The End Is Another Beginning (1)
Just because the main tournament had begun didn’t mean anything had really changed.
The atmosphere had simply grown a little more solemn, the anticipation a little more intense.
And the only other change was the seating arrangement for the sect leaders on the platform.
Just a little. Very little.
'To think we’re sitting in the same place as the Nine Great Sects and the Five Great Families.'
Hyun Jong glanced down at his chair. Or rather, he checked the place where his chair had been set.
The very front of the platform.
Not the second row, where he’d have had to stare at the backs of the so-called prestigious sects.
The front row. His seat had been added to the very front, a place reserved only for the Nine Great Sects and the Five Great Families.
- The seat itself isn’t all that important, but it’s a little embarrassing for me to be sitting back there when your sect is the one that sent the most disciples into the main tournament.
Tang Gun-ak’s words had been the final blow. In the end, the sect leaders, each of them feeling a little guilty in his heart, simply reached a quick agreement and moved Mount Hua’s seat to the front row.
Granted, they had judged things only by the performances of the younger generation, but at this moment, Mount Hua was effectively being recognized as a great sect standing shoulder to shoulder with the Nine Sects.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been the sort of thing that moved a person to tears.
Under normal circumstances, that is.
Unfortunately, Hyun Jong could not be normal right now.
The whispers of the sect leaders around him kept stabbing straight into his ears.
"A gambling table…?"
"To set up a gambling den in the sacred Shaolin Temple—what on earth is going on?"
"Who in the world is that person?"
"I hear he’s the master of Hwayeong Gate."
"Hwayeong Gate? Has anyone here ever heard of them?"
Every time the words Hwayeong Gate and gambling came up, Hyun Jong jerked as if someone had stuck needles into his backside.
'This is killing me.'
If it had been up to him, he would have run over there and flipped the whole stall over on the spot.
But now that he was already on the platform, that was nothing more than an image in his imagination.
Then the Wudang sect leader, Heo Do Zhenren, smiled faintly and opened his mouth.
"Hwayeong Gate, you say…"
His voice, a little slow and measured, drew everyone’s attention at once.
"I believe I know that place."
"……"
Hyun Young’s face went completely white.
In the past, Mount Hua had clashed with Wudang over the fate of Hwayeong Gate.
So there was no way the Wudang sect leader wouldn’t know that Hwayeong Gate was Mount Hua’s branch in Xi’an.
Heo Do Zhenren smiled kindly and looked at Hyun Jong.
But to Hyun Jong, that smile felt like the grin of a viper.
"You know it? What kind of sect is Hwayeong Gate?"
"How can they come to Shaolin and stir up such a mess? Please, tell us, Sect Leader."
"We should take action immediately."
While Hyun Young sweated bullets and tried to figure out how to clean up this disaster, Tang Gun-ak spoke up calmly.
"Is there a problem?"
"……Pardon?"
Tang Gun-ak swept his gaze across the gathered sect leaders and continued in a tone of complete indifference.
"This is Shaolin."
"Indeed. That is precisely why we’re saying this. If it weren’t Shaolin, why would any of us bother to comment on whether they’re gambling or not?"
"I think you misunderstand. What happens here, and how it is handled, is entirely up to Shaolin."
At that, everyone fell silent.
"I understand your concern, but please be careful with your words. Each criticism might as well be criticism of Shaolin itself. Realistically, if Shaolin hadn’t permitted it, who would dare to set up a gambling table here?"
At those words, the sect leaders all turned to Shaolin’s Abbot, Beop Jeong.
Meeting those gazes, Beop Jeong smiled.
"Would that really be such a bad thing?"
"A-Abbot…"
"But this is sacred Shaolin—"
The sect leaders looked flustered, but Beop Jeong merely kept smiling.
"I have never once thought of Shaolin as a sacred place."
"……"
He lightly pressed his palms together.
"Shaolin is nothing more than an ordinary temple that exists anywhere in the world. There are simply a few more bald monks here than elsewhere. So why should I make such a fuss and tell people they must not enjoy themselves here?"
"Hmm…"
The sect leaders could neither agree nor object, and only coughed awkwardly in discomfort. Beop Jeong smiled at them all the more.
"Isn’t it enough to be strict with our own disciples? We cannot ask the people who came to watch our sect’s disciples to accommodate us without question. If anything, I’d be grateful that they’re creating some excitement."
The moment Beop Jeong finished speaking, praise and agreement poured out from every direction.
"As expected of the Abbot."
"Indeed, indeed. This should be a festive occasion, after all."
Whether the logic was sound didn’t matter.
If Shaolin’s Abbot said it, it was unarguable. Everyone gathered here was a sect leader who guided the martial world, yet none of them dared openly challenge his words.
