He Wouldn’t Die Easily (1)
The sword, which had been bent as limber as a willow branch, snapped back and lunged at the enemy once more.
Clang!
But the blade, carrying a sharp killing intent, was blocked by a hand soaked black as ink and bounced away weakly.
This is bad!
Hyun Sang’s face hardened in an instant.
The arm of Dokhyulsu, blackened all the way to the shoulder, gleamed with a chilling sheen.
Hyun Sang’s Plum Blossom Sword Art, a technique that could rip steel like paper, hadn’t even left a scratch on that pitch-black arm.
So this is the level of a unit leader in Maninbang?
Maninbang had more than ten combat units, and each of their leaders was one of the faction’s strongest fighters.
True, above them stood the boss, the elders, and plenty of other experts who did not belong to any unit, but if someone held the position of unit leader, it meant they were at least among Maninbang’s top twenty fighters.
A master from Maninbang on par with the Nine Great Sects.
A strange feeling surged up in him.
Hyun Sang was the Martial Hall Leader of Mount Hua.
He had once held the position of Mount Hua’s strongest fighter, before Chung Myung—who had now long since surpassed him—entered the sect.
And yet now Hyun Sang was struggling to handle even one unit leader of Maninbang.
If not for the Honwon Dan Chung Myung had given him, he might already be lying cold and dead on the ground.
"Hoo."
He let out a long breath.
His wrist ached, and his lower back felt tight. Worse still, unlike him, aged and worn down by time, Dokhyulsu still had the vigor of youth in his body.
And yet there was a reason Hyun Sang could not retreat.
Was it to protect the disciples? Or to preserve the name of Mount Hua?
I don’t know.
Perhaps those noble-sounding reasons didn’t mean anything at all.
He was not like Hyun Jong. He could not love the disciples with such boundless tenderness.
Nor was he like Hyun Young. Hyun Young would throw away his life without hesitation if it were for Mount Hua, but Hyun Sang could not devote himself to the sect with that same blind fervor.
He was simply…
"You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind."
At Dokhyulsu’s words, Hyun Sang’s brows twitched slightly.
The ease on his enemy’s face made Hyun Sang’s fingertips go numb.
Dokhyulsu clicked his tongue.
"It’s a pity, really, getting old. If we’d met ten years earlier, maybe this would’ve been a decent match."
Hyun Sang gave a helpless smile.
The enemy’s words pierced his chest like a blade. So cold it hurt.
"If you give up, I might let you die quickly."
At that last, half-hearted attempt at persuasion, Hyun Sang looked at Dokhyulsu with somber eyes.
Wasn’t that laughable?
"Kid."
Hyun Sang lifted his sword and pointed it at Dokhyulsu.
"What do you think the man standing before you is?"
"…"
"An old swordsman who’s lost his strength? Or maybe just some old fool clinging to the title of Mount Hua elder and basking in borrowed authority?"
Perhaps neither answer would be entirely wrong.
And yet.
"Listen carefully."
He drew in a deep breath, then glared at Dokhyulsu with eyes bright with resolve.
"The man standing before you is the history of Mount Hua."
Hyun Jong had to protect Mount Hua. Hyun Young had been running himself ragged to keep the sect from collapsing.
And Hyun Sang had done nothing but bury himself in Mount Hua’s martial arts while they bled for the sect.
Did he look carefree?
Did people think it was enough to simply learn martial arts in comfort?
What a joke.
He had begged Hyun Jong countless times over the years.
Let him go down the mountain and earn money instead. The martial arts he had learned were not cheap, and if he made enough money, he could still help Mount Hua.
But the answer he always received was the same.
"Even if we have no money, we can rise again. People, too, will eventually stand back up. But if our martial arts are broken, then no matter how prosperous we become, we can no longer call it Mount Hua. Hyun Sang, you must guard Mount Hua’s martial arts."
Someone had to do it.
Someone had to learn the withered martial arts of Mount Hua, restore them, and even develop them further.
Hyun Sang had walked that painful road for decades, groping through darkness so absolute that not a single ray of light could enter, finding the way only by touch alone.
Who could understand that suffering?
Who could even begin to imagine that despair?
And now, at last, the martial arts he had protected were bearing fruit and beginning to grow into a forest.
Then was his role over?
Should the old and ailing tree simply wither away while watching the next generation?
"You say give up?"
There was nothing left.
Everything he had been meant to protect had already passed to the next generation. It was no longer his job to develop Mount Hua’s martial arts, nor was teaching the sect’s children still a task entrusted to him.
The flower that had fulfilled its role would simply fall.
But.
"My entire life, not once was I ever permitted to give up."
