The Sword That Would Represent Mount Hua (1)
“...Has Mount Hua won?”
“You saw it with your own eyes, so what are you asking me for!”
“...To win twice in a row, just like that.”
The spectators couldn’t tear their eyes away from the martial arena, as if they still couldn’t believe what they were seeing. But no matter how hard they rubbed their eyes, the one lying on the ground was unmistakably a disciple of Wudang.
“A third-generation disciple... beat a first-generation disciple...?”
“N-no, but is that something third-generation disciples normally do? Beat first-generation disciples?”
“As if! That’s no different from a grandson beating his grandfather!”
“People get older, though...”
“Does he look old to you? And in the martial world, getting older means you’ve grown stronger, not weaker!”
Truthfully, everyone already knew that much. Among those who had dropped their livelihoods and rushed here just to witness this match, there wasn’t a single person ignorant of even that basic common sense.
And yet they kept asking such obvious questions because they simply couldn’t believe the situation before their eyes.
What kind of place was Wudang?
Wasn’t it one of the great Northern Pillars of the righteous sects, alongside Shaolin? And one of Wudang’s first-generation disciples had been defeated by a third-generation disciple from Mount Hua, a sect that had only just begun to rise to fame?
It was the sort of thing no one would believe, no matter who told them.
Even they would have found it hard to accept if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes.
They had come here cheering for Mount Hua, yes, but that was only to say they were “cheering.” Not one of them had truly believed Mount Hua could actually defeat Wudang.
But the result laid out before them wasn’t merely beyond expectations. It had completely missed the mark.
“Mount Hua really has...”
Become strong.
No, even saying they had become strong felt wrong.
From the start, Mount Hua had never been a sect worthy of the word strong or weak. Until not long ago, half the world had never even heard the name Mount Hua.
And yet, in just a few short years, that Mount Hua had grown strong enough to beat Wudang.
Even if Mount Hua lost every remaining match from this point on, this single victory alone would send its reputation soaring beyond reason.
And maybe...
The spectators began to stare at the arena with strange, growing anticipation.
Maybe something impossible would happen here. The rabbit catching the tiger—an event that should never, ever occur.
“M-Mu Ho...”
A groan slipped from Heo Sanja’s lips.
“W-what are you all doing! Hurry and get Mu Ho out of there!”
“Yes, sir!”
Only then did Wudang’s dazed disciples snap back to their senses and rush up onto the arena.
“Junior Brother!”
“Junior Brother! Are you all right?”
They shook his shoulders lightly, but Mu Ho still couldn’t seem to regain consciousness. Wudang’s first-generation disciples clenched their jaws and hoisted the collapsed Mu Ho up before carrying him down from the arena.
“How is he?”
At Heo Sanja’s question, one of the disciples answered in a heavy voice.
“He’s not badly injured. There shouldn’t be any serious problems. It’s just... he hasn’t regained consciousness easily.”
“...I see.”
Heo Sanja nodded heavily. Several disciples had already gathered around the Mu Ho who had been thrown back, checking his condition and taking care of him.
Heo Sanja’s gaze, watching that scene, was hollow. Slowly, he turned to look toward Mount Hua.
Unlike this side, which was practically a house of mourning, the other side was loud with excitement.
How could it not be?
Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple had beaten Wudang’s first-generation disciple.
What humiliation is this...
There wasn’t a trace of color left in Heo Sanja’s face. Just thinking about what the people who had witnessed this match would start saying from tomorrow onward made him feel like vomiting up everything he had eaten that morning.
And yet, he couldn’t blame Mu Ho for losing. The sword that brash little Jo Gul had shown was astonishing even to Heo Sanja’s eyes.
This wasn’t a defeat because he had let his guard down in a fight he should have won.
He was outmatched in skill.
That fact sent Heo Sanja into utter shock.
He had heard the name Mount Hua Five Swords more than once, but he had always thought it was little more than a flattering title bestowed on a sect that had only just begun to recover its reputation.
But now Mount Hua had proven with its sword that the title truly had value.
From tomorrow on, how far would the name Mount Hua Five Swords spread? At the very least, wouldn’t rumors begin circulating that the third-generation disciple who bore the name of the Mount Hua Five Swords was on the same level as Wudang’s first-generation disciples?
It was, quite simply, an insult beyond words.
