Chapter 48
Episode 48
Friendly Sparring (2)
For a moment, I thought lightning had struck out of the clear blue sky—but that wasn't the case.
The deafening roar that shook my eardrums came from none other than my opponent, Dae-ung.
I had no idea how he had perfectly read my sword path, but—
Whoosh!
The arrow Dae-ung loosed tore through the wind in a straight line, flying toward me at the shortest possible trajectory.
Beom-pyeong's earlier prediction had been completely off the mark.
Far from slowing down, the arrow had grown even faster, carrying a destructive energy within it.
The arrow, spun with added rotation from the twisted bowstring, far exceeded the level he had expected from Dae-ung.
'......I was wrong.'
He couldn't even begin to imagine blocking or dodging it.
The moment that arrow struck, he knew it would be one of two outcomes—either the bone where it hit would shatter, or the unbearable pain would knock him unconscious.
In that desperate moment, a single question flashed through his mind.
'......But when the hell did that guy reach the First-Class realm?'
Most of the Tang Elite Unit's martial artists, including himself, were at the First-Class level.
Due to the family's decline, there were few left to teach or martial manuals to learn from, so none had progressed beyond the entry stage of First-Class.
But just ten days ago, Dae-ung—a new recruit—had barely been at the tail end of Second-Class.
He had been accepted into the Tang Elite Unit based on his potential, with the assessment that he could break into First-Class after about six months of training.
Yet now, the internal energy infused in his arrow and the perfection of his archery technique were not just at the entry level of First-Class—they were nearing mastery.
'......What kind of miracle did the Young Lord perform this time?'
His entire body went slack at the thought of yet another miracle Se-woon had pulled off.
His weakness had been perfectly exploited.
In the end, this is all we amount to.
Just as the familiar taste of defeat began to rise in Beom-pyeong's heart—
—Are you really going to show the Young Lord the sight of you giving up before even fighting?!
"—!!"
Suddenly, the voice of Tang Bi—who had drilled them relentlessly, shouting those words dozens of times—resurfaced in his mind.
Right. Even if I lose, I can't go down like this!
Snapping back to his senses, Beom-pyeong tightened his grip on his sword and poured more strength into his arm.
By then, the arrow was already right before his eyes.
Twang!
Beom-pyeong swung his sword reflexively.
He had intended to use the Green Phosphorus Sword, one of the few sword techniques the Sichuan Tang Family possessed, but in his haste, he had relied purely on instinct.
The blade and arrow crossed in midair.
The internal energy behind each was undeniably in Dae-ung's favor.
But knowing that, Beom-pyeong didn't meet it head-on.
Instead, he twisted the flat of his blade sideways and—
CRACK!
—swung with all his might, not to slice the arrow but to batter it away.
It was a clever shift in intent—to deflect it as far to the side as possible.
Given the imbalance in power, it was the best and only choice he could make.
But—
CLANG!
'—!'
Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to turn the tide.
Beom-pyeong's eyes trembled like the earth itself was shaking as he watched a broken fragment of his blade soar high above his head.
The arrow had been deflected, just as he intended.
But his sword had been cleanly split in half.
The force behind the arrow had been so overwhelming that his blade couldn't withstand it.
'Ghk!'
The shock of the sword's destruction traveled straight up his arm.
A sharp, electric pain shot through him, followed by a rapid numbness.
Yet even so, Beom-pyeong gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the broken hilt.
"Haaah—!"
With a fierce glint in his eyes, he charged at his opponent, wielding the shattered blade like a club.
At the very least, he had blocked the attack.
And now, he had closed the distance to Dae-ung.
It was time to counter.
Swish!
The half-broken sword—now resembling a blunt cudgel more than a blade—swept toward Dae-ung's abdomen.
But then—
Just as Beom-pyeong closed in, Dae-ung's muttering, which had been indistinct until now, reached his ears with perfect clarity.
"......Beom-pyeong. Follow-up strike. Left rib."
"?!"
What the—?
In that instant, Beom-pyeong felt his blood run cold.
Because his attack was unfolding exactly as Dae-ung had described.
But whether he was shocked or not didn't matter.
Dae-ung ruthlessly dismantled his opponent, who had laid his sword path completely bare.
Shwak!
As if he were a swordsman himself, Dae-ung gripped his bow like a blade and extended it one-handed.
And as if it had been destined to happen—
Beom-pyeong's broken sword slid perfectly into the empty space between the bow's body and string.
The moment Beom-pyeong realized something was wrong—
Flick!
'—!!'
Dae-ung drew a wide semicircle with the bow before releasing it without hesitation.
Whoosh!
Both the bow and the sword went flying out of bounds.
Like a hawk snatching its prey, Dae-ung had effortlessly disarmed Beom-pyeong of his broken blade.
Clatter!
Now weaponless, Beom-pyeong clenched his fists.
For a fleeting moment, he thought this might actually work in his favor.
In a situation where both were unarmed, surely he had the advantage—
"Hyaaah!"
'?!'
Dae-ung roared and lunged forward like lightning.
In his hand, he held an arrow—gripped backward.
With the fletching clutched like a handle, the steel-tipped end pointed upward.
It looked like—
'Ah, no. That's not an arrow anymore—'
It's just a blunt weapon.
Beom-pyeong couldn't finish the thought.
THUD!
A dull impact followed, and his vision darkened into nothingness.
