I’m Glad to Be a Disciple of Mount Hua (4)
It was a little strange.
Even though he had spent a very long time learning the sword and had walked his own path with stubborn determination, Un Geom had never once properly sparred with anyone until now.
This was the first real bout of his life.
And how did he feel in a moment like this?
I’m a little excited.
If this had been a bout where he had to prove his skill, he might have been nervous. But this wasn’t a stage where he had to prove anything.
It was just...
Standing on the arena, Un Geom faced his opponent.
“Un Geom, the First-Generation Disciple of Mount Hua.”
“....”
Moo Gak, standing across from him, stared at the empty sleeve hanging from Un Geom’s side.
“First-Generation Disciple, you say...”
Moo Gak murmured in surprise before continuing, “I never expected a First-Generation Disciple of Mount Hua to step into the arena.”
Un Geom scratched his cheek, a little self-conscious.
“I’m just a pathetic man who enjoys the good life by riding on my disciples’ fame, but don’t worry too much. I can still swing a sword.”
His voice was calm. Moo Gak looked at him quietly, then nodded.
An empty arm meant many things. He must have first learned to wield the sword with his right hand, and at some point begun learning left-handed swordsmanship.
An unfamiliar name. Mixed reviews about the First-Generation Disciples of Mount Hua. Left-handed swordsmanship on top of that. Not a single thing to praise him for.
And yet...
He is no easy opponent.
The aura he gave off alone was enough to overwhelm all those shortcomings.
Quiet, like the mountains before dawn.
He felt like someone who had given human form to the very name of “swordsman.”
Moo Gak let out a small breath.
No, it wouldn’t matter who the opponent was.
They could not afford to lose anymore. Wudang was practically standing on the edge of a cliff already.
“I am Moo Gak, a First-Generation Disciple of Wudang.”
“I am Un Geom, a First-Generation Disciple of Mount Hua.”
The two men drew their swords and took their opening stances, pointing their blades at each other.
Clench.
Baek Cheon slowly looked down at his own hand. His palm had gone pale from how tightly he had been gripping it, and sweat was beading heavily across the surface.
Senior Brother Un Geom...
Looking around, he saw that the other disciples were the same—staring fixedly at the arena with faces stiff from tension.
“I should have gone...”
Baek Sang muttered bitterly.
He seemed unable to forgive himself for hesitating and forcing Un Geom to step forward. Baek Cheon said firmly, “It’s not your fault.”
“But—!”
“Even if you hadn’t hesitated, Senior Brother would have stepped up in the end. Stop thinking useless things.”
“...Yes, Senior Brother.”
Baek Cheon clenched his fist again.
Nervousness? No. This was worry.
But none of Mount Hua’s disciples were worried that Un Geom would lose. Even if he were utterly crushed without even getting the chance to properly swing his sword, none of them would dare look down on him.
Not that anyone would do such a thing, but if there were anyone who did, Baek Cheon would be the first to stop them.
What worried them was not defeat, but the pain Un Geom would have to bear when he faced the fact that his sword was not what it once had been.
Un Geom had lived every day in ceaseless discipline. What did it mean to such a man to lose his right arm, to lose the weapon that had defined him?
“Senior Brother...”
In the end, a low, choked sound slipped out anyway.
It was still vivid in their memories—the sight of Un Geom lying on the ground, pierced by an enemy spear and bleeding.
His empty sleeve was the product of their weakness, and also a symbol of the efforts made by those of the past who had risked their lives to protect them.
That was why watching him was so agonizing.
To Baek Cheon and the disciples of Mount Hua, Un Geom had always been like a towering mountain. Even after becoming this strong, none of them had ever thought they could surpass him.
That empty sleeve was too painful, too heartbreaking.
“If Senior Brother hadn’t lost his arm...”
A quiet murmur stabbed painfully into the ears of the other Mount Hua disciples.
And then, Qing Ming, who had been sitting in silence, suddenly whipped his head around and raised the corners of his eyes.
“You little brats...”
“....”
“He’s not some poor soul you need to worry yourselves sick over. Shut up and just watch!”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned back and fixed his gaze on Un Geom again.
His back was ordinary—neither large nor small. But for some reason, Qing Ming let out a small breath as he looked at Un Geom’s back, which drew the eye no matter what.
Still awkward.
Un Geom thought as he gripped his sword with his left hand.
There had once been a time when the sword felt like part of his body.
A realm where the sword became him, and he became the sword.
But the right hand that had naturally accepted the sword was no longer there. The sword in his unfamiliar left hand still carried an unbearable sense of mismatch.
Perhaps that discomfort would never disappear—not even for the rest of his life, not even in the moment he died.
Perhaps the time when he could think of the sword as an extension of his body would never return.
“Hah.”
He exhaled briefly, then steadied the hand gripping his sword and said, “Come.”
Moo Gak gave a short nod.
Thud!
He kicked off the ground and shot forward at great speed toward Un Geom.
KAAAANG!
Sword met sword in midair. The heavy impact transmitted through the blade made Un Geom’s body sway violently.
Fwoooosh!
Pressing down with sheer force to throw Un Geom’s stance off balance, Moo Gak swiftly drew his sword back and thrust again like lightning. In an instant, sword energy split into several strands and stabbed from all directions toward Un Geom.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Un Geom knocked away the incoming sword energy and stepped back with a footwork pattern.
When the rain falls, the first thing to do is avoid it. When the opponent is pressing their momentum forward, retreating at the proper moment is not a bad idea.
But Moo Gak had no intention of letting Un Geom go so easily.