That was when Mu Jin quietly called to him.
“Elder.”
“...”
“You must calm yourself. The match is not over yet.”
“Not over?”
Heo Sanja turned his head and glared sharply at Mu Jin.
“What do you mean, not over?”
“...Elder.”
Heo Sanja spat out his words quickly, as though the anger had burst out of him all at once.
“Wudang’s first-generation disciple has been defeated by Mount Hua’s third-generation disciple. Whatever happens in the matches that follow, do you think that fact will vanish? The common people love cheering for rising heroes, and they delight in the fall of the strong. Do you think their voices praising Wudang will suddenly grow kinder just because we win the rest?”
“...Elder. The disciples are listening.”
Only then did Heo Sanja’s wits return in a flash, and he shut his mouth quickly.
I’ve made a mistake...
No matter how agitated he was, those were not words to say in front of the disciples who still had to go out and fight. What was he doing, belittling the very reason they had to battle, instead of trying to lift their deflated spirits?
“Huff.”
Heo Sanja drew in a deep breath and forced himself to settle.
Yes. What’s already happened can’t be changed.
If anything, it had all been his fault. He had been careless, and because he had been careless, they had lost.
Mount Hua only has the Mount Hua Five Swords. Even if they win five in a row, we still won’t lose.
That was why he had avoided consecutive wins in the first place, and why he had avoided ten straight victories. Wasn’t the reason he had chosen a best-of-ten format precisely because he had factored all of this in?
And yet, the moment the match began, he had dismissed the name Mount Hua Five Swords. His foolishness had led this contest to defeat.
“Mu Jin.”
“Yes.”
Heo Sanja opened and closed his mouth several times before finally squeezing his eyes shut.
“Send out Mu Yeon.”
“...Mu Yeon?”
“Yes.”
With matters having come to this, he had no intention whatsoever of sending Mu Jin out next. He had to remain Wudang’s final line of defense in this match.
If it was Mu Yeon, one of the Wudang Three Swords, then there was no shortage of strength to restore the momentum they had lost.
Mu Jin, who had been silently watching Heo Sanja, nodded.
“Understood.”
He walked to the back, brought Mu Yeon over, and returned with him to Heo Sanja’s side. Looking at Mu Yeon standing before him, Heo Sanja said with a hardened face,
“Do you know what you must do?”
“Restore the honor of the sect.”
“That’s right. As you saw, Mount Hua’s sword is dazzling beyond measure. That brilliance blinds the eye and keeps opponents from fully unleashing their own swordsmanship.”
“Yes.”
“So long as you keep your heart steady, there is no way you will be defeated. Never lose sight of Wudang’s teachings.”
“Yes, Elder.”
It was not a loud, spirited response.
But hearing that low voice, Heo Sanja actually felt a little reassured.
Yes. We’ve only lost once.
In life, unexpected accidents happened whenever they pleased. This just happened to be one of those moments.
“Go. Wudang’s name rests on your sword!”
“I’ll do my best.”
Watching Mu Yeon’s back as he silently headed for the arena, Heo Sanja let out a bitter laugh.
I’ll do my best?
What a fine phrase. More than fine, in fact.
And yet, even that sounded unpleasant to Heo Sanja now.
Since when had Wudang’s disciples, let alone its first-generation disciples, been driven to a point where they had to “do their best” against Mount Hua in a martial match?
It was already difficult enough to suppress the resentment rising from the depths of his chest. Heo Sanja fixed Mount Hua with bloodshot eyes.
“I am Mu Yeon of Wudang.”
Standing on the arena, Mu Yeon looked toward Mount Hua with composed eyes before speaking. At that, Mount Hua’s disciples, who had been loudly talking among themselves, fell silent and stared back at him.
“Congratulations on your victory. However, we should be given a chance to redeem ourselves as well. Who will be my opponent?”
Hyun Young, who had been listening quietly, stiffened and murmured in a low voice.
“Senior Brother, if it’s Mu Yeon...”
“Right. He’s one of the Wudang Three Swords. I’ve heard the name as well.”
“Ah...”
The Wudang Three Swords.
The weight carried by that name could not compare to the Mount Hua Five Swords. Within Wudang, known as the number one sword sect under heaven, only those who were vying to become Wudang’s future greatest sword were worthy of being called one of the Wudang Three Swords.
