The Stage Is Set

From the break of dawn, chaos erupted around the Black Dragon Inn.

Doom-doom-doom―! Triiil―!

Drumbeats hammered at the eardrums, and a shrill trumpet pierced the morning air.

The heat radiating from the crowds pressing in like storm clouds seeped through the inn's windows.

"Ugh… what on earth is all this racket so early in the morning?"

The clamor leaking through the window gap made Yayul Hui frown as she groggily opened her eyes.

"Apparently, the Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Sect is holding a public duel."

She flung the window open with an irritated hand.

Then her mouth fell open at the scene before her.

Black Dragon Sect banners rippled along the street connecting the inn to the sect grounds, and in the front courtyard stood a hastily built dueling stage, ringed by a crowd of onlookers thick as clouds.

"…A dueling stage? What is all this?"

Yayul Hui doubted her own eyes. A street that had been perfectly ordinary just last night had, in a single night, transformed into something resembling a market fair.

"If you're placing bets, place them now! Closing soon!"

"Who's the challenger? Never heard of him."

"Two taels of silver on the Young Sect Leader!"

She hastily turned her head and scanned the room.

In the center of the room, Yun Cheon sat cross-legged. Utterly indifferent to the commotion outside, he was wrapping up his breathing meditation, a faint chill rising from his entire body.

"Yun Cheon! This is no time to be lounging around! There's chaos out there! The Black Dragon Sect's Young Sect Leader is holding a public duel!"

At Yayul Hui's urgent cry, Yun Cheon slowly opened his eyes. A cold jade light flickered and faded in the depths of his pupils.

"…Finally awake? You sleep like the dead."

"Sleep is the problem right now?! What if some random upstarts beat you to it! Those Black Dragon Sect bastards are clearly up to something—we need to go check—"

"No need to rush. I stopped by the Black Dragon Sect last night."

Yayul Hui's eyes went round at the unexpected answer.

"What…? You *went* to the Black Dragon Sect? What on earth is going on?"

"Exactly what it looks like. I agreed to fight So Ryong in a public duel."

Yun Cheon calmly rose from the bed and strapped the Black Steel Cold Iron weights back onto his wrists and ankles.

Clunk. Clack.

The heavy metallic sounds echoed through the room.

"What?! *You're* the Young Sect Leader's duel opponent?!"

"I am. Fortunately, the fellow seems to have kept his word."

Yayul Hui wore an expression of complete incomprehension. That was when—

Knock knock.

"Great hero, I've come to escort you."

When Yun Cheon opened the door, the figure standing there was an unexpected one.

So Ryong, the Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Sect. He had come in person.

"…What on earth are you wearing?"

So Ryong was dressed in a splendid, ceremonial set of white robes, grave and magnificent as a general before a campaign. His hair was slicked stiff with pomade, and a jade tablet the size of a fist hung at his belt—he had clearly gone all out with the pageantry. It was a sight impossible to reconcile with the man who had crawled on the floor begging for his life just last night.

"Great hero, all is ready. The heroes of the martial world await you."

So Ryong delivered this with a formal fist-and-palm salute. His voice brimmed not with servility, but with tragic resolve.

Yun Cheon burst out laughing at the sight.

"Quite the talent. Staging all this in a single night."

"You flatter me. This is the stage you'll be standing on, Great Hero—hardly enough preparation, is it?"

So Ryong answered with a roguish grin, but the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment his eyes met Yun Cheon's, he flinched and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Last night's terror, it seemed, had not yet worn off.

"Th-then I'll go ahead and warm up the crowd! Take your time!"

Avoiding Yun Cheon's gaze, So Ryong scurried off as if fleeing.

Yun Cheon rose unhurriedly and set out.

"Let's go. Time to play my part in the fool's act."

Yayul Hui shook her head and followed after him.

"Honestly… what on earth were you up to all night?!"

"He's coming out!"

"That's the challenger?"

The moment Yun Cheon stepped out of the inn, the murmuring crowd fell silent in an instant.

Unlike So Ryong, who had ascended the stage in splendid regalia, Yun Cheon's appearance was strange.

A jet-black martial uniform stripped of any ornament. Crude iron rings strapped to all four limbs. And crossed on his back, a single sword and a single saber.

To any observer, the two men stood in stark contrast.

Clunk. Thud.

With every step Yun Cheon took, a heavy clang of metal resounded against the ground.

Clunk. Thud.

A dull sound that carried the full weight of the iron.

"Those… aren't those shackle rings?"

"Insane—is he actually walking around wearing those? They look heavy as hell."

"Don't tell me… he intends to fight like that?"

The crowd gulped dryly.

Along the path leading Yun Cheon to the dueling stage, the hall masters of the Black Dragon Sect were drawn up on either side. They appeared to be standing at ease, but their true state was laid bare to Yun Cheon's eyes.

……

Their flanks—the ones Yun Cheon had beaten black and blue last night—were clearly aching, judging by the way they straightened their backs through gritted teeth, sweating cold rivulets. And with every step he took closer, he could see their shoulders twitching and shuddering.

So Ryong has kept them on a tight leash, at least.

