Chapter 7
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: The Nine Swords of Dugu II
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“Young Master. Why did you have these heavy things made? Even the warriors who brought them were struggling.”
“What else would I do with a sword? I’ll swing it.”
“These heavy things?”
Mujin nodded and tried to grip the heaviest sword, the one weighing 110 geun.
“Grrrgh!”
Straining with all his might, he could barely lift the iron sword halfway.
-Thud!
“Hahh. This body is completely shot.”
A weight of 110 geun was by no means light, but it wasn't something an adult man couldn't lift.
However, for his dying body, which had been confined to a sickbed or tormented by madness, it was too much.
This time, Mujin tried lifting the lightest iron sword, the one weighing 50 geun.
“Heave!”
It was a weight he could just barely manage to lift by gripping the dull blade and hilt with both hands.
Swinging it by the hilt alone was still impossible.
“I guess I'll have to start with this one.”
Masok watched him with anxious eyes, seeing him barely able to stand while holding the sword.
Mujin looked at Masok, who was filled with worry that he might do something foolish, fall, and seriously injure himself.
“What are you doing?”
“Yes?”
“I asked what you're doing.”
“I'm watching over you, Young Master. I'm worried.”
“Have you gotten bold enough to watch a warrior train? You'd have no one to blame if your head went flying.”
Masok had also lived in a martial family for nineteen years.
He knew well enough from what he'd heard and from habits ingrained in his life that one should not watch a warrior train.
“Are you sure you'll be alright?”
“Stop nagging and go. This thing is killing me.”
“Then I'll be right outside the gate. You must call for me if anything happens.”
Leaving those words behind, Masok went out of Mujin's quarters with an anxious expression and squatted down in front of the gate.
“Hah. I wonder if he'll be okay.”
After Masok left, Mujin, now alone in the front yard, gripped the sword hilt tightly with both hands and let the blade hang limp.
Truthfully, he had no desire to let the sword hang like this.
If he had even half the strength of his body from his past life, he could have swung this iron sword as if it were a willow branch.
But for him now, this was the best he could do.
“They call it a Heavenly Martial Body. If it's a body bestowed by the heavens, it should be able to endure this much.”
With those words, Mujin began to flail, swinging the sword clumsily.
His original intention was to use the momentum of the heavy iron sword to imitate the sword forms in his mind.
But there was a vast difference between thought and reality.
“Gasp... Gasp...”
Just from holding the iron sword and flailing for a short while, his pulse quickened and he became short of breath.
“Damn it... Damn this Heavenly Martial Body!”
Cursing his own body, Mujin continued to flail.
Before long, his entire body was drenched in sweat, and his arms and legs screamed, begging him to stop.
Still, Mujin did not let go of the iron sword he gripped so tightly.
This level of pain was nothing compared to the training he had received from his Master.
He had experienced firsthand, through life-threatening training, that the limits of a human being were far higher than one might think.
“Hahh... Hahh...”
Panting raggedly, Mujin continued to flail.
-Thud!
He finally dropped the iron sword when the sun began to set.
“Is my limit really just four hours?”
He looked at his hands, which were trembling so badly he couldn't even make a fist, and wore a bitter expression.
‘At this rate, I have no idea when I'll be able to start training my sword forms. The future looks bleak.’
That was his last thought.
As his vision gradually blurred and darkened, Mujin collapsed onto the ground.
Hearing a stream of harsh curses and ragged breaths from inside that suddenly stopped, Masok cautiously opened the gate and peered in.
“Y-Young Master!!!”
Seeing Mujin lying on the ground drenched in sweat, a startled Masok rushed to his side.
“Young Master! Young Master!!”
-Slap, slap, slap!
Masok slapped Mujin's cheeks, trying to wake him.
“Hah, you hit me one more time... and I'll kill you.”
Mujin spoke with his eyes half-open.
“You're alright. What on earth happened?”
“Stop making a fuss and carry me inside. I'm tired.”
Carried by Masok and laid on the bed, Mujin spoke one last time.
“I'm going to take a nap... have some meat ready.”
With those final words, Mujin fell fast asleep.
Masok shook his head at his master's incomprehensible actions.
“What in the world is... Hah.”
Heaving a sigh, he headed to the chief steward to go buy meat from the market.
He needed money to buy the meat, after all.
After sleeping for about two hours, Mujin woke up and was served a meal by Masok in bed.
