Can You Become the Spark? (1)
"Martial arts are strange," Chung Myung muttered, staring dazedly at the dueling platform.
"No matter how hard you grind away at it day after day, you don’t necessarily grow stronger. That’s why training hurts. It’s like clawing at a wall you can never climb."
"...Chung Myung."
"But if you keep enduring it, and keep enduring it, the time will come. The moment the shell around you cracks open. If you don’t get to see that moment, you can’t bloom. And a bud that never bursts will never become a flower. It’s only when it opens that it can finally be called a flower."
That was blooming.
The conception of life.
Chung Myung knew.
He knew exactly what kind of time Baek Cheon had lived through.
No matter how strong he was, Chung Myung was still Baek Cheon’s martial nephew. To be beaten and cursed out by that martial nephew, and still endure day after day, took a patience far beyond what most people could imagine.
And yet Baek Cheon had endured all that time without a single complaint.
The man once called Mount Hua’s greatest prodigy had cast away every last shred of pride and was willing to roll in the dirt if it would make him stronger.
Chung Myung believed in that will of Baek Cheon’s.
Show me.
Show me how far Mount Hua had come.
Show me what kind of flower the will of Mount Hua, carried across a hundred years and reunited with the present, would make bloom.
Chung Myung’s gaze followed every movement of Baek Cheon’s without missing a single instant.
Strange.
His mind was settling.
His body was moving faster than ever, heat flooding every part of him, and yet his heart was sinking lower and lower, deep into stillness.
Motion within stillness.
He had heard it countless times.
He had carved it into his bones countless times.
And yet only now did he feel he was finally understanding what he had never fully grasped before.
Strange.
He had thought he already knew.
He didn’t feel pain. The sword moved exactly as his heart moved.
He could see it?
No.
He could feel it.
Whoosh!
Jin Geum-ryong’s sword skimmed past his forehead by the barest margin.
Shrrk.
The tips of his hair were sliced clean off and drifted away in the wind. But Baek Cheon didn’t even blink. He fixed that sword squarely in his eyes.
He knew.
The distance between him and Jin Geum-ryong.
The gap in sword qi contained in the tip of that blade.
The opening the moment Jin Geum-ryong drew back his inner power, and even what he was aiming for.
At this very moment, everything in this space was within Baek Cheon’s awareness.
Knowing me isn’t everything.
That’s right.
A sword is, in the end, a contest. If all you want is to complete yourself, then you don’t need an enemy. But no one in history ever holed themselves up in a mountain, waved a sword around all day, and completed themselves that way.
That’s right too.
The body focuses on the sword, but the eyes watch the opponent. If there’s no me and no enemy, a sword is nothing more than a dance cut at empty air. If you truly want to understand the sword, understand your enemy.
Jin Geum-ryong?
Why not?
He could see it.
Everything about Jin Geum-ryong.
And, ridiculous as it was, at this very moment Baek Cheon understood Jin Geum-ryong more clearly than ever before.
He had never properly looked.
Even though he had wanted to surpass him so badly, Baek Cheon had never truly tried to understand Jin Geum-ryong. He had only vaguely believed that if he sharpened himself enough, someday he would inevitably overtake him.
How ridiculous.
How could you ever surpass someone you didn’t understand?
Understand it.
Accept it.
All of it would be woven into my sword.
The moment Jin Geum-ryong’s shoulder shifted, Baek Cheon already knew where he was aiming.
Before the blade had even fully extended, Baek Cheon stepped forward and slammed his shoulder into Jin Geum-ryong’s empty chest.
Thud!
With a violent impact, Jin Geum-ryong’s body was shoved backward. Baek Cheon didn’t miss the shock in his eyes.
Jin Geum-ryong righted his stance and stared at Baek Cheon in disbelief.
"...What the hell?"
Something had clearly changed.
The sword had become absurdly fast, and all the awkwardness had vanished from its flow.
How could he change that much in an instant?
Jin Geum-ryong clenched his teeth.
This makes no sense.
Wasn’t it as though he himself was being pushed back now? And by Baek Cheon, who had already been injured?
"This makes no sense!"
Jin Geum-ryong lunged at Baek Cheon with a savage surge of killing intent. From the tip of his sword, a blizzard of white snow flowers burst forth.
Baek Cheon drew a slow breath as he watched the pure white petals flying toward him.