They must have been enduring with all the strength they had under So Ryong's iron discipline. Yun Cheon regarded the carpet So Ryong had laid out and thought:

That fellow So Ryong—maybe he has more talent for staging spectacles than for martial arts. His cunning is nothing short of Yu Ha's.

Yun Cheon pushed through the crowd with an impassive expression and made for the stage.

"So who's his opponent, anyway?"

"That guy? Decent-looking, actually."

"Looks even younger than the Young Sect Leader…?"

The crowd whispered among themselves, each sizing up the odds. And as at any gathering like this, the gamblers had set up their boards too.

"Come, come—betting on the winner closes soon! You won't see odds like these again!"

At the gambling board set up by the inn's entrance, the odds stood at eight to one, overwhelmingly in So Ryong's favor.

"At these rates, even if the Young Sect Leader wins, you barely break even."

"If that… if that boy wins, the payout is a full seven times!"

"Seven times… a chance at a fortune, but… betting on some nobody's a sure way to lose your shirt."

Most of the crowd predicted victory for the Black Dragon Sect's Young Sect Leader. So Ryong might have resorted to every trick in the book, but he had held onto his Rank 100 spot on the Wind Cloud Board for a respectable stretch of time after climbing onto it. Add to that the fact that the venue was the Black Dragon Sect's own front yard, and it was only natural the money flowed toward So Ryong rather than some unknown like Yun Cheon.

"Hmm…"

Yayul Hui, trailing behind him, her eyes gleamed at the gambling board.

Why does this remind me of when Yu Ha ran that night-duel racket?

Without hesitation, she pulled the silver from her pouch and tossed it toward Yun Cheon's side.

"Ten taels of silver on the challenger!"

"Oho! The young lady has deep pockets! Betting that much on a man whose face you don't even know!"

"Miss, martial duels aren't won by a pretty face, you know?"

"That pretty boy beating the Young Sect Leader, who's mastered the Black Dragon Rigid Body? She's throwing her money away, that one."

Yun Cheon's densely compressed muscles were hidden beneath the black uniform, invisible at a glance. So Ryong, by contrast, had mastered external body cultivation to boot, and stood a full head taller than Yun Cheon.

"No take-backs, young lady!"

"Hmph. Just you watch."

While the gamblers sneered at her choice, Yun Cheon mounted the dueling stage.

So Ryong spread his arms wide toward the crowd and shouted.

"Many challengers have come to the Black Dragon Sect to test themselves, but this Young Sect Leader, out of concern for injuries, has done his best to avoid such confrontations!"

So ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ryong's voice boomed across the courtyard.

"But last night, a young man came to me and gave me an awakening. So I swear it, here and now! As the Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Sect, from this day forward I will shun no challenge! Whosoever comes—on this stage, I will face them!"

"WAAAAAH―!"

The crowd, delighted by the spectacle, roared their approval.

The challengers who had been waiting their turn, however, regarded him with suspicion.

"You mean that?"

"So even after that boy, you'll accept *our* challenges?"

"Of course! Should I win, I will accept challenge after challenge on this dueling stage, as many times as you wish. If the heroes of the martial world conduct themselves this way, no one will have cause for complaint!"

When So Ryong declared this from atop the stage, the challengers nodded as well. He had staged a grand spectacle and proclaimed it before a multitude—the weight of his words carried a different magnitude now.

"Excellent!"

"If the Young Sect Leader will face us instead of dodging, then who could object!"

Even the challengers who had paid their registration fees at the Black Dragon Sect's gate and waited on endlessly cheered. The challengers believed without a shred of doubt that after the boy, their own chances would come.

…Of course. He's playing it up as if he'll beat me. So that when he loses, the blame lands on me.

Having seen through the scheme, Yun Cheon said nothing. He simply took his place at the center of the stage.

Clunk―.

"Those… those aren't shackles?"

"Looks like he really means to fight wearing them."

Amid gazes mixing bewilderment with curiosity, Yun Cheon spoke quietly.

"Begin."

Yun Cheon and So Ryong faced each other at the center of the dueling stage.

Only then did a man slouched at the stage's edge, a wine bottle tucked under his arm, stir himself to his feet. A threadbare cloak, a bristling unkempt beard, bleary eyes. To anyone who looked, he was a hopeless street drunk—but the rusted sword hanging at his waist hinted at his true identity.

"Came for the wine, really… but eh, let's just get this over with."

He yawned in a long, languorous stretch, as if the whole thing were a chore, and shuffled toward the center.

Yet in that sea of people, there were those who recognized him.

"Th—that's! The Drunken Sword!"

"What?! The Drunken Sword? Lee Mok is officiating the duel?!"

"That drunkard is the Drunken Sword? Impossible!"

Caring nothing for what they said, Lee Mok raised his hand.

"Mmm… to think there'd be people who know my face. Tsk. Ruins the taste of the wine. In any case, it seems I'll be presiding over this duel."

Lee Mok tipped the bottle into his mouth and slurred on.

"Rules are simple. Fall off the stage, or one side declares surrender—the duel ends. Anything else? Hmm."

Scratching his head, he caught So Ryong's pleading eyes and added one more line.

