Don’t Worry! I’ll Make Sure You Win! (5)
Sweat poured off him like a waterfall.
“Haa…”
The moment he realized he was still alive, his whole body began spilling out proof of it. So much sweat streamed down his face that he could barely keep his eyes open.
Then his body started shaking all over.
What if it had gone even a fraction deeper?
No—he didn’t even need a fraction. If the sword had stopped just a little lower, Jo Gul would have been a corpse with his head split clean in half.
“Y-you… y-you…”
He wanted to swear, but no words came out. His body trembled so violently he couldn’t control it.
Chung Myung looked at him and let out a snort.
“How is it?”
“...How is what?”
“I’m asking how it feels.”
“...?”
How was it supposed to feel?
If this had been any other time, he might have found the words to answer. But there wasn’t enough sanity left in Jo Gul’s head for that now.
“The feeling of dying?”
“Th-that…”
Jo Gul squeezed out the last of his strength.
“You little colt bastard…”
“Kihihihih.”
Even after taking an insult, Chung Myung didn’t look bothered in the slightest.
Of course not. Jo Gul had just come back from the edge of hell; if he’d had any strength left in his hand, he would have charged at Chung Myung and tried to kill him on the spot.
“All right, sahyung, take a rest.”
Chung Myung spun around with a light, jaunty motion, then turned his gaze to the other martial brothers staring at him with hollow expressions.
Flinch.
Their eyes met, and every one of them quietly looked away.
“Sahyungs, sahyungs. Think about it.”
“...”
“Do you really think you can avoid getting hit that way?”
That demon bastard.
How did Mount Hua end up with trash like that?
Is that really something a Daoist is supposed to say?
If Taesang Laojun himself saw what Chung Myung was doing, they were certain he’d start cursing like a dockside brawler.
“Now. Stop wasting time. If it’s your turn, come on out. All right, Great Sahyung?”
“...”
Yoon Jong looked at Chung Myung with a bitter expression, then slowly turned his head away.
“Wouldn’t it be better if Jong Hak went out?”
“Huh? Sahyung. I think he’s calling for you.”
“So you’re saying you won’t go?”
When Yoon Jong glared at him, Jong Hak quickly dropped his head.
What is wrong with all of these people?
In the past, Yoon Jong at least had the dignity of a Great Sahyung. But ever since Chung Myung had arrived, something about him had undeniably gone strange. Though, honestly, was Yoon Jong the only one who’d changed?
“You’re not coming out?”
“...”
Watching the martial brothers bicker, Chung Myung let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“What a sad thing. Martial brothers who are supposed to help each other, reduced to this ugly dogfight.”
And whose fault is that, you bastard!
Did you sell your conscience at the market?
As long as you’re gone, peace will return! Only you!
Their desperate screams never made it past their throats.
Looking at them, Chung Myung nodded as if to say not to worry.
“There’s only one way martial brothers truly unite. You all have to suffer the same hell and roll around in it together before brotherhood naturally blooms. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it fairly.”
Fairly? What the hell?
Chung Myung raised his sword.
“If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you. Here I go!”
Don’t! You crazy bastard!
Whether the others were horrified or not, Chung Myung burst into laughter and charged straight at the third-generation disciples. The startled disciples shrieked and ran, but Chung Myung pursued them like a wolf chasing a flock of sheep.
“Why are you running?”
“Would you not run, you lunatic?!?!”
Yoon Jong screamed, then flinched as he watched the blade drop toward his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Urk…”
“Huaa…”
The third-generation disciples sprawled across the training ground, all of them trembling as though their souls had been knocked loose from their bodies.
“Oh, Mother…”
“Father, I’ll live a good life…”
“Under the bed… I hid jerky…”
“How is that what you’re thinking about right now? Right now?”
Chung Myung clicked his tongue at the sight of his collapsed martial brothers.
“What did you even do that was so impressive?”
Normally they would have snapped back, but the third-generation disciples didn’t even have the strength for that. Seeing a real sword come rocketing down at your head at impossible speed was an experience they never wanted to have again—unless they died, of course.