Hyun Sang bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
"I have no intention of dying and becoming fertilizer. Nor do I plan to become a stepping-stone for the children’s future. Even if I’ve grown old and shabby, I am still a swordsman of Mount Hua. If I must die, I will die as nothing more than a swordsman."
"…"
"So."
There was only one thing left for him to protect.
His pride.
"Come at me, fiend of Maninbang. Today, I will show you exactly what Mount Hua’s martial arts are."
Dokhyulsu’s eyes turned cold.
"You talk big for a man about to have his throat torn out. Let’s see if you can still chatter after that."
Both of Dokhyulsu’s hands turned black. At the same time, a blade-like aura burst out from his body.
Facing that monstrous pressure with his entire body, Hyun Sang stood alone upon the earth.
What was it that this sword carried?
He didn’t know.
He had never thought about it that deeply. He would simply draw forth the sword he had swung again and again for decades.
Even an old tree can bloom flowers, can’t it?
Then what reason was there for flowers not to bloom on his sword?
The tip of Hyun Sang’s sword began to tremble.
Like fire rising again from a heap of ashes, vivid plum blossoms began to bloom.
What he had never let go of.
Since the day the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art returned to Mount Hua, Hyun Sang had thought and thought on it over and over again.
He knew it well enough.
At his age, no matter how much stronger he became, his limits would still be painfully clear. It would probably help Mount Hua more if he spent that time teaching the children and supporting them instead.
But he could not let go.
He was a swordsman.
A swordsman who had lived his whole life with a sword in his hand.
How could the fact that he might never become stronger be a reason not to train?
"Hm?"
Dokhyulsu’s face stiffened when he saw the plum blossoms blooming like flames.
"So you had something up your sleeve!"
He swept both arms sideways like a storm and charged. The plum blossoms flying toward him struck his poison-coated hands and were knocked aside.
The black storm and the layers of blooming plum blossoms sought one another out, scattering fragments of sword energy in every direction.
One trying to break through, the other trying to block.
A fierce stalemate with not an inch of retreat played out between them.
Clang!
A saber strike came flying in, only to be pushed back by the sword.
After that brief clash, Hyun Jong widened the distance between himself and Yado, then let out a deep breath.
He’s strong.
The opponent’s skill was clearly above his own. He was hardly doing more than scrambling to defend himself.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with a fingertip, Hyun Jong cast a quick glance around with lowered eyes.
For now…
Thanks to Un Geom and Hyun Sang’s efforts, they were still not being overwhelmed too badly.
No matter how spirited the Mount Hua disciples were, the truth remained that their martial skill still lagged behind the warriors of Maninbang.
War was half won by momentum.
If the three of them—including himself—collapsed against the enemy’s leaders, casualties would skyrocket without question.
Hyun Sang. Un Geom.
So the two of them had to buy as much time as possible. Until the children who had heard the news from Xi'an could arrive.
Of course, that would not be easy. A glance was enough to tell that the martial prowess of Death-Seeking Spear and Dokhyulsu far exceeded that of Hyun Sang and Un Geom.
But somehow, no matter what…
"Well, well. You seem to have the leisure to look aside with me standing right in front of you. Truly, the head of Mount Hua, are you not?"
"…"
Hyun Jong’s gaze slowly returned to the front.
Yado tapped his palm lightly with the flat of his saber.
"It’s fine to be relaxed, but why not consider my pride just a little? Sect Leader?"
He wore a broad, easy smile, but Hyun Jong could not relax his hardened expression.
"This isn’t my first time fighting a sect leader, but it is my first time facing the sect leader of such a renowned school as Mount Hua. I do hope you won’t disappoint my expectations."
Hyun Jong stared at Yado with steady eyes.
Battle spirit?
He had none.
Pride?
He’d thrown that away long ago.
All that remained was the immense burden and responsibility of being Mount Hua’s Sect Leader.
"Did you say that if I can’t overcome you, no one will die?"
"Indeed."
"Fine words."
In that instant, the saber in Yado’s hand shot forward like a bolt of light toward Hyun Jong.
Slash.
Before Hyun Jong could even react, it cut a long gash across his chest.
The front of his robes split open, and bright blood seeped through the tear.
A wound to cloth.
But the meaning of that wound was anything but light. He hadn’t been careless, and yet he had still failed to react to the attack. Did that not mean there was a vast difference between Hyun Jong and Yado’s skill?
"That only matters when it comes from the strong. Isn’t that right, Sect Leader?"
Hyun Jong lowered his gaze and looked at the long tear across his chest.
He is strong.
The enemy had lived by crossing blades on the edge of death.
To speak honestly, he was not someone Hyun Jong could even hope to face.