"Well. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It's a duel, after all, so killing is forbidden… that ought to cover it, eh?"

And with that, Lee Mok called the start.

"Begin!"

So Ryong took his opening stance with exaggerated flourish. Yun Cheon, by contrast, merely let his arms hang loose, regarding his opponent with indifference.

In that instant, Lee Mok's eyes narrowed.

Hoh… that little whelp. Wearing iron rings of that weight, and yet his stance is remarkably natural?

A razor's glint flashed for the briefest instant through his wine-hazed pupils.

The crowd naturally expected So Ryong to yield the first move. In the etiquette of duels, the stronger fighter ceded the opening.

But—

"HAAAP!"

Defying all expectation, it was So Ryong who kicked off the ground first.

If I play at courtesy and eat even one hit, it's over for me!

So Ryong was a faithful servant of his survival instincts. The instant the duel began, he tore off his outer shirt and charged.

Dududuk―!

So Ryong's entire musculature swelled with an grotesque crackling. His bronze skin darkened in a flash, taking on a dark sheen.

The secret art of the Black Dragon Sect—the external art that had raised him to Rank 100. The Black Dragon Rigid Body.

"Oooo! Full power from the very start!"

"It's the Young Sect Leader's Black Dragon Rigid Body!"

"They say not even a blade can pierce that!"

Riding that wave of cheers, So Ryong closed the distance to Yun Cheon in a heartbeat. A colossal fist hurtled toward his face—a force that could pulverize boulders.

But a hair's breadth before it landed, So Ryong's lips moved with blinding speed. A whisper pitched close to a secret transmission:

Yun Cheon's eyebrows twitched.

…He's still thinking about drumming up business in the middle of a fight.

Clicking his tongue at So Ryong's hustle, Yun Cheon nonetheless felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a flicker of interest.

The Black Dragon Rigid Body unfolding before him was no low-grade external art that merely inflated the muscles. An external art that changed the very color of one's skin was a rare thing indeed. And even to the eye, its toughness was far from ordinary.

Crude, but practical. That durability alone would make it worth something.

Yun Cheon did not evade.

TANG―!

So Ryong's fist was stopped dead against Yun Cheon's raised forearm—against the Black Steel Cold Iron wrapped around his wrist, to be exact.

"Kgh…!"

It was the attacker, So Ryong, who swallowed his scream. Yun Cheon hadn't budged an inch, yet the bones in So Ryong's fist, having struck a lump of iron, ached as though they would shatter.

Th-this monster…! He's wearing solid iron and he blocks like it's *nothing*?

Drenched in cold sweat, So Ryong feigned a retreat, then hurled himself back into the assault.

"TAAAT!"

A torrent of chained fists came raining down.

On the surface, it was a rout—So Ryong driving Yun Cheon back at will. Gorgeous fist-winds raged, and stones cracked loose from the floor. But the truth was different.

Yun Cheon stood as though rooted in place, deflecting So Ryong's fists with the smallest possible movements. He merely traced lazy arcs with his iron-sheathed arms, yet every single attack was turned aside.

Tang! Tang! Kang!

The heavy metallic percussion beat against the spectators' hearts.

"Th-that boy… he's stopping the Young Sect Leader's onslaught!"

"Stopping it? Look at his feet! He hasn't given back a single step!"

"Whoa! That ringing sound! Can a person really be fine after blocking strikes like that?"

The crowd's astonishment curdled into open disbelief.

But So Ryong, listening to the crowd's cries, was writhing inwardly.

My hand's the one that hurts, you idiots! Dammit, what in the world are those iron rings made of? That is *not* ordinary metal.

Amid the continuing exchange, the hand of Lee Mok, toying with his wine bottle, went still as well.

"…Huh?"

His turbid eyes had sharpened into focus.

Those movements… that's no mere defense. He's reading his opponent's force, redirecting it, and answering in kind.

Despite bearing weights of iron on every limb, there was no waste in Yun Cheon's handwork. It flowed like running water, and at times it was hard as bedrock.

…No wonder So Ryong's flailing. He's wielding the iron's weight not as shackles but as a weapon. That one's the genuine article.

Lee Mok set down his bottle and straightened his posture. Life began to kindle in his bored eyes.

So Ryong's insides, meanwhile, were burning to ash.

It takes two hands to clap, damn it! Please… at least *pretend* to be pushed back! At this rate every bone in my fist is going to break!

The one striking wore a face close to tears; the one blocking was utterly expressionless—a bizarre spectacle. To endure the surging pain, So Ryong bellowed ever louder.

"GRAAAAH! DIEE!"

But for all his thundering cries, tears glistened at the corners of So Ryong's eyes. The agony of hammering bare fists against solid iron—and worse, that iron was Black Steel Cold Iron, beyond even the Black Dragon Rigid Body's capacity to absorb.

Listening to those desolate battle cries, Yun Cheon rendered his cold, precise verdict.

A fox in a bear's skin.

His command of the external art was decent enough, but his true genius lay in reading the room and working a crowd. Yun Cheon's eyes turned glacial in an instant.

Still… this play is getting tedious. Time to end it.