Indeed.
It was on a completely different level from the sword of Jong Seo-han he had faced before. Each petal seemed to move as if it were alive.
But as he watched that sword, he finally understood what Chung Myung had meant.
- Don’t chase after flash! If I get drunk on the brilliance of the sword I’m unleashing, then I’ll just be dragged around by the sword itself.
It’s only flashy.
Exquisite.
Gorgeous.
So what?
Precision and brilliance were nothing more than tools for drawing out the sword. A sword that forgot what it was meant to hold was nothing but emptiness.
Then what did my sword hold?
Baek Cheon’s sword began to move slowly.
Gracefully. Softly.
The ease that hung on the blade wrapped gently around his body like a warm spring breeze.
My sword doesn’t need to be the strongest in Mount Hua.
It didn’t have to be the fastest, the most dazzling, or the most overwhelming.
None of that mattered.
Because what his sword pursued was the spirit of Mount Hua.
If Chung Myung’s sword led Mount Hua forward, then his sword had to become an example for Mount Hua’s disciples.
A Mount Hua sword without bias.
That was Baek Cheon’s sword.
A single plum blossom bloomed from the tip of Baek Cheon’s sword.
The modest flower soon scattered on the breeze that drifted in.
With plum blossoms blooming on Yeonhwabong...
Mount Hua would be dyed red.
It was not so dazzling that it blinded the eye. Nor was it as intricate as Jin Geum-ryong’s sword.
And yet Baek Cheon’s plum blossoms drew in everyone who watched them.
"Th-That..."
Heo Do-jin-in, the head of Wudang, shot to his feet.
How can a boy of that age...
Shock filled his eyes.
"Amitabha."
Even Beop Jeong could not hide his surprise, chanting the Buddha’s name over and over again.
But the one reacting most strongly of all was none other than Jong Ri-gok, the leader of Southern Edge.
He clenched his fists so hard his whole body trembled. His lips were shaking as pitifully as his hands.
Impossible. This can’t be...!
The Snow Flower Twelve Sword was a sword art developed anew by extracting the essence of the Plum Blossom Sword Art and advancing it further. If the essence of Southern Edge met the essence of the Plum Blossom Sword Art, then it should naturally surpass a mere Plum Blossom Sword Art.
Then why could he not tear his eyes away from Baek Cheon’s plum blossoms?
No! Damn it!
They bloomed.
They scattered.
The plum blossoms of spring.
Carried on a warm breeze that announced the end of winter, the petals spread across the entire mountain.
A rain of flowers engulfing the world.
It was as if the Plum Blossom Sword Art of Mount Hua, once said to have soared over the whole world, was proclaiming its return to the martial world.
"Ah..."
A low groan slipped from Hyun Jong’s parted lips.
"Ahh..."
Moisture began to gather in his eyes.
Are you seeing this, ancestors?
What he had lost.
What Mount Hua had lost.
And yet what had never, ever been allowed to disappear: Mount Hua’s spirit.
All of it was now revealing itself to the world once more.
Baek Cheon possessed a talent that would be welcomed in any sect, yet he had never once tried to leave fallen Mount Hua. Every time Hyun Jong looked at him, he felt gratitude, affection, and a pang of ache all at once.
And now that same boy was creating a sight Hyun Jong would never see again in his life.
Baek Cheon.
He wanted to stand up and shout.
This is Mount Hua’s sword.
This is the sword you all forgot!
Hyun Jong looked at the blooming plum blossoms through eyes brimming with tears.
To put one’s will into the sword.
Such empty, floating words.
In the end, a sword was something moved by the hand. So wasn’t the will already contained within it from the start?
It isn’t about putting will into the sword.
The will had to dwell in his own heart. If he could keep an unshaken center, the sword would naturally follow his mind.
He took a step forward.
The world that had once seemed so far away approached him.
Beyond the sword he had intended to unleash, he set foot in a place he had never reached before.
Strange.
He was wielding his sword with such sharpness, and yet it felt warm somehow.
As if his sword were gently stroking his entire body.
So this is what it meant to say the sword held Mount Hua.
The more he drew his sword, the more he could feel it.
What those before him had tried to place into this sword. What they had tried to pass on.
It was being passed down through the sword.
The will of the one who created the Plum Blossom Sword Art, and the will of those who had continued to develop it.
