.

“Brother Sim, by any chance, did you obtain a saber manual and learn it on your own?”

At my question, even the back of Sim Geol’s neck turned bright red.

I knew it. And here he was, pretending to be a secular disciple of the Pointed Spear Sect. Even if the Pointed Spear Sect was at the bottom of the Nine Sects and One Clan, getting into one of the great sects was as difficult as plucking a star from the sky.

“H-how did you know? Can a master really see through something like that?”

He even started to stutter.

How did I know? Because his stance was identical to mine when I was practicing with that sword manual I found.

The disconnect between the upper and lower body was a classic side effect of following a picture book step-by-step without the movements being organically linked.

“Don’t worry. I won't let a word of this slip to anyone else.”

I had to reassure him first. Sim Geol seemed to calm down a bit at my words.

“It’s true. To be honest, it’s a secret manual I bought from someone who claimed to be a secular disciple of the Pointed Spear Sect.”

I nodded.

“That’s why you have that flaw. Brother Sim, your saber style is powerful in its own right. Aside from your internal energy, the problem is that your feet aren't following the path of the blade. The saber techniques are heavy, but your feet can't keep up, and you’re putting too much tension in your upper body, which actually decreases your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠power. If you stop worrying about specific footwork and just let your feet follow where the saber leads, you’ll see a significant increase in power.”

I was saying this, but I was really just describing my own problems. This might not even be the right answer. However, I shared it because I knew that my own swordplay started looking somewhat decent only after I realized this.

Sim Geol froze like a stone statue at my words. He closed his eyes as if he had reached some sort of realization.

I guess he’s not a complete amateur. When he opens his eyes, his skill will probably have improved quite a bit. Sigh, when will a fortuitous encounter like that ever happen to me?

I had heard stories. To leap to the next level in anything, an epiphany must follow. Such realizations don't come often; they are precious because they might only happen once in a lifetime. I had never experienced anything like that.

I waited patiently until Sim Geol came out of his trance. When he finally opened his eyes, the light in them had stabilized significantly.

Sim Geol gave me a respectful cupped-hand salute.

“I offer my deepest thanks to Young Hero Eo. I never imagined such a fortuitous encounter would come to me in my lifetime.”

“Don’t mention it. I only gave you some advice because you asked.”

Sim Geol began to perform his saber techniques again. They were much more fluid and lighter than before.

I couldn't give him any more advice even if he asked. I had only told him what I had struggled with myself; I knew nothing more about the higher realms of martial arts.

So Gu-chi, who had been walking over, stopped in his tracks, shocked by the sight.

“Brother, what happened? How did your saber style change so much?”

Despite his words, he was clearly stunned by Sim Geol’s much-improved technique.

“Hahaha! Brother, this is all thanks to Young Hero Eo.”

While Sim Geol was busy explaining every little detail to So Gu-chi, I stepped into the center of the training ground to warm up with the Ten Severing Soul Sword I had learned.

But I found myself unable to draw my sword.

The martial artists on the training ground had stopped their own practice and were all staring at me. They wanted to see my skills.

It seems the rumors have really spread.

If I just walked away now, it felt like they might start throwing stones at me.

“I heard from the scribe that his martial art is the Ten Severing Soul Sword. Just the name alone sounds incredible.”

“Well, that explains it. Only someone with that kind of skill could stop a double-suicide move from experts like the Smiling Face Sword and Poison Wolf Ibu with a single strike.”

Perhaps my internal energy in my hearing had improved lately, because I could hear the surrounding whispers all too clearly. In truth, I was just on high alert because I had been receiving so much attention lately.

I scanned the surroundings. I didn't see anyone I would consider a true master. Masters practiced in the training grounds near the Highest Tier Rooms; they didn't come down to places crawling with low-level practitioners.

Therefore, even if I performed my sword techniques, these amateurs wouldn't be able to tell how mediocre my Ten Severing Soul Sword actually was. It wasn't a bad idea to give them what they expected.

This part was crucial. In the end, battles between low-level martial artists were decided by the clash of wills. I had to make sure they wouldn't even dream of challenging me after seeing my swordplay. To achieve that, I needed to show them with their own eyes, not just through rumors.

Low-level practitioners were especially prone to exaggerating rumors. If I played my cards right, I could become a master just by sitting still.

If I intended to settle down at Ten Thousand Dragons Fortress, I wouldn't need to be known as a master, but since I had already decided to leave, being rumored as one was fine. These people would eventually meet again somewhere, and if they remembered me, they would treat me with caution.

Looking at the sky, I decided it wasn't time for a quick-draw yet. I drew my sword slowly—very slowly.

I performed the Ten Severing Soul Sword from beginning to end, one form at a time, at a snail's pace.

I had once happened to see a Wudang Sect Taoist performing Tai Chi. Back then, the Taoist moved as slowly as a slug, but strangely, it made him look like even more of a master. Since then, I had started practicing my sword forms slowly, realizing that making a lot of noise and wind only wasted energy.

“Oh! Oh! The forms look so profound.”

Even as I performed the techniques, my ears remained open.

The Ten Severing Soul Sword was originally composed of much more flashy movements, but I had cut the motions in half. I had essentially modified it to be easier for me to execute, but even as I performed the forms, I felt they were somewhat eerie.

There was another reason I didn't practice the Ten Severing Soul Sword exactly as it was written in the manual. If this sword art really was an advanced martial art that I didn't recognize, a true master would eventually catch on. That day would likely be the day of my funeral. So, I never practiced the original forms.

When I first started practicing the Ten Severing Soul Sword, my entire body would ache. It was because the techniques used muscles I didn't normally use. Unlike common styles like the Three Calamities Sword, the movements and the trajectory of the blade deviated from the norm.

Because of this, if I took off my clothes, you could see lean, corded muscles formed around my ribs and shoulders. Sometimes, when people saw me shirtless, they would mistake me for someone who had undergone incredibly rigorous training.

But no matter how good a sword style is, it’s useless without internal energy.

If I drew upon the internal energy from my pea-sized dantian, I could perform a single form with a powerful stomp, making it look impressive to anyone watching. However, I refrained from doing so because I would end up panting with my tongue out like a stray dog in the heat of midsummer.

That was why I mostly focused on drawing my sword and mimicking a martial artist using just enough internal energy to keep my legs from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shaking.