Who the Hell Is Calling This a Duel? You’re Dead Now. (1)
“They said when you walk around the main sect, you’ve gotta keep your knees straight.”
“For me, they even said I had to ask permission just to go get a drink of water.”
“Goddammit. They’re so petty and disgusting.”
The second-generation disciples were tormenting them in every way imaginable.
Not only did they nitpick even the smallest mistakes in training, they also found fault with everything in daily life. Today, they had gone so far as to order them to clean the outside of Baekmae Hall until not a single speck of dust remained.
“They might as well just beat us up!”
Jo Gul ground his teeth hard enough to creak.
He was used to being tormented with fists, but he could not get used to this kind of harassment at all.
“I never imagined my sahyung would be that kind of person.”
“I respected them!”
“What is this, some neighborhood thugs? Is this really allowed?”
Yoon Jong let out a long sigh.
It’s not as if it isn’t allowed.
There was no doubt that the second-generation disciples were doing this to bully them. The malice and mockery in their voices were too vivid to mistake for anything else.
But that didn’t mean their behavior was actually wrong. Everything they were demanding was already written into Mount Hua’s rules.
So what was the problem?
Those rules were set at least two hundred years ago.
Old rules were supposed to be revised as the times changed.
But Mount Hua’s rules hadn’t.
So until now, the way they dealt with that gap had been to quietly ignore the outdated rules in an unwritten compromise.
Now, however, the second-generation disciples had brought those rules out and started disciplining the third-generation disciples with them.
And beyond everything else, the biggest problem was that those antique rules were so vague they could be stretched any way you wanted.
“No, seriously, how does ‘Mount Hua disciples must never let go of their swords’ mean they have to carry one even when they’re washing up or taking a dump?”
“...They said we’re supposed to hold it while we eat too.”
“And sleep with it in our hands, apparently!”
“And that’s not even the worst part. How does ‘Mount Hua disciples must always keep the teachings of the sages in their hearts’ turn into ‘you have to memorize all of Mount Hua’s history’?”
“...They probably don’t even know themselves.”
“Exactly!”
The third-generation disciples ground their teeth in unison.
Everyone’s nerves were being shredded by this bizarre sect nonsense. Every time the second-generation disciples came over and casually started checking on them, it felt like their lifespan dropped by a year.
“We can’t even eat properly! We can’t even sleep properly!”
“They call us over whenever they’re bored. They drag everyone out and start cursing us because one person messed up.”
“What kind of crap is this in broad daylight?”
“Great-sahyung! Shouldn’t you do something?”
Yoon Jong sighed again.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do?”
“This is too much! It’s obvious they’re openly trying to bully us, and there’s a limit to how much of it we should just take.”
“That’s right! We can endure everything else. But we can’t stand anything that interferes with training! No matter what, this is a martial sect—we shouldn’t be obstructing training!”
The eyes of the third-generation disciples were bloodshot with outrage.
In truth, the third- and second-generation disciples had not had much reason to clash until now. The second-generation disciples had been busy with their own training, and teaching the younger disciples was Baekmae Hall’s job, so the two groups had more or less regarded each other like strangers passing on the road.
Even so, the third-generation disciples had, in their own way, held a certain admiration for the second-generation disciples. But now that those same people were acting so cheaply and pettily, the sense of betrayal was unbearable.
Yoon Jong quietly turned his head and looked toward the source of all this trouble.
Seeing Chung Myung lounging against a chair with an indifferent expression, Yoon Jong cautiously spoke up.
“Chung Myung.”
“Yeah?”
“...Shouldn’t you do something about this?”
“About what?”
“Your sahyung s, I mean.”
Yoon Jong let out another long sigh.
Everyone was pretending not to say it out loud, but no one here was truly ignorant of why this was happening.
The second-generation disciples wanted the third-generation disciples—especially Chung Myung—to bow their heads and come to them.
It’s a horribly petty method, though.
