There Are Losses More Precious Than Victory (1)
It spread outward.
Branches reaching from a thick, towering old tree shielded the fierce sunlight and cast a vast patch of shade across the ground.
It was a sight unlike the plum blossoms of Mount Hua that they had seen until now, something faintly foreign.
But different did not mean wrong.
The plum blossoms of Mount Hua embodied flowers in bloom—kaehwa, the very act of blossoming. Yet what this sword was creating was the plum tree itself.
What surged forward was the Taiji Wisdom Sword.
The greatest art of Wudang, which gave shape to the principles of taiji, built on the harmony of yin and yang.
Its power was so overwhelming that it surpassed every rumor ever spoken about the Wisdom Sword.
Kwa-jijijik!
The floor of the sparring platform, made of hard blue stone, could not withstand the pressure and split apart with sharp cracks.
It seemed gentle as it pushed forward, then lashed out with fierce force; it seemed warm as it embraced, then stabbed in cold and sudden.
The harmony of yin and yang. In other words, the coexistence of opposing qualities.
Yin and yang.
This sword laid bare exactly what Wudang pursued.
Kwadeuk! Kwadeuk!
The floor, unable to endure the pressure, shattered and shot into the air. But the sword aura that came rushing in wrapped around even those broken fragments as though taking them into its embrace, then flew toward Un Geom.
It was truly an attack both soft and strong.
As a final blow against an injured man, it was so fearsome it felt almost excessive.
And yet Un Geom felt gratitude instead.
This was proof that Mu Gak acknowledged him. A declaration that he would give his all to the opponent he had recognized.
A disciple of Wudang, one he had once not even dared to look upon, was now unfolding his sword with all his strength for his sake. As a martial artist, what greater honor could there be?
For that reason, Un Geom also held no hesitation.
Spread.
Once, Chung Myung’s sword had made plum blossoms bloom.
Baek Cheon’s sword had also made plum blossoms bloom.
But even then, Un Geom’s sword had not been able to contain those blossoms.
Even so, Un Geom had not despaired. On the contrary, he had sincerely rejoiced at the children’s growth. He had turned away from the thin thread of doubt that rose in his heart, pushed it down, and smiled.
Yes. The blooming was their role.
He was only the bridge that connected the past to the future.
The one who made shade so the tender flowers would not wither under the harsh sun.
The branches spread outward, like a grievance spat into the world.
Elder.
Everyone had a beginning.
Even if he stood here as the one who taught, he had once been the one who learned.
Even in those desperate, bleak days when the sect was falling apart and Mount Hua was losing strength by the day, Hyun Sang had looked at them with nothing but warmth.
Can I pass it on?
Can I truly place what I received from you into the hands of the children?
I’ve only just realized it myself. Only now have I understood what sort of feeling you held while teaching me, but can I convey that deep heart to those children?
Un Geom tightened his grip on the sword a little more.
No. He would only believe.
He only believed that even without words, even without desperate declarations, one person’s heart could be passed to another.
From the tip of the great tree’s spreading branch, new buds emerged.
Unlike the flowers that bloomed so brilliantly from the disciples’ swords, the bud that emerged from Un Geom’s sword tip was simply green.
Kwaaaaaaang!
The incoming Taiji sword aura collided with the sword aura Un Geom had created. In that instant, the entirety of Un Geom’s sword aura rebounded and swayed violently.
“Cough!”
Blood burst from Un Geom’s mouth like a waterfall.
The tremendous qi infused into the sword aura, along with its unimaginable force, had turned his insides upside down.
It hurts.
But this could hardly be called pain.
The pain of a body being crushed was something he could endure without end.
Compared to the sight of a teacher’s shoulders bowing under helplessness, this was nothing.
Compared to the agony that tore at his gut when he realized he had nothing to give the young disciples who looked at him with clear, innocent eyes, this could not even be called pain.
Kwadeudeuk!
Un Geom’s foot sank into the ground. It looked as though a tree were driving down its roots.
The world had always been cold and cruel.
And yet, my disciples.
Winter always comes to an end.
Un Geom’s gaze drifted briefly to the empty sleeve hanging from one side of his robe.
He remembered the things he had lost.
Most people become stronger by the extent of the wounds they suffer.
But sometimes, a wound is something from which one can never recover.
The sensation at his fingertips was still unfamiliar. And yet he was still swinging his sword.
“Aaaahhhhh!”