Everything they had wanted to leave to future generations was contained in this sword exactly as it was.
To carry on.
To add my own will to the will of those who walked before me.
Yes. This was Mount Hua’s sword.
Something began to grow within Baek Cheon.
Roots dug deep into the earth, and the trunk that rose from them stood firm with conviction. At last, branches stretched toward the world, spreading across all creation.
Blooming.
The plum blossoms that bloomed at the ends of those sword-branches now held something different from anything he had ever imagined, and they began to engulf Jin Geum-ryong.
The pure white flowers of Jin Geum-ryong and the red flowers of Baek Cheon twined around each other and began to mingle.
Jin Geum-ryong’s eyes widened.
Baek Cheon’s plum blossoms were softly pushing his own flowers back in every direction.
Not with brute force. But with unwavering resolve!
How?
In Jin Geum-ryong’s mind, a scene from the past began to surface.
That searing image branded into him like a scar, one he could never forget. The very moment Chung Myung’s plum blossoms had erased his snow flowers.
Why?
Why was this happening again?
He had trained.
He had trained until his body was ready to break, then trained even more. All to defeat that devil Chung Myung.
And yet now, before he had even gotten to Chung Myung, he was being blocked by Baek Cheon’s sword, a sword he had never even paid attention to?
"What the hell is different!"
Something enormous inside Jin Geum-ryong began to shatter into pieces.
"Aaaaaaaagh!"
He let out a feral scream and swung his sword with bloodshot eyes.
The snow flowers bloomed, and bloomed again.
Cold, ferocious snow flowers sharpened their petals to a terrifying edge, savage enough to tear apart anything that faced them.
And like foam breaking under a typhoon’s surge, they crashed down on Baek Cheon’s plum blossoms.
But still.
No matter how the waves surged, they could not move a boulder.
Baek Cheon’s plum blossoms, rooted firmly and unmoving, did not yield to Jin Geum-ryong’s snow flowers. They simply advanced.
Sharpness and brilliance were pushed back and back again.
Once Jin Geum-ryong realized his sword could not break Baek Cheon’s plum blossoms, he stared at the flowers before him with wavering eyes.
"I..."
The plum blossoms that had gently shoved aside the snow flowers rose like an illusion, then fell in a spring wind as a rain of flowers.
Whoosh!
The plum blossoms carried on the warm breeze swept across Jin Geum-ryong’s body.
They scattered, and scattered again.
And then...
The plum blossoms that had filled the dueling platform as if they would bury it all vanished in an instant, as though everything had been an illusion from the start.
"..."
Silence engulfed the area.
No one could speak.
They could only stare in shock, every nerve fixed on the dueling platform.
And there, on that platform, two people stood facing each other.
"Hah... Hah..."
Baek Cheon panted heavily, clutching his bloodied wrist with one hand.
"..."
Jin Geum-ryong stared at him wordlessly.
The two of them remained locked in silent confrontation for a long moment.
"You..."
It was Jin Geum-ryong who spoke first.
But whatever he had been about to say, he closed his mouth again and simply looked at Baek Cheon. Only after a moment did he ask,
"...What was that?"
Baek Cheon, pale-faced and staring back at him, opened his mouth.
"The Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art."
Small, but firm.
"Plum Blossom in Full Bloom."
Even swaying as if he might collapse any second, Baek Cheon somehow held on until the end. Jin Geum-ryong gave a pale smile.
"Plum blossoms blooming in such profusion... is it?"
Was that admiration?
Or was it...?
"What a damn annoying name."
Jin Geum-ryong’s body crumpled.
Thud.
Looking down at Jin Geum-ryong as he collapsed unconscious, Baek Cheon quietly closed his eyes.
Senior brother.
Victory and defeat had been decided by only one thing.
Had it been inherited, or had it not?
Baek Cheon had not defeated Jin Geum-ryong. But Mount Hua’s sword had defeated Southern Edge’s sword.
For now...
He smiled, brighter than ever.
For now, that’s enough.
As he turned, sunlight poured down over him.
As though blessing the boy who had surpassed himself and revealed the true sword of Mount Hua.
"The winner is Baek Cheon of Mount Hua!"
Amid the thunderous cheers that crashed down like rain, Baek Cheon slowly began to walk.
Toward the Mount Hua disciples who were rushing toward him, shouting, crying, and running with outstretched arms.