Thud. Thump.
Beom-pyeong collapsed onto the training grounds, unconscious.
A single strike had knocked him out cold.
"......??"
Whoosh.
The match had ended in just two exchanges—so abruptly that it felt almost absurd.
The family members surrounding the arena could only blink in stunned silence.
But only for a moment.
"We won!!"
Soon after, Yeo-seon sprang up from her seat, jumping for joy.
"T-The winner of the first match is Dae-ung of Se-woon's team!"
As the flustered Son Geon announced the victor—
Cheer!
The spectators erupted into thunderous applause.
Everyone was reacting passionately to the Young Lord's team's unexpected dominance.
The only ones not celebrating were the Tang Elite Unit members, still reeling from their comrade's crushing defeat—
And Tang Bi, whose mouth hung open in sheer disbelief.
"Wha—huh? No, this—what?"
Tang Bi was so stunned he couldn't even form a coherent sentence.
But unlike his uncle, Se-woon's expression remained completely unchanged.
'Well, it was only natural.'
There was no reason for him to be surprised.
He had known this would happen from the very beginning.
After all, Yeo-seon was the Thousand-Sight Instructor—the one who had analyzed and dismantled even the bizarre demonic arts of the Blood Cult in less than a month.
She had deconstructed and rebuilt Dae-ung and the Jang brothers' martial arts to near-perfection.
In a single night.
'Hmm, the martial arts Dae-ung was hiding were the Vulture Heart Art and Black Eagle Shot, right?'
The Vulture Heart Art and Black Eagle Shot.
These were unique mental and archery techniques modeled after the movements of the martial eagles that accompanied the warriors of the steppes from birth to death.
They weren't martial arts steeped in profound principles or theory—even at their peak, they would only reach the entry level of the Pinnacle Realm.
But after Se-woon and Yeo-seon got their hands on them, they were completely transformed.
-Hmm, the current Black Eagle Shot is too focused on rapid-fire. Not ideal.
-Yes, the creator's intent was a single, decisive strike.
-Let's realign it with the original intent.
-Understood. Then we should adjust the flow of energy to...
Se-woon had taken the framework Yeo-seon had dismantled and infused it with suitable insights and subtleties.
The two were the perfect team.
Despite never having worked together before, they instantly grasped each other's intentions, already formulating answers before questions were fully asked.
Through this process, Dae-ung's martial arts—
-I-Is this really my martial art?
—had been reborn as techniques several tiers higher.
Yet because the essence remained untouched, there was no sense of unfamiliarity or rejection.
As a result, in just ten short days, his skill and realm had skyrocketed.
When he had been using the unfamiliar Whip Technique to conceal his archery, Dae-ung had struggled to break past the threshold of Second-Class, no matter how hard he trained.
But now, he had surpassed the entry level of First-Class and was approaching mastery.
Still, Se-woon didn't stop there.
He wrung out Yeo-seon's talent once more.
While Se-woon was overseeing the three disciples' training, he had Yeo-seon secretly observe the Tang Elite Unit's drills and devise countermeasures for all twenty-one members.
-B-But what if we get caught spying?
-Then you'll have to run for it.
-......Huh?
Yeo-seon had whined with a tearful face, insisting it was impossible—
But just as in his past life, the truth proved otherwise.
Even dried fish will yield moisture if squeezed hard enough.
"......I won. I actually beat Senior Beom-pyeong. Instructor!"
"Ehehe, what did I tell you? I said you'd win, didn't I?"
"It's all thanks to you and the Young Lord!"
"Hehe. This is just the beginning, though. Stay sharp—once the next opponent is decided, immediately go through the plan in your head... You know what to do, right?"
"Yes!"
Dae-ung was visibly moved by the fruits of his training, and Yeo-seon was just as delighted, grinning like a child.
Though she must have known her own talents, this was likely the first time she had seen them bear fruit so directly in actual combat.
Seeing her radiant smile, Se-woon found himself curling the corners of his lips without realizing it.
'If she's this happy already, I won't feel guilty working her even harder.'
Though the person in question would never suspect it—
In Se-woon's plans, Yeo-seon wouldn't get a single moment of rest from now on.
Just as Yeo-seon shuddered from an inexplicable chill—
"Hmm. It seems to be just a simple knockout, but let's move him to the Medical Hall for now."
"Understood!"
Tang Jun, the head of the Medical Hall overseeing the sparring's medical needs, finished his examination.
Beom-pyeong, still unconscious, was carried away on a stretcher.
Though he looked somewhat pitiful, Se-woon's gaze held a glint of admiration.
'Beom-pyeong. I'll remember your resolve.'
Se-woon didn't look down on him in the slightest.
If anything, he respected the man's unyielding spirit—the fact that he had refused to give up even after realizing the gap in their strength.
He had assumed the Tang Elite Unit, long corroded by defeatism, had lost their fighting spirit.
But over the past ten days, he had seen them gritting their teeth, striving to improve.
They were still members of the Sichuan Tang Family—his blood.
Se-woon's goal was to wake them up, not to crush them mercilessly like Tang Ho-yeol.
He just wanted to give each of them one solid beating.
Since it was three against twenty-one—
A brief preparation period was given before the next match.
'Now, then. It's my turn.'
Tap.
Suddenly, Se-woon stretched his arms and approached Dae-ung.