As Un Geom cried out like a howl and swung once more, a sword aura like flames burst from the tip.
The surging sword aura, as though it were ablaze, shoved back the incoming force of yin and yang.
Boom!
The two forces collided and swept across the sparring platform.
Kwaang!
Once more!
Kwaaaaaang!
Again!
With each collision, Un Geom’s body tilted as though it might be driven straight into the floor.
And yet he never knelt. He never fell.
Even as he was wounded by the surging force, even as he seemed to break apart a little more with every impact, both his feet remained planted on the ground as firmly as ever.
“……”
Baek Cheon, watching every last moment of this scene, had bloodshot eyes.
Blood, drawn from the force of his clenched fists, was already dripping down in drops.
But his eyes never left Un Geom for even a moment.
Sasuk!
There were no words that could explain what he felt while watching this.
Only one thing was certain: it was painfully clear what Un Geom was trying to convey to the disciples.
It was something that crude language could never express, something one could only feel.
Baek Cheon’s shoulders trembled faintly.
And not only him—on the faces of every member of Mount Hua watching the bout, there was a solemnity none of them had ever worn before.
Everyone knew.
No matter what happened, even if it meant death, they must not take their eyes off this sight.
Jo Gul, who usually kept his face bright, Dang Soso, who still did not fully understand Mount Hua’s spirit deep in her bones, and even Yu I-seol, who rarely revealed her emotions, all watched Un Geom with expressions different from their usual selves.
And then…
Clench.
Even Chung Myung, standing at the front and watching the platform, slowly closed his fist.
My child.
You have lost so much.
Who could understand Un Geom’s heart as deeply as Chung Myung did? Who could understand as well the pain of losing, in an instant, the thing one had once firmly believed in?
And yet Un Geom had not lost himself.
He had simply continued to refine himself, and refine himself again.
He had not refused to learn from the disciples, had not turned away from the fact that he was no longer what he once was. He had only quietly kept walking.
Watching that back and enduring all it had endured, it was difficult to hold back the emotions welling hot in his chest.
Senior brother.
I was wrong.
I wasn’t the one who led Mount Hua back.
It was here from the very beginning.
The soul of Mount Hua.
A smile touched the corners of Chung Myung’s mouth.
“Well done.”
The low murmur slipped out. It was the echo of an ancestor, speaking across the ages to the descendant who had inherited Mount Hua’s spirit.
Where am I again?
His consciousness had grown increasingly hazy.
He felt as though his body might shatter. At times, his senses flew away, and he could no longer see ahead clearly.
Thud!
The repeated shocks battered his body, but his mind never cleared—instead, it only grew blurrier.
What was I doing?
He could not even remember well.
And yet his sword still carved through the air.
Even as consciousness drifted away, even as his body no longer moved properly, even as his will seemed to sway on the verge of breaking.
The sword form he had drawn all his life was still with him. Without conscious thought, without even placing his will into it, he was simply unfolding the sword as though that were the most natural thing in the world.
Kwaaaaaang!
Yin and yang collided with one another and gave birth to immense force. A tremendous power crashed over Un Geom whole.
Another gush of blood burst from between his tightly clenched lips.
But thanks to that, he recovered a little more of his wits.
Strong.
No matter how much he had trained, Wudang was still a mountain standing tall. Perhaps even if he devoted his whole life to training, he would never surpass Wudang.
But now, that sort of thing no longer mattered.
Woooooong!
The sword, which had been trembling violently as though it might slip from his grasp at any moment, regained a little stability.
The sword is honest.
No matter how fiercely one cried, no matter how desperately one strained, what was impossible would not suddenly become possible. If one truly wanted something, one had to build it, not shout it into being.
Build one day, then another day…
And eventually, one reaches it.
That was the path a swordsman had to walk.
Wooooooong!
As though answering his will, the sword gave off a clear, ringing cry.
Let’s play.
The sword flows. Riding the incoming sword aura, floating along as though carried by the wind.
The pressure that had been bearing down on his whole body was gone before he knew it, and the deafening roar that had been tearing at his ears receded into the distance.
All he could feel now was the sword in his hand.
What should he convey?
The question rose in his mind for only a moment before a smile bloomed at the corners of Un Geom’s mouth.
Only one thing.
He spread his feet slightly and planted them firmly on the ground.
His knees, no longer carrying unnecessary strength, naturally bent a little. As though his right arm were still there, he pushed both shoulders forward and fixed the sword in front of him.