“Pork?”
Mujin asked, looking at the side dish of meat that was half fat and half lean.
“Yes. It's been so long since we've had meat... Please enjoy.”
“From tomorrow on, prepare beef. And only the leanest, most tender cuts.”
“B-Beef?”
“Why? Are they saying there's no money again?”
“That's not it, but...”
“If money is an issue, tell them I'll make more, so not to worry. Until I fight that thief, I'll be eating nothing but meat for all three meals every day.”
“Understood...”
Seeing Masok answer in a barely audible voice, Mujin focused on consuming the meat.
Mujin repeatedly stuffed rice and meat into his mouth, chewing and swallowing.
The dignity he once possessed as the eldest son of the Yeomhwa Family was nowhere to be found.
Mujin's obsession with eating meat was a habit learned from his Master.
His Master always said.
-Those who don't eat meat can never become strong.
-But the vegetarians from Shaolin or the Taoist masters are strong, aren't they?
His Master had scoffed at his question.
-Strong? Those scrawny weaklings? If you ever get the chance to cross hands with them, you'll see. You'll see just how weak those scrawny bastards are.
Having crossed hands with them himself, he realized there wasn't a shred of falsehood in his Master's words.
Even the Abbot of Shaolin, the successor to the Hundred Steps Divine Fist and said to be the greatest master of powerful fist techniques, had been cut down by his sword.
‘The human body grows stronger by repeating the cycle of extreme exertion and recovery. And for recovery, there is no better nutrient than meat.’
Having filled his stomach, Mujin got up and went outside again.
“Where are you going again?”
“No more questions, just bring me some bandages.”
“Bandages? Are you hurt somewhere? I told you...”
Masok, about to launch into a lecture, saw the sharp glare from Mujin, quickly shut his mouth, and ran to get the bandages.
Mujin took the 50-geun iron sword he had been wrestling with and wrapped his hands with bandages, securing them to the sword.
“Young Master?”
“What did I say happens when you spy on a warrior's training?”
Faced with a gaze more intense than before, Masok covered his neck with both hands and ran outside again.
With hands that could barely form a fist, Mujin once again began to flail with the sword.
His training continued day and night.
When he collapsed from exhaustion, he slept where he fell. When he woke, he ate meat and went out to wrestle with the sword again.
For half a month, he wrestled with the sword day and night, sleeping less than six hours a day in fragmented intervals.
Finally, a change began to appear in Mujin's body.
To overcome the frequent abuse, his sickly frame began to build strength and muscle, becoming defined.
‘This is just the beginning.’
After half a month, Mujin could finally hold the 50-geun sword properly with his hands wrapped in bandages.
The forgotten sword forms of the Nine Swords of Dugu, which had existed only in his mind, finally began to unfold.
-First Form: Advancing Step. Always advancing with sword in hand, not even Mount Tai would dare block the way.
A thrust, taking a step forward and channeling the sword's weight and momentum into the attack.
At a glance, it seemed like a simple move, but this first form contained the essence of the Nine Swords of Dugu.
For the Nine Swords of Dugu was a sword art that never retreated, always advancing to crush anything that stood in its way.
After advancing for a while with his sword extended, Mujin swung the blade and rotated his body.
-Crrrack!
Screams of pain came from his shoulder and waist, but he paid them no mind.
‘If my bones and muscles were weak enough to break from this, I would have died ten times over already.’
-Second Form: Weapon Breaking. No matter the weapon that comes against me, I shall break it. With a single sword in hand, I shatter all arms; who then can stand against this blade?
It was indeed an arrogant description for a form, but Mujin executed it without a second thought.
He held not a shred of doubt, nor did he question it.
Right now, he focused solely on the sword he was swinging.
Once again, Mujin advanced, swinging the iron sword.
-Third Form: Energy Breaking. Even if the enemy's energy makes the heavens ring, it will be split before this sword. How can unseen energy block this heavy blade?
A series of moves, bringing the two-handed sword down in a straight line in sync with a powerful forward step.
It looked no different from a simple downward slash, but the martial principles it contained were as different as heaven and earth.
-Fourth Form: Style Breaking. No martial art can stand before this sword. Any complex art will eventually fall to its counter. The simplest sword can cut through any counter.
Simple forms of slashing and thrusting, always moving forward.
After executing the first four forms, Mujin's breathing had become so ragged it felt like he would collapse at any moment.
