The Division of Arms
Crash!
The recently repaired main gate of the Black Dragon Sect shrieked under a savage kick. Blow after senseless blow rained down from outside, and the gate groaned over and over.
"Come out, you whelp! Are you the Black Dragon, or just an Earth Dragon—a common earthworm?"
"Rank one hundred on the Wind Cloud Board, and you dare call yourself a dragon? Today I'll carve that arrogance right out of you with a single stroke!"
"Men of the Black Dragon Sect, open this gate! Too scared to show your faces, hiding in your little rat holes?"
Beyond the gate, the shouts of warriors and wandering blades who had swarmed like moths to a flame of fame spilled over the walls and fouled the training grounds. With curses and jeers flying every which way, the space before the main gate erupted into a marketplace brawl in mere moments.
But the gate stayed firmly shut. Not out of fear—only so that the flow of training would not be broken.
Hoooooh—.
Inside the walls, the air over the training grounds was strangely cold, and strangely hot at once.
"…"
A hundred-odd sect members drilled the Black Dragon Moving Art in flawless unison, their ragged breath filling the yard. As if the vulgar clamor beyond the fence simply did not exist, their eyes were nailed to a single point: the platform at its center.
Swish.
On the platform, Yun Cheon, having finished his demonstration of the Black Dragon Moving Art, slowly straightened. In the eyes of the sect members who had just witnessed their new sect leader's prowess up close burned a heat that seemed ready to surge skyward.
So they no longer waver at mere noise.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Yun Cheon's face. Barely days ago, these had been street thugs who threw punches at a single insult. Now they held themselves still as stone even as provocations drifted over the walls. The Black Dragon Sect was, in truth, being reborn from the bone out.
Yun Cheon lowered his hand lightly, and his voice settled low over the silent training grounds. Qi-laced, it swallowed the commotion outside the gate in one breath and pierced sharply into every member's ears.
"Gather your spirits and give me your attention."
As the qi-charged voice struck them, the sect members squared their stances as one.
"You have tempered your bodies learning the foundational moving art. From today, the Black Dragon Sect will divide itself into combat branches and rebuild the foundations of this sect. Mark this well—you are no longer vagrants drifting through the back alleys. You are warriors of this sect, who pursue the Martial Path."
A declaration of rebuilding. An unfamiliar sensation—pride—blossomed in the chests of the sect members.
Then one member near the front of the ranks ventured a careful question.
"Sect Leader, how will the branches be divided?"
Instead of answering, Yun Cheon gestured in turn to the four aides standing beside the platform, then called out their names.
"The spear arts go to Jin So-wol, the saber arts to Yayul Hui, and the sword arts to the Drunken Sword, Lee Mok. And So Ryong—you will serve as General Manager while also instructing fist arts and external cultivation."
At Yun Cheon's summons, the four stepped forward.
In the martial world, an old saying had been handed down through the generations: a hundred days for the spear, a thousand days for the saber, ten thousand days for the sword. A spear grounds you in fundamentals within a hundred days; the saber takes a thousand; and the sword—ten thousand days, a full thirty years of practice—before its truths reveal themselves. The saying is usually taken to mean the sword is the most profound of weapons, but Yun Cheon saw it a little differently.
Hard to master also means slow to turn into fighting strength.
The sword had edges on both sides and could thrust as well—truly a jack of all trades. But that versatility demanded mastery of countless varied and unconventional lines of attack, and the slender blade had to withstand blows meant for heavy armament besides, making true proficiency genuinely difficult. The spear, by contrast, easily seized dominance of distance, and the saber's overwhelming, almost thuggish power showed fast results in real combat. Yun Cheon was curious which path this ragtag mob would choose, guided by their own natures.
And as it happened, the Black Dragon Sect had gathered three masters who could display the very essence of spear, saber, and sword: Jin So-wol with her ever-changing spear, Yayul Hui with her wild-wind-swift saber, and Lee Mok with his endlessly cunning sword.
"This is your chance to prove your aptitude. Each of you, stand before the weapon you wish to be taught."
The words had barely left Yun Cheon's mouth before a war of glances broke out among the sect members.
"Move."
The moment Yun Cheon's curt order fell, a hundred-odd members broke ranks all at once. The aimless milling of days past was gone. The men who had run their dawns bent under the weight of Black Steel Cold Iron now knew precisely which direction their instincts pulled them.
The largest crowd surged before Yayul Hui. Lightning-fast saber work and brutal, crushing force—for men of thuggish origin, the saber was the most familiar weapon, and the one that looked most powerful.
