The Great Clans Don’t Have Heads? (3)
"You all, calm do—"
Crash!
"No, don’t just rush in blin—"
Crash!
"I said don’t end it in one strike, you idiots!"
Crash!
Baek Cheon’s anguished cries were completely wasted; the Mount Hua disciples showed no sign of slowing down.
At first, the audience had simply cheered them on, but by now even they were starting to look at the Mount Hua disciples with bewildered expressions.
"What on earth is going on?"
"N-no way... how are they all like that?"
Now everyone’s eyes were fixed on nothing but the black robes and plum blossom patterns on the arena.
Again? Not again?
Every time they looked at a Mount Hua disciple standing on the dueling platform, anticipation and disbelief flickered in their eyes at the same time.
Bearing those oppressive stares all over his body, Yoon Jong looked up at the sky, dazed.
Something about this is a lot different from what I imagined.
Setting aside the hopeful gazes fixed on him...
"H-haaah!"
"...."
Yoon Jong looked at the opponent across from him with a sour expression.
Oh, really?
His legs were stiff with tension. His hands gripped the sword so tightly it was a wonder blood still flowed through them.
And his shoulders? They were so rigid they looked ready to shoot up past his neck at any moment.
It was obvious he was trying with all his might not to be sent flying out of the arena in a single blow...
At that rate, there’s no way he can show what he’s capable of.
Of course, it wasn’t something he could blame the man for. If Yoon Jong were in that position, he would probably have taken the exact same stance.
Even the referee overseeing the match, Gongcho, seemed to be looking at Yoon Jong with expectation.
A look that said: you’re a Mount Hua disciple too, so surely you’ll show us something.
If even the judge, who should have been nothing but fair and impartial, was looking at him like that, then it wasn’t hard to imagine how the Pointing Qiang disciple opposite him felt.
Ignoring the crushing burden of those eyes, Yoon Jong tightened his grip on the sword.
No matter who his opponent was or what the situation looked like, it was impossible for him not to perform properly.
If he failed, he could already hear exactly what that demon-like bastard would say.
He loosened his grip just a little. After all, what mattered wasn’t force; it was not tensing up.
Taking a quiet breath, Yoon Jong focused on his opponent with steady eyes.
Calm... stay calm...
"Begin!"
At Gongcho’s shout, the opponent roared and charged straight at him.
Gathering every scrap of inner power he had, the man struck with a single sword.
Though his posture was stiff and his face strained with nerves, the blade that flew toward Yoon Jong was quick and sharp.
As expected of Pointing Qiang!
It was an excellent sword, worthy of the name of a prestigious clan.
But...
Weird?
Strangely enough, Yoon Jong didn’t feel the slightest threat from that blade.
Had the opponent’s momentum dulled?
Absolutely not.
It’s fast, but slow. Strong, but weak.
What an odd thing.
His opponent’s sword was undoubtedly fast and powerful. Yet in Yoon Jong’s eyes, that swift strike looked unbearably slow.
Damn it, my body’s been trained into this.
Compared to the sword Chung Myung swung around at every opportunity, this was practically standing still.
For Yoon Jong, who couldn’t completely evade Chung Myung’s sword but could at least deflect it enough to avoid a clean hit, avoiding this was absurdly easy.
Swish.
He took one step to the left and cleanly dodged the thrusting blade that came straight at him.
At the same time, the opponent’s side was left wide open.
First, I’ll just probe lightly—
But before his mind could finish the thought, his sword moved on its own. The flat of the blade swung with cheerful force and smashed into the Pointing Qiang disciple’s exposed side.
Crash!
"Aaaaargh!"
The Pointing Qiang disciple screamed as he was blasted off the dueling platform by the blow to his ribs.
Yoon Jong stared after him, utterly dumbfounded.
"Ah..."
He should have calmly assessed the opponent’s sword first...
This really wasn’t supposed to go like this...
"Winner! Yoon Jong of Mount Hua!"
With Gongcho’s declaration, another thunderous cheer erupted.
"Wooooooah!"
"Another one-strike victory!"
"What kind of sect finishes every match in one blow? They ought to be called the One-Strike Sword Sect, not the Plum Blossom Sword Sect!"
"Incredible! Hahaha! Truly incredible!"
Yoon Jong received that roar with his whole body as he stepped down from the platform.
Then, looking at Baek Cheon, who was left speechless with disbelief, he scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"I’m sorry, Sasuk. I was just trying to test blades first."
"...Just trying to?"
"The moment I saw an opening, my body moved on its own."
"...."
