Don’t Worry! I’ll Make Sure You Win! (2)
The woman glared at Chung Myung with cold eyes.
Even so, Chung Myung managed to glean a few pieces of information about the person standing before him.
First of all, this woman belonged to Mount Hua.
The plum blossom pattern embroidered on her chest proved as much. Only Mount Hua disciples were allowed to wear this uniform.
Second.
Tsk tsk. She’ll have men falling all over themselves.
She was beautiful.
In his previous life, Chung Myung had wandered the martial world countless times. It was said that the proper path for a Daoist was to cultivate the Way without being swayed by the world’s currents, but for the man known as Mount Hua’s greatest expert, it had been impossible to stay cooped up within the sect all his life.
It had been that way even back when he was a junior disciple. It started with flinging beatings at the prodigies of other sects—the so-called geniuses, the talents that appeared once in a hundred years, or whatever absurd title they were given.
After that came the righteous deeds of smashing the skulls of troublemaking demonic bastards and swindling evil martial artists, all in order to raise Mount Hua’s reputation.
And that wasn’t all. Even in old age, he had to cut down every so-called number-one expert from every sect and prove that Mount Hua’s sword was the greatest under heaven.
Of course, none of it had been by choice.
The old men were such a pain in the ass.
Humans naturally hated being forced to do things. Back then, the elders of Mount Hua had the job of somehow tangling up Chung Myung with Chung Mun and pushing him out the door whenever he showed even the slightest sign of refusing to go. Thanks to them, Chung Myung had toured the martial world until he was sick to death of it.
But even among all those countless journeys, he had almost never seen a beauty like this. There was still something of an unbloomed flower about her, but she was enough to make one wonder what she would look like once she came fully into bloom.
Black hair and black eyebrows like ink. Skin white as snow. And, above all, those clear, large eyes made a striking impression.
If Chung Myung had really been an actual child who hadn’t yet reached manhood, he might have been overwhelmed by that beauty and fumbled around in a panic.
The problem was that the current Chung Myung was an old man who had seen and experienced too much to be swayed by nothing more than a pretty face.
“Who are you?”
“A person.”
“….”
The sword pressed in a little farther.
Ow, damn it! She doesn’t get jokes! It was a joke!
“Mount Hua uniform.”
Her gaze lingered on the emblem over Chung Myung’s chest, then returned to his face.
“A face I don’t recognize. Who are you?”
“I don’t recognize you either.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you one of the third generation?”
“Yes.”
“The Mount Hua third-generation disciples aren’t allowed outside the gates after sunset.”
“I am.”
“...What?”
“The sect leader allowed it.”
At Chung Myung’s brazen reply, another layer of frost seemed to fall over the woman’s face.
“The sect leader did?”
“Yes.”
“To a third-generation disciple?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
Without answering, Chung Myung merely shrugged.
“Why don’t you check for yourself? Surely you don’t think a Mount Hua disciple would lie in the sect leader’s name.”
The woman’s eyes wavered slightly. Apparently, she found that plausible.
“So, first, would you put that sword away? It’s poking me. Kind of hurts.”
“….”
At last, the woman lowered her sword. She still had not verified whether his words were true, but if the sect leader really had given him permission, then Chung Myung being here would not be a crime.
However.
“Watching someone else train is normally forbidden.”
“This used to be where I trained. Until yesterday, this place was mine, and suddenly someone else shows up, and then I’m supposed to act like I’m the one sneaking around? What exactly am I supposed to say to that?”
“You can leave the moment you notice.”
“If I see some stranger hovering around Mount Hua’s grounds, of course I’m going to check it out.”
The woman bit her lip. Her snow-white face had turned faintly red, so she seemed to be getting irritated now.
She’s hopeless at arguing.
Her sword looked sharp enough, but her tongue clearly wasn’t. Then again, with a face like that, she probably didn’t need to argue with anyone very often.
This world really is rotten.
Pretty faces got to live life on easy mode, that was the way of it.
“What’s your name?”
“Chung Myung.”
“Have you already been given a Daoist name?”
“No. My name is Chung Myung.”
“...Third-generation disciples all have the Chung prefix, don’t they? It’s your given name, not a Daoist name?”
“Yes. If I ever get a Daoist name, I’ll probably get Chung Myung as my Daoist name too.”
