A Gentleman Does Not Go Looking for Trouble (1)
The sword was knocked aside, and Peng Gyeong’s blade dropped toward Yu I-seol’s head, left wide open.
It was a split-second crisis, a scene so sharp it looked as though Yu I-seol’s head might be cleaved in two before anyone could even breathe.
The Mount Hua disciples sprang to their feet with screams. And then, at that very instant—
Bang!
The sword Yu I-seol had just flung away came slicing back like a shaft of light and smashed into Peng Gyeong’s blade.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Once. Twice. Three times. And again!
In the blink of an eye, twelve consecutive strikes crashed down on Peng Gyeong’s blade.
One sword strike alone could never force back a blade like that. But if one could unleash many at once, then bearing that power was not such a difficult thing.
Bang!
The moment the final, twelfth strike slammed into the blade, Peng Gyeong’s shoulder jerked back. Then the hundred-pound saber was knocked flying behind him.
What?
Before he could even gasp in shock, Yu I-seol’s sword was already stabbing toward his throat.
"Quick."
Chung Myung murmured lowly.
Quick meant speed.
"Hk!"
Peng Gyeong twisted his body sideways and barely dodged the incoming sword. But he failed to evade it completely. His shoulder split open in a long gash, spraying blood.
At that moment, Yu I-seol’s sword, which had come to a dead stop in midair, sharply twisted and smashed into the waist of the body Peng Gyeong had contorted away.
Thud!
Peng Gyeong barely managed to block with the flat of his blade, but the force of the blow sent his body rolling across the ground like a child had kicked a ball.
"Overbearing."
Overbearing meant strength.
"Damn it!"
Was it because he was ashamed to have been driven to the ground by a swordswoman’s forceful strike? Peng Gyeong roared in fury and lurched back to his feet.
But what he saw as he rose was Yu I-seol’s sword, streaking toward him in dozens of sword afterimages.
"Change."
Change meant transformation.
With his waist not even fully straightened, Peng Gyeong had no choice but to throw himself back to the ground.
He rolled.
The lazy donkey roll.
It was exactly what it sounded like: a donkey rolling on the ground. For a martial artist, it meant rolling across the earth to evade an enemy’s attack. And it was also one of the movement techniques most loathed by those who valued face above all else.
Only after rolling several times did Peng Gyeong finally escape Yu I-seol’s range. Clenching his teeth, he pushed himself upright again.
"Y-you damn—"
He could not regain his composure.
There was no question the opponent was not stronger than he was.
The inner force carried in her sword was inferior to what lay in his saber, and the power she possessed was not even half of his.
Even if her speed was greater, wasn’t it obvious which was superior: speed with force behind it, or speed with no force at all?
And yet, for some reason, he could not gain the upper hand for even an instant.
Don’t get excited.
Peng Gyeong bit down hard on his lower lip. The skin split, and blood trickled down. But the sharp pain in his lip had the strange effect of clearing his rage-clouded mind a little.
I have the advantage in strength. I need to use that.
If he kept taking the enemy’s attacks like this, the situation would only grow worse. Yu I-seol’s sword was so ghostly and unpredictable that it was difficult to defend against perfectly.
Then attack. Yes—attack first.
Swish.
Peng Gyeong’s feet brushed the ground as he burst forward like a hunting hawk. For a man of his size, his footwork was oddly graceful and swift.
Seizing his chance, he closed the distance at once and swung his saber in a blur.
He abandoned brute force in favor of speed.
He had realized that if he stubbornly tried to crush her head-on, he might end up on the losing side instead. So he aimed for Yu I-seol’s wrist with the fastest saber technique he could unleash.
Black Tiger Severing Blade.
Hungry Tiger Pursues the Deer.
Like a starving tiger chasing a deer, Peng Gyeong’s saber was terrifyingly fast and unnervingly light.
In an instant, five saber strikes came flying in, each aimed at Yu I-seol’s sword.
If he could not chase her body, then he would chase the sword.
Because the moment he shattered that blade, the outcome would already be decided.
But Yu I-seol’s eyes, though watching the incoming strikes, only sank even lower.
