That’s Something We’ll Have to Wait and See (4)
He Do-jin-in took the center of the raised platform where the sect leaders had gathered.
It should have been Beop Jeong’s seat, but today neither Beop Jeong nor Hyun Jong had come up onto the platform. They remained below with their own disciples instead.
"Hmm."
He Do-jin-in’s eyes, fixed on the sparring stage, sank into a heavy, somber look.
"Heh. So at last, we’ve reached the final."
"Aren’t they truly remarkable talents? Whoever wins, it will be a good thing."
At the conversation drifting around him, He Do-jin-in’s eyes narrowed in visible displeasure.
A good thing?
What nonsense.
Whichever of the two won, nothing good would happen for the Gupailbang.
If Hye Yeon of Shaolin took the championship, Shaolin’s dominance would only grow firmer. If Chung Myung of Mount Hua won, then the Nine Sects would be burdened by Mount Hua, rising up from below and striking at them.
This match will decide the next several decades.
Most of the sect leaders of the Nine Sects and the heads of the Five Great Families who had failed to reach the finals dismissed the tournament as nothing more than a competition among the younger generation and tried to belittle its meaning.
But He Do-jin-in could not do that.
Impossible.
Hye Yeon of Shaolin and Chung Myung of Mount Hua were both anything but ordinary junior disciples.
Even within Shaolin, Hye Yeon was regarded as a talent who appeared only once every few hundred years, and Chung Myung was the same.
To be blunt, the day those two truly took hold of the martial world was not far off.
Thus, this duel would determine not only the direction of the entire martial world going forward, but also which of the future candidates for the number one master in the world stood closer to that throne.
How could that meaning be considered small?
He Do-jin-in glanced subtly around him. Though their mouths spoke calm words, the eyes of the sect leaders watching the stage were razor-sharp.
They were deciding where to place their support depending on the result of this match.
Reading the meaning behind those looks, He Do-jin-in smiled faintly and turned his gaze to Beop Jeong sitting in front of the sparring stage.
This must be vexing for you, Bangjang, to see things not go the way you planned.
The exclusion of the Gupailbang and Shaolin’s complete victory.
That was probably the script Beop Jeong had prepared when he set this tournament in motion. Of course, the exclusion of the Nine Sects could already be called a success. After all, not a single disciple from the Nine Sects aside from Shaolin had made it into the quarterfinals.
But complete victory?
That depends on the result of this duel.
If Hye Yeon won, Beop Jeong’s plan would be perfect. No—rather, it would unfold even more brilliantly than originally intended.
But if he lost?
Then it would be worse than if this whole situation had never been created at all.
If Shaolin lost to another sect of the Nine Sects, they could at least save face to some degree.
But if they lost to Mount Hua, a sect once driven out of the Nine Sects and then yielded the championship to them, questions of responsibility would begin to rise against Shaolin.
Having drawn all the attention to itself, Shaolin would have to bear all of the blame as well. If they lost in this final, Shaolin would stand to lose much and gain nothing.
Perhaps that was why Beop Jeong’s expression did not seem especially bright.
He Do-jin-in’s gaze rose to the sparring stage.
Chung Myung and Hye Yeon.
The two stood facing each other.
Interesting.
He didn’t know which of the two would come to represent the future of the martial world, but whoever it was, when later generations spoke of their achievements, this tournament would be the place where those stories began.
The one who lost here would inevitably become the villain who made the other shine.
"That’s what history is."
So, which one of them would step into the bright light?
As though settling in to enjoy the show, He Do-jin-in leaned back deeply in his chair.
The surroundings fell silent.
At first the cheers had been so loud they seemed to stuff the ears full, but as the two men’s standoff dragged on, the sound gradually thinned away.
Before long, it became so quiet it was hard to believe this many people were gathered here.
In that silence, Chung Myung stared at Hye Yeon without a word.
Hye Yeon’s eyes were sunk low and heavy.
