A Day They Would Never Forget (5)
All eyes turned to Chung Myung.
No one here had expected him to step out as the vanguard.
Anyone with even the slightest understanding of martial arts—or even someone who knew nothing at all—would still have been able to tell that Chung Myung was the strongest among the third-generation disciples.
In a fight where they had the advantage, perhaps there was room for other considerations. But when the odds were against you, the basic rule was to keep your best card hidden until the very end. That was especially true in a contest like a streak match.
What the hell is he thinking?
Is he really planning to face that second-generation disciple of Southern Edge head-on?
Those who had been expecting Chung Myung to produce some outrageous trick were, at that very moment, utterly unable to understand his actions. They were baffled.
Hyeon Jong and Un Geom were among them, as were Hwang Mun-yak and Yoon Jong.
“S-Sahyung. Shouldn’t we stop him now? I’ll go in first. Then…”
“Do you think I don’t know that would be the best course?”
Yoon Jong’s face twisted at the words of the third-generation disciple who had come up beside him.
“But if that bastard says he’s going in himself, who’s supposed to stop him?”
Everyone’s worry settled on Chung Myung’s back. But Chung Myung said nothing, simply staring quietly at Southern Edge.
Didn’t the Sword Emperor defeat the Five Tigers of Peng Family at fifteen and earn the title of the greatest prodigy under heaven?
That had probably happened. Though he had been from an earlier era, not Chung Myung’s own time, Chung Myung had heard that story more than once.
And didn’t Wood Buddha break through the Arhat Formation all the way to the Fifth Hall at eighteen?
That too had echoed across the world.
There were countless examples like that.
The great masters of any age, the ones who made their names while still young, always had at least one tale people never stopped repeating.
Why? Because without a tale, there was nothing to repeat.
The martial world was not a place that simply recognized the strong and praised them of its own accord. It was a place where one had to prove strength by showing it against an opponent worthy of the name.
The same was true of a sect.
No matter how strong Mount Hua became, if it could not prove that strength, no one would acknowledge the change. Deep in these treacherous mountains, whether Mount Hua doubled its strength or grew tenfold, that would still be only Mount Hua’s own change.
That change had to be seen with the eyes and felt with the body. And the entire martial world had to be made to understand that Mount Hua was changing. That was the fastest way to recover Mount Hua’s fallen reputation.
And today, Chung Myung intended to create a legend that would spread Mount Hua’s name far and wide.
There are two ways to make a sect famous.
The first was to pile up achievements that could not be ignored.
And the other was to prove the strength of your disciples.
The greatest expert under heaven? Of course that was good.
The greatest swordsman under heaven? That was good too.
But the best method of all was, surprisingly enough, to possess the greatest prodigy under heaven.
People were most favorable toward someone when they had expectations for them. Compared to the greatest expert under heaven, who might become an enemy at any moment, or the greatest swordsman under heaven, who might one day be your rival, the greatest prodigy under heaven—someone suitably approachable, suitably promising—was simply easier to talk about.
That was why people grouped young masters together and judged them by calling them things like the Five Dragons and Three Phoenixes or the Four Dragons and Five Flowers. It was an old game passed down through generations in the martial world.
Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple defeating Southern Edge’s third-generation disciple?
That would be an interesting incident.
Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple defeating Southern Edge’s second-generation disciple?
That would be enough to cause real surprise.
But—
Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple single-handedly defeating Southern Edge’s second-generation disciple in succession?
That would turn the martial world upside down.
And for Southern Edge, it would likely become a humiliation so enormous it could never be washed away, generation after generation.
Chung Myung’s lips curled upward.
Serves them right for picking a fight with Mount Hua.
At the very least, they should have done it when I wasn’t around. Ah, come to think of it, I wasn’t around, was I?
“All right, then. Shall we collect with interest?”
Just as Chung Myung was about to raise his wooden sword, Yu Baek of Southern Edge, standing across from him, barked coldly.
“That confidence of yours could be called the greatest under heaven, but I’ll be the one to teach you that confidence without strength is the fastest road to ruin.”
“Hmph.”
Chung Myung did not bother answering. Instead, he leveled his sword forward.
If this had been his usual self, he might have thrown out a few more mocking words. But he wasn’t in the mood for that now.
Instead, Chung Myung turned his head and looked back at the third-generation disciples.
“Sahyung.”
“……H-Hey, this is a duel!”
“Remember my words. Don’t miss a single thing.”
“Huh?”
This sort of realistic duel was probably not something they’d get to see often.
Chung Myung looked quietly at Yu Baek, then spoke.
“Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple Chung Myung requests a duel from Southern Edge.”
Yu Baek, who had been about to say something else, flinched and returned the formal challenge.
“Southern Edge’s second-generation disciple, Yu Baek, accepts Mount Hua’s challenge.”
And the third-generation disciples watching this exchange felt a tension so sharp it seemed to stiffen their whole bodies.
That bastard looks different.
This was not the usual Chung Myung.
If it had been the usual Chung Myung, he would have kept provoking his opponent right up until the duel began. But there wasn’t even a trace of his usual playfulness now.
Even the back of him, poised in a ready stance, carried a chill they had never seen before.
He looked almost like...
...a swordsman heading onto a battlefield.
Yoon Jong could not tear his eyes away from Chung Myung, as if he had been enchanted. Instinct told him something tremendous was about to happen.
And then, at that very moment—
Chung Myung’s sword moved slowly.
The blade, rising from above, drew a slow line downward, then slowly returned to its place.
