What the Heart Truly Wants
Disciple. There was much to consider amid the uncertainty. When I drove my blade into Master that night, I had wanted, at least once, to see her true feelings. That much was undeniable. But after learning that the wall in her heart was not unbreakable like diamond, that it could crumble through me, what was it that I had truly been hoping for? I had said that I wished for Master to break my will, just as I was doing to her, and to put me first. Of course, the reason was that I wanted the master I loved most in this world to shatter that suffocating wall and face the world with ease. …Was that truly the reason? Really? From my experience reading other people’s hearts, people were often wrong about what they believed about themselves. If I could be the same, then that reason began to feel suspect. If I had truly only wanted Master to be honest, why had I been so tormented an hour ago, and why was my heart now so strangely at peace? “Whether you like it or not, you are my disciple.” What power did those few words hold that they could calm my anger? What was I so afraid of that I had been anxious and jealous? Just as I was about to grasp at an answer, a storm of sawdust swallowed everything around me.
In the common ranking of third-class, first-class, peak, and beyond, assassins rarely reached first-class, let alone peak. Most were third-class at best. Even so, a first-class martial artist could handle three third-class fighters, yet few would remain unafraid upon hearing that an assassin had marked them. It was not only because assassins did not attack with swords alone, but because their blades were fundamentally different from a martial artist’s sword. The saying that one first-class could face three third-class came from the fact that, in strength, speed, and precision, one first-class fighter’s hands could match or even surpass three third-class ones when weapons clashed. That assumed the three would surround and press the first-class fighter with their blades. But what if the assassin had no intention of crossing blades at all? What if they were willing to be stabbed first, deeper and faster, and, with the blade still lodged between their ribs, charged forward to slash at a thigh? People died far more easily than one imagined, and were crippled even more easily. Yet even with irreversible wounds, they could still move for a few breaths. If they had already resolved to die, a single third-class assassin could terrify even a first-class or higher expert. That was precisely why I was now struggling against opponents whose swordsmanship alone was nothing remarkable.
They feared neither death nor pain.
“Whoops.” A blade grazed a hair’s breadth above my head. The opening was wide enough to take the neck, but doing so would have left me open to the one rushing from behind. Once grabbed, it would be over. If they did not spare their own bodies, why would they spare a comrade’s? We would both end up skewered like market skewers. I spun half a turn and stepped back. My back met something solid—a thick pillar of a building that had somehow remained standing after the fire bombs. Around me stood a few other pillars and five enemies. Each wore gray, withered skin and ornate two-piece armor; they appeared to be guards from the Prince of Han’s household. That armor was the second reason I was struggling. A blade carrying inner force could pierce even iron plate, but without proper force behind it, or with only the edge grazing, it could not cut. When facing multiple opponents while guarding against mutual destruction, the inability to strike vital points with light attacks was a severe limitation.
The five officers closed in from the front, leaving only the pillar side open. I tried to take a deep breath but stopped when pain flared below my abdomen. That was the third reason. I was no heaven-sent body; the aftereffects of overexerting myself in the earlier duel still lingered. I had not fought in such a battered state recently, so I hesitated even to attempt bold movements. If my arm suddenly lost strength while swinging flashily and I dropped my sword, it would be humiliating—and in this situation, fatal. As the enemies approached within a zhang, I began circling the pillar slowly. Their gray faces showed confusion. Naturally, they had to move far more than I did, keeping distance while I stayed pressed to the pillar. When I quickened my pace, they nearly broke into a run. One of them stopped in place, facing the opposite direction, as if he had thought of a clever plan.
That was when it happened.
“What are you doing?”
The officers confronting me all froze. The Heavenly Demon stood at a distance, watching with a look of disdain. Instead of his usual splendid silk robes, he wore blood-red burial clothes. Looking closer, I could see scattered white stains. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m fighting. If you have a free hand, help me out.”
“What?” The Heavenly Demon’s gaze shifted between me and them, then he clicked his tongue. “Stop exaggerating. Finish this quickly or I’m leaving you behind.”
“Exaggerating? Earlier I—”
Whether I spoke or not, the Heavenly Demon strode toward the open gate without pause. The moment he stepped outside, someone lunged from the side, only to be pierced through wrist and throat by two fingers of his right hand. The body twitched, then went limp. He never slowed his steps; now his feet touched the dirt of the rear garden.
He was not exaggerating. In my current condition, facing four first-class swordsmen who neither feared pain nor death, whose raw power was not much inferior even including inner force, would be no easy task. If I fought them head-on, I might kill them all by exhausting every last trick, but I would surely lose my life in the process. Given the Heavenly Demon’s displayed strength, he could dispatch this many with a casual wave of his hand. So why mock me for exaggerating and torment his junior?
