Silver Taels and Steel Spears
Once the prince made his proposal and the supreme commander gave his blessing, preparations for the sparring matches moved along at a brisk pace.
It was nothing like the proper dueling grounds back at the Tang estate, but the terrain was flat, with grass growing just thick enough to offer a bit of cushioning — more than enough to make a fine natural arena.
"This is going to be fun! So much fun!"
The thoroughly excited Prince Zhu Wancheong settled into the seat with the best view and waited in giddy anticipation, while Hang Jeoksan quietly selected the men who would take the field behind him.
It was then that the taciturn female general, Yeo Cheolgi, spoke up.
"Grand General, I thought you disliked these sorts of spectacles."
"I neither like nor dislike them. I do them because they are necessary."
"Necessary, you say?"
"You've seen it yourself. War on the battlefield and fighting in the jianghu are two different things. Someone has to teach these martial artists what it means to face a man in armor."
"I see."
"And it would do you and the others good to learn how martial artists move as well. Those Northern Blades, after all, are soldiers who fight like martial artists."
"Understood."
"Win."
"Yes, Commander!"
Having said his piece, Hang Jeoksan sat down quietly beside the prince.
Then, onto the arena ringed by soldiers, one soldier stepped forward.
"Oooooh!"
"Waaah!"
A comical-looking fellow, with lips that jutted out just enough to tell everyone at a glance that he was a talker.
The moment he appeared, cheers rang out from all sides.
"Greetings! Former storyteller, Lee Yakhui, at your service! I've had the honor of taking this seat to keep today's events running smoothly… Back in the day, something rather similar—"
"Hahaha!"
With some light comedy, Lee Yakhui loosened up the crowd.
Watching him, the prince looked so pleased that he actually applauded, laughing heartily.
"Ahaha! What an amusing raconteur!"
"I'd love to keep spinning tales, but I see a few of you fine generals are starting to yawn — so let us begin~~ the friendly exhibition matches in earnest!"
Was he not a truly seasoned storyteller, knowing exactly when to talk and when to stop? He stepped back and boomed out in a thunderous voice,
"Today's friendly matches pit martial artists against soldiers in one-on-one bouts! And if you win? Hmm… there's no prize or purse, but you will win glory—"
"Hold on! Bring that here."
At that moment, cutting Lee Yakhui off, the prince beckoned to his bodyguard.
Thud!
The prince set a box down on the outdoor table and slowly opened it.
Brilliant silver light spilled out.
"I shall personally award the victor ten taels of silver. That ought to liven things up a bit more, no?"
"Waaah!"
Oh… that's a fair sum. One tael of silver is roughly 100 to 150 thousand won in my old life's money… so ten taels is over a million won?
By no means was it a negligible amount of money.
Perhaps because of that, seriousness began creeping into the eyes of those who had been planning to treat the matches lightly.
I was going to lose on purpose, but I suppose I'll have to win.
Samryong had intended to throw his match, but now decided to win — just barely.
What's that? Isn't that pocket change to the Tang family? Money is always better in greater quantities.
And besides, the Tang family's money wasn't Samryong's money.
"You can do it, lad!"
The moment Yu Yangcheol heard the amount, he started cheering too.
With the prince throwing money into the pot, the atmosphere grew all the more heated, and the first man stepped forward.
The man carried a slender, streamlined saber.
"Cho Sangyeol of the Iron Saber Sect!"
"Officer Yong Cheolsan."
In contrast, the officer called Yong Cheolsan stood in full armor, spear in hand.
Cho Sangyeol in light clothing, Yong Cheolsan in heavy armor.
This was already shaping up to be interesting.
"After you."
"Much obliged."
Watching the relaxed Cho Sangyeol, Yong Cheolsan wasted no courtesy and thrust his spear in first.
Crack!
The spear tore through the air and flew in a straight line! Cho Sangyeol blocked it with ease.
But as though he had already expected it, Yong Cheolsan's spear came again immediately.
The speed kept building.
"Hup! Hup!"
"Ha! Ha!"
Deflect, push aside, thrust! The most fundamental movements of spear arts!
The military's Loyalty Spear Art was simple, but it pushed speed and destructive power to the very limit.
In contrast to his relaxed opening, Cho Sangyeol found it hard to close the distance.
These movements don't even carry internal energy — how can they be this fast, this precise, this strong!
