The End Is Another Beginning (3)
Burning with momentum, Jong Seohan charged into the forest of plum blossoms, only to grind his teeth at the endless feast of sword qi before him, a deluge so vast it seemed ready to swallow him whole.
It was as if his entire field of vision had been drowned in plum blossoms.
"Aaaagh!"
He swung his sword.
But the surging blossoms merely slipped aside before his blade's wind, then rolled back in again, over and over.
No matter how furiously he lashed out, he couldn't drive them back.
Impossible.
This made no sense.
Jong Seohan was on the verge of losing all reason to rage.
Hwajong Jihoe.
That horrifying memory flared to life in Jong Seohan's mind.
The moment when that damned Mount Hua Divine Dragon had crushed Southern Edge so utterly that they had never even thought of Mount Hua as a real opponent until then.
After that day, the atmosphere in Southern Edge changed.
The senior disciples, who had always been so composed, spoke less and less, and everyone grew increasingly irritable.
The crushing humiliation of defeat, something they had never once tasted before, weighed them down.
And the more it weighed on them, the harder Jong Seohan clung to his sword.
Humiliation suffered by the sword could only be repaid by the sword.
If he trained like a madman, then surely the day would come when he could repay this disgrace.
And yet....
Why is this happening?
He couldn't understand it.
If he had ever neglected training even once, he could have accepted this with humility. If he had still looked down on Mount Hua after Hwajong Jihoe, if he'd been careless because of it, then he could have blamed himself.
But he had truly thrown away sleep and meals alike to devote himself to training.
So why was this the result?
No!
Jong Seohan clenched his teeth and swung again.
His sword was not wrong!
The sword of Southern Edge could not be wrong!
White sword qi swallowed his blade, and along the path it drew, pure-white buds bloomed in clusters.
Blinding snow flowers blossomed beautifully, far more vividly alive than the plum blossoms Baek Cheon had drawn.
It was snow flower technique, refined and sharpened through brutal self-discipline, pushed to the absolute limit.
And yet.
The moment it collided with Baek Cheon's plum blossoms, it lost all force and twisted apart as if it had never been stable to begin with.
Jong Seohan's bloodshot eyes began to tremble.
Why? Why is this happening?
Why couldn't his snow flowers hold against those plum blossoms?
The Snow Flower Twelve Sword was the essence of Southern Edge swordsmanship, created by the sect's elders after decades upon decades of research.
It was the result of refusing to settle for the Thirty-Six Sword Technique, refusing to be satisfied with the Great Heavenly Steel Sword Art, and instead researching better and better swordsmanship over and over again!
And now this masterpiece of Southern Edge, the Snow Flower Twelve Sword, was being defeated by the sword art of Mount Hua, a relic of a bygone age?
Unreasonable.
It was far too unreasonable.
"Dammit, this is impossible!"
Jong Seohan's howl shook the arena.
Baek Cheon's eyes sank coldly.
He heard Jong Seohan's shriek-like wail clearly.
That howl resembled the cry of despair that had once escaped Baek Cheon's own throat before Jin Geum-ryong.
Only three years.
In those three years, Jong Seohan and he had traded places.
Where had that difference come from?
Baek Cheon cast a brief glance beyond the arena. Standing by the betting table with a meaningful expression was Chung Myung, and he was impossible to miss.
Don't laugh, you brat.
It felt as if Chung Myung were asking him with nothing but his expression whether he understood how much value those three years had truly held.
Baek Cheon tightened his grip on his sword.
Even if the same time was spent, even if the same effort was poured in, it meant nothing if it did not point in the right direction.
Now he had to prove that. To Jong Seohan, and to Southern Edge itself.
Baek Cheon's sword erupted in red sword qi.
The plum blossoms he had created swelled again and again, until they finally swallowed Jong Seohan's snow flowers whole.
By the time Jong Seohan came to his senses, red petals already filled the space around him.
"Wh-what...."
Shock flooded Jong Seohan's eyes.
Was he really feeling such a despairing wall before Baek Cheon, who wasn't even Chung Myung, who wasn't even someone he'd ever taken seriously?