Clang! Clang!
Her sword precisely blocked each saber strike. With every impact, the sword was driven backward, but it was never knocked away.
Still, there was a fundamental difference between the two.
Each time sword met saber, Yu I-seol’s body was pushed back a little farther, and her sword grew a little slower.
Now!
Peng Gyeong, thinking he had caught his opening, clenched his teeth and poured every ounce of his inner force into the saber.
His ultimate technique, the Black Tiger Severing Blade’s Five Tigers Wild Dance, exploded outward.
The crimson saber qi infused into the blade drew five streaks of meteors through the air.
It was as if five scarlet flying tigers were charging ahead with all their might.
The five streams of saber qi shot toward Yu I-seol as if they would smash her apart any second.
But in that very moment—
Swishhhh.
Yu I-seol’s sword traced a smooth and supple curve. The lightly extended blade touched the side of the incoming saber qi, then gently pushed it aside.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
All five streams of saber qi shifted off course and swept past Yu I-seol’s body by the narrowest margin.
"Soft."
Softness.
Peng Gyeong’s eyes flew wide open.
He could not seem to accept what he was seeing, and his shock showed plainly on his face. Without giving him a moment to recover, Yu I-seol swung her sword again.
I-I have to block it…!
And then Peng Gyeong saw it.
From the tip of Yu I-seol’s sword, which was flying toward him, red plum blossoms began to bloom in clusters.
The plum blossom pattern formed of sword qi was so dazzling that it was impossible to tell what was real sword and what was only illusion.
"Ah…"
The saber he swung on reflex only cut empty air.
Yu I-seol’s sword, having slipped past his blade together with the shape of plum blossoms, came to a halt right before his throat.
"……"
A stinging pain pricked his neck, and a drop of blood slid down from his Adam’s apple.
Staring at the sword aimed at his throat, Peng Gyeong let out a long, heavy sigh.
"……I lost."
"Good match."
Yu I-seol withdrew her sword, slid it back into its scabbard, and then offered Peng Gyeong a martial salute.
And then the arena erupted in explosive cheers.
"Illusion."
Illusion was something that deceived.
Watching Yu I-seol bow, Chung Myung spoke softly.
"Not all swords are the same. Every sword art has its own sword intent it pursues."
Baek Cheon nodded.
"The senior brothers only obsess over drawing out forms more precisely, swinging the sword faster and harder. But a sword is not only that."
Chung Myung was suddenly serious. With his usual mischief stripped away, he looked like a different person altogether.
"Quick sword. Overbearing sword. Transformation sword. Soft sword. Illusory sword. Heavy sword. And many more besides. In the end, swordsmanship is all about how well you understand that intent."
Baek Cheon looked at him with grave eyes.
Chung Myung had never once spoken to them like this before. Until now, he had always said that training the body and keeping to the fundamentals was enough.
But what he was speaking about now was, quite literally, sword intent—the things a swordsman had to know in order to reach a higher plane.
"Think about it. What kind of sword you’re using. Mount Hua’s sword is built on speed, transformation, and illusion."
"You mean it changes quickly and deceives the opponent."
"Right. That’s Mount Hua’s sword. Then what about Wudang?"
"Gentleness."
"Exactly. Soft sword."
Chung Myung looked around at them all and said,
"Point Sun Sword Art of Pointing Star uses the most extreme kind of quick sword, and Zhongnan’s Heavenly Thirty-Six Swords are based on heaviness and change. Heavy sword and transformation sword."
By then, Yu I-seol had already come down from the stage.
Chung Myung turned his gaze toward her.
"But if you’re a swordsman, you have to master not only the sword intent in your own blade, but every sword intent under heaven. If I mainly use quick sword and can’t use heavy sword, then that just means I’m half a man."
"Then, Sago…"
"Yeah. Sago is building it up. Slowly, over all that long time. All those swords."
Chung Myung’s lips curled upward.
"A sword is absurdly simple, but endlessly difficult. And yet people keep challenging it, keep trying to understand it. They never stop pursuing a higher realm."
His head gave a slow nod.
"That’s what a swordsman is."
