There Are Losses More Precious Than Victory (4)
“So….”
Baek Cheon, who had been chatting so casually, suddenly jerked his head to the side.
Huh?
Even Jo Gul and Yoon Jong looked at him with puzzled eyes. But they couldn’t ask what was wrong right away, because Baek Cheon’s face had gone far too grave.
What is it?
“Sago?”
At that moment, Dang Soso’s voice came from behind them.
Turning around, they saw that Yu I-seol was also staring fixedly at one side with a face much like Baek Cheon’s. Dang Soso tilted her head, confusion written all over her eyes.
What are they looking at?
Baek Cheon and Yu I-seol were looking at the same place—the Wudang camp beyond the duel platform.
“Chung Myung.”
“Hmm.”
At Baek Cheon’s low call, Chung Myung scratched his cheek. He had been glancing toward Wudang with an odd expression, and the corner of his mouth curled upward in a crooked smile.
“Well… seems like some pretty big shot’s shown up.”
The energy he felt was unlike anything so far. Though the person made no effort to flaunt himself, a presence that pressed down on the whole area was unmistakably there.
“So they’re finally gonna show us what they’ve got?”
That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least not for Mount Hua.
Heo Gong’s voice was colder than ice. It was hard to believe that such a tone was being directed at his own senior brothers and junior brothers.
The lower-ranking Wudang disciples couldn’t very well complain to Elder Heo Gong even if they heard such words. But Heo Sanja was different. Unchecked anger flushed his face a deep red.
“You wretch! What kind of nonsense is that?”
His stern rebuke rang out, but Heo Gong’s expression did not change in the slightest. If anything, he answered with infuriating calm.
“That is exactly why I told you so many times, Senior Brother.”
“……”
“For a martial artist, strength alone may not be everything, but it must never be lacking.”
Heo Sanja clenched his jaw.
He was not so foolish as to miss the fact that those words were aimed at him.
“When you neglect your training in favor of all those trivial matters, this is the humiliation you bring upon us. What are the disciples supposed to learn from that?”
“Have you finished?”
Heo Sanja’s icy killing intent collided with Heo Gong’s relaxed gaze. The tension between them was so taut it seemed to hum. It was broken only by Heo Gong’s low chuckle.
“There’s no need to be so angry. You should be grateful I devoted myself only to martial arts.”
Heo Sanja bit his lower lip and tightened his fist.
What a madman.
The elders of Wudang were all eccentric.
It might sound strange to call Daoists, who lived in cultivation, eccentric. But it was an undeniable fact.
Too much of anything was worse than too little. Men who had spent their whole lives pursuing strength, only to end up wandering hardship in search of something that was their own, could hardly be expected to be gentle souls.
That was why even within Wudang, no one cared to provoke the elders if they could help it.
But Heo Gong was especially odd, even among those elders.
He had been born with talent for the sword so exceptional that no one could deny it, and yet he was so thoroughly alienated even by his own senior brothers that there was no need to explain how severe his temperament truly was.
“The Sect Leader surely gave you orders! Why are you so late?”
“I wasn’t late at all. I arrived long ago.”
“Then why only come now?”
“I merely watched.”
“What?”
Heo Gong turned his head slightly to look at the lower-ranking Wudang disciples. Meeting his gaze, they all lowered their heads in shame and avoided his eyes.
“I wanted to see just how pathetic the sect had become while my eyes were elsewhere.”
“You little—”
Heo Sanja ground his teeth.
Though Heo Gong had couched it in the word “sect,” the criticism was really aimed at Heo Sanja’s own priorities—his greater interest in external affairs than in devoted martial cultivation—and at the Sect Leader, who had fostered that very climate.
“And what right do you have to say such things when you’ve buried yourself in the mountains and only do what you please?”
Heo Gong lifted one hand slightly.
It meant he had no intention of fighting over this argument.
“Don’t get so worked up. That’s why I came, wasn’t it?”
“……”
“Still.”
Heo Gong turned his head toward Mount Hua.
“I thought there might actually be something interesting going on, since you bothered to call me all this way, but it was only a matter of frightening children from another sect….”
A hint of mockery curled at his mouth.
“How disappointing. Truly disappointing. You kept saying it was all for the sect’s sake while doing this and that, but it seems things haven’t gone as smoothly as you’d hoped, Senior Brother.”
Heo Sanja’s tightly clenched jaw trembled with rage.
He and Heo Dojin-in had been of one mind on one point: Wudang’s prestige must be raised, and its influence spread throughout the world.
But not all Wudang elders agreed.
In fact, a greater number believed that the sect should focus on proper Daoist cultivation and deepen its commitment to martial arts. It was a deep and long-standing rift within Wudang—one cut as if by a blade.
To begin speaking of it now would make the conversation endless.
“Heo Gong.”
“Yes, Senior Brother.”
“I know what you’re trying to say. But this is not the time for such talk. You, too, cannot possibly accept Wudang’s sword being placed beneath Mount Hua.”
At Heo Sanja’s words, Heo Gong tilted his head with a cold expression.
“At the very least….”
“……”
“So long as my head remains attached to my neck, that will not happen.”
Heo Sanja nodded before he realized it.
This was precisely why Heo Dojin-in had sent Heo Gong here.
If it had been any of the other Wudang elders, they would never have put their hands on the absurdly young disciples of Mount Hua, no matter how much the sect’s dignity was at stake.