Yayul Hui looked over the dozens of members lined up before her and curled her lips into a cold smirk.
"Let me say this up front—I cannot teach the saber arts of the Wild Wind Yayul Family."
The crowd that had gathered before her flinched as one.
"…!"
"But… the Mad Blood Saber Arts I was granted permission to pass on in full, so there's no need for disappointment."
"The Mad Blood Saber Arts?! You mean—"
"Mad Blood Blade… Jeok Mu-gwang!"
"Even if it's not the Yayul Family's saber… that's more than enough!"
Jeok Mu-gwang, an instructor of the Hidden Demon Cave besides, enjoyed towering renown within the Cult's walls. Yayul Hui let out a quiet laugh.
Do they have any idea that the man who fought that instructor Jeok Mu-gwang to a standstill was Yun Cheon?
When Yun Cheon had first offered her the instructor's post at the Black Dragon Sect, she had thought him absurd.
"You want me to be an instructor? I'm not even a member of the Black Dragon Sect—I'm just a retained blade-for-hire…?"
But the explanation that followed left her unable to argue.
"To teach others, you cannot help but look back at yourself. You've learned the Wild Wind Saber, the Mad Blood Saber, and recently even the Wind God Dance. But… you haven't yet achieved harmony among the three arts, have you. Consider it a chance to quietly take stock of yourself."
Indeed, Yayul Hui had been secretly agonizing every night until dawn over how to blend the three arts, and had yet to find her answer.
"…When you put it that way, how am I supposed to refuse?"
In the end, she had accepted his offer. But having taken the responsibility on, she had no intention whatsoever of doing it halfway.
"If you think saber arts are easy pickings, you're in for a world of hurt. A martial art capable of carrying you to the peak is a different animal from anything you'd learn in some street gang!"
So Yayul Hui declared, glaring down the members who had flocked to her.
A fair number had gathered before Jin So-wol as well—drawn to her, the living symbol of the Black Dragon Sect's legitimacy, and to the gorgeous yet overwhelming grandeur of the bannered spear they had witnessed only yesterday.
Jin So-wol brought the bannered spear, carved with the black dragon emblem, lightly down against the training ground floor.
Thud—!
The Black Dragon Sect's banner hanging from the spear shaft snapped in the wind. Instinctively, the members' eyes were drawn to it.
"If you stood before me thinking of the banner-spear's splendor, turn back now."
"…?"
The members exchanged puzzled looks.
"A long weapon exists to dominate the opponent's distance. A true long-arm weapon has nothing to do with flash or beauty. And the banner is the emblem of the sect—its weight heavier than anything else! Are you prepared to shoulder that?"
Jin So-wol's voice was cold and resolute. And even as she spoke to the members, she was turning Yun Cheon's words over in her mind.
"The spear is often called the king of a hundred weapons—long reach, and easy enough to handle. But that is precisely why true mastery comes so hard. And the banner in particular becomes nothing but an obstacle until you are thoroughly practiced with it."
Jin So-wol had nodded at the time. That was why she had abandoned the banner techniques, detaching the banner from her spear and wielding it like an unconventional spear art instead.
"But… if you truly master the banner techniques, the banner ceases to be an obstacle and becomes a weapon in itself. One capable of strikes impossible with a spear alone."
"…!"
"So removing the banner is nothing but a degradation. Even if handling it troubles you now, realize the original banner techniques."
Jin So-wol had realized then that the shortcut she believed she'd found was, in truth, the long way around.
The Sect Leader's words… match my father's.!
Since that day, the Black Dragon Sky-Churning Spear had reclaimed its lost, true name: the Black Dragon War Banner.
Shuaaak!
As Jin So-wol swept the bannered spear through the air, the black banner split the sky, spitting out a razor-sharp cry of parting wind.
"To carry the banner means you are the first thing the enemy's eye falls upon. It is also the pride of your comrades. Only those confident they can bear it—remain!"
Before the icy force of her aura, the members swallowed dryly and straightened their backs.
The most unexpected scene unfolded before the Drunken Sword, Lee Mok. Applicants: a mere seven. The smallest group by far, yet every one of their eyes blazed, harboring a strange, eerie ferocity. Eccentrics, a chosen few, chasing the mysteries of the sword—already the hardest weapon to master—and of the Drunken Sword, which twisted common sense besides.
Lee Mok took a long pull from his wine bottle and swept a bleary gaze over them.
"The sword, eh… a small elite. Heh heh. But what can I say? My sword can't be learned sober."
Lee Mok swayed drunkenly and drew his blade. The instant his fingers closed around the hilt, the very current of the air changed.