Yoon Jong understood their position well enough.
In truth, this wasn’t really the second-generation disciples’ fault. More accurately, it was Chung Myung’s fault. Or to be exact, the problem wasn’t even his behavior.
The problem is his very existence.
Even if Yoon Jong were a second-generation disciple, it would be hard to endure a wild brat like Chung Myung appearing in a junior generation beneath him.
So far, there hadn’t been any real problems with the first-generation disciples or the elders. Chung Myung never crossed the line with them. Whatever he thought in his head, it was obvious on the surface that he respected them as seniors of the sect.
But the same was not true for the second-generation disciples.
Hadn’t Yoon Jong already seen how Chung Myung treated them?
“...Isn’t it obvious what they want?”
“Obvious?”
Yoon Jong sighed yet again.
“I know your personality well enough not to tell you to bow your head. Just humor them a little and I’ll try to handle—”
“Humor them?”
At Chung Myung’s tone, Yoon Jong’s eyelid twitched.
Oops. Wrong word choice...
But contrary to Yoon Jong’s expectation, Chung Myung didn’t explode. Instead, he merely stared at Yoon Jong with sparkling eyes and spoke with utterly cheerful enthusiasm.
“Sahyung, sahyung!”
“Y-yeah?”
“I think I’ve got an even better solution than that! This one’ll solve everything for real!”
Seeing Chung Myung’s bright, delighted grin, Yoon Jong felt a fresh surge of unease before he even heard the idea, but as the great sahyung, he had no choice but to ask.
“...What solution?”
“What else? Beat the hell out of those sahyung bastards!”
Before he had even finished speaking, Chung Myung sprang to his feet. Startled, Yoon Jong practically squeaked.
“Grab him! Grab him! If we can’t stop him, we’re all dead! Grab hiiiim!”
Perhaps feeling the same rising panic as Yoon Jong, the brothers had already prepared themselves and lunged at once. While they clung to Chung Myung’s arms and legs, Jo Gul leaped up and threw his body down on top of him.
“Aaaaaah!”
“Don’t let go! Whatever you do, don’t let go!”
“Let go! Hey, let go of me!”
The third-generation disciples, clinging to him like a pack of dogs, desperately held Chung Myung in place. In their frantic eyes was a single conviction: We will never let this crazy bastard loose outside Baekmae Hall.
“Chung Myung! Calm down, Chung Myung!”
“We’re all going to get wrecked!”
“There’s a limit to insubordination! If you actually beat a sahyung, you’ll really get expelled from the sect!”
Chung Myung’s eyes went wide and wild.
“Fine, I won’t beat them! I won’t! I’ll just land one punch! Just one, okay? I’m only talking about one punch!”
“That still counts as beating them, you insane bastard! Hey! Hold him straight!”
“What the hell, why is he this strong!”
“Grrrngh!”
Chung Myung writhed and ground his teeth.
“Those crazy bastards were not doing this even a hundred years ago! I’m getting pissed just looking at them!”
Daoism was, at its core, a place that pursued naturalness. In other words, it was a place where people were not bound by the social rules and hierarchies created by society.
Hadn’t there been a famous tale of how, when Confucius came to visit Laozi, Laozi was horrified and told him to stop acting that way?
And yet the disciples of Daoism were doing something even more old-fogeyish than what the Confucians themselves would do.
“Calm down, Chung Myung! If you hit your sahyung, you’re really in deep trouble.”
“Everything we’ve built so far could go up in smoke!”
“So just stay still for a second! Just stay still!”
“Let go! Not letting go? I’ll—!”
The third-generation disciples practically stacked themselves into a human tower to pin Chung Myung down. But every time Chung Myung struggled, the tower swayed.
Watching that scene, Yoon Jong broke into a cold sweat.
Seriously, how is this even a thing that can happen?
Baek Cheon was the strongest among the second-generation disciples.