Yoon Jong wiped the sweat from his eyes with a trembling hand.
That reckless bastard…
He had already been beaten by Chung Myung countless times before, but this was different. It honestly felt like he had one foot shoved over the threshold of the underworld and had only barely managed to claw his way back.
Chung Myung looked over everyone and spoke.
“So? How was it?”
“...How was what?”
Jo Gul, the one who had been hit first and had managed to recover the most, answered with difficulty.
“Why couldn’t you block it?”
“...Huh?”
“It was just a straightforward downward slash. Why couldn’t you block it?”
So he’d dragged them through all this just to say that?
Jo Gul blew up.
“Because it was fast! It was so fast and so strong I couldn’t think before I had to block it! Even a three-year-old knows that, you idiot!”
“Is that so?”
Chung Myung grinned with obvious satisfaction.
“You do understand, then.”
“You—”
Jo Gul ground his teeth.
“Then why don’t sahyungs do that?”
“Huh?”
Jo Gul stared at Chung Myung in a daze. The moment he was about to object, Chung Myung raised his sword and brought it down.
FWAAAANG!
Along with the sound of air tearing apart, a cloud of dust burst up from the ground.
“Simple enough, right?”
“...”
It wasn’t just Jo Gul anymore.
The other martial brothers were already getting back to their feet, all of them staring at Chung Myung’s sword.
“...That’s the sword I saw?”
“Yeah.”
“It looked several times faster than that. You weren’t holding back, were you?”
“It’s the same. A sword falling at your own head and a sword you’re watching from the side can’t possibly look the same.”
“...”
Jo Gul was a fairly smart guy. That was why he understood quickly what Chung Myung meant.
“You’re saying I can do it too?”
“More than enough.”
Chung Myung lifted his sword.
“Watch.”
And slashed downward again.
FWAANG!
Jo Gul burned the motion into his eyes. It certainly wasn’t some impossible speed that defied sight or some miraculous technique. It was just a fast, plain, direct downward cut—nothing more, nothing less.
Lift the sword. Bring it down.
The moment that simple motion was carried out to perfection, the one wielding the sword became a painting in motion.
Without realizing it, Jo Gul’s mouth fell open.
“That’s a downward strike.”
“...”
He snapped his mouth shut again.
“If you’ve built a body, then you need to use a sword that suits it. First, the lower body.”
Chung Myung stamped the ground hard.
“With a firmly anchored lower body as your base, drive the force up through your waist, carry it to the fingertips, unify it with your internal energy, and then cut down in one breath.”
FWAANG!
Chung Myung smirked.
“Easy, right?”
“...”
After hearing Chung Myung’s explanation, Yoon Jong opened his mouth in a heavy voice.
“I understand what you’re saying. Rather than chasing after some half-baked, flashy sword art, it would be better for us to swing the sword simply and cleanly with our trained bodies as the foundation. For us, at this stage, that is.”
“And one-hit kill.”
Chung Myung added to Yoon Jong’s explanation.
“You need the resolve not to swing your sword twice. You have to be willing to kill in one blow—or die trying.”
Yoon Jong let out a sigh.
So that’s why he showed us one by one.
A single picture was worth a thousand words. There was an enormous difference between hearing about a sword meant to kill in one strike and actually facing it yourself. If the people standing here hadn’t personally experienced Chung Myung’s sword dropping toward their heads, they would never have understood so easily.
“Still, Chung Myung.”
Yoon Jong sighed deeply before speaking again.
“I don’t misunderstand what you mean, but we are disciples of Mount Hua. Does winning this way even mean anything?”
“What does it mean to be a disciple of Mount Hua, then?”
“Shouldn’t a disciple of Mount Hua bring an opponent down with Mount Hua’s swordsmanship?”
At that, Chung Myung looked at Yoon Jong as if he’d heard something absurd.
“What do you think I just did?”
“A downward strike.”
“What’s the first form of the Yukhap Sword?”
“...A downward strike.”
