Can You Become the Spark? (3)
Looking at the stairs leading up to the sparring stage, Yi Song-baek drew a low breath.
They were nothing more than stairs.
But if Chung Myung was waiting at the top, then they were no longer just stairs at all.
Stairs are rational.
If you climb them, you can go higher. In exchange for a bit of effort, you can expect a clear ascent.
But unlike those unmistakable stairs, martial arts never paid out for your effort so neatly.
No matter how many times you swung your sword, and swung it again, your certainty that you were on the right path only grew more blurred.
When he thought of it that way, perhaps Yi Song-baek was the lucky one.
Because he had someone.
Someone who could confirm whether the road he was walking was truly the right one.
Step. Step. Step.
With steady footsteps, Yi Song-baek climbed the stairs and stood on the stage, staring at the man waiting across from him.
He had a face with all the tension of a man out for a casual stroll.
His long hair had been tied back, but even that was a mess, strands slipping down over his face. And his expression was truly as indifferent as it could be.
By all appearances, he didn’t look like a master at all.
And yet Yi Song-baek knew.
The man standing before him was a powerhouse incomparable to Jin Geum-ryong or Baek Cheon.
“It’s good to see you again, Mount Hua Divine Dragon.”
“...Just call me Chung Myung.”
“Then I shall. Chung Myung Dojang.”
Yi Song-baek looked at Chung Myung with a strangely thoughtful expression.
He really is an odd person.
When he had first met Chung Myung, he had had no real reputation to speak of. Mount Hua was a sect slowly collapsing in indifference, and Chung Myung had been nothing more than the youngest disciple of that already-broken sect.
Since then, the difference between then and now had become so vast that the phrase “the heavens and earth were overturned” felt appropriate.
The Chung Myung of today was the greatest among Mount Hua’s younger generation, the man who had swept across the world like a storm—and beyond that, he was now openly acknowledged as the finest of the entire younger generation in the world.
And yet....
“Are you smiling?”
“N-no.”
Yi Song-baek hurriedly rubbed at the corners of his mouth.
“I just thought it was strange that Chung Myung Dojang hasn’t changed at all from before, and somehow it made me laugh.”
Chung Myung tilted his head.
“Why would that be funny?”
“I don’t know either. Still, it’s amusing.”
“...Well, think whatever you want.”
Chung Myung snorted a laugh too.
Of course I haven’t changed, you idiots.
If Chung Myung had been a real child, his shoulders would probably be lifted as high as Mount Hua by now. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything in front of him.
But in truth, he was an old hand who had been through everything—land battles, sea battles, and even sky battles if you wanted to get technical.
Would someone like that really keep puffing up just because people acknowledged him as a member of the younger generation? If anything, it would make him feel a little disgusted with himself.
Chung Myung lifted his gaze and looked at Yi Song-baek.
Seeing that Yi Song-baek’s expression was at least reasonably composed, he wore a faint, almost mischievous smile.
“So, looks like Southern Edge’s gone to shit?”
“....”
“Not just gone to shit, but completely smashed flat?”
“....”
At the sudden teasing, Yi Song-baek’s shoulders trembled.
That mouth really hasn’t changed at all.
It was like he was gouging out an old wound, then opening it wider just to pour salt inside.
“...There is still hope.”
“Eh. Doesn’t look like it. If you can find hope there, then gold ought to be pouring out of a beggar’s cave. Still, sure. Who knows? Maybe if you dig deep enough in that beggar’s cave, you’ll hit a gold vein.”
How could someone be so brilliantly obnoxious?
Veins stood out on Yi Song-baek’s forehead.
Say no more.
He should not be speaking with this man. He felt like he had learned that lesson before, so why was he getting dragged into it again?
Then Chung Myung grinned and said, “How about coming over to Mount Hua?”
“...Pardon?”
Yi Song-baek’s eyes flew wide open in genuine shock. It wasn’t excitement; he was just too startled.
“I am a disciple of Southern Edge.”
“I know.”
Chung Myung picked at his ear and blew out a breath.
“So what? It’d take a year to clean out all the filthy water you learned from Southern Edge and refill you with Mount Hua’s clean spring water. Hmm... no, not you. You’d be done in six months.”
“....”
“Wouldn’t it be better to move from a dead sect to one that’s actually going somewhere?”
A bitter smile touched Yi Song-baek’s lips.
If this had been three years ago, Southern Edge might well have made that exact offer to Chung Myung—if they had only known what kind of existence he was within their own sect at the time.
