The Black Dragon Ascends

"Shall we have a match? If you win, I'll place myself under you."

At Yayul Hui's proposal, the training ground froze in an instant.

The sect members held their breath, all eyes fixed on the lips of So Ryong—rank 100 on the Wind Cloud Board and, until yesterday, the strongest man in the Black Dragon Sect.

So Ryong swallowed dryly.

This doesn't feel good...

The aura radiating from the woman before him was somehow reminiscent of Yun Cheon, the monster who had shattered him just the day before.

Yayul Hui let out a faint snort and, fingers curled into a swordhand stance, walked to the center of the training ground.

Even if he is... the Sect Master's retainer...!

Retreating like this would be too bitter a pill to swallow. Until he had been flattened by Yun Cheon, hadn't he clawed his way up from the very bottom of Qinghai and held onto his place at rank 100 on the Wind Cloud Board? He could not show the disgrace of tucking his tail before his subordinates at the sight of a woman he'd never met.

"...Very well, then... forgive me! Haaap!"

So Ryong surged his Black Dragon Rigid Body to its limit.

Crack. Crackle.

His skin darkened, and muscles like slabs of iron swelled beneath it. He kicked off the earth and hurled a ponderous fist. There wasn't the slightest thought of going easy on a woman. No—she was the comrade of a monster like Yun Cheon. Holding back would have been the truer insult.

Shuaaak!

But Yayul Hui never even drew her blade.

A single strand of breeze slipped past the heavy momentum of So Ryong's fist, and then came a sharp, eardrum-splitting crack of impact.

Thud!

"What good is raw strength? You're full of holes."

Thud! Wham!

"Kkahak!"

Yayul Hui's swordhand pierced his flank and solar plexus with unerring precision. It was external conditioning tempered by the Black Dragon Rigid Body, but against razor-sharp strikes that chose only the meridians where his energy gathered, he was utterly helpless.

"Hh—urgh!"

So Ryong, shamed before his subordinates, gritted his teeth and charged. In answer, Yayul Hui's form spun like a top—footwork laced with the subtle principles of the Wind God Dance she had gleaned from the Inner Library. So Ryong's massive blow carved only empty air.

Yayul Hui, by contrast, brushed past him and flicked her swordhand lightly against his calf. Had she drawn her blade, that single touch would have taken his leg clean off.

"Uh... ugh?"

Losing his center of gravity, So Ryong could not master his own momentum and went face-first into the dirt beyond the training ground.

......

Silence settled. In the eyes of the sect members, shock bordering on awe had spread like frost. A strongman worthy of the Wind Cloud Board, toyed with by a woman who hadn't even drawn her sword.

"Nnnghh..."

"Angry?"

At Yun Cheon's indifferent voice, So Ryong sprang up, brushing the dust from himself. With eyes brimming over with injustice, he screamed as if wailing.

"Honestly... yes, I'm angry! Who in the world is that woman?"

"...So you do have some ambition in you after all. Everyone, greet her. This is Yayul Hui."

So Ryong's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"Ya-Yayul Hui? D-Don't tell me—the Wild Wind Yayul Family, one of the Twelve Guardian Families...!"

When Yayul Hui gave an indifferent nod, So Ryong inwardly conceded. Had he known from the start that she came from the Yayul Family, he would never have charged in so recklessly.

...Second place is beyond me, then. I'll settle for third.

Just then, a hoarse laugh drifted down from atop the Black Dragon Sect's wall.

"Kkekkek, now that's a fine show! Puts the taste back in my wine. Especially that footwork of hers—or is it a dance?"

Perched on the wall at some point, swigging from a bottle as he watched the match, was the Drunken Sword, Lee Mok.

"Elder Lee Mok. You've come."

"Heh heh... You did lay in the wine, I trust?"

A master of Lee Mok's years joining them would be a tremendous asset.

"It's piled up to overflowing. From this hour forward, I'm placing a ban on alcohol for the sect members—temporarily, at least."

......!

At the new Sect Master's declaration of prohibition, the sect members gulped down empty air. Lee Mok's eyes, on the other hand, flashed open.

"Kukku... And what would this old man do for you?"

"I would have you serve as a retainer of the Black Dragon Sect. Merely gracing these fellows' training with your presence when boredom strikes will be more than enough."

"Only if you promise to show me your martial arts properly, someday. Driving these rascals around is no trouble at all!"

"That I will."

And so the Drunken Sword, Lee Mok, joined the Black Dragon Sect as its second retainer.

Even Elder Drunken Sword...?

So Ryong mentally rewrote the hierarchy in his head yet again. Sect Master Yun Cheon stood alone at the summit, and beneath him held their ground the daughter of the Wild Wind Family and a veteran master of advanced years.

Which of the two ranks ahead?

Whether second or third place came first was anyone's guess. But one thing was certain: two more monsters had appeared above him, no matter the order.