The shyness he had sometimes shown on the sparring stage was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his gaze overflowed with fighting spirit so intensely it almost made his status as a monk feel out of place.
Eyes looking at a villain?
Well, of course.
From your point of view, that would be only natural.
The abbot of Shaolin, soaring over the world, had personally extended a hand to his opponent. If that hand was refused, then at the very least proper courtesy should have been shown. He probably could not accept that the abbot he revered like heaven had been humiliated by a third-generation brat.
If the roles were reversed and Chung Myung saw a third-generation disciple from some other sect being lectured by a sect leader senior brother or Hyun Jong, then?
That sect would have to hang up its signboard that very day. Chung Myung would foam at the mouth and run wild like a mad dog.
So Hye Yeon’s position was understandable.
Rather…
I wasn’t able to do that.
Even knowing he should have, he had tried to preserve exactly the spirit and righteousness that his sect senior brother had spoken of. He had not stopped the world and the martial realm from being placed above Mount Hua.
And so Hye Yeon’s expression now stirred something strange in Chung Myung.
You’re not wrong.
If this weren’t such a place, he might even have praised him for it.
But.
Chung Myung’s eyes moved past Hye Yeon to Beop Jeong seated behind the sparring stage.
A hardened face.
A face that, unlike his usual self, could not hide its discomfort. Watching that expression made the knot in Chung Myung’s stomach loosen just a little.
Don’t look at me like that with such a pissed-off face.
The one who ought to be angry here was him.
Then Hye Yeon spoke first.
"You have crossed the line, benefactor."
Chung Myung scratched at his ear with a bored expression.
"What’re you yapping about, baldie?"
Then he gave a light nod and said in a flat, emotionless voice, "You’re the one who crossed the line."
"Benefactor!"
At Chung Myung’s unchanged attitude, anger finally colored Hye Yeon’s face.
He had tried to speak as gently as possible, but this fellow simply would not listen. It was impossible to believe he was a disciple of Mount Hua, a sect once so renowned it had ruled the world as a great sword school.
"How can you be so reckless…."
"Shut your mouth, you idiot."
"……."
Hye Yeon’s eyes flew wide open.
Chung Myung drew the sword hanging at his waist, blade and scabbard together.
"You look like you’ve got something damn important to say, but I don’t feel like getting lectured by some spoiled little punk who grew up getting pampered in mighty Shaolin."
"You brazen…!"
"Where do you think the words coming out of your mouth are even coming from?"
"……."
Doubt filled Hye Yeon’s eyes.
From where?
What on earth did that mean?
Chung Myung’s eyes, looking at him, were colder than ever.
"If you weren’t a disciple of Shaolin, you wouldn’t even be able to lift your head in front of me right now."
The reason you can strut around so arrogantly is simple.
You’re a disciple of Shaolin.
The number one sect under heaven, Shaolin.
But the thing is—
The one who made that Shaolin able to swagger around all this time was none other than Mount Hua.
Though of course he himself didn’t know it.
Whether that lecture was right or whether it was garbage didn’t matter at all.
There was only one thing that was certain.
"You don’t have the right to lecture me."
Those who stood under the name of the Gupailbang had no business opening their mouths in front of Chung Myung. No—they had no business mouthing off in front of Mount Hua.
"You don’t get it, do you?"
He didn’t.
He could never understand.
Why Chung Myung was this angry.
If even one sect—just one—among all the Nine Sects and Five Great Families gathered here in Shaolin had come to Mount Hua first and shown them respect, Chung Myung would not be this furious.
Just one.
Only one was all it would have taken.
But no such place existed.
Chung Myung’s gaze drifted to the platform.
Seeing the sect leaders of the Nine Sects looking down at them with airs of superiority made killing intent surge up from deep inside him.
It was only a hundred years ago.
Far too short a time to be forgotten. At the very least, the sect leaders of the Nine Sects would know what sacrifices Mount Hua had paid and what sins they themselves had committed.