Until Chung Myung had arrived, the title of Mount Hua’s greatest genius had naturally belonged to Baek Cheon, and no one had the slightest doubt that he would one day become the sect’s greatest expert.
Jo Gul also had talent most people could only envy, but martial arts were ultimately something built over time. Since Baek Cheon had already learned the sword more than ten years before Jo Gul, it was almost impossible for Jo Gul to catch up.
Even if it were possible, it would be a matter of decades.
That was what generational rank meant. No matter how gifted someone was, the years they had accumulated were different, and so was the martial arts they had learned. That was why the gap in rank was not something you could easily overcome.
And yet what on earth was this situation before Yoon Jong’s eyes?
The youngest of the third generation, who had only just entered Mount Hua, was saying the most absurd nonsense about beating up the great sahyung of the second generation.
The real problem is that no one here thinks it’s impossible.
If he thought about it logically?
He honestly couldn’t tell.
No matter how strong Chung Myung was, it didn’t seem like he could actually defeat Baek Cheon. Even if Chung Myung had been learning martial arts before he could walk, Baek Cheon would have been holding a sword for even longer.
Besides, Baek Cheon was not some talentless fool.
The difference between ordinary talent and a little more talent could not overcome the difference of years. Those who could do that were called geniuses, but even geniuses needed time to bridge more than a decade of experience.
Logically—truly logically—there was no way Chung Myung could beat Baek Cheon.
But the problem is that somehow, if they actually fought, it feels like Baek Cheon sahyung would be the one getting beaten up.
That was because common sense and reason simply didn’t apply to the person standing right in front of him. What had this bastard ever done that could be called normal?
“Chung Myung.”
Yoon Jong let out a deep sigh and said,
“I understand how you feel, but now is absolutely not the time.”
“Why not?”
“The Hwajong Jihoe is almost here.”
“So?”
“...Baek Cheon sahyung has to be the representative of the second generation at the Hwajong Jihoe. What do you want to do if he gets beaten up by you and can’t participate?”
“Aw, come on. Do I look like I’d beat him that badly? Hurting people without really injuring them is my specialty, don’t you know?”
“I know.”
He knew very well. He’d been hit enough times to know.
“But even so, you can’t do it. If Baek Cheon sahyung gets beaten by his martial nephew, do you think he’ll have any confidence left?”
“... ”
“Let’s just bear with it a little longer. It’s better that we get pushed around by Baek Cheon sahyung than be looked down on by those Southern Edge bastards.”
Chung Myung’s face twisted in obvious irritation.
“I think it’d be better just to smash them and be done with it.”
“Please, just this once, do me the favor of seeing it my way. The Hwajong Jihoe is that important. I’m begging you.”
“Hmm.”
Chung Myung turned his head away. Then, in a somewhat softened voice, he said,
“Move.”
The brothers looked to Yoon Jong for confirmation. When Yoon Jong nodded, they finally let Chung Myung go and slowly backed away to the side. Even so, they kept enough distance to grab him again if he suddenly lunged forward.
“So you’re saying I only have to put up with it until the Hwajong Jihoe is over, right?”
“...I didn’t exactly say you have to endure only until then, but—”
“What is this wishy-washy nonsense? Be clear!”
Yoon Jong shut his eyes tight. Then, with the sense of a man putting out the nearest fire first, he said,
“Fine! Until the Hwajong Jihoe it is!”
“Got it.”
Chung Myung nodded easily.
“At least Great-Sahyung has been suffering all this time, so I should give him that much.”
“...I’m going to cry from gratitude.”
“Why are you crying?”
“No. Nothing.”
This wasn’t tears. It was sweat from the soul, you bastard.
“But what am I supposed to do if those guys pick a fight?”
“...Do you really think they will?”
“If they do.”
Yoon Jong sighed.
“Then handle it yourself. I don’t know anymore either.”
“Yeah?”
Chung Myung’s lips curled into a grin. Seeing that smile, Yoon Jong’s unease only deepened.