Who the Hell Is Calling This a Duel? You’re Dead Now. (5)
'Has that bastard lost his mind?'
Baek Cheon could hardly contain his disbelief.
Chung Myung was walking toward him, cracking his neck from side to side as he came, and the whole sight made him look like some gutter thug threatening innocent commoners in a back alley.
Baek Cheon was thrown off for exactly two reasons.
One was that Chung Myung looked unnervingly natural playing the part of a ruffian. And the other was that the person he was threatening was none other than Baek Cheon himself.
'Has he finally gone insane?'
Baek Cheon was Chung Myung’s sago, his martial uncle.
Of course, in this duel they had agreed there would be no seniority, no status, no nonsense like that—Baek Cheon himself had said so. But that wasn’t the important thing now.
The important thing was that there was still an entire generation’s gap between Baek Cheon and Chung Myung.
Baek Cheon had entered Mount Hua when he was younger than Chung Myung was now. In other words, he had already spent well over fifteen years training in martial arts.
And Chung Myung?
'He’s only been in the sect for half a year.'
Even if he had been learning martial arts from his mother’s womb, he still couldn’t possibly have trained longer than Baek Cheon. Which meant that even if Chung Myung’s talent was on par with Bodhidharma or Zhang Sanfeng, there was no way he could beat Baek Cheon now.
Talent still needed time to show itself.
If raw giftedness alone could leap cleanly over the wall of time, why would anyone ever bother working hard to learn martial arts?
'Then what the hell is that reaction?'
And yet Chung Myung was acting as though beating Baek Cheon was the most natural thing in the world. It was so absurd Baek Cheon couldn’t even find words for it.
“...You really have lost it.”
“Nah, no way. You’re the one who’s crazy.”
“What?”
“Would you be picking a fight with me if you weren’t crazy?”
If the people who had once tangled with Chung Myung were here now, they would have nodded in perfect unison.
In Zhongnan, he had been called a devil dropped by Mount Hua. In Wudang, he had been called the single most despicable disgrace in all Daoist history. Chung Myung’s reputation reached the heavens, but his infamy covered the earth.
'That bastard’s asking to die.'
Chung Myung rolled his shoulders loose.
Surprisingly, he didn’t actually prefer violence all that much.
Huh?
What about everything he’d done until now?
Well, people never listened unless he hit them first.
For Chung Myung, violence was only a means to an end. What he really wanted, in the end, was for everyone to do what they should without needing him to raise his voice or lay a hand on them.
If that happened, why would he bother wasting his energy on violence? The problem was that things never worked out that smoothly.
But this time, for once, he found himself wanting to use violence not as a means, but as the end itself.
“Your insolence knows no bounds. Don’t come crying to me later when my hand is too heavy—”
“Keep going.”
“...What did you just say?”
Chung Myung shrugged.
“I don’t usually like talking this much before a fight, but I’ll make an exception for you. Not that you’ll be able to say anything in a little while, anyway.”
“You little—!”
Baek Cheon tightened his grip on his sword.
He had no intention of dragging this out any longer either.
'I’ll put him in his place.'
He ground his teeth. No matter what this was, it wasn’t a true duel, and he couldn’t exactly cut down a junior disciple with a blade. But he could beat him with the flat of his sword. Since it had come to this, he was going to hammer Chung Myung down so thoroughly that every time they so much as met eyes from now on, the bastard would flinch and wet himself.
Baek Cheon gripped his sword tightly and charged at Chung Myung.
His blade came at Chung Myung in a fast, clean arc. It was quite different from Yu I-seol’s sword. At first glance they might seem similar, but Baek Cheon’s was heavier, fiercer.
In a sense, it embodied orthodoxy itself.
It was a sword that pared down the countless variations fundamental to Mount Hua’s swordsmanship and brought out the blade’s fierce, forceful character instead. With a single strike, Chung Myung could already tell what kind of sword Baek Cheon had.
'Interesting.'
Zhongnan had discarded its own sword in an attempt to imitate Mount Hua’s brilliance. But Baek Cheon was going the opposite way, reducing Mount Hua’s splendor and putting Zhongnan’s honesty into his own blade.
'Well.'
Come to think of it, that made sense.
Swords always changed. And the direction of that change inevitably pointed toward a more advanced level—a better-looking realm.
In Mount Hua’s golden age, Zhongnan had been crushed beneath Chung Myung’s pressure and probably came to believe that Mount Hua’s dazzling brilliance was the right answer.
On the other hand, Mount Hua had been crushed during Zhongnan’s golden age, and its second-generation disciples—who had especially felt the disparity through the Hwajong Jihoe—would have believed Zhongnan’s sword was the correct path.
It was understandable that they would want to resemble each other.
But—
'Pathetic fools.'
Chung Myung narrowed his eyes.
What, had there been nothing better to learn from than Zhongnan’s sword? No matter what, this bastard was irritating as hell.
'He can barely digest what he already has, and he’s lusting after someone else’s?'
Looks like he’d have to show Baek Cheon exactly what Mount Hua possessed.
Just then, Baek Cheon lunged forward and shouted, “I’ll teach you some manners today!”
And Chung Myung, watching him charge, clenched his fist.
“You—”
His right foot slid back half a step.
“—want to talk about manners?”
His waist twisted back.
“No one—”
And then the fist, drawn back as far as it could go, shot forward like a spring.
“—has ever corrected me, you bastard!”
What a boast.
Chung Myung’s fist punched straight through the shifting changes of Baek Cheon’s sword, aiming for the gaps between one variation and the next and striking with perfect angle and just the right speed.
Baek Cheon’s eyes flew wide as he saw Chung Myung’s fist force its way through his sword aura.