"Dammit! Aaaagh!"
Desperately, he swung his sword again and again. He had forgotten even form and structure; the乱れた sword style flew out like a madman's thrashing, only to be wrapped in the plum petals that came soaring in.
And then.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
“……”
In an instant, the plum blossoms that had flown in carrying the warmth of spring brushed past and sliced through the vital points all over his body.
At the same time, the Mount Hua plum blossoms that had bloomed across the arena vanished like an illusion.
Jong Seohan trembled all over, then raised his head to look at Baek Cheon.
Clack.
Baek Cheon withdrew his sword and slid it back into the scabbard, meeting his gaze head-on.
"A tree that loses its roots is doomed to wither and die."
No matter how brilliantly it bloomed, it was empty all the same.
"I don't know whether you'll ever understand that."
Thud.
Jong Seohan collapsed where he stood. At the same time, a cold silence settled over the arena.
Having taken his eyes off the fallen man, Baek Cheon turned his head and looked toward Southern Edge—more precisely, toward Jin Geum-ryong.
Their eyes met in the air.
The brothers, now walking different paths, stared at each other with unmistakable hostility.
But this was not simple enmity.
A swordsman must ultimately prove himself with the sword.
Baek Cheon and Jin Geum-ryong both knew only this much: if they were to prove themselves, they would have to break the other.
After a moment, Baek Cheon finally withdrew his gaze and began descending from the arena.
"Ah...."
The sight of the peerless swordsman in black robes and a pristine white hero's headband slowly stepping down was burned into everyone's eyes.
And then the cheers erupted.
"Woooooah! Amazing!"
"What was that just now?"
"It was like looking at a mountain covered in flowers!"
"Mount Hua! Right, it's Mount Hua! They say Mount Hua's sword draws plum blossoms, and that wasn't just a figure of speech after all!"
"That was incredible! Seriously incredible!"
The crowd's enthusiasm was nothing short of explosive.
Everyone knew that Mount Hua's disciples had been winning one match after another. But until the main rounds began, few had truly seen the sword of Mount Hua for themselves.
And now Baek Cheon had displayed the Plum Blossom Sword Art before everyone's eyes—the sword art said to be the most splendid and most beautiful of all swordsmanship in the world. It was only natural that the response would be this hot.
"A Plum Blossom Swordsman! Right, he's a Plum Blossom Swordsman, isn't he?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Apparently, that's what they used to call the swordsmen who learned Mount Hua's plum blossom sword art."
"Hoho. What a fascinating name."
"I don't understand how such a sword art could have declined in the first place. It's practically miraculous!"
"Great sects may decline, but they don't disappear! Look! They've risen again and bloomed right before our eyes!"
"They're blooming with flowers for real. Hahaha!"
The onlookers stared at Baek Cheon and the Mount Hua disciples with eyes bright with excitement.
What did martial people like?
Everyone had their own tastes, but there were a few things they all enjoyed in common.
One was the emergence of a rising master.
Another was a martial artist from an unknown sect defeating one from a famous one.
And the last was the process of those who had once fallen into ruin fighting their way back and reclaiming their own name.
By a strange coincidence, Mount Hua was showing all three of those things martial people loved most. So regardless of whether one liked Mount Hua or not, it was impossible not to be swept up in the excitement first.
"Senior Brother!"
"Martial Uncle!"
As Baek Cheon returned to his seat amid the fervent cheers, the Mount Hua disciples surged forward in a rush, all of them flushed red with excitement.
For a Mount Hua disciple to utterly crush a Southern Edge disciple before everyone's eyes carried a meaning all its own.
"Don't get carried away."
But Baek Cheon only spoke in a low voice, as if it were no great matter.
"It's not too late to celebrate after we've beaten Jin Geum-ryong as well."
His eyes were lowered and calm.
Until Jin Geum-ryong was defeated, he could not say that Southern Edge had been defeated.
"We'll raise our cups then."
"Yes, Senior Brother!"
"Of course, Martial Uncle!"
The Mount Hua disciples looked up at Baek Cheon with faces burning red.
