Life Was Never Fair to Begin With (1)
"Aaaahhhh!"
The momentum of Mount Hua showed no sign of stopping.
Of course, unlike during the first round of preliminaries, they no longer sent opponents flying with a single strike every time. By now, their rivals had begun to guard against the Mount Hua disciples, and the tournament had reached the stage where only the strong survived.
And yet the disciples of Mount Hua continued to sweep their opponents away in a relentless surge, without suffering a single loss all the way to the final day of the preliminaries.
It was exhilarating.
It felt as though all the pressure that had been piled up inside his chest had suddenly burst open and vanished.
Wi Lip-san, who had been watching the spectacle with a face full of delight, clicked his tongue with an expression as though something was still bothering him.
Everything’s great.
Really, everything was great.
So why…?
"You call that a sword? You should come to Mount Hua and climb some cliffs yourself!"
"Go on, stick your head in front of me!"
"Waist! Waist! Waist! Waist! Ankle!"
"You dodged that? You dodged that? Fine, then let’s see you die today!"
"…"
Why…?
Why had everyone turned into this? How had things ended up in such a state?
Wi Lip-san thought back to the Mount Hua he had visited in the past.
Even though the old, half-collapsed halls were the very picture of a sect on the verge of ruin, the Daoist monks living within them had all possessed an air befitting Daoists.
How he had admired that pure, clear bearing.
He had continued Mount Hua’s branch line not simply to honor the will of his forebears. It was because the image of Mount Hua he had seen in childhood remained so vivid, so deeply etched into his memory.
And now… well…
"Good! A head! A head!"
"…"
Watching Wi So-haeng beam like a child—no, he was still a child, wasn’t he? He was, but still!—left him feeling, somehow…
How exactly am I supposed to describe this feeling?
His head said he should be worried, but his heart was burning, and his rear end kept twitching on its own.
Watching the Mount Hua disciples press down one-sidedly on the young elites of the Nine Great Sects and the Five Great Families—the very people they had once feared so much—made him feel as if he were dreaming.
When did Mount Hua become this strong?
Of course, Wi Lip-san had already witnessed Chung Myung and his group with his own eyes.
But that was a separate matter.
Regardless of a sect’s standing, there were always a few rare geniuses who appeared from time to time. Such people raised the sect’s reputation and laid the foundation for its rise into a famed and prestigious lineage.
In other words, wherever you looked, someone like Chung Myung or Baek Cheon could appear without any special effort or process.
That was certainly a good thing, but that alone did not prove the sect’s overall capability.
And yet…
Why is everyone this strong?
They weren’t losing?
At that martial arts tournament?
Wi Lip-san blinked.
This was not some shabby little contest where the neighbors gathered to wager a bowl of wine and throw fists at one another. This was a martial tournament where the acknowledged young elites of the most distinguished sects in the world were gathering to fight.
And yet, however much one called it the preliminaries, was it really possible not to lose a single match?
Wi Lip-san looked around in a daze.
What was even harder to understand was something else entirely. The only people excited by this ridiculous result were the disciples of Hwayeong Gate.
The Mount Hua disciples merely stared blankly, either because they considered it perfectly natural or because they simply did not care much about their companions’ matches.
Crack!
Yoon Jong struck his opponent’s neck with the flat of his blade and, as the man collapsed, spoke in a low voice.
"Not bad, but you still need to try harder."
Though, of course, it was not easy to work as hard as the disciples of Mount Hua did.
Yoon Jong descended from the platform amid the cheers.
"This is… this is really amazing!"
Wi So-haeng’s eyes had gone misty with awe.
It was the very sight he had longed for.
The Mount Hua disciples defeating one after another the many disciples of prestigious sects and making their name ring throughout the martial world.
And now that he was actually seeing it, he felt happy—but also strangely numb.
Perhaps because it didn’t feel real?
How can they all be this strong?
Chung Myung and his group had always been strong. But he had never imagined that the other Mount Hua disciples would be this formidable as well.
