Acting Like a Nobody (3)
"...Sect Leader."
Hyun Jong had closed his eyes in silence.
"...Shouldn’t we stop this?"
Martial Hall Leader Hyun Sang’s voice trembled as he spoke. But Hyun Jong could not bring himself to answer.
Stop it?
How was he supposed to stop this?
In front of all these prominent figures of Shaanxi, was he supposed to say,
'We’re no match for Southern Edge, and if this goes on any longer, the children are only going to get hurt, so I think we should call it here.'
?
That would be shitting all over Mount Hua’s name.
No matter how far Mount Hua had fallen... No, because it had fallen, there were things that had to be protected even more fiercely. Its name, and its pride.
If they could not protect the name Mount Hua, and the pride of being a Mount Hua disciple, then Mount Hua would not be a fallen great sect—it would be nothing more than a third-rate faction.
And the moment that happened, Mount Hua would truly be hanging up its signboard.
Hyun Jong could not do that. Not for the sake of his own honor, but to preserve even the slimmest possibility that Mount Hua might one day rise again, he could not, as sect leader, force those words out of his mouth.
But if Hyun Sang, who surely understood their situation well, was asking him this, then things must already be unimaginably bad.
Nine losses.
Nine straight defeats.
They had already achieved the worst result in the entire history of the Hwajong Jihoe. But the real problem was not the score—it was how they had lost.
In the course of nine matches, not a single one of their disciples had managed to land so much as a proper blow. It was so one-sided that watching grown men fight children would have been less pitiful.
And all of Shaanxi’s prominent figures were watching this spectacle.
'How are we supposed to wash away this humiliation?'
Hyun Jong’s eyes trembled.
It felt as though his entire body had been torn apart, his heart ripped out by hand.
What truly tormented him was not the shame he himself was suffering, but the thought of how deep the despair must already be in his disciples’ hearts.
He had failed to gauge the enemy’s strength properly and had driven the children straight into a death trap. Thinking of the pain they would suffer because of his incompetence made him want to take a knife and carve himself to pieces.
"Sect Leader..."
Hyun Jong slowly opened his eyes.
Then he let out a deep sigh.
"...It is the law of the javelin."
"But..."
"Do you think I’m not burning inside?"
That was when it happened.
"Guhk!"
The last second-generation disciple fighting on the training ground dropped his sword and collapsed to the floor.
For a swordsman to drop his sword was, in some ways, a humiliation worse than death. The Southern Edge disciple who had engineered this result by relentlessly targeting the wrist all along gave a sharp whistle.
"A swordsman dropping his sword? That’s almost too funny to say out loud. Does Mount Hua not even teach that much?"
Mockery.
Even knowing that the taunt was part of the agreed arrangement, there was no stopping the hot blood surging upward in their veins.
Ten straight losses.
A result beyond miserable. The faces of Mount Hua’s elders twisted in agony.
'Has it really fallen this far?'
They had thought they had finally seized the chance to revive Mount Hua. After all, things had been going so well lately.
But everyone who had been drifting through a dream was now being forced to face the cold reality. In the end, Mount Hua lacked martial foundation. Without martial arts to support it, no amount of splendor meant anything.
Everyone here was realizing that bitter truth to the bone.
"Good work."
"Yes, Elder!"
Sama Seung patted Yue Hao on the shoulder as the man returned to his seat.
It was a thoroughly satisfying result.
Not only had they won every bout, but the matches themselves had been overwhelmingly one-sided. Most importantly, the prominent figures of Shaanxi were watching this contest unfold with their own eyes.
'Mount Hua’s reputation will now fall to the ground and never rise again.'
Wasn’t this the very situation the Southern Edge Sect had longed for since the previous generation? To see that long-cherished wish fulfilled by Sama Seung’s own hand was immensely gratifying.
Sama Seung leaned slightly, listening. By now, the spectators should have understood the situation as well.
Sure enough, murmuring voices drifted over.
"This is far too one-sided."
"We were expecting a little more from Mount Hua... But I suppose the past is the past and the present is the present. Mount Hua is no longer the Mount Hua it once was."
"Wasn’t that obvious already?"
"Still, I never expected it to be this bad... Honestly, I can’t even tell anymore whether Southern Edge is strong or Mount Hua is weak."
"Maybe both?"
"A pity. What a pity. So Mount Hua really is finished now. To be so helpless about it..."
Sama Seung’s lips curled into a smile.
Public opinion had turned entirely toward Southern Edge. But that was not his purpose today. His goal was not to raise Southern Edge’s prestige—it was to drag Mount Hua down into the abyss.
And to do that, even the seedlings had to be burned away before they could grow.
"Now then, it’s time to finish this. Did you watch carefully what your elders did?"
"Yes, Elder!"
The third-generation disciples of Southern Edge looked at him with determined faces.
"Don’t hesitate."
Sama Seung’s eyes glinted.
"A lion gives its all even when hunting a rabbit. Don’t show any mercy. Smash them so thoroughly they never even think of learning martial arts again."
"Yes! We’ll remember that!"
Sama Seung grinned thinly and looked up at the sky.
'What a perfectly clear day.'
And what a wonderfully pleasant day, as well.
Yoon Jong had lost the ability to speak.
He couldn’t even bear to look at the second-generation disciples gathered off to the side. He didn’t need to see them to know what kind of expressions they were wearing. He could already imagine the despair crushing them.
And the same was true of the third-generation disciples.
'Was the gap between us and Southern Edge really this huge?'