He was their great senior brother, yes, but even objectively speaking, wasn't he terribly dependable?
Watching him defeat Jong Seohan had blown away the last traces of doubt and anxiety in their hearts.
If Baek Cheon crushed Jin Geum-ryong as well, then Mount Hua would never again be dragged around by Southern Edge's name.
"This feud ends here. Once this tournament is over, Southern Edge will never again stand above Mount Hua's name."
Jin Geum-ryong glared coldly at the Mount Hua disciples cheering in triumph. Then he ground out, low and fierce:
Baek Cheon.
Not Jin Dongryong, but Baek Cheon.
Once his younger brother, but now an enemy—and a man he would absolutely have to break.
I hate it.
That swaggering attitude of Baek Cheon's didn't suit him at all. It would suit him far better to act confident on the surface while trembling inside with fear.
"S-Senior Brother.... Jong Senior Brother...."
Jin Geum-ryong glanced aside. His junior disciples were all looking at him with dejected eyes.
"Stand up straight."
"Y-yes, Senior Brother."
"Don't let those Mount Hua brats see you cower. So what if something surprising happened! Are you going to start trembling over that? And you still call yourselves disciples of Southern Edge?"
At Jin Geum-ryong's icy rebuke, everyone flinched. Then, forcing their shoulders back, they made themselves look dignified.
"Jong Seohan's loss was unexpected, but nothing has changed. In the end, all that matters is that I win."
"Yes, Senior Brother!"
Jin Geum-ryong's gaze returned to Baek Cheon. Seeing that face expressionless, as if this was only the beginning, made Jin Geum-ryong's own eyes grow even colder.
Don't get cocky.
From the start, Baek Cheon had not been in his eyes at all. He seemed to have grown considerably in the meantime, but that was hardly remarkable.
He shared the same blood, so this much was only natural. He had simply been weak because he had spent all that time in Mount Hua without proper training.
The problem wasn't Baek Cheon.
Chung Myung.
Jin Geum-ryong's eyes followed Chung Myung as he snickered in front of the betting table.
He still has room to be carefree, does he?
Gritting his teeth, Jin Geum-ryong muttered low under his breath.
"Don't worry. I'll defeat that Mount Hua Divine Dragon and restore Southern Edge's honor. Then even those foolish spectators will know who the real protagonist of this match is."
"Of course, Senior Brother!"
"Naturally, Senior Brother will win."
Half sincerity, half flattery.
They were hollow words meant only to please the ear, but Jin Geum-ryong didn't care much. In the end, the results would speak for themselves.
But there was one person.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
"...."
At Jin Geum-ryong's question, Yi Song-baek slowly raised his head.
The one who had kept silent all this time, Jin Geum-ryong stared straight at him.
That indifferent face seemed to say, with nothing more than its expression, I don't get swept up in what's happening around me.
"What do you think?"
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
"Do you think I can win against the Mount Hua Divine Dragon?"
At that, Yi Song-baek briefly glanced at Chung Myung, then looked back to Jin Geum-ryong.
"I know one thing."
"What's that?"
"Your next opponent is your younger brother."
"...So?"
Yi Song-baek spoke calmly.
"Can someone who doesn't even truly see the opponent before his eyes obtain something greater?"
At his words, the Southern Edge disciples bristled and stepped forward.
"You brat?"
"How dare you speak to Senior Brother like that!"
Jin Geum-ryong raised a hand to stop them.
"Leave him."
"Senior Brother!"
Then, looking at Yi Song-baek with cold eyes, he snapped:
"We'll see in the end. Whether you're right, or I am."
Yi Song-baek only lowered his head in silence. Jin Geum-ryong turned away without another glance.
The sharp gazes of the senior and junior disciples alike flew toward Yi Song-baek and pinned him there. He only let out a quiet sigh.
This isn't right....
The loyalty that appears only in times of ease is not loyalty at all.
Southern Edge, which had already lost its ease long ago, had become so narrow-minded that it could no longer truly be called a righteous sect.
Daoist Chung Myung. What do you think?
His gaze drifted, distant and wistful, toward Chung Myung far away.