And more than that…
He won too, didn’t he?
Wi So-haeng’s gaze moved to Dang Soso sitting nearby.
He had clearly heard she had not entered Mount Hua long ago, and yet she possessed this level of skill.
That fact gave Wi So-haeng hope.
Could I do it too?
He stared at Dang Soso intently.
Perhaps sensing his gaze while she was tearing into dried meat, she snapped her head around.
"What?"
"N-no… It’s not that…"
Wi So-haeng fidgeted and rolled his eyes.
Dang Soso then pulled the basket of dried meat that had been near Wi So-haeng toward herself.
"Don’t go eyeing other people’s dried meat. I’ll chop your hand off."
"…"
At that moment, Yu I-seol returned after finishing her match. Dang Soso immediately shot to her feet, grabbed a water flask and a wet cloth she had prepared in advance, and dashed over.
"Sago! Over here, Sago!"
"Thank you."
"Hehe. Don’t mention it."
Seeing the entirely different expression Dang Soso wore when looking at her compared to the one she had just shown him, Wi So-haeng smiled faintly.
Ah, she’s really from Mount Hua.
Anyone could tell. She looked like Mount Hua through and through. Absolutely through and through!
Then Chung Myung, who had been sitting, rose, stretched lazily, and yawned.
"Ugh, this is boring. How many matches are left?"
"Only one."
"Who is it?"
"Baek Sang."
Chung Myung nodded.
"If it’s Sasuk Baek Sang, he should win without any trouble."
"Yes. He’s one of the strongest among the Baek generation."
Baek Cheon, Yu I-seol, Yoon Jong, and Jo Gul were all walking entirely different paths even within Mount Hua itself.
Aside from those five, including Chung Myung, Baek Sang was the one contending for the strongest among Mount Hua’s second-generation disciples.
It was impossible to imagine Baek Sang losing when everyone else had won so smoothly.
"Tell them to hurry up and finish. What kind of tournament is this? It’s so damn boring."
"…"
Baek Cheon’s mouth twitched.
Setting aside the fact that this brat found a martial tournament where the descendants of renowned families fought for honor boring, the fact that he said it out loud proved there was definitely something missing inside his head.
"It’ll be over soon. Once there’s a winner on that platform, it’ll be Baek Sang’s turn."
"That platform?"
Chung Myung’s gaze shifted to the platform Baek Cheon pointed at.
"Hmm."
Seeing the man with the greatsword standing atop the platform, Chung Myung grinned.
"That’s the Namgung whatever."
"Correct. That’s Danak Sword."
Baek Cheon said quietly. Chung Myung, sensing the fighting spirit in his tone, looked at Danak Sword with fresh eyes.
He is strong.
Such people absolutely existed in this world.
Extraordinary figures who, by virtue of their talent and lineage, aimed for the one and only place beneath the heavens.
That Danak Sword, Namgung Do-wi, was one of them.
Without Chung Myung, his name would surely have been among those contending for the title of the strongest under heaven.
"What do you think?"
"Of what?"
"Can you beat him?"
Baek Cheon’s lips curled just slightly.
"Of course, a match must be fought to know the result, but…"
"But?"
"…Nothing."
Chung Myung tilted his head.
Nothing?
"I simply can’t imagine losing. You damn fool."
"Oh? Our Dong-ryong…"
Baek Cheon drew his sword.
"No, no, Sasuk Baek Cheon is awfully confident."
Chung Myung quickly corrected himself, chuckling with a grin.
"But, Sasuk, there’s something I’m really curious about."
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
Baek Cheon looked at him with slight suspicion. Given everything he had been through, whenever this brat acted like this, he felt uneasy.
"…What is it?"
"You’re Jin Dong-ryong, right?"
"I’m Baek Cheon!"
"And your older brother is Jin Geum-ryong."
"…And?"
Chung Myung grinned and asked,
"Then is there also an Eun-ryong?"
"…There is. My second older brother."
"Seriously?"