That was the power Shaolin had accumulated over history.
Hyun Jong would normally have trembled before that immense power, but right now he could only let out a sigh of relief that the matter had been more or less resolved.
'I feel like I’ve lost ten years of my life.'
He’d only just regained his youth, and already the extra years he’d gained were being hacked away, day by day.
Hyun Jong groaned inwardly, then glared at Mount Hua’s disciples.
'Even if I lose all the years I’ve got left, you absolutely must get a good result!'
Their reputation was basically already gone, so they’d better at least salvage the results. The results, at least!
You miserable bastards!
"It looks like the Sect Leader is going through quite a lot."
"Hm?"
At Baek Cheon’s words, Chung Myung turned his head as if he had no idea what was going on.
"That gambling table. That thing…"
"Oh, right!"
Chung Myung clapped his hands.
"I need to place a bet too."
"……"
Chung Myung reached into his robes and pulled out a bundled stack of promissory notes.
"……W-what the hell did you bring that much money for?"
"Money always has some use somewhere. See? I brought it, and now it has a use."
He looked ready to sweep the gambling table clean by himself.
Watching Chung Myung grin with his mouth stretched wide, Baek Cheon shook his head.
But rather than scolding him, Chung Myung looked at him with a warm, pleased smile.
"What’s with that look? Sudden jerk."
"Sasuk."
"Yeah?"
"I’m going to put everything on you in the first round. If you lose, you’d better be ready to die."
"……"
"If you somehow do lose, I’ll make you earn that money back no matter what it takes, so do well. If you don’t want to swing a plum blossom sword in a Northern Sea coal mine with a pickaxe, then you’d better win even if it kills you."
"……"
It was far too affectionate a warning for something a sasil should say to a sasuk.
"Chung Myung."
"What?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Since when have you ever not asked? Ask whatever you want."
"Who do you think will win?"
Chung Myung shot him a look of utter contempt, as if he’d never seen anyone so hopeless in his life.
Baek Cheon immediately straightened his face.
"You’re excluded."
"Huh?"
"Who, among the rest of them, has the best chance of taking the title?"
Ah. Excluding me?
Chung Myung’s expression shifted subtly.
"Hmm."
He scratched his cheek lightly and shrugged.
"Dunno."
"……You don’t know?"
"Of course I know who’s the strongest. But a match isn’t always won by the stronger side."
Just as Baek Cheon was about to ask something else, Chung Myung went on.
"Still, there are a few with a real chance. First, that Shaolin monk."
Baek Cheon nodded heavily. He had already expected that.
'Was his name Hye Yeon?'
That one strike had been terrifying. Just that single move seemed enough to put him in the running for the title.
Anyone who had watched the bout would find it hard to disagree.
Chung Myung thought for a moment, then said, "Oh, and that Namgung brat is pretty strong too."
At the mention of Namgung Do-wi, Baek Cheon’s brow twitched slightly.
"Looks like there’s one in Wudang too, and one of the Peng Family guys was strong as well. And… hmm. Jin-ryong should probably still count as a contender too. Most people would have a hard time handling him."
"……Namgung Family, Wudang, Peng Family, and Southern Edge."
All of them were forces that shook the world and needed no envy from anyone.
"And maybe three or four others? Honestly, it wouldn’t be strange if any of them won."
"Then are you saying that if you weren’t here, one of them would have won?"
"Nope."
"……Then?"
Chung Myung twisted his face as if asking why Baek Cheon would even ask something so obvious.
"If I’m not here, then Sasuk has to win. Isn’t that obvious?"
"……"
"Why? You not confident?"
After a brief silence, the corners of Baek Cheon’s mouth twitched.
"You’re asking if I’m not confident?"
It was then.
"Mount Hua’s Baek Cheon!"
Baek Cheon slowly rose to his feet and turned to look at Chung Myung.
"I’ll prove it and come back, so wait for me."
"Oh?"
Then, with the most impeccably dramatic posture imaginable, he strode toward the ring. The sight of Baek Cheon in his black training robes, broad shoulders straight, moving forward like that, was like a scene painted on silk.
Watching that magnificent silhouette, Chung Myung snorted softly.
'He really is simple, isn’t he.'
That was a lie.
Of course Baek Cheon was one of the contenders for the title. By odds alone, he easily ranked among the top three.
But winning the whole thing would be difficult.
There was a monster among them.
Chung Myung’s gaze shifted toward where Shaolin was seated.
'Was his name Hye Yeon?'
That brat had no answer.
Right now, Baek Cheon would likely have a hard time handling him.
Of course, it wasn’t that there was no way to win.
But that was a matter for a duel. If one spoke purely of skill, then there was no need even to place the two on the same scale.
If a few more years were given, the answer might be different. But they were comparing them now.
