Pride Makes the Blade Sharper (2)
“Wait.”
Strangely enough, that voice rang out with perfect clarity.
Perhaps it was because the sharpness beneath it was still so vivid, so unmistakably alive.
“...Elder?”
Mu Jin flinched and turned toward Heo Sanja.
But Heo Sanja didn’t even look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Baek Cheon standing alone on the sparring platform.
Righteous Sword of Mount Hua.
The other Wudang disciples here had only heard rumors about Mount Hua, but Heo Sanja, who had to lead Wudang against them, could not afford to build his plans on nothing but hearsay.
So, of course, before coming here, he had gathered every scrap of information he could about Mount Hua.
Of course, most of the intelligence about their martial prowess was so wildly inaccurate that he felt like marching straight to the Beggars’ Sect and tearing them a new one, but even so, there were a few pieces of information he could not ignore.
Mount Hua’s foremost prodigy.
Every source that dealt with Mount Hua’s affairs said the same thing.
Righteous Sword of Mount Hua. Baek Cheon, Mount Hua’s foremost prodigy.
There was also the Mount Hua Divine Dragon, of course, but his martial prowess and influence were already too great to dismiss him as part of the younger generation. Realistically speaking, Baek Cheon was the one who represented Mount Hua’s rising disciples.
There had been all sorts of evaluations, but only one phrase had truly caught Heo Sanja’s attention.
Genius.
He had defeated Jin Geum-ryong, one of the famed Five Dragons of the younger generation who had once made a name for himself across the whole of the jianghu, and had even bested the leader of Maninbang in real combat.
And, in all likelihood, he would become Mount Hua’s next Sect Leader.
By any measure, he was not someone to be taken lightly.
With all of that in mind, Heo Sanja judged that Baek Cheon was at least stronger than the Mount Hua disciples who had already fought.
That meant he had a different problem to think about.
Could he be certain that Mu Jin would defeat Baek Cheon?
He knew, of course, that Mu Jin was strong. Strong enough that Wudang placed immense hopes in him.
Still, after watching the first three matches, Heo Sanja could not guarantee a perfect victory. If even the slightest accident occurred—if one chance in a thousand, one in ten thousand came to pass—then Wudang would be thrown into a truly irreversible crisis.
Better than... this.
Heo Sanja’s eyes gleamed darkly. Slowly, he spoke.
“Mu Jin.”
“Yes, Elder.”
“You will not be going this time.”
“...Pardon?”
Glancing at Mu Jin, whose eyes had gone wide, Heo Sanja turned his head toward the back and said,
“Mu Ho!”
“Yes!”
“You will go.”
Mu Ho, stunned by the unexpected command, asked blankly, “M-me, Elder?”
“Yes.”
Mu Ho fell silent.
He had eyes. He had enough sense to understand what was happening. He had confidence in his sword, yes, but this was not a match suited to someone as low in rank as he was among the first-generation disciples.
“Elder, that man challenged Senior Brother Mu Jin.”
“I have ears. Do you think I didn’t hear that?”
“Then why...?”
Mu Ho lingered there, hesitating and unwilling to move, and irritation flared in Heo Sanja’s chest. He shot another annoyed look toward Baek Cheon and said sharply,
“Mu Jin is one of the Wudang Three Swords, one of the finest among Wudang’s first-generation disciples. For someone like him to exchange blades with a second-generation disciple of Mount Hua would be beneath his station.”
“Elder!”
Mu Jin’s voice rose before he could stop himself.
Heo Sanja was not wrong. Mu Jin understood that much. But he also understood the truth hidden beneath those words.
Heo Sanja was avoiding the duel. Wudang of all sects.
“They’re the ones who challenged us. How can you say we should avoid it? Are you telling us to cower and run from someone one rank below us?”
“You speak strangely.”
Heo Sanja’s mouth twisted into a faint smile.
“Didn’t you and Mu Yeon say it just now? That this is a sparring match—a place for fellowship? If that is so, then wouldn’t it be more fitting for Mu Ho to go and observe Mount Hua’s swordsmanship than for someone like you, who has nothing left to learn here?”
“...”
Mu Jin’s body began to tremble.
But Heo Sanja paid that reaction no mind.
“Enough with the nonsense. That Baek Cheon will be dealt with by Mu Ho.”
“Elder!”
As Mu Jin started to shout again, the attention of those around them gradually turned in their direction. He clenched his teeth and lowered his voice.
“We can’t do this.”
“And why not?”
“We must not do anything dishonorable. There are more than just us here!”
“Fool.”
Heo Sanja sneered coldly.
“We have already lost three times.”
Then, as if spitting the words out, he said,
“If we lose again here, what will the world say about us? Do you think they’ll praise us as a fine sect that lost with dignity?”
“...”
“Absolutely not!”
Looking into Heo Sanja’s eyes, Mu Jin fell silent. It wasn’t that he couldn’t argue the logic, only that the words would not carry any weight.
“Our purpose in coming here has already become impossible to achieve. Those who witnessed these duels will not be able to erase Mount Hua’s victories from their minds. For Wudang’s first-generation disciple to be defeated twice in a row by Mount Hua’s third-generation disciples is a disgrace that cannot be excused away, no matter how you dress it up. And more than that...”
The fact that one of those defeated Wudang disciples was one of the Wudang Three Swords was even more dreadful.
Heo Sanja could not bring himself to say that aloud. It was too humiliating to speak of it.
“But if, against all odds, against all reason...”