"The sword—train it your whole life and you still never see its end. And my sword in particular pursues not the straight, but the strange. Any of you wanting to walk the same road as everyone else, get lost—go take up a saber or a spear right now."
Despite Lee Mok's warning, not one of the seven so much as twitched. To them, his uncanny, unfathomable movements were far more alluring than any orthodox art. And Lee Mok was a senior master, older and more seasoned than Yayul Hui or Jin So-wol besides.
Last of all, the men gathered before So Ryong were, to a one, hulking bear-like bruisers built for raw strength. Warriors who trusted their own fists and bodies over any weapon. So Ryong greeted them by showing off muscles fit to burst.
"The Black Dragon Rigid Body that the Sect Leader reinforced for us—these days it's nothing like that mediocre external art it used to be."
Since receiving the full transmission of the Black Dragon Moving Art, his Black Dragon Rigid Body had been carving out a new realm entirely. When So Ryong activated it now, a dark reddish-black sheen rippled across his skin.
"I don't know a thing about all the fancy variations and clever techniques those other instructors talk about. But I do know one thing. Pour in the effort, and anyone can grow strong. The body doesn't lie."
"…!"
"Bones broken, skin torn open—if you're confident you'll outwork every man here, then and only then stand before me!"
Had So Ryong, the former Young Sect Leader, been nothing more than a scheming mediocrity, the Black Dragon Sect would have collapsed long ago. Damaged, incomplete manuscripts. Years spent guarding the sect alone, with no master to guide him. Even so, So Ryong trained the Black Dragon Rigid Body every single day—and at some point, armed with nothing but that flawed external art, he had risen to first-rate level. A triumph of sheer obsession, nothing less. Small wonder more than a few members followed him.
Heat and battle cries spewed from every quarter, filling the training grounds to bursting. Yun Cheon folded his legs into a cross-legged seat on the platform once more and gazed down upon the members moving in flawless order across four divided zones. Each bore a different weapon, yet a single will burned common in every pair of eyes—the primal warrior's craving to be stronger tomorrow than today.
These men… belong to the Demonic Cult, but they can't yet be said to have been stained by the demon.
Yun Cheon's eyes cooled and sharpened. The great monster called the Demonic Cult abducted and brainwashed countless souls, spending them as consumables in the name of the demon. Yet peer beneath that surface, and they were merely warriors with the same hunger to grow strong as anyone.
What if he could lead them down a path of pure martial pursuit, rather than the madness of the demonic path?
That would build my own strength—while gnawing away at the roots of the Cult from the very bottom.
In the end, the Demonic Cult was a place ruled by the law of survival of the fittest, where the strong reigned and the weak obeyed. If he could prove a strength that overawed them all without demanding they serve the demon, there would be no need for anyone to sell their soul to its madness.
Within the Demonic Cult itself, I will cleave the demon from the martial!
More than rebuilding a sect—cultivating, at the very heart of the Demonic Cult, a fellowship that revered the pure, uncorrupted Martial Path. That, and that alone, was the true beginning of the grandest vengeance Yun Cheon had ever designed.
"It seems everyone has chosen their branch."
Yun Cheon's gaze turned toward the firmly shut main gate.
"You cowardly dogs! Do you truly mean to cower behind that gate until sundown?!"
"Black Dragon Sect Leader, crawl out here this instant!"
By now the gate had been kicked to the edge of collapse. Yun Cheon spoke quietly.
"Is everyone ready?"
"Yes, Sect Leader!"
The moment every member roared their answer with full force, the men hammering at the gate outside froze mid-swing.
"Wh… what now? What's going on in there?"
"What in the world are those battle cries…?"
Then Yun Cheon gave the order.
"So Ryong. Go and draw the bar."
"By your command!"
At Yun Cheon's low command, So Ryong curled his lips into a crooked grin and gripped the massive bar.
Clack!
"Dogs barking that loud—it'd be poor manners for a sect leader to keep pretending he doesn't hear them."
Screeeech—!
The firmly shut gates of the Black Dragon Sect swung wide open.
Beneath the noon sun pouring down, the warriors who had been howling outside the gate turned to stone in an instant. What they faced was not a pack of terrified thugs. Beneath a fluttering black dragon banner stood a hundred-odd warriors in ranks, the members exuding an aura keen enough to cut. At the sight, the challengers instinctively retreated a single step.
"All who would challenge the Black Dragon Sect—step forward!"
Return of the Cloud Dragon
Author | Chu Sang (Autumn Frost)
Publisher | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd.
Managing Editor | Editorial Department
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