But Heo Gong was different.
He didn’t much care if Wudang’s name wound up beneath Mount Hua’s. But he absolutely would not tolerate anyone saying Wudang’s sword was inferior to Mount Hua’s.
Whatever his personality, his skill is unquestionable.
Heo Gong was among the younger elders. The age difference between him and Mu Jin, in fact, was only about ten years. Yet his skill surpassed all of his senior brothers by a wide margin.
If only he could cast off that arrogant, foul temperament and learn a little tolerance, he could one day become Wudang’s greatest sword. He’s a man trapped by himself.
That was Heo Dojin-in’s assessment of Heo Gong.
In any case, now that such a man had come, it should be no difficult matter to show Mount Hua Wudang’s strength at the very least.
As if Heo Gong understood his own task well, he wasted no time getting to the point.
“I don’t intend to drag this out. I’ll go at once.”
“Wait.”
At Heo Sanja’s words, Heo Gong narrowed his eyes and gave him an annoyed look. But Heo Sanja cut him off in a calm voice.
“The duel isn’t over yet. No matter how you look at it, an elder stepping in to face second-generation disciples is an embarrassment.”
“Embarrassment?”
Heo Gong gave a snort, ignoring all courtesy as if it were beneath him.
“It’s because you cling to such formalities that you’ve been shamed like this, Senior Brother!”
“……”
“We’ve already suffered every kind of disgrace—what more ceremony do you think matters now? So it’s embarrassing for an elder to face second-generation disciples, but it’s fine for first-generation disciples to do it?”
“……”
Heo Sanja fell silent, unable to answer. Heo Gong shook his head in disdain.
“Pathetic. Truly pathetic.”
Then, with a sneer, he asked the lower-ranking disciples, “What do you think? How does it feel to be Wudang’s first-generation disciples and still not be able to stand proudly before Mount Hua’s second-generation disciples?”
At the thinly veiled rebuke, the Wudang disciples lowered their heads even further in shame.
“Useless lot.”
Clear contempt touched Heo Gong’s mouth.
“So, who’s next? Who’s going to step forward and put on another clown show just to claim a win? Come on, speak.”
“……”
“Now!”
At his bark, the disciples’ heads sank even lower.
“Mu Jin.”
“……Yes, Elder.”
“Will you go?”
Mu Jin could not answer immediately.
He knew it too. Even if two more first-generation disciples stepped up and defeated two more of Mount Hua’s second-generation disciples, it would not restore Wudang’s honor.
That might even be a deeper humiliation than defeat.
“I was too focused on my own sword and paid too little heed to the sect. I never imagined the disciples of Wudang would show such a pathetic sight.”
“……I am sorry, Elder.”
“When we return to Wudang, I’ll cure you of that rotten state of mind first.”
After sweeping his disciples with a frigid look, Heo Gong turned sharply on his heel.
“If you want a clown show, do as you please. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep me waiting too long.”
Heo Sanja let out a pained sound at that.
He had come here because he needed to leave behind a visible result.
But even if they won twice more here, the outcome would not change all that much. Considering how stubbornly morale refused to rise, it might actually be better to drive the point home here and now.
“Heo Gong.”
“Yes.”
“Then make sure you press them down hard.”
At Heo Sanja’s reminder, Heo Gong’s lips curled.
“You seem to have forgotten who I am, Senior Brother.”
It was a brazen thing to say, and yet at that moment it sounded more reliable than anything else in the world.
Heo Gong flicked his sword and stepped forward.
“I’ll teach those Mount Hua brats that they’re still a hundred years too early to look down on Wudang.”
Heo Sanja nodded and stepped back.
Mu Jin, watching Heo Gong’s leisurely back as he made his way toward the duel platform, finally spoke with a stiff face.
“Elder.”
Heo Sanja glanced at him and said with regret, “I’m sorry. I should have given you a chance to demonstrate your skill.”
“I’m fine. But is it really all right for Elder Heo Gong to step in…?”
“Are you worried?”
“……To be honest, yes.”
Even within Wudang, no one sought instruction from Heo Gong.
It wasn’t because he was weak. It was because, unlike a proper Daoist, he was brutally merciless and showed no consideration for his opponent’s circumstances.
If that happened within Wudang itself, it could somehow be cleaned up. But if the other side belonged to another sect, trouble was sure to follow.
“There’s no need to worry.”
“But….”
“Do you think the Sect Leader would have sent Heo Gong here without considering that?”
Mu Jin fell silent.
It was true—the Sect Leader would have thought the same. If he had still sent Heo Gong anyway, then one of two intentions must have been at work.
Either he believed Heo Gong could be controlled and kept from going too far… or else….
“Sometimes a whip is necessary for a child who doesn’t know his limits and runs wild.”
“……”
“As fellow Daoists, there’s nothing wrong with giving him a little smack to break that arrogance. It may do Mount Hua some good.”
Heo Sanja let out a low Daoist chant.
But Mu Jin had no choice but to swallow a sigh.
Is that really a whip for proper instruction?
Or is it a violent fit born from fear of the younger generation rising over your head?
He could not bring himself to ask that aloud. He could only stare at Heo Gong as he stepped onto the duel platform and pray with all his heart.
Please…
Let there be no further reason to be disappointed in the sect.