“Exactly. Isn’t Yukhap also Mount Hua’s sword?”
Yoon Jong coughed loudly under Chung Myung’s flat stare.
“I was too narrow-minded.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Chung Myung clicked his tongue and swept his gaze over the others.
“Yukhap is Mount Hua’s foundation, the very root of Mount Hua. Everything in Mount Hua begins with Yukhap and ends with Yukhap. And yet!”
When Chung Myung narrowed his eyes, the guilty ones quietly looked away.
“You lot can’t even properly perform Yukhap, and you’re already obsessed with Falling Flower this and Seven Plum that!”
“Ahem.”
“Ah, the night air is so nice.”
“And the moon’s bright tonight.”
The third-generation disciples, all red in the face, pretended not to hear him.
“Listen carefully.”
Chung Myung’s voice dropped low. His usual playfulness vanished, and the martial brothers all looked at him with serious eyes.
“If you can’t learn Yukhap properly, then learning any other sword art is useless. Every sword art in Mount Hua is built on Yukhap. A house without a foundation will collapse in a light breeze. Sahyungs need to make what they already have completely their own first.”
Everyone nodded.
It was the sort of thing that would be hard to believe if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes. But hadn’t they already experienced it with their own bodies?
The Falling Flower Sword, which had seemed so overwhelmingly powerful, couldn’t stop even a single strike.
A simple downward slash looked like the greatest sword art under heaven.
What matters isn’t the sword art. It’s the person using the sword.
Jo Gul got to his feet and looked at Chung Myung.
“Chung Myung.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll ask just one thing.”
“Sure.”
Jo Gul collected his thoughts for a moment, then spoke at once.
“I understand what you mean when you say Yukhap is important. But we’re not you. This may sound stupid, but what we need right now isn’t future strength far down the line—it’s power that can smash those Zhongnan bastards’ noses in right this instant.”
“Hmm.”
“Honestly, among us, you’re the only one who can make that kind of power out of Yukhap. So I’m asking.”
Jo Gul’s eyes shone.
“If we do as you say, can we beat the Zhongnan bastards?”
Instead of answering, Chung Myung let out a sigh.
Seeing that reaction, Jo Gul bit his lip a little.
I know that’s a pathetic thing to say.
Jo Gul wasn’t so clueless that he didn’t understand a martial artist shouldn’t obsess over petty victories and should instead keep his eyes fixed on the long road ahead. But losing to Zhongnan had been an experience he never wanted again. That humiliation…
“Sahyung, what do you think I’m saying?”
“Huh?”
Chung Myung’s eyes flashed wildly.
“Lose to Zhongnan? Then that kind of person doesn’t deserve to be alive. Since when does a disciple of Mount Hua lose to trash like Zhongnan? I’ll smash their heads open!”
Seeing the murderous light in Chung Myung’s eyes, Jo Gul’s whole body shivered.
No, fine, we can be that way—but why are you so worked up about Zhongnan?
And he’d only been in Mount Hua for a little while.
“Didn’t I tell you? I’ll make sure you win.”
Chung Myung pointed his sword at the martial brothers.
“There’s no such thing as a noble defeat.”
“...”
“In a fight, winning is all that matters. Bite their pant legs, throw dirt in their eyes—whatever it takes! If you win, that’s the end of it! Cowardly? What a joke. Do you think a headless man on a battlefield gets to talk about cowardice? Win by any means necessary!”
Chung Myung was calmly making a declaration that would have made the elders of any sect foam at the mouth.
Jo Gul snorted at him.
Right. This guy was always like this.
It was strangely reassuring.
“So then what are we supposed to do now? How do we use a sword like you?”
“That’s simple.”
Chung Myung’s lips curled into a grin.
“We start with ten thousand downward strikes.”
“...You’re joking, right?”
“You think?”
“You have to be joking.”
“Nah.”
“Joking…”
Chung Myung smiled sweetly.
“Want to lose and die? Or die now?”
“...”
Maybe Mount Hua’s greatest enemy wasn’t outside the sect at all.