The Sword That Would Represent Mount Hua (2)
His breathing had begun to quicken. His fingertips trembled ever so slightly, and his heart thudded faster in his chest.
But that was hardly a bad sign. It would make no sense for someone standing on the brink of a match not to be tense.
At the very least, if you called yourself a swordsman, if you were someone who proved yourself through the sword, then no matter what was at stake, you had to take the match itself seriously.
That was the most basic posture a swordsman should have.
“Hoo.”
After a short, steadying breath, Yoon Jong looked across at Mu Yeon, who stood on the opposite side.
What he was feeling now could only be called pressure. And it was understandable.
A first-generation disciple of Wudang.
One of the Wudang Three Swords.
Not a single title attached to that man was light. Objectively speaking, Mu Yeon was still a difficult opponent for Yoon Jong.
But…
Was there ever an opponent who wasn’t difficult?
The thought was almost laughable.
The Hwajong Jihoe had been difficult for him, too. The martial arts tournament needed no explanation. In the fight against Maninbang, he had had to risk his life, and in the North Sea he had come to a bitter realization of just how far his own limits stretched.
It had not been a path he had chosen for himself, but in the end he had always been thrown into fights against people too much for him to handle and situations too heavy for him to endure.
Try to chase a stork like a sparrow, and you’ll tear your legs apart.
He knew it well enough himself. He was not a genius.
Just because he was included among the Five Swords did not mean he was the same sort of person as the others. Baek Cheon was a genius who needed no title to prove it, while Yu I-seol was a monster who sometimes even surpassed him.
Chung Myung?
There was no point even bringing that bastard up.
Even Jo Gul’s talent seemed dazzling to him.
He did not know what the others thought, but Yoon Jong knew it clearly. His talent could never be compared to theirs. He was nothing more than an ox plodding through dust beneath hawks and eagles soaring through the sky.
If he let his guard down for even an instant, they would all overtake him in the blink of an eye. Jo Gul, of course, but even the other third-generation disciples.
He knew it. He knew it better than anyone.
“You look tense.”
At that moment, Mu Yeon spoke in a low voice.
Yoon Jong lifted his head and met his gaze. Come to think of it, this was only a chance for them to appraise each other’s swordsmanship. There was no need to bare his teeth just because the other man was his sparring opponent. He gave a small, honest nod.
“I am, to be honest.”
“Hmm?”
Mu Yeon looked at him with evident interest.
Usually, when someone across from you said something like that before a fight, you would at least pretend not to care. But this young Daoist admitted calmly that he was nervous. It was hardly something worth attaching great meaning to, yet for some reason, it caught his attention.
“No need to be so tense. As long as you can show your true skill, won’t victory or defeat follow naturally?”
“I agree with that, certainly. But…”
A flash of light entered Yoon Jong’s calm eyes.
“I’m not in a position where I can just take what naturally follows.”
“Oh?”
Calm, yet not at all timid.
He was completely different from Jo Gul, who had rattled their insides just a moment ago.
How curious that even among fellow disciples, the feel of them can be so different.
People could hardly all be the same, but those who lived together for years, learned the same martial arts, and went through the same ordeals usually began to resemble one another.
And yet, to Mu Yeon, the disciples of Mount Hua were astonishingly different in temperament.
“If you were that worried, you needn’t have chosen me as your opponent.”
“What difference would it make?”
“Hmm?”
With a curious smile, Mu Yeon said, “That sounds as though whether it’s me, one of the Wudang Three Swords, or some other first-generation Wudang disciple, they’re all the same to you. Am I right?”
Yoon Jong slowly shook his head.
“I only meant that none of you are easy for me.”
Mu Yeon stared at him for a moment, then slowly drew his sword.
He was an interesting one, certainly, but this was no place for a long conversation. It was true that a brief exchange had left him with a certain goodwill toward the youth, but there would be time to share that goodwill elsewhere someday.
“Draw your sword.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll say this in advance: I am not an easy opponent. Give it your all.”
“You needn’t say that. I already know it well.”
Shrrrk.
Yoon Jong’s Plum Blossom Sword slid free of its scabbard.
“For the past few years, I haven’t had a single day where I didn’t give it my all.”
He had always been desperate.
So he wouldn’t fall behind. So he wouldn’t be left behind.
Before they truly crossed blades, Yoon Jong let his gaze drift toward the disciples of Mount Hua.
Not the Five Swords, including Baek Cheon, but the ordinary disciples of Mount Hua. In particular, he looked toward the third-generation disciples, the Cheong generation. When he confirmed the eyes of the disciples fixed on him, Yoon Jong let out a quiet breath.
This is too much for me.
The position of eldest among the third-generation disciples.
It was not a title he had ever wanted. It had simply been granted to him because he was older and had entered the sect earlier.
Of course, there had once been a time when he had reveled in the fact that he was the eldest among the third-generation disciples. But now, that very fact pressed on his shoulders at all hours.
Fighting alongside disciples born with talent, and alongside a fellow disciple who had dropped from the heavens like some kind of monster, was too heavy a burden for a man who was little more than ordinary.
And yet…
And yet there was only one reason Yoon Jong could not simply give up in peace.
“Begin.”
“Yes.”
Mu Yeon settled into the initial stance of Wudang swordsmanship. Yoon Jong, too, set his heart and took up the opening stance of Mount Hua. A brief tension hung between the two men as they raised their swords.
It was Mu Yeon who moved first.
Thud!