Middle stance.
The posture from which all things begin.
At last, in his newly clarified vision, he could see the incoming sword aura of yin and yang with perfect clarity.
It was a grand, overwhelming momentum, like two dragons—one black, one white—entwined as they flew toward him.
“The beginning is always one.”
But his sword rose calmly, slowly. Lifted above his head, it then dropped down along his back.
The raised blade came crashing down, carrying everything he was within it.
The downward strike.
What he had first learned.
And what he had first taught.
Its end might differ for everyone, but its beginning would be the same.
This was his original form, and Mount Hua’s original form.
There would come a day when Mount Hua’s name would shake the world. But there would also come a time, someday, when that brilliant name would be lost and the sect would fall into decline.
But as long as the clear cries of children swinging wooden swords with their tiny hands did not disappear, Mount Hua would not disappear either.
Shaaaaaaak!
The downward strike, carrying a magnificent sword aura, split yin and yang apart.
“Haaaaaaap!”
“Taaaaat!”
With the shouts of two swordsmen pouring out every ounce of their strength, a gigantic storm of qi swept across the sparring platform.
Kwaaaaaaa!
The fiercely whirling force spread in all directions, but neither the disciples of Mount Hua nor those of Wudang retreated even one step.
They endured the surging force with their whole bodies, as though determined to carve this bout into their eyes forever.
Kwaaaaaaa!
Black, white, and blue qi surged upward as though mingling into the sky.
The gale became a strong wind, and that strong wind eventually settled into a gentle breeze.
Silence descended over the area. There were countless people there, yet none of them made even the sound of breathing.
In the strange stillness that filled the space, only the faint breaths of the two men echoed, close enough to touch.
Un Geom. And Mu Gak.
The two stood on the sparring platform.
Of the pair who had faced each other like unmoving statues, it was Un Geom who moved first.
Shrrrk.
He slowly slid his sword back into its scabbard and then raised the one remaining hand in front of him, slowly.
Just from the way it trembled, anyone could tell how much strength it had taken to lift that hand.
A hand that looked as though it might lose its strength and drop at any moment still stubbornly stretched forward.
“I… l-learned… well.”
Mu Gak thrust his sword into the ground without hesitation. Then he brought both hands together in a formal bow, deep and respectful.
“I truly… truly learned a great deal, Dojang.”
Mu Gak’s voice was trembling slightly as well.
No sooner had the words left him than Un Geom’s body collapsed toward the floor.
Thud.
“Dojang!”
“Sasuk!”
“Martial Uncle!”
Mu Gak hurriedly darted forward to support him. At the same time, the disciples of Mount Hua all rushed onto the platform.
“Cough.”
Hacky coughs continued to burst from Un Geom’s mouth.
“Sasuk! Are you all right?”
“Hall Leader! H-his internal injuries…”
As his blurred vision filled with the faces of his disciples, the corners of Un Geom’s mouth slowly curled upward.
“Awf… ”
“……”
“Wasn’t it… disgraceful?”
At that question, Baek Cheon tightened his hand around Un Geom’s.
“It was the best, Sasuk.”
Un Geom gave a faint smile.
“That’s… a relief…”
Then, as if reassured, he closed his eyes. His hand went limp at his side.
“Sa, Sasukjo!”
“There’s no need to make such a fuss.”
Calming the flustered disciples, Baek Cheon bit down hard on his lip.
“He’s only unconscious.”
“……”
And then he lifted Un Geom into his arms. Before stepping down from the platform, he did not forget to bow slightly to Mu Gak.
“As a disciple of Mount Hua, I thank you for supporting my martial uncle.”
“Amitabha.”
Mu Gak shook his head.
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“……”
“Anyone.”
Baek Cheon nodded and turned around.
The body in his arms felt far too light. That fact made him strangely sad.
“Remember this.”
“……”
“Remember what you saw.”
At his heavy voice, the disciples of Mount Hua all nodded with solemn faces. Led by Baek Cheon, who carried Un Geom in his arms, they descended from the platform. Every one of them held their shoulders proudly straight.
They were disciples of Mount Hua, and they were also Un Geom’s students.
Watching from below the platform, Chung Myung slowly nodded.
“Sometimes in this world…”
His smile held pride.
“There are losses more precious than victory.”
This defeat would remain clearly in the hearts of Mount Hua’s disciples.
As a memory that would never be forgotten.