Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: penny
Chapter Title: Chapter 3 Sparring (2)
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Thud.
The two faced each other.
The students' eyes gleamed at the sudden start of the spar.
"Who do you think will win?"
"Sa-gon, obviously? It's Divine Martial Swordsmanship, after all."
"Since it's not family arts but Divine Martial Swordsmanship, Sa-gon should have a much higher attainment."
"Yeah, probably."
"Oh. It's starting."
Swoosh.
The wind clawed at the training ground's floor, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
Within it, Nangong Yun-ho stood like a pine tree.
His previously hunched shoulders straightened, his disheveled hair swaying freely.
Nangong Yun-ho resembled a fossil that had leaped from an ancient painting.
His training uniform was worn and faded, and the sword he held matched the color of the dust.
In contrast, Sa-gon stood tall and proud.
Shing.
A smile played on his lips as he raised a sword adorned with an ornate scabbard and tassel.
Swoosh.
The contrast between the two was stark.
Then, dong-dong-dong-dong.
A small drum sounded from one side.
It was the signal drum announcing the spar.
"Face each other."
Yeom Gwang, standing in the center, announced the rules of the spar.
"No killing."
"Swordsmanship is limited fairly to Divine Martial Swordsmanship."
"Only Divine Martial Swordsmanship. Using family arts or other techniques results in disqualification."
"Then. I wish you good fortune."
Dong-dong-dong-dong.
As the drum beat and Yeom Gwang stepped back.
Clang.
Sa-gon yanked his scabbard free and charged in one breath.
"I'll end this in one strike."
Thud.
With a short stamp, Sa-gon launched himself at Nangong Yun-ho.
'He's coming.'
The moment Sa-gon moved, Nangong Yun-ho recalled the lesson from moments before.
- Focus on the form.
Don't look ahead to the opponent's next form; concentrate on the current one.
That was the only teaching from Instructor Chu Un-hwi.
But.
'I can see it.'
The shadows of sword strikes that had endlessly flowed until now vanished.
Usually in spars, the opponent's relentless sword barrage left him flustered and defeated, but not this time.
'I can read it.'
The sword tip trembled three times.
'Three forms of Divine Martial Swordsmanship.'
Wind Scattering Horizontal Sweep?
The form that had danced dazzlingly before his eyes came alive.
His body moved on its own.
Clang!
He deflected the sword in an instant, and the shock vibrating through his grip made Nangong Yun-ho curl his lips.
So this is the feeling.
'The clash of sword on sword.'
Fresh and exhilarating.
Until now, his solo practice had only sliced passing winds. Clashing blades with someone was long overdue.
"Hup!"
He felt the opponent's fluster.
'Counter now?'
His body instinctively tried to pursue as the opponent retreated with footwork.
But Nangong Yun-ho reined himself in.
'No.'
It would end too quickly.
He couldn't let this rare spar conclude so soon.
He wanted to clash swords more, to swing wildly.
Temptation tugged at his feet.
'To have this leisure.'
The world the instructor showed was utterly different.
Instead of a chaotic whirl of countless lines and strikes, a clear, pure image formed in his eyes.
All he saw was.
The faint, scattering afterimage trailing from the opponent's sword.
'Was it always like this?'
After seeing his grandfather's sword dance in the past, the world had been trapped in sword strikes.
But then.
- Do you get it now?
After witnessing the instructor's sword, he understood.
A battle of numbers in sword strikes meant nothing.
- Don't get too immersed in the sword's movement.
- What rides the blade is the gulf between life and death.
- Even if outmatched in numbers, charging toward death can lead to victory.
He raised the sword tip dragging on the ground.
"Hah!"
This time, a bisecting form struck at his shoulder.
'The variation is clumsy.'
The instructor's sword would be, how to put it.
Much more.
'Faster and flashier.'
Clang!
He gripped the sword in reverse and struck upward in a flash, sending the opponent screaming back five steps.
"Like this..."
He mimicked the instructor's sword.
Swoosh.
With a sharp whoosh, the sword tip halted five inches before Sa-gon's throat.
He had bitten back before fully extending.
"No. It's more than this."
Much more.
Lightning-fast, storm-strong.
Clang! Clang!