So Ryong swallowed bitter tears inside.

So that makes me... the fourth strongest in the Black Dragon Sect? And I was the number one until yesterday...

So Ryong's standing had plummeted in a single day. But his eyes soon lit up again. He would one day bring the Black Dragon Moving Art he'd learned from Yun Cheon to its supreme perfection—and reclaim the second seat. Of that he vowed to himself.

Dawn the next day, while the mist still clung to the ground. What shattered the stillness of the Black Dragon Sect was not the crowing of roosters.

Clang—BOOM!

Yun Cheon, shod in his Black Steel Cold Iron weights, marked the hour of the first watch. The training ground trembled as though an earthquake had struck, and the cold barked order that followed opened the sect's morning.

"All personnel, rise!"

The instant the command fell, So Ryong darted about like a madman, kicking doors open.

"You addle-brained bastards! You getting up or what?!"

"The Sect Master is on his feet and you're still cuddling your wives?!"

Behind him, the sect members lined up one after another, their faces the color of ash. Yayul Hui, whose habits from the Hidden Demon Cave ran deep, had appeared long since and wore an expression of utter contempt. And Lee Mok, reeking of wine, had materialized amid a yawn. With even the retainers out on the training ground, the sect members had no choice but to follow.

Yun Cheon's warning—that any member not prepared would be cast out—was no empty threat. But waking was only the beginning.

"Everyone, jog to the summit. No breakfast for stragglers."

And so began the Black Dragon Sect's new daily routine, to be repeated every day. From before dawn, a pitch-black swarm was running up the slopes of Qinghai's mountains, infamous for their treachery.

At the head of the column ran Yun Cheon. Even hauling slabs of iron, he strode up the mountain path as if walking across flat ground.

At Kunlun, too, I climbed the mountain every morning.

Behind Yun Cheon, lost in old memories, the wails of the sect members echoed across the range.

"Hey, you bastards! Don't slack off!"

"The Sect Master is running—where do you get off slowing down?!"

"You want to die?!"

So Ryong harangued the members, flecks of foam at his lips. Since he had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠begun circulating the Black Dragon Moving Art, his body had grown impossibly light, and drunk on his own progress, he drove his underlings all the harder.

That wasn't all. A figure wove between them like a ghost—it was Yayul Hui. Sliding along on the footwork of the Wind God Dance as though riding the wind itself, every time she swept past the ranks, a vicious crack of impact rang out over those whose form had broken.

Whap!

"Straighten your back. Next time, I'll aim for bone."

Thud!

"Legs not doing their job?"

The sect members shuddered at the frost-laced cruelty hidden behind her graceful figure. The stragglers at the rear had it even worse.

"Kkekkek, out of breath already? What a shame."

Lee Mok ambled along weaving side to side, tooting on his wine bottle, yet the members sprinting at full tilt could not shake him off. Every time the empty bottle smacked their backsides, they shrieked and buckled.

"Tsk. What use are young fellows if they're slower than a geezer who walks? Come, put your backs into it—again!"

Run ragged by So Ryong, Yayul Hui, and even Lee Mok, the sect members were living hell on earth.

Watching the Black Dragon members scream their way up the mountain from dawn, the villagers cracked open their windows and muttered.

"Wait—aren't those the Black Dragon thugs?"

"Since when do a pack of outright bandits charge up a mountain with fire in their eyes?"

There was a time when the mere sight of a Black Dragon swordsman had made these villagers grit their teeth. But now, in their eyes, curiosity had displaced fear.

"They say a true dragon has nested in the Black Dragon Sect—looks like the rumor was true."

"Ah, good... if they're not shaking us down, life gets a bit easier."

When the run ended and the members returned to the training ground, a steaming cauldron awaited them.

"Line up, everyone! This is the nourishing meal the Sect Master prepared for worthless wretches like you!"

It was a medicinal feast—meat and medicinal herbs procured by emptying So Ryong's private funds. "Chew! Chew it down to the bone and swallow, and carve the Sect Master's grace into your very marrow!"

Under So Ryong's bellowing, the members chewed their meat through tears. A warm, nutrient-rich meal that came only after being worked like beasts. The members, little better than thugs until recently, were already growing accustomed to their transformed daily life.

A body lighter than yesterday's. The certainty that day by day, they were getting better. It was the first fulfillment they had ever tasted as martial artists—they who had spent their whole lives rolling along the bottom.

Yun Cheon looked down on them as they ate, his gaze indifferent.

To forge a vessel for the Dao, there is in the end nothing but savage repetition and the small fulfillment waiting at its end.

Scour the environment bare. Cut off the wine. Fill every hour of the day with training. Do that, and a man changes quickly. After all, the young disciples of Kunlun had not been Daoists from the cradle, either.

Yun Cheon was confident he could turn thugs into martial artists.

Well... this much is simple. It's not as though I'm making Daoists. Just... martial artists.