But now it was Chung Myung making that offer to Yi Song-baek.
“To be honest, I am a little pleased by the offer.”
“...But?”
“I’ll decline.”
“Oh?”
At that firm answer, Chung Myung looked at him with a face that said this was getting interesting.
“Why?”
“The reason is simple. I am a disciple of Southern Edge.”
“....”
Yi Song-baek slowly drew his sword.
“Just as you did not abandon the ruined Mount Hua, I will not abandon my own sect.”
“Even when it’s burned to ashes?”
“Then....”
His calm answer continued.
“I will become the spark that sets it alight again.”
There was no wavering in Yi Song-baek’s eyes.
This was not a matter of strength or weakness.
Only a swordsman who held to his own path without a shred of doubt could have eyes like that.
A smile bloomed at the corner of Chung Myung’s mouth.
“Can you become the spark?”
“That is why I came to stand here.”
“Oh?”
Chung Myung nodded as if he liked him more and more, then loosened the sword at his waist.
“So that’s how it is.”
And then he lifted the sword still in its scabbard.
“All right, then. Let’s see.”
As Chung Myung leveled the scabbarded sword at him, Yi Song-baek’s brows drew together slightly.
“Aren’t you going to draw it?”
“I will if I need to.”
Yi Song-baek nodded quietly. He understood perfectly well the difference in skill between himself and Chung Myung. He was not strong enough to demand that Chung Myung draw his blade.
Don’t waver.
What he needed to do was confirm himself, not puff up some useless pride.
Yi Song-baek took a small breath and lowered his head.
I’ll pour everything I have into this!
Then, finally, he lifted his head with determination in his eyes.
“Now then! Please, com—”
“What are you blabbing about?”
“Huh?”
In that instant, Chung Myung shot forward like lightning and brought the sword down toward Yi Song-baek’s head!
Yi Song-baek’s eyes widened until they seemed ready to split open.
BOOOOOOM!
“....”
A heavy silence crashed down for a heartbeat.
Thud.
Yi Song-baek, frozen stiff like a wooden doll, pitched forward.
“What are you putting on airs for?”
Standing before him, Chung Myung crouched down with a grin.
Baek Cheon, watching from below the stage, found himself clapping without realizing it.
“He’s dead.”
“He should be, right?”
“Yeah. He has to die after that.”
The Mount Hua disciples watching the bout muttered their own reactions one after another.
“But didn’t that bastard just say something about the seed of Southern Edge or whatever?”
“Looks like he’s planning to gather up all those seeds and set them on fire.”
“That’s so very Chung Myung. He’ll build hope for you, then cut its throat while it’s still breathing. As expected, he’s the kind of man who’d do what ordinary people can’t without even blinking. Incredible. Makes you respect him, honestly.”
But no matter what remarks drifted up from below, it seemed they never reached Chung Myung’s ears.
Still lying face-down and trembling, Yi Song-baek felt the tip of the sword scabbard poke at his shoulder again and again.
“Dead?”
“....”
“Doesn’t look dead.”
“....”
“Come on, get up. You can’t go down from that. Didn’t you say you were going to revive Southern Edge? What kind of man saves a sect and gets knocked flat in one hit? Hurry up and get up.”
“....”
Once again, everyone—including Baek Cheon—looked on and smiled faintly.
“He’s an asura, all right. He’s clearly determined to get a fallen opponent back on his feet just so he can beat him down again.”
“Magnificent, truly magnificent. At that level, he could still perform his duties perfectly well even if he fell straight into hell. Lord Yama would probably welcome him as a brother.”
“Sasuk, you should be grateful. You could’ve ended up in that state in the next bout.”
“...Starting today, I’m bowing twice each night in the direction my elder brother is in before I go to sleep.”
“Isn’t that something you do for the dead?”
“Exactly.”
“....”
Jo Gul stood there, mouth hanging open.
Okay, this guy is definitely not normal either.
After observing the situation for a while, the referee raised a hand.
“This match goes to Mount Hua’s Chung Myung—”
“Wait, hold on!”
“Hm?”
At Chung Myung’s shout, the surrounding noise quieted for a moment.
Then a groan drifted out from Yi Song-baek’s mouth.
“Krrrr... ngh...”
With trembling hands, Yi Song-baek braced himself against the ground and managed to push his body upright. After painfully getting to his feet, he swayed for a moment before once again raising his sword and settling into position.
“I-I’m all right. Please continue....”