It was easy enough to say, but how could anyone possibly shove a fist into a blade’s ever-changing flow, where even a brush of sword qi could slice an arm clean off?
To Baek Cheon, it felt as though a ghostly hand had suddenly burst out from between the strands of his sword energy.
But he didn’t have much time to be startled.
CRACK!
Baek Cheon’s jaw snapped sideways.
There was a sickening sound from the back of his neck, something slipping out of place. For a split second, his consciousness went distant, then snapped back.
When he came to, his body was already flying backward.
'What?'
What had just happened?
Reality seemed to slip away. Even as he was flung through the air, Baek Cheon still hadn’t fully grasped what had been done to his body. Then, all at once, the sense of reality rushed back and crashed over him.
THUD!
“Hrk!”
The instant his body slammed into the ground, pain beyond words flooded every part of him.
“Grrrgh...”
The back that had struck the earth was actually the least of it. The real pain had spread out from his jaw.
Baek Cheon clutched his chin and groaned.
Learning martial arts wasn’t all that different from learning to endure pain. There was the pain of pushing the body beyond its limits, of course, but injuries from sparring and duels were common too.
But this pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as though a whole new world of suffering had just opened up to him.
“Get up, punk.”
Chung Myung approached, cracking his neck from side to side.
Seeing that, Baek Cheon staggered upright. Chung Myung’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh? You’re getting up?”
You told me to get up, didn’t you?
While enduring the throbbing agony in his jaw, Baek Cheon felt like all the strength in his mind was being sucked out just trying to understand the situation. Even so, he forced his trembling legs to steady themselves and raised his sword.
A metallic taste of blood spread in his mouth.
“H-how?”
Baek Cheon wasn’t stupid.
The exchange that had just taken place was no accident. No one in their right mind would willingly shove an arm into a wave of sword qi and hope for luck.
In other words, Chung Myung had seen straight through Baek Cheon’s blade.
“How? The hell with your ‘how.’”
Chung Myung looked at him with open contempt.
“You took a sword form that was built around change and twisted it on your own so it changed less. Did you really think there wouldn’t be holes in it? You know one thing and not the other. Of course there are gaps everywhere!”
Bloodshot veins sprang in Baek Cheon’s eyes.
“N-no one has ever found such gaps.”
“That’s because the bastards you’ve fought were all mediocre. If you’d gone up against an elder-level opponent, they’d have spotted it in no time.”
Was that so?
Hm... what was the current level of the elders? Hm?
Forget it.
“You’re saying my sword is wrong?”
“Yeah.”
Chung Myung said it without even thinking.
“Right now, sure, you might be able to use that to edge ahead of other people. But the longer time passes, the more your junior disciples will start overtaking you.”
“How would you know something like that! You’ve only just entered the sect! I can’t believe this.”
“Oh. Fine, believe whatever you want.”
Chung Myung snorted.
Zhongnan had committed a mistake, and a Mount Hua disciple was making the exact same one. Chung Myung understood why.
'It’s not that what I’m seeing is strange.'
It was probably a scene that had repeated itself countless times even in Chung Myung’s own era. He had simply not known then what kind of consequences those changes would bring.
He had accumulated enough experience, reached high enough realms, to gain an eye that could see how a sword would develop. Now that he was looking at people just beginning to shape their swords, he could see things that had once been invisible to him.
“Be grateful you’re a Mount Hua disciple.”
“What?”
Chung Myung raised his wooden sword.
Part of him wanted to knock Baek Cheon senseless with his fists, but still—this was a cute Mount Hua disciple, wasn’t he? If he was going to beat him, he might as well do it in a way that helped him improve.
“Don’t worry. I’ll beat you with a sword, not my fists. Krrr, look how kind I am.”
'...'
Is he insane?
No, wait. He definitely looked insane.
Watching Baek Cheon stand there in utter disbelief, Chung Myung drew a deep breath.
“Some say the sword of Mount Hua exists to resemble the plum blossom. But that’s what people who don’t understand Mount Hua’s swordsmanship say. Mount Hua’s sword is not about mimicking plum blossoms. What Mount Hua’s sword seeks is... ”
Halfway through his serious explanation, Chung Myung suddenly frowned.
“Ah, forget it. Do you even have the brains to understand if I explain? It’s easier if I just hit you until you get it. Here I go!”
“W-wait!”
Baek Cheon stepped back before he realized he was doing it.
But Chung Myung was already rushing in far faster than that.
Baek Cheon swung his sword to intercept the charge and strike Chung Myung away. His instincts as a swordsman moved faster than his thoughts, bringing the blade around before his brain could catch up.
And then, in that instant, he saw it.
Chung Myung’s fingertips twitched ever so slightly, and his wooden sword exploded into dozens of copies, filling Baek Cheon’s entire field of vision.
'W-what is this... ?'
“Lower body!”
SLAP!
The wooden sword smashed into Baek Cheon’s shin. The pain was so sharp tears nearly sprang to his eyes, and he gasped open-mouthed.
But it wasn’t over.
“Wrist!”
SLAP!
Chung Myung’s sword struck precisely at Baek Cheon’s wrist, the one holding his blade. It felt as though his hand and wrist had almost vanished, and he nearly dropped the sword then and there.
'S-stay...'
Then an absolutely unbearable sound pierced his ears.
“Head! Head! Head! Head! Head!”
Why five times, you bastard?
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Baek Cheon, hammered by a barrage that felt like it was about to burst his skull open, gaped and toppled over sideways.
Even as he fell, one thought still dominated his head.
'Why say it five times and hit six times?'
It was a question he never managed to solve, even as his consciousness vanished.