Yoon Jong watched without even breathing.
The salutation.
What Chung Myung had just performed was unmistakably the salutation of the Yukhap Sword.
A salutation was a greeting, a courtesy, a way of telling your opponent that you were ready. But as Yoon Jong watched that simple opening form, he felt himself being pulled into it.
A sword path of perfect precision. Perfect speed. Perfect posture.
How could a single salutation show so much?
Yoon Jong understood.
That salutation was not meant for the opponent. It was for Mount Hua’s third-generation disciples. It was telling them: I’m using the Yukhap Sword now, so watch closely.
“Don’t miss it.”
Yoon Jong shouted before he realized it.
“D-Don’t miss a single movement from Chung Myung! Not one! Watch him—don’t even blink!”
No one answered. They simply nodded faintly, as if gathering all the strength they had left just to keep their eyes on Chung Myung.
“I’ll straighten out that attitude of yours!”
Whether he failed to understand just how great Chung Myung was, or understood too well and was crushed by the pressure, Yu Baek gave a fierce cry and lunged first.
Chung Myung’s eyes turned cold.
Six Harmonies.
The foundational sword form of all Mount Hua swordsmanship.
Six Harmonies referred to the heavens and earth in all directions. In other words, it meant everything in the world, and also pointed toward unity.
At its core, it was nothing more than a basic sword form.
Thrust. Cut. Strike. Block.
A simple sword form that seemed to amount to nothing at all.
And yet, in the end, all swords in the world began there. No sword art could escape thrusting, cutting, striking, and blocking.
The opponent’s sword blossomed brilliantly across the sky.
“Th—!”
Hyeon Jong, who had sensed that something was wrong, widened his eyes.
That sword art, which looked like a flower in full bloom—wasn’t it strangely familiar somehow?
Had Southern Edge always had a sword technique like that?
Separate from those thoughts, the sharpness of the sword itself was undeniable. Dozens of sword shadows flashed at once, their eerie movements sweeping over Chung Myung like petals scattering in the wind.
But Chung Myung’s eyes, as he looked at that sword, only sank lower and lower.
With his ready stance held firm, Chung Myung took a single step forward. At the same time, he thrust his sword straight ahead.
“Ghk!”
The change that had been filling the air vanished as if it had never existed.
H-Huh? How?
Chung Myung’s sword, having struck at the exact moment between one change and the next, landed cleanly on Yu Baek’s wrist. Yu Baek staggered back before he even realized it, numbed by the heavy pain in his hand.
But that was a clear mistake.
Chung Myung took another step and brought his sword down.
Ka-kang!
The two wooden swords, reinforced with true energy, collided with a dull, heavy sound. Yu Baek had barely managed to raise his sword in time to block the blow, but the force behind Chung Myung’s strike crushed through his body with brutal clarity.
“Kuh!”
In the end, he was forced to shove Chung Myung’s sword away and stumble back again.
But Chung Myung, still wearing that expressionless face, simply stepped closer and swung again at Yu Baek.
There was no flashy variation. No dazzling swift technique. No overwhelming heavy-strike sword art either.
It was just a sword that was swung plainly.
He brought it down, struck, thrust, and pushed through.
There was no way to resist that childish-seeming sequence of sword forms. The moment you thought you had blocked it, the sword came again; the moment you thought you had pushed it aside, it was already at your chin.
What the hell is this? What is this supposed to be?
Block it. Block it again. But each time Yu Baek blocked Chung Myung’s sword, he was driven back several more steps.
Just once!
All he needed was one opening. Then he could thrust his sword into that gap, widen the distance, and unfold the Snow Flower Twelve Sword as he pleased.
If he could unleash that newly created sword art from Southern Edge without restraint, defeating this arrogant punk would be nothing.
But…
“Aagh!”
Before he could fully extend his sword, Chung Myung’s blade slammed into it.
The pain was so intense it felt like his wrist was breaking, and a scream burst from him despite himself. That he had not let go of his sword in that instant was a matter of will—and pride.
J-Just once!
He only needed one opening. Just one! Just one moment…
But Chung Myung’s sword remained merciless.
The price for failing to properly meet his opponent’s blade was enormous. Just a sword honestly thrust out. A chain of attacks that never rushed. That simple flow slowly wore Yu Baek down.
W-What the hell is this supposed to be!
Before long, Yu Baek realized he had been driven all the way to the edge of the duel platform, and he stared at Chung Myung’s sword with a dazed expression.
It only thrusts.
It only swings.
And yet there wasn’t even the width of a hair’s gap in those thrusts and swings.
Perfect. It was, quite simply, a perfect sword.
Kaang!
At last, Yu Baek’s sword failed to keep up with the change and flew into the air. Watching Chung Myung’s sword rebound from his own and fall toward his head, Yu Baek murmured in a vacant voice, “This is a dream…”
Paaang!
Chung Myung’s sword stopped right in front of Yu Baek’s forehead. It had not struck him directly, but that was enough. Yu Baek, unable to withstand the force and true energy packed into the blade, went toppling backward.
“S-Sajil!”
“Sahyung!”
At the end of the duel platform.
Beyond it stood, of course, the Southern Edge disciples. After defeating Yu Baek, Chung Myung quietly looked at them.
Meeting that gaze head-on, the Southern Edge disciples felt a chill run down their spines and, without realizing it, took a step backward.
Chung Myung opened his mouth, and a low voice slipped out.
“Next.”
“…….”
It was the moment when Southern Edge’s disciples desperately realized that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.