He had dismissed military arts with a touch of contempt, but facing one in earnest, he found it anything but easy.
But!
Cho Sangyeol worked his footwork and rapidly closed the gap.
Yong Cheolsan tried to stop the nimble movements, but the distance shrank in a flash.
Armor makes him slow!
Cho Sangyeol whirled his saber in a swift arc, sensing victory.
Got him!
The saber flew in, aiming for the arm! But what he heard was not the usual sound — it was something different.
CLANG!
Not the sound of cloth and flesh parting, but of steel grinding against steel.
Had armor always been this hard? Flustered by the situation, Cho Sangyeol flinched — and Yong Cheolsan seized the opening without hesitation, driving a kick at him.
"Ah, no—!"
WHAM!
The slow but crushing kick landed, and Cho Sangyeol staggered backward!
Yong Cheolsan followed up with a thrust of his spear at the man's legs.
"Ugh!"
CRASH!
Cho Sangyeol lost his balance and toppled to the ground!
He scrambled to rise, but the cold spear tip was already at his throat.
"I lose."
"Well fought."
"The victor is Officer Yong Cheolsan!"
"Waaah!"
At Lee Yakhui's shout, cheers echoed across the military camp.
"Tch."
The fight had been fairly evenly matched in the early going, but Cho Sangyeol's inexperience against an armored opponent led to a limp, hollow defeat — and a click of the tongue escaped the prince's lips.
"Both of you fought well. Victor, come collect your winnings."
"Yes, Commander."
"Congratulations on your victory."
"It is my honor!"
And so Yong Cheolsan withdrew, leaving a striking impression behind.
Watching the match, Samryong came to a clear understanding of the difference between jianghu martial arts and military ones.
Military martial arts are ruthlessly practical. Unless you can wield sword qi at will, punching through armor is no easy feat. So military arts trust in their armor and prioritize offense over defense.
Leaving the dejected figure of Cho Sangyeol behind him, Samryong continued his thoughts.
War isn't a small-scale brawl like the jianghu's fights. If you fling sword qi around carelessly, you'll burn out your energy and collapse in no time. That's why they temper their bodies — minimizing the use of internal energy while squeezing out the maximum effect.
Since Samryong trained and fought in much the same way, it was a part he could genuinely empathize with.
Practical. And efficient.
As a man of the Tang family, which prized efficiency above all, he felt a flicker of curiosity toward the military arts — and thought he understood, just a little, why Hang Jeoksan had accepted the prince's proposal.
General Hang is trying to teach us something.
That the battlefield was a different kind of fight from the jianghu's.
Waaah!
The matches continued after Cho Sangyeol and Yong Cheolsan.
But as the martial artists kept losing one after another, the prince's interest began to wane bit by bit.
"I am Woo Gyeongbong, a lay disciple of the Wudang Sect."
"Officer Bi Wol."
"Ooooh!"
A lay disciple of Wudang, one of the great orthodox sects!
The prince, who had been a hair's breadth from yawning, felt his eyes sparkle once more.
And the despondent martial artists sent Woo Gyeongbong desperate, pleading looks — you, at least, must win.
"I'll go first!"
"By all means."
The hallmark of Wudang's arts was softness overcoming hardness, and yielding to strike first — subduing strength with suppleness, retreating a step to receive the opponent's attack, waiting, and then hunting for the opening.
In a way, one might say Wudang's arts were the natural counter to military ones.
Kang! Kang!
Bi Wol's ferocious thrusts were deflected off course by Woo Gyeongbong's sword.
"Hm."
Bi Wol tried to seize the advantage with swift, overwhelming force, but each time he was stymied by Woo Gyeongbong's blade.
It's elegant.
Just as Samryong had said, Woo Gyeongbong's sword was truly elegant.
It never moved in large gestures, yet traced soft, flowing arcs to turn aside every attack — and the instant an opening appeared, the sword darted in without fail.
He's more Wudang than the ones who actually took the Daoist name, isn't he?
From Bi Wol's perspective, it must have felt like fencing a field of reeds.
"Whew… hup!"
Then, a overwhelming aura burst forth from Bi Wol's body.
Samryong had seen that art once before.
The For-the-Country Internal Art. The one that explosively boosts the body's capabilities. It's certainly different from Mae Gukhyeong's. Forged in real combat, this For-the-Country Art radiates a pressure you can feel just by looking at it.