The man acting as referee stepped closer, concern etched across his face.
“Are you truly all right?”
“I-I can continue. I was foolish and let my guard down... that’s all.”
“...That looked like a rather excessive ambush.”
“No. It was simply because I let my guard down....”
Since Yi Song-baek kept insisting, the referee had no choice but to nod with an awkward expression.
“Then be careful.”
“Yes!”
Once the referee leaped back, Yi Song-baek looked at Chung Myung and apologized.
“I’m sorry. I got too worked up. I’m fine, so please continue....”
Drip.
A single line of blood, flowing from Yi Song-baek’s head, began to run down his face.
“...You really don’t look fine.”
“I truly am fine.”
“Feels like you’re about to die, though.”
“I-I’m fine! J-just a moment.”
He tore off a strip of clothing and wrapped it tightly around his head. Only after completely stopping the bleeding did he bow to Chung Myung with an awkward expression.
“Thank you for waiting.”
“Hmm.”
Wiping away the blood from his face improved his appearance somewhat, but he still looked rather pitiful.
The audience, too, seemed to have become invested in Yi Song-baek, and one by one they began shouting encouragement.
“Hang in there, Yi Song-baek!”
“Take down that demon!”
“You coward, ambushing him like that!”
“Do you have no shame? No shame at all!”
Hearing that, Chung Myung picked at his ear.
“What are they talking about?”
The fool who lost focus on a sparring stage was the one at fault.
This was a sparring stage, so he only got his head cracked open. On a battlefield, it would’ve been perfectly reasonable to lose his neck over it.
Unlike the spectators, Yi Song-baek seemed to understand that very well, and he said in a deeply apologetic voice, “I know it is shameless to ask, but... may I trouble you once more?”
“Hmm.”
Chung Myung scratched at his cheek.
“You’re already dead.”
“...As I thought.”
Yi Song-baek let out a disappointed sigh.
“But still... even after dying once, a chance remained.”
“...Pardon?”
“Ah, nothing. It’s not something you’d understand.”
Chung Myung snorted and lifted his sword again, pointing it at Yi Song-baek.
“Let’s try again.”
“Thank you!”
This time, Yi Song-baek glared at Chung Myung with hardened resolve, utterly determined not to let his guard down again as he raised his sword.
I have died once.
His sword was a sword of defense.
And yet he had failed to stop the other man’s opening strike. It was a mistake that could have cost him his neck.
It was no use making excuses that this mistake wouldn’t have happened if his opponent weren’t Chung Myung in the first place.
In any case, his opponent now was Chung Myung.
So there’s nothing to fear.
The tension in his body loosened little by little. Somehow, bleeding may even have helped him a little.
The thoughts in his head, once so tangled they seemed about to burst, began to settle into clarity.
Yi Song-baek’s world started to sharpen.
Everything other than himself and Chung Myung on the sparring stage faded into a blur and disappeared.
“Oh?”
Seeing that terrifying concentration, Chung Myung’s lips curled upward.
As expected.
No matter how many times he looked, this guy only became more interesting.
Then let’s really check.
Let’s see whether you truly have the right to walk this road.
Chung Myung quietly took an upper stance.
He spread both feet shoulder-width apart and held the sword calmly out in front of him.
It was the stance basic to every swordsman, the foundation of Mount Hua itself—the posture that served as the starting form of the Yukhap Sword.
“So you intend to pursue perfection?”
“...I know it’s difficult, but yes.”
“Difficult?”
Chung Myung’s voice lowered slightly.
“Is that so?”
At that very moment, Chung Myung stepped forward and slashed down with his sword.
And Yi Song-baek saw it.
Just by taking a single step forward, Chung Myung had instantly closed the distance.
What the—?
And then Chung Myung’s sword came crashing down on him.
KA-A-A-ANG!
The dust gathered on the sparring stage was blasted in every direction. The sword aura turned into a shockwave that swept over the spectators.
Blood vessels bulged in Yi Song-baek’s eyes.
W-what is this...?
It was a simple downward slash.
Nothing more than a simple downward slash. But even merely blocking it twisted Yi Song-baek’s hands as though they might snap at any moment, while his legs and lower back screamed in protest.
Through the gap between their crossed swords, Chung Myung’s eyes burned with an icy light.
“You’d better feel it thoroughly. What kind of path you’re trying to walk.”
A chilling voice and overwhelming pressure.
Cold sweat began to trickle down Yi Song-baek’s spine.