“Ah….”
She was dull. Definitely dull.
“I am Yu I-seol.”
“Yes.”
Yu I-seol silently stared at Chung Myung for a while.
“What is it?”
“I’m a second-generation disciple, so if you really are a Mount Hua member of the Chung generation, that makes me your sagung.”
Huh?
Chung Myung tilted his head.
There was a Baek generation?
No, of course there was. Mount Hua’s generational naming followed the sequence Chung-Mun-Baek-Un-Hyeon, so naturally the Baek generation came below the Un generation, and after that came the Chung generation again.
In other words, the Baek generation beneath the Un generation, the one currently teaching the kids, was perfectly normal.
I just never saw a single one of them, so I forgot they existed.
When a sect was at war or in seclusion, problems arose if the generation hierarchy was linked directly, because age gaps made things awkward. So depending on the situation, a sect might skip a generation.
Mount Hua had been in such terrible shape that he’d assumed that was what had happened here, but there really was a Baek generation?
“This is the first time I’ve heard Mount Hua has a sahu or sagung.”
“You’re the youngest in Mount Hua, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Your martial brothers didn’t tell you?”
“Uh… well….”
There was no way the third-generation disciples, who already seemed to spend their every waking moment thinking about how to escape the moment they made eye contact with Chung Myung, would ever have told him something like that.
My bad.
Chung Myung accepted it with easy composure and nodded neatly.
“Looks like there was some misunderstanding. Whatever.”
Out of nowhere, a new batch of Baek-generation disciples had appeared. But so what? From Chung Myung’s point of view, they were just a few more bloodstains in human form.
“That’s it?”
“Huh?”
“No greeting?”
Chung Myung twisted his face in disgust.
What, this little runt wants a greeting from an old man?
The young were the ones at fault. The young were always at fault. How miserable.
“Fine. Nice to meet you, sagung.”
Chung Myung offered a perfunctory greeting in a voice that contained not even a shred of feeling.
Now get lost already.
I need to train too. Don’t just sit there hogging someone else’s training ground and wasting my time! The sun’s about to come up!
“...What a strange child.”
Who?
Me?
Yu I-seol, who had been looking at Chung Myung with a faint gleam in her eyes, spoke again in a slightly colder voice.
“I’ll confirm whether your words are true with the sect leader. If you were lying, you’d better prepare yourself.”
Chung Myung answered indifferently.
“Do whatever you want.”
“...!”
Yu I-seol silently stared at Chung Myung for a long while, then tilted her head slightly.
“You really are strange.”
“….”
He wanted to say the exact same thing back to her.
After she sheathed her sword, Yu I-seol gave Chung Myung one last look and started down Lotus Blossom Peak. As her figure disappeared, Chung Myung looked at the rising sun in the distance and let out a sigh.
“My miserable fate.”
Being treated like this by a child who didn’t even count as his great-grandchild.
“My training time’s all messed up too.”
He could still train if he wanted to, but once someone else had used the place with him, all desire to train simply vanished.
At this rate, every time I want to train, I’ll have to go back down Mount Hua and climb right back up again.
Chung Myung clicked his tongue.
Looks like he’d have to find another training ground.
* * *
“Why does this place feel like a funeral?”
Chung Myung tilted his head as he looked at the dining hall, which had turned into a house of mourning.
It had been months since he’d last seen a mood this dark and gloomy. The old Baekmae Hall had maybe felt like this once, but after Chung Myung turned that place upside down, this had never happened again.
“You’re here?”
Yoon Jong raised a hand slightly.
After taking his meal and walking over to the table where Yoon Jong and Jo Gul were sitting, Chung Myung asked the moment he sat down, “Why is the atmosphere like this?”
“...Your martial uncles are coming back.”
“The Baek generation?”
“Oh? You knew that?”
“...Should I beat you up once?”
I’ve lived my whole life in Mount Hua, you moron!
“Anyway, what about it? Is there some problem with the Baek generation coming back?”
“Well. First, don’t call them the Baek generation in front of them. If they hear that, it’ll cause trouble. You could get scolded badly.”
“Me? Or you?”
“...I’ll have to think about that.”
Yoon Jong smiled wryly.
