The Black Swords of Mount Hua Are Strong (4)
"Looks like they’re really going at it!"
"My God. Mount Hua and Wudang!"
Everyone watching the situation from beyond the collapsed wall swallowed hard.
"Th-this is dangerous. Shouldn’t we back off?"
"Where else are you ever going to see something like this? You’ll never witness a spectacle like this in Namyung in your whole life. I’d watch this even if it killed me!"
"Well, that is true, but…"
Unease and anticipation mingled in the air. And yet not a single person stepped back.
This was the sort of thing one might see once in a lifetime, if at all.
Especially in a place like Namyung, where nothing much ever happened. Most of the onlookers were focused on Wudang, but there were quite a few rooting for Mount Hua as well.
Elsewhere, many might never even have heard the name Mount Hua. But this was Namyung. This was the place where Hwayeong Gate had held on for a hundred years.
Hwayeong Gate had blended into Namyung, breathing alongside its people. Because they had proudly declared themselves Mount Hua’s branch sect, the people of Namyung generally held a favorable view of Mount Hua.
This was precisely why martial sects established branch families and planted affiliated schools throughout the world.
A main sect located deep in the mountains, like Mount Hua or Wudang, had limits to what it could do. But if its disciples spread across the land, claimed branch status, and founded schools and training halls, then its influence would reach the whole world.
"Do you think Mount Hua can win?"
"Come on, it’s still Wudang!"
"Why? Didn’t Mount Hua embarrass Zhongnan once before?"
"Zhongnan and Wudang aren’t the same! It’s Wudang, Wudang!"
"Shh! Keep it down!"
Listening to the rising murmur of voices, Jo Gul drew in a low breath.
Before him stood the Wudang disciples in their black robes.
Can I do this?
If this had been the old him, he wouldn’t have been confident. He had spent years training in Mount Hua and learning martial arts, but he had never once been able to trust himself as a warrior.
But now?
If I can’t win, then that’s the real problem.
One thing he could be certain of was this.
Most of the swordsmen here had spent the last two years trying to improve their skill.
But none of them had endured training as brutal as that of Mount Hua’s second- and third-generation disciples.
That was hell.
Behind him stood an asura.
Chung Myung’s most terrifying quality was that he had so many different faces.
At times, he was a complete asura. At other times, he discussed the sword like an enlightened monk. And sometimes he became a sage who seemed to know everything in the world, only to turn into an idiot in the blink of an eye.
And Chung Myung used every one of those sides at once to drive them forward.
His body trembled.
Thinking back on the last two years made him shake all over. Jo Gul had once believed that if it meant growing stronger, he could endure any kind of grueling training. But by the time two months had passed since the end of the Hwajong Jihoe, that resolve had been blown away like spring wind.
It had not been easy to tear down everything he had and build it up again from the ground. That was something he had only managed because Chung Myung had driven them mercilessly, frothing at the mouth while barking orders.
All that time now sat in Jo Gul’s body and in his sword.
He lifted his head quietly and looked at the Wudang swordsman.
Confidence, huh.
He used to think confidence meant believing in yourself. But now he knew. Without real skill, confidence was nothing but empty bravado.
True confidence was something that accumulated over time. If you believed in what you had done and trusted your own effort, then confidence would naturally overflow without any need for posturing.
"One-on-one?"
A strange twist touched the corner of Jo Gul’s mouth.
The pride of a famous sect, huh.
As four of them stepped forward here, four of the other side stepped forward as well. They had clearly said they’d fight as groups without rules, and yet somehow, it had naturally settled into this shape.
Was this a declaration that they would keep to the rules and settle the matter honorably? Or…
Doesn’t matter.
He didn’t care if they looked down on him. He didn’t care if they mocked him. Jo Gul knew now that none of that meant anything. In the end, all that mattered was skill.
Srrring.
The Wudang swordsman standing before him drew his blade and pointed it at Jo Gul.
Seeing that, Jo Gul felt laughter bubbling up inside him again and again.
When Jo Gul failed to hold it in, the Wudang swordsman in his daoist robes frowned.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Ah, sorry. It’s not that…"
Still struggling not to laugh, Jo Gul said,
"You know how it is, right? The kind of laughter that just comes out because you’re so proud of your own accomplishment. It’s got nothing to do with you."
"…How arrogant."
Maybe so.
His whole body tingled.
His fingers tightened around the sword in his hand on their own.
I can see it.
He knew.
The man before him was not his match. The stance holding the sword, the energy flowing from his body, even the overall balance—it was all so flawed that Jo Gul’s mouth practically itched with the desire to point out everything wrong with it.
If this much was obvious to him just from looking, then how badly must Chung Myung see them when he looked?
No wonder he never stops nagging.
"I’m Jin Gong of Wudang."
"Jo Gul of Mount Hua."
This was not a martial contest. Any more talk would only get in the way.
Jo Gul quietly took his starting stance. Perhaps out of pride, the other man didn’t intend to attack first. Then Jo Gul would have to go in himself.
Power gathered at his toes.
Jo Gul did not resist it. He pushed off lightly and sprang forward with natural ease. The instant his sword trembled, it multiplied into countless sword images.
Fast. Slow. Graceful and fierce.
Dozens of forms mixed together until it became impossible to tell which was real and which was fake.
Change and illusion.
The dazzling sword forms that formed the foundation of Mount Hua’s swordsmanship bloomed from the tip of Jo Gul’s blade.
"Huh—!"
And for a brief moment, the Wudang disciple faltered and stepped back.
