Jeok-ju of the Go-geom Sect
Namgung Sol’s second match ended in an anticlimactic fashion. Unlike her, who had finished her first bout relatively quickly and preserved her stamina, her opponent had advanced after a hard-fought battle that consumed nearly all of his internal energy. No matter how skilled a Peak Realm expert might be, without enough qi left to manifest sword qi their advantage shrank dramatically. Thanks to that, Namgung Sol secured her second victory without difficulty.
“She got lucky.”
Jegal Seon-a spoke her honest thoughts, then clapped a hand over her mouth with a small gasp. It was true, yet the sort of remark that could easily offend someone who had fought with everything they had. Still, neither Namgung Sol nor Namgung Woo were narrow-minded enough to take offense at words free of malice.
“Luck is a kind of skill too.”
“My sister-in-law is right. In the last tournament there was a seventeen-year-old who reached the main bracket purely on favorable matchups.”
“Ah! I know that story. You mean the Blue Flower Lady, right? A rising star of the Zhongnan Sect.”
“Exactly. It caused an uproar in Shaanxi. The Huashan Sect’s rising star was eliminated, yet an unknown newcomer from Zhongnan advanced. After Shaolin and Wudang suffered heavy losses, Huashan had risen as the greatest power among the Nine Great Sects. Failing to produce either a Dragon or a Phoenix in the previous tournament became one of their greatest humiliations in recent years—an unforgettable disgrace.”
“The Huashan Sect denounced the Blue Flower Lady as a half-baked success who relied on luck in the draw, but the public mocked Huashan instead, calling them petty. They asked whether the martial world of Huashan was truly so shallow that it could be overcome with nothing but luck.”
Luck was luck, but without the skill to support it, one could not even receive that luck.
“Besides, isn’t it fine even if it is luck? In the end the world turns on fortune, doesn’t it?”
Good fortune. Misfortune. The world had always worked that way. It was the world Paeng Ha-ryeong had experienced. The fortune of her younger sister’s birth. The misfortune of being born with a limited lifespan. The fortune of meeting Namgung Woo… And the reason she had been able to seize that fortune was because she had believed in it and chased after it.
Above all, who prayed for luck more fervently than martial artists? They were the ones who constantly wished for martial fortune.
“So pay no attention to idle gossip. Win your final match. You must.”
“Yes! Don’t worry!”
Namgung Sol flexed her arm, making a show of the strength still left in her by popping out a bicep. It was hidden beneath her sleeve, but the gesture was clear enough.
With two straight victories and the relaxed atmosphere that followed, Namgung Woo—who had been so tense at the start that his leg had trembled—finally relaxed his posture and looked around.
“It really is a festival.”
The aroma of food on the breeze. The gasps and cheers of spectators. The calls of merchants drumming up business. A vibrant energy he had never encountered before flowed into him through every sense.
Ever since the Alliance Conference began, Namgung Woo had remained in seclusion to train Namgung Sol. This was his first time truly seeing Luoyang. Even now, until a few moments ago he had been radiating his aura to shut out the outside world, making the experience little different from isolation. The crowd and heat filling the city were on an entirely different scale from the initiation ceremony he had witnessed upon first arriving in Luoyang.
Seizing on his absentminded remark, Jegal Seon-a spoke up.
“Of course. The tournament that selects the rising stars of the Dragon and Phoenix is the pride of the Orthodox Murim, after all.”
She declared it as though the event belonged exclusively to the Orthodox faction. Come to think of it, Namgung Woo had never heard a comparable term for exceptional talents among the Unorthodox Faction. Perhaps it was because he had never taken special interest in the subject, yet after living in the Murim for a year one would normally have heard it at least once.
“Does the Black Path have nothing like this? Even with the Black Alliance?”
“The Black Alliance does not wield the same influence as the Murim Alliance. Unless the Alliance Leader himself steps forward.”
“In the past, before the Black Alliance existed, the Unorthodox Murim was affiliated with the Murim Alliance, so they also sent their rising stars to the tournament. After the Black Alliance appeared, however, the connection was completely severed and that practice became history. Besides, hosting an event of this scale is far more difficult than it appears. Tournaments in particular tend to produce many injured martial artists…”
True to their status as members of the Seven Great Families, both Paeng Ha-ryeong and Jegal Seon-a were well-versed in Murim history. Jegal Seon-a in particular grew excited once the topic turned to something she knew and began recounting old tales no one had asked about. She chattered away until she belatedly realized she had grown too animated; her eyes darted about and her voice trailed off.