The trade-off was the strain it placed on the body — physical conditioning had to accompany it as a matter of course.
"Guard yourself."
Before Bi Wol's warning had even finished, the spear moved.
"Huh?!"
At first it looked like a casual thrust — then in the blink of an eye, a dozen spears seemed to fill his vision.
An illusion? No — this was the extreme limit of thrusting technique, honed through a supremely conditioned body.
CRACK!
He dodged by a hair's breadth, but the wake of the thrust shredded Woo Gyeongbong's hair, sending strands scattering into the air.
Woo Gyeongbong, who always wore an expressionless face, had his eyes widen slightly — startled, just a little, by the attack.
Then the relentless assault followed!
Woo Gyeongbong employed footwork swift as the wind and a cloud-soft flowing sword, deflecting Bi Wol's attacks.
Swish! CLANG!
Bi Wol's powerful spinning thrust!
Woo Gyeongbong barely turned it aside, and his body was driven back a good dozen paces.
Shaking out his numb hands, Woo Gyeongbong readjusted his grip on the sword.
"Whewwww……."
A light exhale.
In this situation, he was actually loosening his body further.
It made no sense — at first. But soon, the reason became clear.
Kang! Kang!
He would not fall though he seemed on the verge of it; he would not snap though he seemed about to break.
Like a reed, he moved in harmony with his opponent's attacks.
Insane.
Was this really a lay disciple? Even with Bi Wol's explosive movements amplifying his strength and speed, Woo Gyeongbong's defense refused to break.
"Kgh……."
Tap.
Bi Wol realized this couldn't go on, and stepped back slightly to readjust his spear, thinking.
His offense is lacking, but his defense is far too solid!
As he pondered how to crack him open, Woo Gyeongbong — who had done nothing but wait — moved like the wind.
"Oh no—!"
Shk. Tap.
Exploiting the moment Bi Wol paused to think, Woo Gyeongbong closed the distance in a flash — and the tip of his sword slipped between the plates of Bi Wol's armor.
At that cool touch against his skin, Bi Wol had no choice but to lower his spear.
"I yield."
"It was an honor to learn from you."
"WOOOOH!"
"That's a great sect's lay disciple for you!"
"Amazing! He beat General Bi Wol!"
Bi Wol, it turned out, was quite a famous figure even among the soldiers.
With Woo Gyeongbong having defeated a man like that, the martial artists' spirits could at least revive a little.
"Come, then — come take your silver!"
The prince, too, seemed satisfied, and let out a hearty laugh — but Woo Gyeongbong answered with a calm face.
"By the boundless mercy of the immortals. I must decline."
"Hahaha! A true disciple of the great Wudang Sect, through and through! Hahaha!"
Even with the prince offering money, Woo Gyeongbong refused to take it.
The sight seemed to leave a deep impression on the prince.
"Incredible, Great Hero Woo!"
"Congratulations!"
Amid the crowd celebrating Woo Gyeongbong, Samryong was preparing for his own match.
"Young Master Yu."
"Huh?"
It astonished Samryong that the man remembered him.
Woo Gyeongbong gazed at Samryong expressionlessly for a long moment, then quietly turned away.
"Win."
"Ah… thank you."
And so Samryong stepped forward — but the prince, dredging up a face that had left no particular memory, stared bored at the ground with an expression devoid of expectation.
Seeing that neither the soldiers nor the martial artists held out any hope for him, Samryong loosened up and readied himself.
Thud. Thud.
Then, with the sound of ponderous footsteps, a man planted himself in front of him.
No… why does it have to be….
It was a face Samryong knew all too well.
Of all people, why did his opponent have to be this man? What had he done to deserve this luck?
"Yeo Cheolgi."
"Yu Samryong."
The man was so massive he could have passed for Lü Bu incarnate.
It was like standing before a great mountain.
WHUM! WHUM!
Watching Yeo Cheolgi swing a fangtian huaji as tall as himself lightly in one hand, Samryong settled into his stance.
"You won't use a weapon?"
"I never properly mastered a real one."
"Is that so. Very well. Shall I go first, then?"
"I'll take the first move."
"As you wish."
Whoosh!
Samryong charged without hesitation at Yeo Cheolgi, who had so graciously conceded the initiative.