That’s the wrong answer.
Retreating only allowed the transformation to deepen. The man probably had never faced a sword like this before.
With his lips bitten tight, the Wudang disciple finally began to unfold his own swordplay.
Soft lines. Fluid motion.
That was Wudang’s sword.
This was Jo Gul’s first time facing Wudang’s sword as well. But he did not hesitate in the slightest and pressed his opponent hard.
Monster of a bastard.
- There’s no mystery to experience in real combat. It doesn’t mean you need to improvise or not get nervous. It just means you have to experience more and know more. Even if it’s the same sword, everything changes depending on the style. Mount Hua’s sword is brilliant, Zhongnan’s is solemn, Jeomchang’s is swift, and Wudang’s is soft.
- Then you’re saying we need more real combat?
- No. You seniors don’t need that. Because I’m here. If you get beaten by a variety of swords in a variety of ways, you naturally get used to them. So today, let’s start with getting softly beaten by Wudang’s sword.
- …Why does it have to be beaten at all?
He had never heard the answer to that last question, but in any case, he had already experienced that sword with his body.
Besides…
Compared to the softness Chung Myung had shown him, that wasn’t even truly a soft sword. The Wudang sword Chung Myung had displayed had been far more complete. Jo Gul, who had faced that sword, had no reason to be rattled by Wudang’s sword now.
His sword accelerated.
Faster. More dazzling!
Wudang’s sword was all about striking after the opponent, never hurrying, using an immovable mind to receive and control the enemy’s blade.
With that sword, Wudang had risen to the pinnacle of the world’s sword sects.
And the way to deal with it?
- The way? Hell if I know. If there’s some bastard who can block fast attacks well, then you just shove something even faster at him! Everything in this world is relative! Water puts out fire, but in front of a bigger fire, it just evaporates and disappears.
Paaaang!
Jo Gul’s sword tore through the air.
The blade, fast enough to thrust straight through everything, gave the other sword no chance to swing freely.
Slow!
Too damn slow.
Not to mention Chung Myung. His martial brothers’ swords were at least twice as fast as this. And his martial uncles’ swords were faster still.
Because the nature of the sword was different?
Nonsense.
The nature might differ, but the fundamentals could not be hidden. Jo Gul’s mouth curled up before he even realized it.
I’m strong.
That Wudang sword was powerless before him.
In his body, and in his sword.
Two years spent with Chung Myung had settled there in full.
Seeing the Wudang swordsman’s face twist in confusion, Jo Gul swung again.
At the side, Jin Hwa, the man fighting Yoon Jong, was just as rattled.
T-this can’t be happening!
Jin Hwa’s face contorted horribly.
I, I’m losing to some Mount Hua punk!
It was already too much even to call him just a Mount Hua disciple.
As far as he knew, the Mount Hua disciple fighting him now was one generation below him. He was a second-generation disciple of Wudang, but the guy in front of him, Yoon Jong, was a third-generation disciple of Mount Hua.
And yet Jin Hwa had already taken several cuts from Yoon Jong’s sword.
"Ngh!"
The rage he couldn’t hold back spilled out of his mouth.
"This is impossible!"
Anger blurred the tip of the sword.
A thin opening appeared in Jin Hwa’s sword, which had been flowing on and on without pause.
And Yoon Jong did not miss it.
Swaaaak!
Yoon Jong’s sword thrust in an instant and struck at the gap between one move and the next.
Kakang!
Wudang’s sword began by smoothly deflecting an opponent’s blade. In other words, if that smooth deflection failed, nothing could even begin.
Yoon Jong’s sword, having thrown Jin Hwa’s balance off, split into dozens of sword images and came surging for his whole body.
A sword so dazzling that truth and illusion tangled together.
"Damn it!"
Jin Hwa swung desperately, but he still could not stop the blade from slicing him again and again in different places.
And in the midst of it all, Jin Hwa saw it.
The dozens of dazzling, swift sword images striking at him—and behind them, Yoon Jong’s eyes.
So coldly settled.
How?
The sword was sharp and ferocious, but Yoon Jong, the one wielding it, kept an almost frightening calm.
"I-I am a disciple of Wudang!"
Jin Hwa screamed in a fit of frustration and hurled himself into the rain of sword images. Even if he had to give up flesh to strike bone, he was prepared for it!
But Yoon Jong didn’t panic. He simply stepped back one pace.
Exactly one step.
That was enough.
The wildly scattering sword in his hand fell softly downward. Like plum blossoms drifting gently to the ground, his blade settled onto Jin Hwa’s charging shoulder.
Chwaaak!
The shoulder split open in a long line, blood spraying out.
Clang!
Jin Hwa’s sword fell to the ground, and shock flooded his face.
"You…"
Still unable to understand what had just happened, Jin Hwa stared at him in disbelief. Yoon Jong looked back at him and spoke quietly.
"Your sword, Dao Friend, was not bad."
Only.
"It is merely that the time we have lived through is too different."
"…"
"Step back."
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Jin Hwa staggered backward. Watching him, Yoon Jong shrugged.
This is… I’ve gotten too strong, haven’t I.
His gaze turned, almost without him meaning it, toward the back. When his eyes met Chung Myung, who was watching him from there, Yoon Jong flinched and quickly looked away again.
Judging from that dissatisfied look, he was definitely going to hear some nagging about this later.
Still, he couldn’t exactly be unhappy.
Yoon Jong murmured softly,
"The black sword of Mount Hua is strong."
Now it was time for the whole world to know that fact—not just them.