Baek Cheon seemed about to say something, then let out a long, weary sigh.
"...Fine. Good work."
"That bastard... he trained us into this, Sasuk."
"...."
The corner of Baek Cheon’s eye twitched.
He turned his head slightly, and there was Chung Myung, chewing on a dried snack with a grin on his face.
Ah. So that’s how you can spit on a smiling face.
There was definitely something wrong with that old saying.
Because just looking at that snickering bastard was enough to make his blood boil.
From Mount Hua’s perspective, the first day of the preliminaries passed with astonishing ease.
Of course, for the other sects watching that display, it must have felt like lightning falling out of a clear sky, but Mount Hua had no obligation to worry about their feelings.
Yet despite finishing the first day of the Heavenly Martial Tournament preliminaries with a score that could not possibly have been better, the Mount Hua disciples were surprisingly not that excited.
Rather, they stared blankly into space, looking thoroughly dazed.
The quarters allotted to Mount Hua within Shaolin.
"...."
Jo Gul looked down at his own hands with half-lost focus, then slowly glanced around.
Sure enough, every Mount Hua disciple who had participated in the matches wore the same stunned expression.
"Were we always this strong?"
"...Maybe they’re just weak?"
"Does that make sense? They’re all from the Nine Sects or the Five Great Families! What sect was it you beat today?"
"...The Northern Peak Clan."
"How could a Northern Peak Clan disciple sent to compete in the Heavenly Martial Tournament be weak? At the very least, he’d be in the top twenty among the young martial artists of the Northern Peak Clan."
Simply winning would already have been remarkable.
But they hadn’t just won; they had literally crushed their opponents in a single strike.
If they had won after a hard-fought battle, they might have been able to enjoy the victory purely. But because it had been so easy, it was starting to feel almost frightening.
"The reason is simple enough."
At someone’s words, everyone’s gaze turned to Chung Myung, who was dozing off in the corner.
"I thought it was hell, but it turns out it was real hell."
"I thought the other sects all trained like this if they were prestigious."
"...So we really did come back from the dead."
The Mount Hua disciples looked at Chung Myung with complicated expressions.
Only now did they fully realize just how brutally that damn bastard had driven them into hell all this time.
"Come to think of it, we’ve all nearly died at least three or four times, haven’t we?"
"We fell off a cliff without ropes more than five times! What do you mean three or four?"
"I was knocked out for three days by that bastard’s wooden sword. It’s a miracle I lived!"
It was clearly something they should have been grateful for.
But looking back on the time they’d spent, gratitude didn’t come first; resentment blazed up like wildfire instead.
"He’s not even a person, seriously."
"The results are good, so I can’t even complain."
Baek Cheon nodded in agreement and looked toward Chung Myung.
What exactly is that guy?
He had already given up trying to define Chung Myung within the bounds of common sense, but every time something like this happened, he still couldn’t help wondering.
Because he was strong, he could teach others well?
That’s nonsense.
Would the sect leaders or senior elders of other prestigious clans be weaker than Chung Myung?
And yet those same people, even when personally overseeing their disciples, couldn’t produce results as overwhelming as Mount Hua’s disciples had shown today. That was certainly strange.
"At any rate, there’s one thing that’s clear."
At those words, everyone turned toward the speaker.
Yoon Jong continued in a grave tone.
"We’re ridiculously strong."
"...."
"Or else those so-called prestigious sects are far weaker than we thought."
It was an outrageously arrogant thing to say.
If he had been the old Baek Cheon, he might have rebuked Yoon Jong for speaking so rashly after only one day.
But now, he couldn’t bring himself to say that.
Among the fifteen participants, ten had fought on the first day, and every single one had won. Not just won, either; they had completely beaten their opponents down.
There was a time and place for modesty. How shameless would it be to start preaching humility here?
If someone had taken first place in the imperial examinations three years in a row and then said,
"I’m sorry. I only got this far because I was lucky. In truth, everyone else is more skilled than I am."
then the other scholars would probably tear open their collars, turn into berserk maniacs on the spot, and come at him with inkstones, swearing they’d smash his skull in.
Baek Cheon bit down on his lower lip.
He was the great disciple who had to lead these people.
Even if everyone else was flushed with joy and couldn’t contain their excitement, he alone had to keep his head.
"I understand that you’re all excited over such good results, but make sure you keep your footing. The strength of those called prestigious clans can’t possibly be limited to this."
The Mount Hua disciples listening to Baek Cheon nodded.
"From tomorrow on, they’ll surely start taking us much more seriously as well. So don’t lose your cool. We’re still a weak force that can’t compare to them—"
Crash!
