Mount Hua Never Disappears (3)
A breathy sound slipped from Hyun Jong’s lips, but his eyes never left the duel arena for even a moment.
His gaze, fixed on Yi Song-baek where he lay fallen, slowly shifted to Chung Myung.
Nine straight victories.
Chung Myung, having won nine times, now waited for his final opponent.
In the place where the elders and first-generation disciples had gathered, an oppressive silence pressed down over everything. No one dared be the first to speak and break it.
Questions about Chung Myung?
Doubts about the situation?
Those could wait. They could be asked anytime later.
What mattered now was the fact that Chung Myung stood on the brink of a flawless victory over Southern Edge.
Has anything like this ever happened in Mount Hua’s history?
Mount Hua and Southern Edge had always kept each other in check. Setting aside the pride of a sect leader, if one looked at the history of those two sects objectively, Mount Hua had often been one step ahead of Southern Edge.
Of course, the tables had turned now, but history did not allow that fact to be denied.
And yet, as far as he knew, there had never been an incident like today, where Mount Hua had publicly and thoroughly crushed Southern Edge.
True, during the days of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Southern Edge had supposedly been unable to even breathe properly because of Chung Myung, but that had only been a matter of status. Nothing as large and public as this had ever happened, not even then.
It was happening now, in no other era than this one—the era that had to be called Mount Hua’s darkest age. Of course he could not look away.
Hyun Jong quietly watched Chung Myung facing Southern Edge’s camp.
He looked proud.
More than anything else unfolding before him, Hyun Jong was profoundly moved by Chung Myung’s proud bearing.
When had it been, exactly?
When had Mount Hua’s disciples last been able to stand so proudly before Southern Edge?
When had they last been able to square their shoulders as equals among sword sects?
Ancestor...
His eyes kept stinging. He knew it was not a sight the Mount Hua sect leader should ever show, but there was no stopping the surging emotion welling up in his chest.
“Sect Leader…”
“Say nothing.”
At Hyun Sang’s words, Hyun Jong shook his head.
“For now, let us simply watch. Let us see what else that child will show us.”
Everyone held their breath and fixed their attention on Chung Myung’s every movement.
Maybe today...
A light Hyun Jong had never seen before surfaced in his eyes.
Perhaps Mount Hua’s fate will change.
It was unfamiliar.
The gaze pressing against him.
The sensation of his feet on the ground.
The feel of the wooden sword in his hand.
Everything was different from usual.
Jin Geum-ryong walked toward the arena, feeling a burden he had never experienced before.
Strange.
Jin Geum-ryong found himself wondering.
The looks he usually drew were not like this. He was a man who always stood at the center of everyone’s expectation.
Yes.
He was the one who solved things, not the one people worried about. The emotions in those gazes had always been expectation and pride. This was the first time he had ever been looked at with uncertainty and concern.
Why?
Why were they looking at him like that now?
Jin Geum-ryong lifted his head.
Chung Myung was there, staring back with an almost indifferent expression.
Right. It’s because of that bastard.
It was incomprehensible. And it was something that should have angered him.
Jin Geum-ryong had spent his whole life working to stand where he did now.
He had worked his entire life to have his potential recognized, and he had worked his entire life to prove his skill. And so everyone had praised him in unison—as the man who would one day become Southern Edge’s sect leader, and the one who would usher in Southern Edge’s greatest golden age.
Recognition and expectations earned over a lifetime.
But in less than half a day, all of it had changed into concern and worry.
Am I that untrustworthy?
Did they really think he would be unable to handle a single child from a ruined sect, one from an entirely different generation no less?
Cold, heavy anger swept through Jin Geum-ryong’s body. With murder in his eyes, he stared straight at Chung Myung.
I hated him from the start.
That arrogant face, that unruffled ease, those flashes of razor-sharpness.
Most irritating of all was that aloof attitude, as though he were looking at no more than another Southern Edge disciple even with Jin Geum-ryong standing right in front of him.
Jin Geum-ryong drew a deep breath.
Then he spoke in a voice drained of all emotion.
“Should I offer you congratulations?”
“Not really necessary.”
Chung Myung shrugged.
“It’s not like I did anything all that amazing.”
“...”
Jin Geum-ryong looked down at the insolent boy before him with cold eyes.
“Are you daring to look down on Southern Edge?”
“Look down on you?”
Chung Myung gave a snort of laughter.
“This isn’t about looking down on anybody. There’s no reason to brag about beating people weaker than I am.”
Every word of his grated.
“You...”
Jin Geum-ryong was about to say something, then trailed off. He let out a small sigh and shook his head.
“No. Perhaps humility isn’t something you need. False modesty only angers the listener, after all.”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll admit it. You have the right to be arrogant. Defeating the nine second-generation disciples of Southern Edge alone would be enough for you to be recognized as an unprecedented genius.”
Chung Myung’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Swish.
Jin Geum-ryong drew the wooden sword from his waist and slowly pointed it at Chung Myung.
“Do you know what your misfortune is?”
“Who knows?”
“That you were born in the same era as me.”
Chung Myung wore a faint smile. Jin Geum-ryong continued, staring at him intently.
“As the price of that misfortune, you’ll spend your entire life unable to close the gap between us, forced to keep staring at my back.”
Chung Myung snorted.
“That’s a lot of confidence.”
“I’m not finished yet.”