He surged forward even faster than Un Geom withdrew, his movements as persistent as a predator stalking its prey.
Whooooosh!
The sound of the sword tip tearing the air rang out sharply. A razor-sharp strike, utterly unlike what one would expect from Wudang, shot straight for Un Geom’s centerline.
“Hup!”
Un Geom let out a short breath at the aggressive attack and slapped the incoming sword aside.
BOOM!
As the sword was knocked upward with a brief detonation, Moo Gak used its force to fling himself into the air.
Then, descending even faster than the speed at which he had risen, he brought his sword down toward Un Geom’s head.
CLAAANG!
Un Geom quickly raised his Plum Blossom Sword to block Moo Gak’s descending Songmun Ancient Sword.
Sword met sword, pushing against one another.
Un Geom’s left arm, holding the Plum Blossom Sword, trembled like a willow in the wind. His opponent was gripping his sword with both hands and driving all his strength downward. To bear that force with one arm was no easy thing.
Their teeth ground together as if they might break.
Grrrkkk.
The friction between the blades produced a chilling, grating sound. And then, in that very moment—
Whoaaah!
Sword energy like water burst forth in a waterfall from Moo Gak’s blade where it touched Un Geom’s sword. Un Geom’s eyes flew wide open.
“TAAAAT!”
With a shout, Moo Gak poured in more force and slammed Un Geom backward. Unable to withstand it, Un Geom’s body was flung back, rolling across the ground.
“Senior Brother!”
“Damn it! Senior Brother!”
High-pitched cries that didn’t sound like Mount Hua disciples at all rang out across the arena. Un Geom, who had rolled several times under those screams, quickly pushed himself up and reset his stance.
“Hmm.”
Moo Gak, who had clearly seized the upper hand in that exchange, did not press the attack. Instead, he stopped where he was.
And he looked at Un Geom with a face full of regret.
“It seems...”
He hesitated briefly, then said, “Your left-handed swordsmanship isn’t very familiar to you.”
Un Geom gave a wry smile.
“That’s how it is.”
“A shame.”
Moo Gak shook his head, his face filled with genuine regret.
“If you had not lost your right arm, this would have been a truly fine match. What a pity, truly.”
“Perhaps.”
This was not provocation.
It was a swordsman’s sincere regret. And precisely because of that, it cut even deeper than provocation would have. Sometimes words of harmless consolation hurt people more than malicious insults ever could.
But Un Geom did not seem to mind much. He remained composed.
“Still, I am not the sort to cling to what I’ve lost. If all I have left is my left hand, then I must do my best with it.”
“...A good attitude.”
Un Geom and Moo Gak took their stances again.
Looking at Moo Gak pressing in on him with a stillness like a lake, Un Geom found himself letting out another faint, bitter smile.
He’s learned to lie better.
Not cling to what he’d lost?
As if.
He still had regrets. No, not just regrets—he was full of them.
Even now, he still swung his familiar right hand sword in his dreams. And when he woke suddenly from a deep sleep, there were times he would reflexively try to move his right hand, only to freeze in a daze.
Lowered martial prowess.
A life made unfamiliar.
Human beings do not despair over what they never had in the first place. They only truly despair when they lose something they once possessed—and when they realize they can never get it back.
Un Geom’s eyes swept over the disciples of Mount Hua.
Worried gazes. Faces twisted with uncertainty, at a loss for what to do.
Don’t look at me like that.
Among them, the one whose expression seemed the most unfamiliar and most flustered was none other than Un Am. His usually composed Taoist face was wearing a look no one had ever seen before, and he was biting his lip hard.
Senior Brother.
Yes. There had once been such a time.
Back when they still refused to let go of dreams.
When training stretched into dawn and they were exhausted enough to lean against the wall, Un Am would sometimes come to him and they would share long conversations.
One day, Un Am would become the sect leader of Mount Hua, and he would become the greatest sword of Mount Hua, restoring the lost glory of their sect—that was what they had vowed.
Yes. That was what they had vowed.
Even if that promise had now faded.
- Un Geom. I have no intention of taking the seat of sect leader.
Senior Brother...
Yes. It had faded.
Un Am had given up the position of sect leader for the sake of the next generation, and Un Geom himself might never again be able to aim for the title of Mount Hua’s greatest sword.
The predecessors who endured the long darkness, and the descendants who were building up their shining reputation.
The Un generation only existed to bridge the two.
“Go!”
Moo Gak’s blue sword energy burst outward, flooding the arena.
It was truly vast, and unbelievably majestic.
Watching the vivid force of Moo Gak’s sword, Un Geom felt his eyes sting with brilliance. That sword still held radiance within it.
Unlike his own, which had faded.
Faded?
Un Geom’s sword began to pour out red sword energy.
He knew it too. It was gone forever.
The brilliant days of his life. The green youth that had been full of confidence in himself.
The pure hope that effort would someday make everything possible.
None of that would ever return to him once it had faded.
And yet...
My sword is still here.
Even if he had to wield it with an unfamiliar hand.
Even if he could no longer reach the place he had once aimed for.
The Plum Blossom Sword he had swung his whole life still remained in his grasp.
“Aaaaaaaaah!”
With a restrained roar, Un Geom charged toward the incoming sword energy surging at him like an enraged wave.
So what if it does?
Was weakness a reason not to try?
Could this sticky regret clinging to his ankles really be a reason not to take another step?
Watch closely, Senior Brother!
What had faded was not gone. Even withered branches bloom.
The sword energy that rose from the tip of Un Geom’s blade flared red, as if it were the resentment of a man spitting defiance at the world.
He was still here.
Here...
Right here.