In previous Hwajong Jihoe matches, there had always been a certain sense of balance, however slim. The losses had been the same, yes, but never this utterly crushing, never like one person stomping on ants.
Only now did Yoon Jong realize that Southern Edge had never once taken Mount Hua seriously.
"...Is it our turn?"
"..."
The faces of the third-generation disciples darkened.
They had indeed trained under Chung Myung, but the enormous gap laid out before them now was enough to strip away even the confidence they had gained from that training.
No, wait, putting all that aside, right now, um...
Right now, that wasn’t even the main issue...
Yoon Jong cautiously turned his gaze and looked at Chung Myung sitting beside him.
Then he sucked in a sharp breath.
Grrrrrk!
The sound of teeth grinding together made Yoon Jong’s heart drop straight to his feet.
Chung Myung’s face was so red it looked ready to burst.
"..."
Every time an elder brother lost one after another, his face had turned a little redder, but now it had become as red as a blossom in full bloom.
Seeing that, Yoon Jong carefully reached out and grabbed the hem of Chung Myung’s robe.
'This bastard’s about to explode.'
If you spent three years in a village school, you could recite poetry; if you spent three months beside Chung Myung, you became a master at reading the room!
Yoon Jong spoke in a trembling voice.
"Ch-Chung Myung, calm down first."
"...Calm down?"
The instant he heard that twisted tone, Yoon Jong almost let something go inside himself—no, he absolutely could not let it go! This was the Hwajong Jihoe! Not just the sect leader, but everyone from Southern Edge and Shaanxi was watching!
If this bastard had a seizure here, it might become worse than all the second-generation disciples losing every single match.
With the despair of soothing a rabid dog, Yoon Jong hurriedly tried to placate him.
"Ch-Chung Myung. Think about it properly. You said it yesterday, didn’t you? For a person to accomplish a great deed, patience is the most important thing!"
"...Patience."
"Exactly! Patience!"
"...Senior brother."
"Yes, Chung Myung. I’m listening to what you’re sa—"
"I thought about it."
"Huh?"
Chung Myung’s head slowly, very slowly, turned toward Yoon Jong.
And then.
Yoon Jong saw it.
Chung Myung’s eyes had gone half-crazy.
"...I."
Chung Myung rose with a growl like a beast.
"Don’t have any damn patience in me to begin with!"
What a thing to brag about.
You bastard.
Unam drew a deep breath. His face had gone so pale it could hardly be any paler.
If it were up to him, he would have liked nothing more than to climb down from here this very instant. But unless the sect leader gave another command, he had to keep this Hwajong Jihoe moving.
"Next... we shall hold the third-generation bouts. Among each third-generation disciple..."
That was when it happened.
"Grab him! Don’t let that bastard go!"
"Chung Myung, you were supposed to go last! This is bad!"
"People are watching, people are watching! Please, just do this when it’s only us!"
Unam stared at the third-generation disciples with bewildered eyes.
Somebody, with wild eyes, was trying to push forward through the cluster of third-generation disciples who were bunched together, desperately trying to hold him back.
'Chung Myung?'
Why was that child—?
The questions were endless, but he still had to finish what he was saying. They were not the only ones here.
"The vanguard will be..."
"Kraaaah!"
But Unam could not continue.
The moment the word "vanguard" left his mouth, Chung Myung blasted past the brothers holding him back and shot up onto the training ground like a bolt of lightning.
"Huuuuuff!"
Once on the platform, Chung Myung drew in a deep breath. Then, with glittering eyes, he glared at Southern Edge and spoke.
"One guy, now!"
"..."
"Anybody’s fine. Get one guy up here now. Before I kill all of you."
Sama Seung’s mouth fell open.
"That, that madman!"
He had known the boy was out of his mind, but not this out of his mind. Such brazen words in front of Southern Edge and all of Shaanxi’s prominent figures!
"Calm yourself, Elder."
Jin Geum-ryong quickly stopped Sama Seung’s outburst.
"You can’t run around with the likes of a jumped-up loach just because it’s flopping. That bastard will understand his own place soon enough."
"Hmph!"
But even as he snorted in irritation, unable to hide his displeasure, Jin Geum-ryong let out a low bark.
"Wu Liang."
"Yes, Senior Uncle!"
Wu Liang, the disciple assigned to face Chung Myung, nodded firmly.
"It doesn’t matter that he’s come out as the vanguard instead of how we expected. Teach him his place!"
"Yes, Senior Uncle! Don’t worry!"
Wu Liang gripped his wooden sword and leapt onto the arena.
Then he pointed the blade at Chung Myung.
"I’ll crush that insolent mouth of yours. I am of Southern Edge—"
At that instant, Chung Myung vanished from the spot as if he had simply gone out, then appeared right in front of Wu Liang’s nose.
"Se—"
Wu Liang saw it.
That enraged, asura-like face suddenly looming before him. And then, all at once, that face was swallowed by darkness.
Darkness?
Why was it dark in broad daylight...?
Ah! It wasn’t dark—it was blocked. This thing in front of him, this...?
Fist?
And then, in that very moment, the disciples of Mount Hua heard a sound they had never once heard since entering the sect.
PAAAAAAAAAAAK!
He spun.
Wu Liang’s body whirled through the air more than a dozen times before splatting face-first onto the ground.
"..."
His body, buried in the floor, twitched pitifully as though seized by a fever.
Looking at the collapsed Wu Liang, Chung Myung sneered.
"Acting like it’s a big deal, huh?"
Die, you bastard.