The administrative office of the Sun Moon Merchant Guild, wrapped in darkness. A courier pigeon's arrival broke the silence.

Yu Ha spread open the note bound to its leg under the moonlight.

A few short words—yet their weight was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anything but light. A peculiar smile curved Yu Ha's lips.

"Heh heh... So the sleeping dragon has finally surfaced. Swallowing an entire sect whole—bold from the very first move."

Yu Ha ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠took up the brush himself. The red-inked tip slashed a line across the name of So Ryong, Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Sect, at the bottom of the Wind Cloud Board. A vivid red stroke. Then, in a hand both refined and sharp, he carved in a new ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠name.

Yu Ha had deliberately omitted the title "Sect Master," emphasizing only the name itself—Black Dragon.

"'Dragon'... isn't the epithet a touch too heavy, Young Master?"

Il No, standing in the shadows, voiced his concern in a low murmur. The Wind Cloud Board did not speak through rankings alone—an epithet revealed far more about the man who bore it. In the orthodox world, "Dragon" was a name granted only to late-blooming masters who had already made their legends ring across the rivers and lakes. The hungry wolves watching the Wind Cloud Board would hardly let such a claim pass unchallenged.

"No—it fits him exactly. He's still a sleeping dragon hiding behind the clouds. If even I don't fan the flames and lure him out, what pleasure would there be in watching?"

"Are you... testing him, perhaps?"

Wol No ventured carefully at her master's mind. Instead of answering, Yu Ha spread a map of the Central Plains beside the Wind Cloud Board.

"Test him? No. I'm looking much further than that."

Yu Ha's finger came to rest where the Black Dragon Sect lay.

"Acquire as much land around the Black Dragon Sect as you can. We will establish a branch of the guild there."

"Young Master, however great your expectations, establishing a full branch of the guild for a single man named Yun Cheon is—"

"No. This is not for Yun Cheon."

Yu Ha drew a firm line.

"This is pure commerce, plain and simple. The Black Dragon Sect sits on ground no different from an acupoint—the vital passage through which our headquarters will push out into the Central Plains. Until now, it only rotted because its masters were worthless."

Yu Ha's finger drew a straight line connecting Mount Heaven, the Mad Path Pavilion, and the Black Dragon Sect.

"But now the fellow has nested right there. Before long, the warriors of the main cult will flock to Qinghai chasing his fame. And when they do, it will be our job to sweep up all that money."

The foresight of a man seizing the strategic and commercial high ground before anyone else. Only then did the Sun and Moon Elders grasp the true scale of the long game Yu Ha was laying out, and a shiver ran through them.

"...We shall carry out your orders, Young Master."

"Be swift."

A wind rose. At Yu Ha's command, the black-and-white pair of elders vanished into the night mist without a trace. Yu Ha tilted his wine cup alone, gazing at the moon beyond the window.

"Well then, Yun Cheon. I've laid the board out for you. Show me something worth watching."

Where Qinghai's biting sandwinds battered the paper door of a lonely waystation, in a dilapidated tavern a good five or six li removed from the Black Dragon Sect's domain, the room buzzed with news that had just arrived.

Yet amid the raucous din of drinking men, one table sat wrapped in a stillness that set it apart. Upon it rested only a single teacup trailing wisps of steam in place of a wine bottle, and one sheet of paper, folded with immaculate care.

The fingers of the woman whose hand was not on the teacup moved slowly across the paper.

A low, chilling voice slipped between the woman's lips.

"......Black Dragon?"

Riiip.

As strength flooded her hand, the tough mulberry paper shrieked and crumpled. In her eyes, the words of the Wind Cloud Board had dissolved, and memories of the past rippled in their place.

A name that the Sect Master devoted his entire life to protecting...

Her father had been a retainer of the Black Dragon Sect. He had preserved his life under the grace of the previous Sect Master, and that grace had passed down to his daughter. To Jin So-wol, the name "Black Dragon" was no mere sect's title—it was a pride, an inheritance that must be defended at all costs.

"Leaving that fool So Ryong alone was the mistake. It wasn't enough for him to climb onto the Sect Master's seat and play the merchant—and now he's handed the Black Dragon Sect itself over to some rootless nobody?"

Clack.

She set down the teacup and took up the weapon that had been leaning against the table. A pitch-black spearshaft, upon which the figure of a black dragon parting the clouds had been engraved with exquisite care.

She swept the wine-soaked tavern with a cold, contemptuous gaze, as though the stench itself offended her, and rose from her seat.

"A fake has stolen a true name. The time has come to set it right."

She flung the crumpled scrap of the Wind Cloud Board to the floor and glared fiercely toward the Black Dragon Sect, now sinking into darkness. The black tassel hanging from her spearpoint danced madly, as if answering the night wind.

"I will pierce the throat of the impostor who claims the name Black Dragon—and take back the name my father served."