Yet none of them had ever bothered to offer even a formal apology to the Mount Hua that had returned.
Complete disregard. And turning away.
Only after Mount Hua began achieving good results did they start sending gifts as though nothing had happened, hoping to bury the past.
That was what really drove Chung Myung insane.
What had they died for?
What in the world had his martial brothers sacrificed themselves for?
Did they throw away those precious lives so that those damn bastards could live comfortably?
Chung Myung had waited.
Throughout the entire tournament.
For that long stretch of time, he had forced himself to grin and shout and make a racket.
Loudly—so loudly that anyone gathered here would know beyond doubt that Mount Hua was here.
But it was all meaningless.
Even as news of Mount Hua spread far and wide, even as they produced good results and restored the lost arts of their past and proved themselves anew, those people still dismissed Mount Hua as nothing more than a sect reviving the past.
No one.
Nowhere.
No one had tried to make the deaths of Mount Hua’s martial brothers mean anything. No one had made Mount Hua’s sacrifices worth anything.
All it would have taken was a single sentence.
That because of Mount Hua, the martial world had been able to come this far.
No grand praise was needed.
No tearful pleading was needed.
Just that one sentence.
But they hadn’t even spoken that much. They had wiped their mouths clean as though none of it had ever existed and looked down at Mount Hua as if they were being commendable.
That damn situation was what made Chung Myung unable to hold back.
That silence.
Keeping their mouths shut would have been nothing more than a trivial act for them. But that silence turned his martial brothers’ noble deaths into dogshit.
Into dogshit….
"...Fine, whatever."
Kwaaaang!
Chung Myung drove his sword, still in its scabbard, straight into the sparring stage. The hard blue stone split apart with a cracking scream.
At that bizarre act, everyone tilted their heads in confusion.
What is he trying to do?
And Chung Myung’s next move also slipped cleanly beyond both common sense and expectation.
Leaving the sword planted in the ground, he took one step forward.
As if he intended to face Hye Yeon without a sword at all.
"...Benefactor?"
At Hye Yeon’s puzzled voice, Chung Myung spoke in a chilly tone.
"I don’t even care whether you understand anymore. The result’s gonna be the same anyway."
If they weren’t going to bow their heads willingly after seeing his goodwill, then he’d force them to.
"Beating you down with force and shoving your head into the ground until you kneel doesn’t sound too bad either. Sure, Sect Leader Senior Brother would hate it, but I didn’t listen to that old man back then either."
Hye Yeon’s face stiffened.
"I don’t understand what you’re saying, but trying to face this humble monk without a sword is reckless."
"Reckless?"
Chung Myung snorted.
"Draw your sword. And properly—"
It happened then.
Chung Myung’s body vanished from where he stood, as if it had simply dropped out of existence. Hye Yeon, losing sight of him for an instant, was so startled that he hauled his senses up to their limit.
There!
He found Chung Myung’s position. But he could not be glad about it, because before his senses had even finished warning him, Chung Myung was already right in front of his nose.
Chung Myung’s fist slammed into Hye Yeon’s jaw as Hye Yeon instinctively shot out a punch of his own.
Kwaaaang!
Flung backward by the unexpected blow, Hye Yeon rolled across the ground. He only managed to stop himself after tumbling several times and grabbing the edge of the sparring stage.
He stared back in shock, his face completely dumbfounded.
Chung Myung only snapped at him coldly.
"Get up."
Hye Yeon was a genius Shaolin had poured its heart and soul into creating.
In other words, he was Shaolin’s pride—and the embodiment of the pride of those arrogant Nine Sects.
So they would begin here.
"Get up."
Hye Yeon’s dazed eyes and Chung Myung’s freezing gaze met in midair.
But Chung Myung was not looking only at Hye Yeon.
Behind him, he took in not only Beop Jeong, who looked just as flustered, but also the Shaolin disciples guarding that old monk.
Then, as though biting the words out, Chung Myung said, "Get up. I’ll crush that pathetic little pride of yours properly."