At that moment, the door burst open as if it were about to break.
"W-what was that!"
"A sneak attack!"
The Mount Hua disciples sprang to their feet.
But once they saw who was at the door, bewilderment quickly spread across their faces.
"Elder Hyun Y— no, Sect Leader?"
Baek Cheon blinked.
What? For a second, he looked like Elder Hyun Young.
The one who had flung the door open was Hyun Jong.
With a benevolent smile on his face, he looked as though a halo might appear behind him at any moment.
The corners of his mouth were lifted high.
His eyes curved softly, and both arms were spread slightly apart.
He looked every inch like an incarnation of Buddha himself.
"S-Sect Leader?"
"Welcome! Sect Leader!"
Hyun Jong slowly nodded and walked in at an unhurried pace.
"Hahaha. You all worked very hard. Truly, you worked very hard!"
Then he reached out and gently patted Jo Gul, who was closest to him, on the head.
Baek Cheon smiled bitterly.
He had seen Hyun Jong for quite some time now, but this was the first time he had ever seen him so satisfied and so delighted.
Well, why wouldn’t he be?
He had been summoned to the gathering of the Nine Sects, the Five Great Families, and the leaders of many prestigious sects from across the world before the tournament.
He had seen their territorial arrogance and imposing presence firsthand, and now Mount Hua’s disciples had performed like this in front of all of them.
It would be strange if he weren’t so ecstatic that he felt ready to ascend to heaven at once.
"If the ancestors had seen this, how proud they would have been! Hahaha. Hahaha..."
Hyun Jong wiped at the corners of his eyes.
Just as everyone was beginning to feel solemn at the sight, another voice cut in.
"Hey, don’t stand in the way and mope like that. Take this instead!"
This time it was truly Hyun Young who came in.
He was carrying several large baskets piled high against his chest.
Seeing the precarious load, Hyun Jong asked, "What is all that?"
"Food."
"Food? Why food?"
"Well, obviously food for the kids!"
At Hyun Young’s abrupt answer, Hyun Jong frowned slightly.
"Doesn’t Shaolin provide meals?"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk!"
Hyun Young clicked his tongue loudly at Hyun Jong.
"The stuff they serve in the dining hall is nothing but roots and weeds. How are they supposed to build any strength eating that?"
Hyun Young set the baskets on the table and peeled back the cloth covers one by one.
Inside were basketfuls of roasted chicken and braised pork, glistening with rich, tempting color.
"You need meat to get strong, meat! What, were we supposed to feed our precious children grass?"
Hyun Jong’s eyes widened.
"M-meat?"
"Yes!"
"You mean... they eat meat here in Shaolin?"
Even at Hyun Jong’s words, Hyun Young remained utterly unconcerned.
"So what? They’re the monks, not us."
"N-no, but still..."
Who would’ve thought there was really a man in this world who went looking for meat in a monastery?
And that man would turn out to be my junior brother!
Hyun Jong was so dumbfounded he couldn’t even keep speaking, while Hyun Young called the children over and began laying the meat out where they could eat it properly.
"Come on, eat up! You need food to get strong, you adorable little brats!"
"Thank you for the meal!"
"Thank you, Elder!"
"That’s it, that’s it. Heh heh."
Hyun Young watched the disciples devour the meat as if it were water, his face utterly content.
To anyone else, it might have looked like a truly gluttonous sight, but in Hyun Young’s eyes it was as adorable as chicks pecking at grain.
"Chung Myung! Where’s Chung Myung? Ah! There you are!"
He hurried over to Chung Myung, who was dozing in the corner, and patted his back affectionately.
"Chung Myung, meat! Hurry up and eat!"
"Meat!"
Chung Myung’s eyes snapped wide open.
"That’s right, that’s right. You’ve had a hard time eating nothing but weeds. From today on, I’ll make sure you have meat at every meal!"
Everyone looked happy.
Hyun Jong murmured, dazed, "Is... is this really all right?"
"What’s the issue? If you’re unhappy, then win!"
"...."
Hyun Young stroked Chung Myung’s head as the boy happily tore into the meat like some kind of magnanimous man of the world.
"You’ll do well again tomorrow, won’t you?"
"Mmmph. I’mb mure I will. ’Cause I’ll be eatin’ mead."
"Good, good. Big-headed brat! Yes. Hahahahahaha!"
Watching the two of them—more like roguish men of the black path drinking heartily than anything else—Hyun Jong also smiled in satisfaction.
At this point, I don’t even know anymore.
Well, everything would turn out fine. Probably.