"Ah, and…"
Chung Myung scratched his cheek.
"I forgot to mention there’s one more in Southern Edge."
Well, whatever. It would probably be fine.
Baek Cheon, who had stepped up onto the ring, looked at his opponent and let out a dry laugh.
'His name was definitely Jong Seo-han.'
The second strongest of Southern Edge’s second-generation disciples. He had been the sort of man who stuck to Jin Geum-ryong’s side whenever anything happened.
Jong Seo-han twisted the corner of his lips into a smile as he looked at Baek Cheon.
"How fortunate. I’ve happened to run into the famed White Dragon."
"……"
"You’re ready, I assume?"
Baek Cheon stared at him for a moment, then shifted his gaze to where the Southern Edge disciples were gathered.
Just as expected, Jin Geum-ryong was glaring in this direction with cold eyes.
"Where are you looking?"
"……"
"You’ve gained a hollow reputation, and now you think you’re truly someone special. You’re not even qualified to look at your senior brother. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? That your second-generation disciples at Mount Hua have never once beaten Southern Edge. That so-called fame of yours is nothing more than scraps you picked up beside that damned Mount Hua Divine Dragon."
It was a vicious, sharp provocation.
Yet Baek Cheon himself remained utterly calm.
"Yeah. That’s true. I admit it."
"……What?"
"I said I admit it."
Jong Seo-han stared blankly at Baek Cheon.
'Does this man have no pride at all?'
How could he stay so calm after hearing something like that?
But Baek Cheon simply continued in an unconcerned tone.
"Mount Hua’s second-generation disciples have never beaten Southern Edge’s second-generation disciples, and my reputation is definitely somewhat overrated."
"……"
"But why does that matter?"
Sching.
Baek Cheon slowly drew his sword.
"If I’ve never won before, then I’ll start winning now. If my reputation is exaggerated, then I’ll make sure it isn’t anymore. Sorry, but Mount Hua’s disciples don’t live trapped in the past like you do."
"You bastard!"
Seeing Jong Seo-han flare up, Baek Cheon let out a slight laugh.
How strange.
Back then, he had trained with everything he had just to defeat Jin Geum-ryong. But looking back now, he probably wouldn’t have been able to defeat even the man standing before him, let alone Jin Geum-ryong.
Mount Hua and Southern Edge had been that far apart.
"Ah. Let me correct one thing."
At Baek Cheon’s words, confusion flashed in Jong Seo-han’s eyes.
"Mount Hua doesn’t live trapped in the past, but I guess I’m a little petty, because I seem to cling to it. I still can’t shake the memory of getting crushed by you people back then."
Baek Cheon tapped lightly at his temple with a finger. Jong Seo-han bared his teeth.
"Don’t worry. I’ll cover it with new memories. You won’t often get the chance to be crushed again in front of so many people, so it’ll stay in your head for the rest of your life."
"That’s exactly right."
Baek Cheon smiled faintly.
"You’re right that it was Chung Myung who beat Southern Edge, not us. But now we’ve got our chance too. Looking at the bracket, if I beat you, I get Jin Geum-ryong next."
Then he looked at Jong Seo-han with eyes blazing bright blue.
"I’ll personally cut down the ghost of Southern Edge that’s still clinging to Mount Hua. Come at me. I’ll prove that Southern Edge is no longer Mount Hua’s match."
Baek Cheon performed the opening stance of the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art and pointed his sword at Jong Seo-han.
Black training robes. Snow-white headband.
A sword in his hand, shining in the sunlight.
And a face so striking it stood out even more.
He looked exactly like a hero out of a story. The crowd, dazzled by his presence, all stared at Baek Cheon in a daze.
But there was one exception.
Only Jong Seo-han couldn’t face that sight with any composure.
"Let’s see whether that sword is as sharp as your mouth!"
"Don’t worry. It’s sharp enough!"
"Tch!"
Beaten back in the war of words, Jong Seo-han gritted his teeth and finally drew his sword.
Baek Cheon casually turned his head and looked at Jin Geum-ryong.
Jin Geum-ryong was watching the ring with a cold, blade-like gaze.
Watch closely, brother.
Southern Edge would fall to Baek Cheon’s hand, not Chung Myung’s.
That would be Baek Cheon’s final courtesy to the path he had once considered taking with Southern Edge.
Watching the tension on the ring build to its peak, Yoon Jong clenched his fist tightly.
"Chung Myung, Sasuk will win, won’t he?"
But there was no answer.
"Chung Myung?"
Yoon Jong turned around, only to find Chung Myung’s seat empty. Jo Gul alone was standing there with a sour expression.
"He went to place a bet."
"……"
Seriously…
What a wonderful sect this was turning into.
Absolutely promising, damn it.