Jin Geum-ryong snapped coldly, “Had you not chosen Mount Hua, perhaps you might have overcome that misfortune. If you had chosen Southern Edge instead of Mount Hua, you might at least have had a chance to surpass me someday.”
“Is that so? Why do you think that?”
“It’s obvious.”
Jin Geum-ryong steadied his breathing and went on.
“Mount Hua remains shackled to the past. Its disciples only seek to recover the martial arts of old and recreate the glory of bygone days. But Southern Edge is different. We move forward. We don’t cling to the past. We create better martial arts, build a better system, and seize a better future.”
Jin Geum-ryong declared it as if making a proclamation.
“That is why your Mount Hua will never catch up to Southern Edge again.”
“Heh.”
Chung Myung let out an impressed sound.
Honestly, he felt like applauding. If some sect other than Southern Edge had said those words, he might have slapped the back of his junior brothers’ heads and shouted, “Look at this and learn, you pathetic fools!”
That is, if this so-called future Jin Geum-ryong spoke of had not been built by stealing Mount Hua’s martial arts.
What’s there to say?
There were two things needed to make a truth. One was fact. The other was the power to force that fact through.
When he learned that Southern Edge had stolen the Plum Blossom Sword Art, Chung Myung had been so enraged he had nearly lost all reason.
But what would anger change?
Realistically, Mount Hua had no way to punish Southern Edge.
If they publicly brought it up, Southern Edge would simply answer, “Then prove it by displaying the Plum Blossom Sword Art.” And even if Mount Hua somehow restored the lost Plum Blossom Sword Art and showed it to the world, Southern Edge would only claim that Mount Hua had copied the Snowfall Twelve Swords and retaliate in turn.
And Mount Hua would have no choice but to take that blow.
Why?
Because it lacked strength.
Martial arts were a sensitive matter. Those who leaked their sect’s secret techniques could pay with nothing but their lives, while those who stole another sect’s secret arts had to prepare for war with everything on the line.
But Mount Hua could not punish Southern Edge. The moment it raised the issue of the Snowfall Twelve Swords, Southern Edge would seize the chance to declare war, and no one under heaven would help Mount Hua.
There was no one in the martial world willing to pick a fight with the Nine Great Sects to defend a fading sect. Who understood better than Chung Myung how cold and ruthless the jianghu truly was?
So he had endured.
Up until this moment!
He had clenched his teeth and forced down the boiling rage, biting down hard on the urge to rush straight to Southern Edge and slaughter them all on the spot.
All for this single instant.
A chilling smile curved Chung Myung’s lips.
“Southern Edge’s future, huh. Nice words.”
Chung Myung smiled faintly at Jin Geum-ryong.
Yes. Southern Edge’s future. I’ve thought about that a lot too.
What to do with that future, exactly.
Moments ago, Chung Myung had planted a single seed in Southern Edge. Whether that seed would ever sprout or not, he had at least done his part as a human being.
So from this moment on, there was no longer any third-generation Mount Hua disciple named Chung Myung.
From here on, what he did would not be the work of Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple Chung Myung, but the work of Chung Myung, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint.
Against those filthy people who repaid kindness with betrayal.
“To that future...”
Chung Myung raised his sword and pointed it at Jin Geum-ryong.
“I’ll give you a gift.”
“...A gift?”
“Yes. It’ll be a gift you never forget for the rest of your life, so you’d better watch carefully.”
Jin Geum-ryong stared at him, clearly not understanding. But Chung Myung only smiled.
It’ll be a proper gift.
In another name, it would be a curse.
It wasn’t enough to grow Mount Hua and break Southern Edge as it stood. What Chung Myung intended to do now was sever Southern Edge’s future forever.
You wanted Mount Hua’s sword?
Chung Myung bared his teeth in a wolfish grin.
Then take it properly.
He would show them so thoroughly they would never be able to forget it.
Chung Myung tightened his grip on the sword in his hand.
“Get out of the way!”
“Sasuk?”
“Senior Brother Baek Cheon!”
The Mount Hua disciples, who had been staring at Chung Myung and Jin Geum-ryong without even daring to breathe, jumped in shock at the voice behind them and scattered to either side.
Along the cleared path, Baek Cheon staggered forward.
“S-Senior Brother! Are you all right?”
Amid the flood of worried questions, Baek Cheon merely waved a hand dismissively and kept going. Seeing his unsteady steps, Baek Sang shouted in alarm.
“A chair! Get a chair, quickly!”
“Yes, Sasuk!”
One of the third-generation disciples hurriedly brought a chair and made a place for Baek Cheon to sit. But Baek Cheon didn’t even glance at it. He only looked at Chung Myung and Jin Geum-ryong on the arena.
I have to see this.
The moment he opened his eyes, he had heard that Chung Myung had won nine in a row.
After hearing that, remaining obediently in bed was no behavior befitting Mount Hua’s great disciple of the second generation. Even if his body had to break apart, he had to stand here and support Chung Myung.
Jin Geum-ryong.
And Chung Myung.
Two people who carried special meaning for him were now facing each other.
Win, Chung Myung.
The instant desperation filled Baek Cheon’s eyes—
Swish.
Swiiiish.
With low cutting sounds, Chung Myung’s and Jin Geum-ryong’s swords began moving at the same time.
No matter how it ended, this duel would shake Shaanxi, and it would shake the world. As if they did not want to miss even a single moment of that historic sight, Mount Hua’s disciples widened their eyes and watched without blinking.