“The martial uncles had left Mount Hua in order to go into seclusion. In the past, the training caves weren’t properly prepared, so there wasn’t a place inside Mount Hua where a large-scale secluded training session could be held.”
“So they went on a study abroad program.”
“...It wasn’t another sect, so calling it study abroad is a bit much.”
“Anyway, so what? What’s so bad that all the kids are acting like this? Are the martial uncles all so awful that they’d start beating people up?”
“The martial uncles aren’t the sort to oppress people like someone else I could name.”
“I’m curious who this ‘someone else’ is.”
“...Let’s move on.”
Yoon Jong tried to make a clumsy jab and then retreated in embarrassment. Jo Gul quickly took over.
“It’s because of Hwajong Jihoe.”
“Huh? The meeting where flowers end?”
“No, the meeting between Mount Hua and Southern Edge.”
“What’s that?”
Jo Gul let out a sigh.
“Mount Hua and Southern Edge have exchange matches once in a while. These days, they gather once every two years and hold a martial contest to compare their achievements.”
“Oh, I think I’ve heard of something like that… When did it start?”
“How would I know? Anyway, I heard it’s been around for a long time.”
Yoon Jong added, “I was told the first Hwajong Jihoe was a gathering held once every five years to strengthen fellowship. But little by little, it changed into this, a martial contest under the name of exchange between the second-generation and third-generation disciples.”
“A martial contest?”
“Well, if you can even call it a contest….”
The answer came from somewhere else.
“They just got beaten up one-sidedly.”
“My waist still aches from the beating I took back then.”
“How are they going to hold up this time? After they get utterly wrecked, the martial uncles are all going to have to go around with steel masks on their faces again. The whole mood went to hell.”
Watching the situation, Chung Myung snickered.
“Ah, so the higher-ups can’t fight directly because things would get too big, so the second-generation and third-generation disciples fight instead? And so far they’ve just been getting beaten one-sidedly?”
“Exactly. That’s why, so they wouldn’t suffer that humiliation again, the martial uncles went into seclusion in a group and are only now coming back. In other words, the time for Hwajong Jihoe has come again.”
“Oh, really?”
The corners of Chung Myung’s mouth slowly curled upward.
“So we’re fighting Southern Edge, then?”
Southern Edge.
That Southern Edge.
His bad feelings toward Southern Edge were already at the highest point of his entire life.
In the past, there had at least been a shred of pity for them, but ever since he’d recently learned the truth about the Snow Flower Twelve Sword, wasn’t Chung Myung the kind of person who could grind his teeth just from hearing the name Southern Edge while half-asleep?
“A martial contest, huh….”
Back when Chung Myung had still lived in that era, there had been no such thing as Hwajong Jihoe.
At that time, Mount Hua had been the number one sword sect under heaven, and Southern Edge had already been in a miserable state, so a martial contest would have meant nothing. But now, with Mount Hua weakened, they wanted to hold a friendly duel?
What a joke.
They really think Mount Hua is easy prey, huh?
Chung Myung’s eyes glinted dangerously.
However pathetic Mount Hua might look, it was still his sect. He could beat up his own kids, but he couldn’t stand someone else doing it!
“So those second-generation bastards—!”
“Chung Myung, please, I’m begging you. Call them martial uncles. Please.”
“Oh. Then those martial uncle bastards—!”
“...!”
“If they’ve been in seclusion, does that mean they can win?”
“...Well, not exactly.”
Yoon Jong couldn’t answer right away. The very fact that they were entering seclusion to prepare for a martial contest meant they were at a disadvantage, and even if their accomplishments were high, it was hard to guarantee victory.
“I see.”
Chung Myung ground his teeth.
“Then we’ll have to win it ourselves!”
“Huh?”
“Sahyungs! If winning means being willing to do absolutely anything, then you’re all ready for that, right? Like swallowing poison! Or having your arms and legs broken! As long as you can beat the Southern Edge brats and make Mount Hua’s name ring through the world, you’d be fine dying for it, right? Of course you would!”
Uh, isn’t that going a bit far…?
Are you taking this a little too seriously?
“Don’t worry! I’ll make sure we win! I’ll turn them into a puddle of blood and spit!”
Apparently, he wasn’t a Daoist after all.
He should go to the Green Forest and become a bandit. Why come here?
Then again, this was a mountain too.
Ha.
Hahahaha.