In a trance of pouring strikes, Sa-gon reeled back helplessly, screaming.
"Th-this!"
A slash at the side.
He dodged simply and returned it the same way.
Clang! Clang!
The sword tip wriggled like a snake's head, pressing relentlessly, and Sa-gon flailed wildly, gasping in horror.
"Wh-what is this!"
Swoosh.
Nangong Yun-ho withdrew his sword again, lips twitching.
'Fun.'
A chilling smile emerged through his fallen hair.
"N-no way..."
Yeom Gwang couldn't close his gaping mouth.
The match was one-sided.
Nangong Yun-ho moved like the wind.
In one step, he overwhelmed Sa-gon instantly, then withdrew like an ebbing tide.
Just two steps.
From three meters apart, it took only two steps for him to close in and retreat.
Clang! Clang!
Movement like a gale, withdrawal like a spring breeze.
"Aaaah! Nangong Yun-ho!"
Sa-gon screamed.
The match could have ended several times already.
But Nangong Yun-ho didn't grant it easily.
To Single Stroke Vertical Slash, he countered with Single Stroke Vertical Slash.
To Clear Wind Moon Slash, with Clear Wind Moon Slash.
Yet the same forms felt vastly different.
In speed and variation infused in the blade.
Swoosh!
If Sa-gon's swing was a well-honed sword, Nangong Yun-ho wielded a living flood dragon.
Clang! Clang!
'It should be a standard iron sword issued to students.'
Sa-gon's sword, clearly a precious blade, was chipping like a saw.
What sorcery was this?
"That's Bronze Hall's Ghost?"
"With that ghostly skill?"
"Who failed to spot such talent?"
"Did they sew buttons on instead of eyes?"
The instructors' murmurs made Yeom Gwang's face flush red.
'Damn! Damn it all!'
He ground his teeth, tasting blood.
'You bastard!'
The moment Yeom Gwang glared at Chu Un-hwi.
"Welp, it's over."
With his words came a clang! and Sa-gon tumbled with his broken sword.
"Na-Nangong Yun-ho wins!"
Bronze Hall's Ghost had defeated Bronze Hall's talent.
That was the spar's result.
Nangong Yun-ho looked down at his trembling hand.
It shook finely, as if proving the fierce battle.
'I won.'
He had won a spar for the first time.
He could barely recall the last one.
Then, someone tapped his back.
Turning, he saw a grinning face amid tousled bangs.
"How's it feel? Winning a match."
"Uh. Well. Good."
Honestly, he didn't know.
It felt dreamlike, hazy.
"Savor it quick and forget it. The thrill of victory, I mean."
"Forget the feeling of victory?"
"Eh, you'll feel it often from now on."
An absurd reply.
Words for someone who always fled in defeat and disgrace?
Yet the other showed no hesitation, as if it were natural.
"Right?"
Nangong Yun-ho's chest surged at the curving smile.
Something heavy struck his solar plexus, rising through his throat to his head.
"Uh. Uuuh."
It was scorching hot yet refreshing.
"Uwaaaaaah."
Clutching his sword, Nangong Yun-ho dropped to his knees.
"Uwaaaaaaaaah."
He wailed like a beast.
Hot tears poured out.
Forgotten long ago.
The cry of a man who had become the colorless Ghost of Bronze Hall.
"H-hey! Why's a grown man bawling again?"
At the awkward yet concerned voice, Nangong Yun-ho kept vomiting the massive grudge blocking his chest.
"Uuuhuhuheung. Uuuhuhuheung."
He cried and cried.
Until every scrap of emotion buried in his gut flowed out.
Watching Nangong Yun-ho collapse, Chu Un-hwi clicked his tongue.
'The kid was pretty bottled up.'
In a way, it was natural.
Shunned for lack of skill, finger-pointed as deficient, existence erased.
'Well, he's fine now.'
As the ghost regained color bit by bit, an angry voice intruded.
'Ah, this was left.'
Yeom Gwang glared with a fearsome face.
"You there, Instructor Chu."
"Yes, Squad Leader."
"Come with me."
"Sure."
Adult time now?
Whistle.
Chu Un-hwi whistled as he followed Yeom Gwang.
Yeom Gwang led him to the storage room.