With a short sigh, I kicked off the ground with my right foot. My ankle throbbed; the final triple strike of the earlier duel had twisted me nearly halfway around. One of the men waiting apart reacted a beat late and pressed his blade to his side. Normally, closing distance without crossing blades invited mutual strikes, so it was something to avoid—but since that was exactly what they sought, they took that stance. Indeed, refusing even mutual destruction was terrifying. Yet merely aiming for mutual destruction was different. The essence of any contest was finding a way to be right while making the opponent wrong, and it was never wise to decide in advance to use only one method, no matter the situation.
While charging, I relaxed my legs and dropped my body low, ramming my right shoulder into his lower half. The blade at his side swept over my head. The man who had been trying to crash his upper body into me now tripped over me like a boulder and pitched forward. Leaving the one tumbling over my head, I spun left and thrust my sword upward. One advantage of the Insight of the Heart’s Eye was that, though it did not show everything the eyes saw, it could see past eyelids, mist, and even the back of the head. I could have guessed from the sound of footsteps and breathing, but nothing compared to seeing directly. The lead man among those charging in a line had his throat pierced and died instantly. Even then he thrust his sword at me, but I had seen it coming; I gathered inner force in my left hand, slid it along the flat of his blade, and pushed it aside. The still-standing corpse became a wall, while the one rolling through the air became a threshold as he fell. After that, it was straightforward. I had once faced a hundred men with only two at the Heavenly Gate; there was no reason I could not handle three alone in this narrower gate. Using the momentum of my charge, I slammed into the man pinned by the corpse and finished him in one breath. The one leaping desperately over the threshold I dispatched before his feet touched the ground. That left the man still struggling to rise and the last one standing awkwardly at the rear. I hurled the airborne corpse onto the rising man’s head, then charged the remaining one before he could clear it away and ended him. Now it was one against one. Even in this state, that much was not difficult. Mere speed, strength, and sharpness made one strong, but not a true master. Since their method was mutual destruction, the fact that I had found a way to win without a single wound meant I was somewhat more of a master than they were.
I lowered my sword and let out a long breath. The triple strike had truly wrung every last bit of strength from my body; even my windpipe felt tight. Just then, the Heavenly Demon poked his head through the gate.
“Hey.”
“What is it?”
“Giga called. I need to head over there. Keep an eye on the brats you brought.”
“I want to go to Master.”
“Idiot, what help do you think you’ll be going alone? It’d be a miracle if you didn’t become a burden. Gathering everyone in one place is obviously better. Once I wrap things up here, I’ll head there with Giga.”
Before I could answer, the Heavenly Demon vanished. I sighed again. Who was supposed to be looking after whom? I could barely keep myself together. Still, his words were true—I would only be a burden if I went alone—so I decided to follow his advice and gather everyone first. In truth, the building where the Heavenly Demon and I had stored our luggage stood apart, so “gathering” was more like going to where the others had already gathered. It was a large inn, but still just one inn in the city. After dealing with a few groups I encountered on the way, I soon reached the building where Dang Ju-yeon and Yeom Ho-yun were staying. However, the atmosphere was strange. The building had collapsed, which made sense if it had also been hit by fire bombs, but the two who had apparently escaped safely, plus one more from inside, were all staring in one direction through the thick dust. It was too far for the Insight of the Heart’s Eye, so I was squinting and focusing my vision when footsteps sounded behind me. Without turning my head, I asked, “Who is it?”
“Are you the Ten Thousand Flowers Sword, Yu Baek?”
For the space of three slow counts, only the distant sounds of fire bombs, clashing steel, and screams echoed faintly. After a sufficient pause, I raised both arms and slowly turned around. “No? That cannot be. The great hero Ten Thousand Flowers Sword boasts a jade-white face and a towering seven-foot frame, a magnificent figure. As you can see, I am…”
“Dark-skinned, and covered in freckles.”
“Yes.”
“Only the face, though.”
I glanced at my raised forearms. They were, as always, snow-white. Well, one could not fill one’s stomach with the first spoonful. If I kept at it, the day would come when it proved useful. Still, I could not spare even a shred of mental energy right now, so I released the power of Yeokcheon Cho-ui Ji Sin. “So, who might you be, sir?”
“I am Mubidogaek, the Heartless Blade.”
The middle-aged man, his hair disheveled and wearing tattered black robes with an assortment of blades dangling from his waist, grinned, splitting his lips wide.