Even if Hyun Jong had spent his whole life honing the stripped-down remains of Mount Hua’s martial arts, there was no guarantee. So how could Hyun Jong, who had barely had the chance to train properly because he had been struggling to revive Mount Hua, possibly stand against Yado?
And yet.
"You are certainly stronger than I am."
"You know it well."
"But that is not a reason for me to step back."
"…"
Hyun Jong let his sword hang loosely.
"Martial arts were never created to test who was stronger. In a world where natural ability could do as it pleased, martial arts arose so that the weak could face the strong. In the end, martial arts are a means for the weak to resist the strong."
"Ha."
Yado bared his teeth in a grin.
"So you mean to face me from the weak’s point of view?"
Yado tightened his grip on his saber again.
Fwoosh!
The strike he sent without another word came hurtling toward Hyun Jong’s head as if it meant to split it open.
Clang!
The raised sword deflected the saber. But fully absorbing that force was impossible, and the glancing blow tore a handful of flesh from Hyun Jong’s shoulder as it passed.
Shrrrk.
The blood that burst out sprayed across the air, quickly soaking Hyun Jong’s black robes dark red.
Two attacks.
And two wounds.
The difference in skill was crystal clear.
"Words only have meaning if they’re kept, wouldn’t you say?" Yado sneered. "I’m sick of the crap those so-called righteous factions spout. They’re always rambling on with worthless sophistry. But even those bastards start whining sweetly the moment they’re about to lose their heads."
He looked down at the blood on his saber and laughed cruelly.
"I’m looking forward to hearing what kind of sounds the Sect Leader makes when he cries!"
Yado’s saber shot out again.
Lightning-fast, yet carrying terrifying force utterly unlike its speed.
It was a messy, rough style of combat worthy of the name Yado—Wild Blade—but its speed and power more than made up for the crude flaws in its form.
Its saber energy raged fiercely, like waves crashing against a sea caught in a typhoon.
And Hyun Jong’s stance as he met that deluge did not waver even a hair’s breadth.
Clang! Clang!
The incoming strikes were knocked away. But for Hyun Jong, blocking every saber strike raining down on his whole body was impossible.
Slash!
His forearm was cut.
Slash.
Blood spurted from his calf.
Slash.
A light cut across his waist quickly soaked the area red.
Even as his body was cut all over, Hyun Jong’s eyes did not waver once.
His entire body now stained with blood in an instant, he took a middle guard and pointed his sword at Yado. At that, Yado, who had been unleashing a storm of saber strikes, stopped attacking with a strange expression.
What is this man?
In that short exchange, he had already left at least five wounds on him.
No matter how you looked at it, that man was no match for him.
And yet…
"Are you unable to feel pain?"
Even after relentless training, how could he accept the pain of flesh being sliced away so casually?
Even Yado, who had lived through countless wounds, found that impossible.
No. He’s bracing himself from the start to be cut.
Even if his body was torn apart, he would make absolutely certain to defend the center line.
From head to groin, if he wasn’t struck along the body’s center, he wouldn’t die.
But that was not a tactic just anyone could attempt. It took a truly ruthless mind. This wasn’t some wild man who lived on battlefield rations and slept under the open sky; it was an old man who had lived peacefully in the mountains. And he had that kind of ruthless resolve?
"You said pain?"
Then, at that moment, Hyun Jong spoke in a calm voice, his face drained of color.
"I don’t know what kind of life you’ve lived, but I have not lived so comfortably that I would call these flesh wounds pain."
His gaze was deeply, horribly still.
The pain carved into the body was nothing compared to the pain of watching a sect collapse before one’s eyes. A severed limb might heal one day, but rot inside the heart could not be cured.
Those who had protected Mount Hua had come this far by enduring that very sort of pain.
Compared to that, these wounds were less than scratches.
"It seems you misunderstand what it means to be a Sect Leader."
"…What?"
"A Sect Leader is not someone who stands at the top and receives respect. Rather…"
Hyun Jong’s low voice pierced Yado’s ears.
"He is the one who clings on until the very last moment. You may be strong enough to cut my flesh, but you cannot cut my spirit."
He would endure.
Even if all the blood in his body ran dry and only an empty shell remained.
Hyun Jong would not fall until the very last drop of his soul vanished.
I still have work to do.
So he could not fall yet.
"I am the Sect Leader of Mount Hua."
His calm voice strangled Yado more tightly than any shout or roar could have.
"And I will make sure you understand."
Hyun Jong’s sword pointed steadily at Yado’s throat.
"Exactly what that means."
Unaware of it himself, Yado swallowed dryly and tightened his grip on the saber.