A warehouse piled with assorted discarded items, dimly lit to avoid direct sunlight.
Click.
The door barely shut when Yeom Gwang crossed his legs imposingly.
"What the hell are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Dense or playing dumb?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Thwack.
Yeom Gwang pulled tobacco from his robe and struck flint.
"Pretty confident in your skills, huh?"
Exhale.
Finally lighting it, he spat long smoke.
"Yeah. First-rate at twenty-five. Confidence swells, feels like you can do anything."
Twenty-five to first-rate.
Impressively fast.
Enough to latch onto major sect disciples if played right.
Yeom Gwang seemed displeased.
"But skill's skill. Society has tons of rules to follow."
"What's your point?"
Yeom Gwang scowled at the blunt question.
"Ha. You little shit."
Suppressing his temper briefly, he snapped.
"Hand over Nangong Yun-ho."
"Students aren't objects."
Yeom Gwang exhaled more smoke and continued.
"Fine, Nangong Yun-ho's change this time, I admit. I was busy, missed the talent. Good job."
"Not seeking praise. Instructors teach students. Right?"
Yeom Gwang's eyes twitched.
"You punk. Got a mouth on you."
"Did you just curse?"
"Yeah. So? Think I can't? Truth is, you've pissed me off from day one, top to bottom."
Splat!
Spitting, Yeom Gwang cracked his knuckles.
"Favoritism crap, seducing female instructors. Well, worked out better."
"Heard violence gets summary punishment."
"Heh. Why'd I bring you here?"
Glancing at the gloomy quiet, Yeom Gwang smirked.
"A few beatings, you'll wise up. Learn society."
Crack.
Chu Un-hwi chuckled at the knuckle-cracking.
"Hey, Yeom Gwang."
"What?"
"Wanna die?"
Crack. Thud.
Chu Un-hwi grabbed his arm and wrenched it backward.
"Eyes too high."
Simultaneously, he kicked the back of the knee.
Crack!
"Aak!"
"Whoa, shut your mouth."
Tatata.
Fingers struck the nape instantly; Yeom Gwang only gurgled.
Dumbed acupoint.
Muted by sealed meridian, Yeom Gwang gurgled in pain.
"Now it's fun to talk."
"Guhk."
"Eyes level now. Let's chat."
Crack.
Arm wrenched deeper; bloodshot eyes bulged.
Looking down coldly, Chu Un-hwi spoke.
"Mind your own business."
"Guk. Guk."
"Worse, I'm worried about you. A murim man with a beer gut picking fights?"
Slap. Slap.
Palms smacked his face; Chu Un-hwi grinned.
"Nice spot. Smash anyone, no sound. Meet often?"
Grip on arm tightened.
Crack crack.
Shoulder creaked ominously; Yeom Gwang felt death near.
Not just the broken arm.
As a murim man, he could do basic joint locks.
Problem: body wouldn't respond.
Worst of all.
'Th-those eyes!'
Breaking a man's arm with zero emotion.
Beyond what a man retired a decade-plus could endure.
Drip.
Pain and terror wet his crotch.
Only when pupils dilated did Chu Un-hwi release the arm.
Thud.
"Hahk. Hahk."
"Listen well, Yeom Gwang."
Crunch.
"Euheung."
Grinding the hand underfoot, Yeom Gwang trembled, curling up.
Grabbing his head, Chu Un-hwi slapped his ears.
Smack! Smack!
Drip.
Blood streamed from nose; eyes vacant. A low, chilling whisper tickled his ear.
"Keep pissing me off if you want."
"N-no. I."
"See who regrets it."
Bang bang bang!
"Instructor Chu! You okay?"
The scream from earlier?
Yeo Mae-hong pounded outside.
Chu Un-hwi stepped off and hopped out.
"What happened? You okay?"
"What happened?"
"Good. You vanished with Squad Leader Yeom suddenly. Worried. Where's Squad Leader Yeom?"
"Said something about self-reflection and left."
"Really? Weird..."
"Let's go. Work's done. Need food."
"Mess hall again?"
"Quick on the uptake."
Hearing the talk beyond the door, Yeom Gwang shivered.
"What. The hell. Was that."
Face wrecked, clutching broken fingers, Yeom Gwang trembled.