Yet, he did not stop.
A single phrase he had heard from his Master echoed in his mind.
-I have never seen a warrior die from being out of breath. You'll pass out before that happens, so keep moving until you lose consciousness.
-Fifth Form: Army Slaying. No matter how many foes swarm me, they will kneel before this sword. A swarm of ants can never overcome an elephant. Before true power, numbers are meaningless.
-Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
As he moved into the fifth form, the sound of his sword cutting through the air began to be heard.
-Sixth Form: One Sword Splits the Water Moon. Even the moon floating on the water will be split in two before this sword.
-Wooooong.
As he slowly drew the iron sword horizontally, a strange vibration emanated from the blade, and the sound of it resonating with the air could be faintly heard.
-Seventh Form: One Sword Splits the Earth. The great earth itself shall part before this sword. Is anything more vast than the earth? Having cut the earth, I am no longer bound by size.
-Shwiiik!
Mujin's iron sword let out a sharp sound, unbelievable for such a heavy weapon.
His concentration had already reached its peak, and he paid no mind to the sound, simply swinging the sword. Yet, astonishing feats were constantly occurring with his blade.
-Eighth Form: Heaven Breaking. The heavens too shall be split before my sword. What in this world can I not cut?
...
Finally, the sound from Mujin's swinging sword ceased.
-Ninth Form: Sorrowful Blade-Breaking. I have finally cut myself and my sword. There is no longer a reason to hold a blade.
Having completed the final form, Mujin suddenly found that his breathing, which had felt comfortable just a moment ago, became overwhelmingly difficult to manage.
!!!
“Gah!”
Just when he needed to gasp for air, his vision blurred, and he lost consciousness, collapsing.
“Hah. Again?”
At the sound of someone collapsing, Masok entered the yard and began to undo the bandages tied to his hands.
He carried him to the bed and began to wipe Mujin's body with a wet towel.
“He still smells even after I wipe him down. I keep telling him to wash...”
Masok grumbled as he wiped every inch of Mujin's body.
Mujin's state—waking only to eat meat and swing his sword, arguing what was the point of washing when he would just sweat again—had become difficult to watch, so this was the only way Masok could get him cleaned.
Having lost consciousness, Mujin met his Master in a dream.
To be precise, he was reliving a conversation with his Master from his past life.
“This is the final form, the Sorrowful Blade-Breaking. Did you memorize it well?”
“I've memorized it. But does a half-baked sword form like this really deserve to be called a sword art? The descriptions are incredibly cringey, too. Cutting the earth, cutting the heavens, and even cutting oneself and one's sword. It sounds like something a kid made up, trying to be cool.”
At his words, his Master, uncharacteristically, blushed.
“Ahem! Well, I won't deny it. But can I let the martial lineage of my dearest friend die out? I couldn't carry it on, so you must.”
“I'm just worried I'll only earn resentment by teaching something so strange.”
“You need not worry about that. That friend was the only swordsman in the world who could cross blades with me as an equal.”
“Even without internal energy?”
“I suspect it might be a physical art. I'm not certain, but my friend insisted that it be passed on to someone who hasn't begun internal training, as those who have cannot master it properly.”
“A physical art? Hah. Such a trivial...”
-Thwack!
His Master, who had been holding back for a long time, blurred into motion, appeared before him, and smacked him on the head.
“You brat, if I say it is so, then it is so. Why do you have so much to say?”
“Hahh... I get it!”
The Master, perhaps feeling a bit sorry or wanting to instill confidence, began to ramble on about a story he'd heard from his friend.
“He said, swing it a hundred times, and your body begins to learn. Swing it a thousand times, and your body begins to change. Swing it ten thousand times, and your body begins to understand. Swing it a hundred thousand times, and your sword will gain momentum. Swing it a million times, and you will find no rival under the heavens.”
“A million times? If I do a thousand a day, I'll be done in three years. Was he really on par with you, Master?”
“On par... Well, I can't say for sure, but if we fought to the end, I imagine one of us would certainly die.”
“So he was at a similar level to the master of the Swordless Trace... That does make me curious.”
The conversation they had on the day he was taught the forms of the Nine Swords of Dugu by his Master.
As the final conversation ended, Mujin awoke. He lay still, staring at the ceiling with a nostalgic expression.
“A thousand times a day? I passed out just from finishing the forms once. I've still got a long way to go.”