“Wahahahaha!”
Chung Myung laughed delightedly and ran toward the betting table.
Wi Lip-san smiled awkwardly and reclaimed Chung Myung's ticket.
"Let me see. Since Daoist Chung Myung staked ten thousand nyang...."
Wi Lip-san took only a microscopic sliver from the gathered pot—so small it was practically a joke—and shoved the rest toward Chung Myung.
Because Chung Myung had wagered so much, even after setting aside what had to be distributed to the others, he still swallowed most of the pot whole.
"Here you are!"
"Hehe. Right here."
Chung Myung plucked one of the gold ingots from the pile and handed it to Wi Lip-san.
"Ah, n-no, you don't need to give me something like this...."
"Come on. If you try to gobble up the whole gambling table, you'll get a stomachache. Take it."
"Then I will gratefully accept it. But this much money, how am I supposed to give it to...."
Before Wi Lip-san could even finish, Chung Myung reached into his robes and pulled something out, spreading it open.
"Huh?"
What he had taken out was a huge cloth sack. Wi Lip-san's jaw dropped open.
"Wahahahaha!"
Chung Myung began sweeping up the money on the betting table, literally shoveling it all in.
Gold ingots, silver ingots, promissory notes—he stuffed in everything without discrimination, then tied the sack's mouth tightly with a cord.
Then, all of a sudden, he whipped his head around.
"Junior Brother!"
"Huh?"
Jo Gul, who had been watching Chung Myung from a distance, flinched.
"Catch!"
Chung Myung hurled the sack straight at him.
Thunk!
Startled by the heavy weight, Jo Gul opened it a little, then flinched all over again.
"Hey! What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
"Put it in the middle. So nobody can steal it!"
"...That's all I'm supposed to guard?"
"Nope."
Chung Myung grinned.
"What are you talking about? This is just the beginning."
He was going to strip every last pocket in this place clean.
"Wow, that's insane! He's taking all of that?"
"How much money is that?"
"The odds had climbed to double on both sides by the end, so didn't he basically just make ten thousand nyang with one shot?"
"Ten thousand nyang in one shot?"
A glint of greed began to creep into the spectators' eyes. Everyone had realized this game was bigger than they'd thought.
Even those who had not been particularly interested in gambling started to edge closer with curiosity after seeing Chung Myung fling the sack around.
Wi Lip-san cleared his throat and called out.
"The next round will begin! This time, the Open Gate's Mok O and Mount Hua's Jo Gul...."
"Ten thousand nyang on Mount Hua's Jo Gul!"
Thunk!
Another stack of ten-thousand-nyang notes flew onto the betting table. The gamblers' eyes instantly bloodshot with excitement.
Then, as if fanning the flames, Chung Myung casually tilted his chin and said,
"What're you all doing? Not betting?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the crowd swarmed the table again like starving fiends.
"Five hundred nyang on Mok O!"
"Three hundred nyang on Mok O!"
"Didn't you already lose big just now?"
"Don't be stupid! Win once and you can make back several times over—hell, dozens of times over! Who cares about what you lost?"
Watching the betting table erupt into chaos once more, Chung Myung grinned.
"Making money is this easy?"
If only the tournament were held ten more times. Then becoming the richest man under heaven might not be a dream!
Seeing Chung Myung basking in that satisfied dream, Jo Gul shook his head vigorously.
Then he slowly moved toward the arena. It was time to get ready.
Just then, Baek Cheon called out to stop him.
"Jo Gul."
"Yes, Martial Uncle!"
When Jo Gul turned back, Baek Cheon spoke in a solemn voice.
"Don't underestimate your opponent. They are absolutely not easy. Fight with everything you've got and win."
"You mean I should use the Plum Blossom Sword Art, right?"
"If you have to, then use it."
"Understood!"
Jo Gul's eyes flashed.
He would do his absolute best to defeat his opponent, and then, like Baek Cheon, he would earn the crowd's cheers....
"Senior Brother! Senior Brother! I bet on Senior Brother! If you lose, you're dead!"
"...."
Not you, you idiot! Not you!
Grrrrrr....