He kicked off the martial platform and closed the distance in an instant, thrusting straight toward Yoon Jong’s centerline.
It was a truly swift thrust.
Clang!
Yoon Jong hurriedly lifted his sword to deflect the Songmun Old Sword. Even with considerable force behind the block, Mu Yeon’s sword simply slid away the impact and stabbed in again.
Fast.
No, it was not only fast.
It was a light exchange, and yet it contained countless subtleties of advanced skill. It was no easy thing to withstand the force of a long sword striking horizontally. But the instant sword met sword, Mu Yeon smoothly let Yoon Jong’s force slip past, then used it in reverse to stab again.
Moving Flowers, Grafting Wood.
The Strong Controlled by the Soft.
High-level subtleties that were difficult to fully display even one at a time were layered together at once.
This is Wudang!
A sword style unlike anything found at Mount Hua. That was what made it difficult to face, and what made it hard to stop.
But Yoon Jong cut his sword in short, sharp motions, deflecting, dodging, and redirecting the incoming blade.
Lower!
As he evaded another fierce strike, Yoon Jong lowered his stance. Firmly rooted legs allowed his upper body to move with greater agility.
Thanks to that, he was able to dodge every one of the tremendous sword strikes flying at him at speeds nearly impossible to see.
Mu Yeon’s eyes took on a faint glint.
“Not bad.”
Whoosh!
At the same time, his sword grew even faster.
Clang clang clang!
But Yoon Jong’s sword still did not waver.
A sword with no wasted motion.
It was not simply a matter of swinging quickly. No matter how great the speed, if the sword’s path was wrong, time was still being wasted in the end.
Yoon Jong’s blade was tracing the perfect route—the shortest possible path to his opponent’s sword.
Solid.
Mu Yeon’s expression changed slightly. Jo Gul’s sword had been lively, fast, and bizarre. But the sword Yoon Jong displayed now was, above all else, steadfast and faithful.
This is actually much closer to Wudang’s sword.
It could not truly be called a soft sword, but the foundation underneath it was not all that different. If the sword he sent out was the wind, then Yoon Jong was the great tree that stood to receive it.
At his age…
Build a strong foundation and keep the lower body firm so the upper body can move lightly. When spoken aloud, it sounded simple enough.
But to achieve that required exhausting foundation training. And it was not something that could be perfected by simply working hard for a short while.
The foundation was something that only revealed its effect after countless hours, countless days, repeating the same training stubbornly and without rest.
How much training had he endured to gain such solidity at this age?
Ten thousand swings a day? Anyone pursuing martial arts could do that.
But how many people in this world could keep making those ten thousand swings every day for ten days, for a hundred days, for a thousand days?
Mu Yeon’s gaze slid to Yoon Jong’s hand. As expected, there were thick calluses on his palm, partly hidden where it met the sword hilt.
“Excellent!”
Buoyed by his excitement, Mu Yeon swept his sword in a wide arc.
Whoosh!
From the tip of his blade, sword qi as fluid as water poured out like a river. Clear blue sword energy surged toward Yoon Jong like a tidal wave.
The transition from swift sword to soft sword and then to heavy sword had come all at once.
But Yoon Jong’s eyes did not waver in the slightest.
Swishhhhhh.
His sword, set at an angle, absorbed the approaching sword qi and guided Mu Yeon’s force aside.
Swishhh!
It was a move that did not resist with force but instead diverted as much as possible. However, there was no way to redirect all of it.
Crack!
Yoon Jong’s foot dug deep into the hard blue stone. The hand gripping his sword trembled violently like a leaf in the wind.
The force of flowing water could smash rocks and reshape terrain. Force that exploded in a single moment might end quickly, but force that continued without interruption did not end just because you had taken it once.
“Kkh!”
Clenching his teeth, Yoon Jong shoved his sword aside and threw his body away to the side.
But in that instant, Mu Yeon, as though he had expected it all along, lunged forward and slammed his shoulder into Yoon Jong.
Thuuuum!
With a sound like a heavy drum being struck, Yoon Jong was sent bouncing backward helplessly.
Thud! Thud!
After crashing into the ground several times, Yoon Jong twisted his body just before he could be slammed down again and drove his sword hard into the blue stone.
Scratch!
Even after being dragged back quite a distance, he quickly regained his stance. A line of blood trickled from between his lips, but the look in his eyes was unchanged from before.
“...Splendid.”
Pure admiration escaped Mu Yeon’s mouth.
Wudang was a righteous sect. It pursued the sword of slow but sure maturity.
For that very reason, Wudang emphasized the fundamentals more than any other sect in the world. It was a place that would never commit the foolishness of neglecting the basics in pursuit of some immediate flash of insight.
And yet the sword of this child named Yoon Jong, standing before him now, was so thick with fundamentals that Wudang’s own foundations seemed pitiful by comparison.
“I apologize for underestimating you a little.”
“……”
“From here on, I’ll be going all out, so do your best to take it.”
“Yes!”
“Here I come!”
Thud!
Kicking off the ground once more, Mu Yeon flew toward Yoon Jong like a butterfly. His sword drew dozens of afterimages, and at the same time, from the circular motion of his left hand came a stream of pure-white palm force that surged toward Yoon Jong like a river.
Even Yoon Jong, who had maintained his composure all this time, finally widened his eyes at the sight.
H-He’s using two martial arts at once?
Countless sword shadows and palm force swept down on Yoon Jong all at once.