After this match was over, perhaps it would be different. But for now, they were not an opponent that could even be compared with the Mount Hua Five Swords.
“The Wudang Three Swords...”
Hyun Sang muttered, his face full of worry.
Then a calm voice was heard.
“I’ll go.”
“Yoon Jong?”
Hyun Sang jerked and turned around, and Yoon Jong smiled faintly.
“At this rate, I’ll have to keep hearing that fool Jo Gul brag for two more months at the very least. If even his senior brother doesn’t take on one of the Wudang Three Swords, that loudmouth won’t shut up, will he?”
“But he’s one of the Wudang Three Swords. Will you be all right?”
Yoon Jong answered with calm indifference, as if it were nothing.
“Of course I’m afraid.”
“...”
“But now I understand. If I do nothing but retreat whenever I’m afraid, I’ll never move forward. I’ll win.”
Hyun Sang found himself nodding before he realized it.
Truthfully, he had hoped in his heart that Baek Cheon or Yu I-seol would step up for this one. If the opponent was one of the Wudang Three Swords, shouldn’t Mount Hua send out one of its strongest as well?
But seeing the look in Yoon Jong’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to stop him.
Baek Cheon, who had come to stand beside them, opened his mouth in a grave voice.
“Yoon Jong. The honor of the sect rests on your shoulders...”
“Aaaachoo!”
But Chung Myung’s thunderous sneeze naturally cut him off. Baek Cheon’s eyes squeezed shut for an instant, then twitched violently.
What is it now? What the hell is it now!
He shot Chung Myung a fierce glare, but Chung Myung merely rubbed his nose and spoke lazily.
“Tch. Did I catch a cold?”
“...You’d be the one catching a cold, huh.”
The cold would probably run away if it saw you coming.
After making a shameless show of rubbing his nose, Chung Myung tossed out a casual remark.
“Senior Brother.”
“Hmm?”
“Just go out there and do what you always do.”
“...”
“It’ll be more fun than you think.”
Yoon Jong looked at him and gave a dry chuckle.
“Do I look like a man such as you or Jo Gul?”
“You’re not all that different.”
“What did you say, you punk?”
As Yoon Jong flared up, Chung Myung grinned.
“I don’t care about the sect or whatever else, so just go and have some fun. If you lose, I’ll mock you to my heart’s content.”
“...”
With his expression easing a little, Yoon Jong finally smiled, nodded, and headed for the arena.
Watching the whole exchange, Baek Cheon gave a heavy nod. He had no choice but to admit it.
I was about to make a mistake.
The advice he had meant to give might have been appropriate for Jo Gul, but it wasn’t suited to Yoon Jong. Yoon Jong thought about too much already, even without Baek Cheon needing to point it out. If he had handed over that sort of advice, it would only have made the weight on Yoon Jong’s shoulders heavier.
Baek Cheon stood beside Chung Myung and asked quietly,
“Will he be all right?”
“What?”
“Yoon Jong. It won’t be easy for him to face one of the Wudang Three Swords.”
The aura Mu Yeon had released the moment he stepped onto the arena was anything but ordinary.
Baek Cheon thought Chung Myung, with his unusually sharp eye, would give him a fairly plausible answer. But the reply that came out was a little different from what he expected.
“Whether it’s all right or not, he has to endure it.”
“...Huh?”
“Even if he can’t win, he has to win.”
“What does that mean?”
At Baek Cheon’s question, Chung Myung’s voice turned much more serious than before.
“Because someday, Senior Brother’s sword will be the sword that represents Mount Hua. That’s what it means to carry the rightful line.”
Watching Yoon Jong’s back as he walked toward the arena, Baek Cheon murmured inwardly.
The rightful line...
He thought he understood.
One day, that fellow would rise to become Mount Hua’s sect leader.
And when that time came, both Baek Cheon and Yu I-seol, and probably even that bastard Chung Myung, would no longer be on the front lines.
Then Yoon Jong’s sword would become Mount Hua’s standard. The Mount Hua Five Swords each possessed their own distinct styles, but among them, the sword that would one day represent Mount Hua itself was Yoon Jong’s.
I wonder if Yoon Jong knows...
Just how much he was carrying.
He probably did know. That was why his back was so steady.
Show me.
Show me what Mount Hua’s sword is.
This was a stage worthy of that answer.