"He wasn’t especially talented in martial arts, so he likely wasn’t chosen as a representative."
Good heavens, there really was an Eun-ryong.
Chung Myung turned a sour-eyed glance toward the Southern Edge Sect.
"I don’t know what kind of man your father is, Sasuk, but there’s one thing I can say for sure. That man’s naming sense is about on the level of some hellspawned asura."
"…I feel strangely pitying toward myself for agreeing."
Jin Dong-ryong… no, Baek Cheon shut his eyes tightly.
"Anyway, Sasuk, don’t let your guard down."
"Hmm?"
"That bastard is strong."
Chung Myung, his expression growing a little more serious, looked at Danak Sword.
"Geniuses do absurd things once in a while. By ordinary standards, they ignore the very things that make people stronger—training intensity, understanding of the sword, experience—and then accomplish things that make no damn sense."
"You think that guy is one of those geniuses?"
"Probably."
Baek Cheon’s eyes followed Danak Sword on the platform.
Namgung Do-wi.
It was the first time Baek Cheon had heard Chung Myung assess another person so generously.
Wasn’t this the same Chung Myung who had treated Jin Geum-ryong, the genius Baek Cheon had considered an insurmountable wall and someone he could never beat no matter how much he devoted himself, as if he were no more than a worm?
And now he was calling someone a genius…
That’s annoying.
Baek Cheon’s eyes cooled.
I’ll crush him myself.
Just as Baek Cheon was sharpening his resolve, Chung Myung leaned in slightly.
"You’re conscious of him?"
"How could I not be?"
"Oh? Jin Geum-ryong is still out there, and you’re already thinking about that Namgung whatever?"
"My brother is not that big a problem."
His tone was matter-of-fact. Chung Myung snorted.
"Hah. Our Baek Cheon Sasuk has really learned how to talk big now. Jin Geum-ryong is ‘not that big a problem,’ huh?"
"Huh? Did I say it like that?"
Baek Cheon scratched the back of his head with a slightly awkward expression.
"No, I didn’t mean it like that…"
"Sasuk."
"What?"
"Don’t get cocky."
"…"
Baek Cheon flinched. Chung Myung’s eyes had grown icy cold before he realized it.
"It’s only natural that a frog can’t remember what it was like to be a tadpole. When someone becomes strong, they don’t remember the time they were weak. And so they stop paying attention to those weaker than themselves."
"…"
"But among those frogs, the only ones who can truly become golden toads are the ones who remember that they were once tadpoles."
Having said that much, Chung Myung relaxed his expression and shrugged.
"I know it feels good to get stronger. But if you don’t watch the ground beneath your feet, sooner or later someone crawling up from below will catch your ankle. And when that happens, your ankle’s going to fly right off."
Baek Cheon bit his lip slightly.
Even though Chung Myung had just eased up, whenever he occasionally turned serious like this, Baek Cheon felt an oppressive squeeze around his heart.
This brat really is impossible to figure out.
This wasn’t simply the aura of strength. It was more like dignity itself radiating from the person he was.
"I’ll keep that in mind."
"Yeah, you better. That’s how our Dong-ryong… Hey! Why are you drawing your sword again?"
Baek Cheon snorted and took his hand off the hilt. Then he asked,
"So you’re saying you became a golden toad because you’re a frog who always watches the ground beneath him?"
"Huh? No, what the hell are you talking about? I’m not a frog."
"Hm?"
Baek Cheon tilted his head at the sudden humility.
Not a frog?
Chung Myung pointed at himself and thrust out his chest.
"If anything, I’m a dragon or a phoenix. A dragon is still a dragon even when it’s a hatchling."
"…"
"You’re the frog, Sasuk. Don’t you get it?"
"…What the hell is wrong with you?"
Just as Baek Cheon was about to grab Chung Myung by the throat—
Crash!
With a tremendous explosion, dust and dirt rose around the martial platform.
A moment later, as the dust began to settle, the figure of Namgung Do-wi standing proudly in the center came into view.