“…Having enough high-level experts to ensure safety and maintaining their neutrality is crucial. The Black Alliance may have the former, but the latter is rather ambiguous…”
Namgung Woo nodded in understanding. Indeed, these were bouts with real swords. Attacks capable of inflicting fatal wounds could be unleashed at any moment. To prevent that, an expert several moves ahead needed to stand watch at the side.
It was no empty custom that the Eight Guards Unit finished their duties as quickly as possible and returned whenever the tournament was held.
The experts currently overseeing the matches had reached the threshold of the Transcendent Realm, even if they had not yet stepped fully into it. And there were three of them. It seemed they had reinforced their numbers in the absence of the unit’s leader. Someone like Deung Jong-yu, whom Namgung Woo had met before, could have handled the task alone.
A grand martial festival that mobilized as many as eight Transcendent Realm experts at once was the ideal ground for unearthing the pillars who would lead the next generation.
“It certainly deserves to be called the pride of the Orthodox Murim.”
“See? The Black Path has nothing like it.”
Even though she herself had not been chosen as a Phoenix, Paeng Ha-ryeong puffed out her chest with pride. While she had not received the title, her own brother Paeng Ja-ryeong had placed third in the previous tournament and earned the title of Tyrant Dragon; she had every right to be proud.
“Then the rising stars of the Black Path make their names known without any such events?”
That in itself was impressive, Namgung Woo thought.
“Without a tournament, those in the Black Path tend to take more provocative actions than their Orthodox counterparts. They seek out and subdue bandits or pirates, or participate in closed-gate battles at locations where Ghost Gates have opened. The Man Family of Guangxi joining the previous war was likely part of that pattern.”
“More combat-oriented, then.”
“It seems so.”
Jegal Seon-a added to Paeng Ha-ryeong’s explanation.
“There are also unique traditions unique to each group. The most representative example would be the Dokgo Family’s Solo Martial Journey. Direct and collateral descendants alike travel the Jianghu alone for a set period. Given the danger, the fame earned upon completing the journey is equally great.”
“Then at that time…”
Namgung Woo recalled Dokgo Bin, whom he had encountered at Guya Manor. Perhaps she had earned the title of Young Tyrant through that very journey.
“The Dokgo Family…”
At his murmur, Namgung Sol’s face—which had been beaming as she savored the lingering taste of victory—stiffened. The Dokgo Family. For those born with the Namgung name it was the name of an unavoidable, fated enemy. Remembering that colossal foe, she suddenly felt pathetic for rejoicing over nothing more than two tournament wins.
Just before she could sink into self-reproach, someone called her name. It was the summons for the final match.
“I’ll be back.”
I will win. Without fail.
My realm is low? That is nothing but an excuse. If I convince myself I will lose here and grow satisfied with my current results, how will I possibly face the far stronger enemies that await me in the future?
With firm resolve she stepped back onto the arena stage. Namgung Sol looked at her opponent. His aura was heavy. Sensing something similar to Geumsin, it appeared he cultivated Buddhist martial arts.
“I am Jeo Ri-dam of the Songshan Sect. I have learned the Sumeru Sword Technique.”
The Songshan Sect. A name on an entirely different level from those of her previous opponents. Although it was not counted among the Nine Great Sects, it was a prestigious sword sect that held one of the five positions in the Five Great Sword Sects, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Hengshan, Taishan, and Xiangshan sects. While the Huashan Sect—originally the Western Sword Sect—had risen a step further by joining the Nine Great, the name of the Five Great Sword Sects had existed long before the Nine Great. Their long history testified to the profundity of their martial arts. Though it had begun as a Taoist sect, it had absorbed Buddhist influences from sharing Mount Song with Shaolin, resulting in a harmonious fusion of the two paths.
The aura Namgung Sol had sensed earlier had been correct. And that meant her own aura perception had advanced another level.
“I am Jeong Sol. I have learned the Flying Swallow Sword Technique.”