"……"
Something swayed deep in Baek Cheon’s chest.
This was a story different from mere strength.
Anyone who held a sword pursued its ultimate meaning. But to keep walking that distant, grueling path without ever stopping—that was no easy thing.
Yi Song-baek?
No.
If Yi Song-baek was the one who silently endured the work placed before him, then Yu I-seol was something like a seeker of the Dao itself.
When Mount Hua’s sword was seen as a sword that pursued the blade’s path, then Yu I-seol’s sword was perhaps the most genuine Mount Hua sword of all.
How embarrassing.
Baek Cheon’s cheeks colored slightly.
He had taken pride in having unfolded Mount Hua’s plum blossoms. But while he had been content with his own accomplishments, Yu I-seol had merely kept chasing the sword in silence.
To Baek Cheon, that sight was blindingly radiant.
"……She’s so perfect I don’t even have words."
At Yoon Jong’s dazed murmur from beside him, Chung Myung snorted.
"There’s no such thing as a perfect sword. Only swords that look perfect. The moment that sword meets someone stronger, it’s full of holes."
"Hmm."
"That’s why it never ends. Swordsmanship."
At Chung Myung’s words, everyone nodded.
Good results.
Accomplishments they might never again achieve, and the cheers that poured down on them.
All of it had quietly seeped in and planted pride in the hearts of the Mount Hua disciples.
But Yu I-seol’s sword and Chung Myung’s words were enough to blow away every last trace of that conceit.
Watching his senior and junior disciples fall into thought, Chung Myung laughed inwardly.
I did something that doesn’t suit me.
Seeing Yu I-seol’s sword had stirred him up so much that he’d gone and lectured too much. Even knowing it was a little early for these chicks.
Still.
One day, they would come to truly understand the meaning of what he had said. And when that day came, Mount Hua’s sword would become all the deeper for it.
A sect was like that.
No matter how strong one or two people were, there were limits. Everyone looked in the same direction, yet each pursued a different sword. Only when those swords gathered together, clashing fiercely and growing through that struggle again and again, did they truly become one sect.
It’s still a long way off.
But someday, perhaps.
Like Mount Hua in the past.
Someday.
The first person to greet Yu I-seol when she returned to her seat, naturally, was Dang Soso.
"Sago."
Dang Soso held out a wet towel and looked at Yu I-seol with tear-bright eyes.
There was so much she wanted to say, and so many emotions churning inside her, yet she found it hard to put any of them into words.
"Did you see it?"
"Yes, Sago. It was… it was so cool."
Yu I-seol gave a small shake of her head.
"Clumsy."
"Huh?"
"Weight distribution was clumsy. Felt like the body was leaning back. Probably lacking lower-body training."
"……"
"Too much force at the fingertips. Still not soft enough. I keep thinking about it, but I keep making the same mistakes. This won’t do."
The Mount Hua disciples stared at her in disgusted silence.
Watching her recite her own shortcomings with an expressionless face made something in their stomachs tighten uncomfortably.
Even Chung Myung shut his mouth, as if he couldn’t quite handle this either.
"B-but you still won!"
"Winning and losing don’t matter. What I need is…"
Yu I-seol’s gaze drifted toward the distant sky.
She stared at that far-off expanse in silence for a while, then let out a low sigh.
"What I have to do is complete it. The perfect plum blossom."
"……"
"Still far away. Too far."
Those who watched her felt something they could not quite name.
A faint, aching wistfulness—and a sorrow they could not identify.
Before they could even figure out what that feeling was, Yu I-seol abruptly turned her gaze to Chung Myung.
"Match."
"……Huh?"
"You’re still rough. I’ll check through sparring."
"……Why is it always me?"
"No matter how much I swing, you don’t die. You can use killing moves. Go ahead."
"……"
Chung Myung slowly turned and looked at Baek Cheon.
"Sasuk, there’s one thing I didn’t tell you earlier."
"……What?"
"Usually, people who sink too deep into swordsmanship all end up insane."
"……"
"Be careful, Sasuk."
"……"
Baek Cheon once again came to the bitter realization that not a single sane person lived in this sect.