"The victor is Namgung Do-wi of the Namgung Family!"
As though he had merely won the most obvious of victories, Namgung Do-wi descended the platform with a completely unbothered expression.
"What an obnoxious bastard."
"Yep. He looks just like someone from the old days."
"Who are you calling what?"
"There’s someone here whose foot is going numb for no reason at all."
"Ugh…"
Baek Cheon could do nothing but let out a pained groan.
He couldn’t deny it. The old Baek Cheon would have won and then walked down from the platform wearing exactly that kind of expression.
"That guy’ll come to his senses once someone cracks his head open."
"Oh? You sure about that?"
"I have to say I am!"
Baek Cheon clenched his teeth.
His ultimate goal was to beat Chung Myung. He could not let himself be tripped up in a place like this.
"Good answer. But Namgung Do-wi wasn’t the only one. There were a few really eye-catching guys."
"…Really?"
Chung Myung nodded.
"The main rounds will probably depend on how we run into those guys. It’d be best if as many people as possible made it through. Hmm."
Chung Myung scratched his cheek.
"But those Shaolin bastards probably won’t let that happen. They’ll rig it, no question."
"Rig it? Shaolin?"
"What, are you trying to sound innocent? You really think they’d feed and house this many people for free? The basic rule is to take whatever you can if there’s something to gain."
At Chung Myung’s words, Baek Cheon narrowed his eyes.
That may be true, but…
For some reason, he had harbored a vague expectation that Shaolin would not be that kind of sect. And now, it felt as though that expectation was being shattered.
"In any case, let’s finish the preliminaries first and then think about the rest. Sasuk Baek Sang is the last one, right?"
"Yes. He’s going up now."
Baek Cheon and Chung Myung looked toward the martial platform. Baek Sang, who had been waiting, now stood face-to-face with a Shaolin monk in a yellow robe.
Am I the last one?
With an easy motion, Baek Sang drew his sword.
Everyone else has won. I can’t be the one to lose. I’ll beat this guy and finish the preliminaries undefeated.
Though they were only the preliminaries, an undefeated run was still an undefeated run.
This result would be remembered as one of the greatest triumphs Mount Hua had achieved in recent times—a true accomplishment.
The finishing touch.
With the feeling of drawing the last eye into an already magnificent dragon painting, Baek Sang faced his opponent.
He doesn’t look that strong.
His body seemed a little slight, and his face still held a youthful air. He gave the impression of someone who had come here more to gain experience than to prove his skill.
But he’s still Shaolin.
Baek Sang knew this very well.
There were many people in the martial world who thought someone looked weak because of their appearance, only to be dragged straight into hell for it.
Just look at Chung Myung. If he had met Chung Myung as an enemy in some other place, he would never have thought him especially strong at first glance.
And then he would have fought carelessly and had his head cracked open.
No room for carelessness. I have to give it everything.
"Begin!"
The instant the voice rang out, signaling the match to start, Baek Sang assumed the opening stance of the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art’s Seven Plum Blossoms Sword.
"Here I go!"
First, he would probe the opponent’s reaction with Plum Blossom Scatter, and then move straight into the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art…
Huh?
At that moment, Baek Sang saw it.
The fist the Shaolin monk thrust toward him was turning a radiant gold.
Huh?
And that became the last thing Baek Sang remembered.
Crash!
With a short but thunderous explosion, the golden fist qi unleashed from the Shaolin monk’s outstretched fist swept Baek Sang away in one blow.
"Aaahhhhhhhhh!"
With a mournful scream, Baek Sang flew over the martial platform and the spectator stands, all the way beyond Shaolin’s outer wall.
"W-what the hell!"
"That crazy—!"
Not only the crowd, but even the disciples of Mount Hua sprang to their feet in shock.
Even Chung Myung himself jolted upright in astonishment.
"H-Hundred-Step Divine Fist? What the hell is that bastard?!"
Chung Myung’s eyes widened as he stared at the Shaolin monk on the martial platform.