Even against a high expert from the renowned Songshan Sect, Namgung Sol stated her name with unshakable dignity. Her spirit had changed noticeably from the previous match. Jeo Ri-dam, who had watched her earlier bouts, noticed it at once. A rate of growth that made the phrase “ever-improving” feel inadequate. Did she herself realize that the aura radiating from her body had already surpassed the level of a first-class expert?
“I look forward to an excellent match.”
Jeo Ri-dam offered the customary fist salute. Namgung Sol poured a single wish into her clenched fist.
I will win. Without fail.
“What? It’s already over?”
Yang Kvae called out to Geumsin after they happened to run into each other.
“What about you, then?”
“Well… I got knocked out. I mean, I was told there wasn’t a single Phoenix in this bracket, but I still got baited. That damn Strong Dragon was just sitting there dominating the whole thing.”
Strong Dragon Ak Cheol-bi. A rising star of the Shandong Ak Family and one of the heavy favorites who had reached the quarterfinals in the previous tournament. He had been defeated by Paeng Ja-ryeong last time, but neither Paeng Ja-ryeong nor the Namung Ryong who had beaten him were present this time.
“Then your brother must have lost too.”
Yang Jeong gave a silent nod, his face expressionless. The defeat seemed to have left a bad taste; his mood was clearly poor. When asked whether he had suffered internal injuries, Yang Kvae answered that was not the case.
“No, more importantly, what happened on your side? I mean, how many people in this tournament could possibly be stronger than our Monk Geumsin? Did you just steamroll everyone and advance?”
“I lost.”
“Huh? You, Brother Geumsin?”
The news was so shocking that even Yang Jeong—who had been practicing silent meditation—nearly broke his vow in surprise. A Peak Realm expert at the absolute limit, on the verge of entering the Transcendent Realm. In the last tournament, which people called a generation of monsters, someone of Geumsin’s caliber should have reached the quarterfinals with ease.
“I knew you deliberately entered a bracket full of strong opponents… Who was it? Mun Se-gang and Hwa Un-jin? Were those two really that strong?”
True Martial Dragon Mun Se-gang and Fire Lord Dragon Hwa Un-jin. Mun Se-gang, a secular disciple of Wudang, and Hwa Un-jin, son of the Extreme Yang Sect’s leader, were both rising stars bearing the title of Dragon. Their round-of-sixteen meeting—where after a fierce battle Hwa Un-jin defeated Mun Se-gang and the two swore friendship—had been famous enough that even the Yang brothers, who had been wandering the rogue martial artist scene at the time, knew the story. The pair had applied to the same bracket again this time, and Geumsin, eager to fight strong opponents, had entered it knowingly. Yet it was not those two who had defeated him.
“I lost to a female expert I’ve never seen before.”
“A female expert?”
“The True Martial Dragon and Fire Lord Dragon seemed roughly equal to me. Considering they are five or six years younger, their achievement is astonishing. I wanted to spar with them at least once. It is truly a shame.”
Geumsin spoke as if losing despite possessing such skill was no great matter. The Yang brothers gaped in astonishment on his behalf.
“A female expert strong enough to defeat Brother Geumsin… Was the Saint Scar Divine Nun there or something?”
“No. Hmm… She did wear a veil, same as the Saint Scar Divine Nun. The match began and she kept it on, so I intended to overlook her face, but even that proved difficult.”
“Whoa… If our Monk Geumsin couldn’t even land a proper hit and still lost, just how strong was she?”
“I did land one blow. It wasn’t that one-sided.”
“Anyway, who was this female expert? You must have heard her name during the match.”
Geumsin briefly replayed the bout in his mind. The exquisite sword technique that had sealed his Phoenix Song Phoenix before he could even unfold it properly. The Hundred Directions Step Technique—whose combination of footwork and kicking methods had bewildered even the Transcendent Realm Black Sword Ghost at first—had been completely ineffective against her. She had to be a Transcendent Realm expert like the Black Sword Ghost. And one who had trained in footwork even more profound than the Hundred Directions Step.
After finishing his reflection, Geumsin recited the name his opponent had announced at the start of the match.
“She said she was Jeok-ju of the Go-geom Sect.”