His bloodshot eyes fixed on Mu Jin.
“If you lose as well, then Wudang’s reputation will be dragged through the mud. No—less than that. The world will praise Mount Hua’s rise and laugh at Wudang’s decline. And we will never again recover our former glory!”
“...Elder.”
“You are the leader of the Wudang Three Swords. You must never lose to them.”
Mu Jin’s eyes filled with emptiness.
Heo Sanja was usually known for being rational and gentle. But there wasn’t a trace of that in him now.
“...Even so, this is not right, Elder. This is...”
“Enough. This is an order.”
The moment he heard the word order, Mu Jin swallowed a sigh and shut his eyes tightly. Heo Sanja was a first-generation disciple of Wudang and one of its elders. Moreover, when they came here, he had been granted full authority by Sect Leader Heo Do-jin-in.
In other words, while they were here, Heo Sanja’s word was as good as the Sect Leader’s.
“Step down.”
“I... I obey the order.”
Mu Jin gritted his teeth and stepped back.
Heo Sanja bit his lip slightly and turned his face away from the sight.
Of course he knew. Of course he understood that this was shameful, that it was anything but honorable. How could he not know?
This was not the right way. Avoiding the match and chasing only the result of victory—what, after all that, would they be left with?
But humiliation lasted only a moment, while results endured forever. No shame he suffered could compare to the judgment that the mighty Wudang had been outmatched by the young disciples of Mount Hua.
“Mu Ho. Step forward.”
“...Yes.”
With a faint sigh, Mu Ho climbed onto the sparring platform with drooping shoulders.
“What?”
“It’s not Mu Jin-daehiop?”
The Mount Hua disciples began to murmur in surprise.
They had naturally expected Mu Jin to step up, yet the person who had climbed onto the sparring platform was someone they had never seen before.
“Who is he?”
“Is he one of the remaining Wudang Three Swords?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
Everyone was thrown off by the unexpected turn of events.
It made sense. Baek Cheon was, by common consensus, their strongest expert, so naturally they had assumed the other side would send someone of equal caliber.
With Mount Hua already having taken the lead in two matches, Wudang could hardly afford to dismiss them. It was only reasonable to expect them to throw everything they had into the fight.
“What, some kind of hidden true master?”
“Does he look like one?”
“...No, not really.”
At a glance, he didn’t.
Compared to Mu Jin, whose presence had pressed down on them even while he stood beneath the platform, or Mu Yeon, who had nearly overwhelmed Yoon Jong despite his defeat, the man who had stepped up now felt as though his aura fell a few levels short.
Watching the bewildered Mount Hua disciples whisper among themselves, Jo Gul clenched his teeth and said to Chung Myung,
“Is this what you were talking about earlier?”
Chung Myung snorted while looking toward Wudang, then nodded.
“Well, I didn’t expect them to be this blatant either.”
“...They don’t plan to win fair and square?”
Anger flashed across Jo Gul’s face. As the child of a merchant family, he was sharp with numbers and calculations; there was no way he couldn’t understand what Wudang was doing.
It was obvious, wasn’t it?
Instead of sending out weaker hands that might be variable factors—Baek Cheon and Yu I-seol—they were planning to secure steady wins against the remaining Mount Hua disciples with their more confident ones.
That way, Baek Cheon would come back with an easy victory.
Yu I-seol would probably do the same.
But what about the others?
Who on Mount Hua was truly certain to win against the remaining first-generation Wudang disciples?
At most, it was Chung Myung.
“They could’ve just fought normally and won anyway! Why pull some sneaky crap like this...!”
“That’s what a prestigious sect is.”
Jo Gul’s temper was rising by the second, but Chung Myung only looked indifferent.
“They became prestigious because they were impressive and strong, sure. But in the end, what decides a sect’s reputation are results and achievements. The ones who’ve been carrying the name of a great sect for a long time know damn well that the process doesn’t mean a single thing.”
“So you think that makes it right?”
“No one said it was right.”
Jo Gul ground his teeth in frustration.
“This... this is Wudang’s way?”
He even glared at Wudang as though he’d been betrayed. The other disciples, having overheard the exchange, also shot Wudang looks full of similar anger.
Chung Myung thought it was foolish to expect fairness from an enemy, and yet, at the same time, he could understand how they felt.
Yeah. They’d be pissed.
For Mount Hua as it was now, Wudang was both a goal to surpass and an object of admiration.
Unlike Chung Myung, who had lived in an era when Mount Hua stood above Wudang, these disciples had never even imagined they might one day surpass them.
Because of that, Wudang had naturally seemed lofty in their hearts, and strong, too.
So when they were forced to confront Wudang’s true face in such an unexpected way, it was only natural they would feel betrayed.
Chung Myung looked toward the side where Heo Sanja stood and let out a quiet laugh.
So you’ve thrown pride out the window, huh?
A bold decision.
Usually, people who clung too tightly to face ended up facing even more terrible results because of it. Choosing to discard everything except victory was, if anything, almost wise.
“Watch closely.”
Chung Myung’s voice turned cold.
“Talking about righteousness and romance is just the luxury of those who don’t have a blade at their throat. The moment one’s neck is held at swordpoint, everyone reveals the nature they’ve kept hidden.”
“...”
At that, everyone fell silent and only watched the sparring platform. Chung Myung’s eyes darkened.
Still...
Then a twisted smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
We’ll have to see whether that works out the way they want.
His eyes, fixed on Heo Sanja, were colder than ice.