Chapter 10
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Interest Rate for Insults: 66% Daily Compound (2)
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Excluding me, most people had chosen acquaintances as their sparring opponents.
I was a little worried that one of Moyong Wicheon's lackeys might point at Yongtaek, but nothing like that happened.
Well, of course not.
They were picking on him because he was from the same family and an easy target. From the outside, he was just another member of the Moyong Family.
So today's special matchups were two.
Me versus Moyong Wicheon.
And Nong Luri versus... the instructor.
"Cheon Luri, candidate! Unfortunately, you're left alone! The rules allow no exceptions, so I'll humbly request a lesson! Hahaha!"
The instructor was a little over eight feet tall.
In modern terms, about 190cm?
In contrast, Luri looked like she was under 140cm, tiny.
It was a matchup that could get you reported for child abuse on the spot.
But Luri herself just nodded indifferently and coolly moved on.
Luri aside, the instructor who was thinking of swinging his fists at that little kid seemed even more impressive...
Whatever, they'll handle it themselves.
First, I needed to take care of my own business.
"Geum Sihyeon. Are you insane? Why pick a fight first?"
Moyong Taek, who was a bit lacking in manliness, scolded me again.
"A fight? It's a challenge."
"In that situation, it's a challenge?"
"Don't worry. I have a plan."
Well.
Objectively speaking, it was like a mantis trying to stop a chariot or an egg smashing against a rock.
My opponent was surely someone who'd been poured countless elixirs since childhood and trained in the family secret arts of a prestigious clan.
I couldn't even be sure my total internal energy surpassed Moyong Wicheon's, and if we clashed head-on without any tricks, I'd probably lose due to the skill gap.
No matter how much of a once-in-a-millennium genius I was, I was still like a barebones computer without proper software installed.
It wasn't a matchup with high odds of victory.
But.
"Yongtaek."
"...Don't just rename me like that..."
"Don't you like gambling?"
"Yeah?"
"Even if I lose, what do I really have to lose?"
Moyong Taek couldn't answer my question easily.
Right.
Nothing to lose.
For someone like me from an ordinary merchant family—not even a minor martial sect—losing a spar to a prestigious sect disciple wouldn't be a blemish.
...Of course, winning would draw even more aggro.
I planned to draw more aggro anyway.
For clear friend-or-foe identification.
Of course.
I had no intention of losing.
The great warrior from my homeland.
One Song Sun-sin once said something profound.
- When you play a game, you have to win!
Spot on.
Even if it seemed a bit cowardly, winning was all that mattered, right?
Besides, winning fairly would cause problems too.
Even if I won, I needed to leave the impression that I'd used petty tricks, so they'd be less wary.
It wasn't for despicable reasons at all.
Despicable was practically high praise anyway.
Moyong Taek once again had to revise his assessment of Geum Sihyeon.
A man who seemed clumsy and self-deprecating at first glance, but pounced like a beast the moment he spotted an opening, snatching his prey.
Strong self-preservation instincts, deriving conclusions from calculated, strategic thinking before acting.
His speech was frivolous, often quoting Western phrases out of nowhere, but when discussing martial arts, he seemed quite knowledgeable and discerning.
This choice, though, was unexpected.
No matter that there was no direct loss in defeat, in the martial world, losing itself could be a disgrace and a yoke.
But.
Just like boldly betting on Unhak—who looked like a total nobody—in the gamble to pick the top scorer.
Maybe Geum Sihyeon had seen something he hadn't.
With those thoughts, he watched Geum Sihyeon's back as he stepped forward after being called.
It was frustrating.
Standing tall against the direct line descendant Moyong Wicheon—someone he himself wouldn't dare challenge—looked a little cool.
"Compared to Young Master Moyong Wicheon, I'm surely the inferior. As the custom in spars is for the weaker to receive three moves, I request that."
How could he say something so shameless with a straight face...?
Moyong Taek immediately corrected his evaluation.
But he could understand it mentally.
Though he wasn't sure how much those three moves really meant.
However.
At Geum Sihyeon's next words, Moyong Taek lost all sense of composure.
"Though I lacked a proper master, I learned the archery art Life-Seizing Shot from the escort chief at my family's escort agency and have trained it diligently. I only learned basic swordplay for self-defense, so if possible, I'd like to use a weapon suited to me."
Archery...?
Moyong Taek whispered to Unhak.
"Unhak. Have you ever seen a bow in Geum Sihyeon's luggage?"
"...I don't think so."
He felt dizzy at the idea of pulling out a bow for a spar.
But Geum Sihyeon's antics didn't end there.
"Normally, spars start at about two jang, but..."
He glanced over the bows the assistant instructor had brought, casually picking one up, and continued.
"That doesn't account for the length or nature of weapons. Every weapon has its optimal range. At two jang, it might be hard to even draw the string. Wouldn't it make more sense to start a bit farther apart?"
The words... made sense...
It seemed reasonable...
The instructor frowned, and even Moyong Wicheon did too, but neither could refute it. They simply accepted Geum Sihyeon's demands.
Thus, Geum Sihyeon—who'd received three moves—ended up aiming his bow unilaterally from six jang away.
Of course, to Moyong Taek's eyes, it didn't look particularly threatening.
Unless it was an iron bow with iron arrows.
This was a wooden bow of poor craftsmanship, with wooden arrows lacking tips.
The bow's limbs even looked twisted, as if not originally meant for a bowstring, forcibly tied to the tension.
Using something like that in a match? Absurd.
Moyong Wicheon was the most promising talent of the Moyong Family, even mentioned as next family head.
Naturally, he'd trained in the family secret Heaven-Earth Flash-Breaking Sword since childhood. As proof, he dangled his twin swords arrogantly, merely glaring at Geum Sihyeon.
To Moyong Taek, at least.
He was an insurmountable mountain.
"If you're ready, begin! It's a spar, so refrain from lethal strikes and focus on showing your skills! I may intervene if needed, so keep that in mind!"
As the instructor finished, veins bulged on Geum Sihyeon's forearm.
"Then, here I go."
The moment the words ended.
The arrow aimed at Moyong Wicheon left the string.
'Tiring to even humor these lowly fools' games.'
What kind of farce was this?
Moyong Wicheon clicked his tongue inwardly.
Compared to the cavalry warriors of Liaodong he'd seen growing up, this guy's posture screamed amateur who'd barely held a bow.
He even had no eye for bows, picking something so crudely made it barely qualified as one.
His aura was decent enough, but a lowly birth was a lowly birth.
Even with hints, this fool clung desperately, just like that idiot trying to ride on the family's coattails.
Ten Thousand Gold Treasury Fortress?
Recently making waves in commerce, but still second-rate compared to the Central Plains' greatest trading house, Azure Heaven Fortress.
The Moyong Family had invested heavily in Azure Heaven Fortress, so crushing this arrogant punk early was a good opportunity.
Thus, Moyong Wicheon.
Didn't tense up even as the arrow left the string.
He saw it as a chance to show off his—and the Moyong's—strength to the crowd.
In the deathly silence around the impromptu sparring ground, where even breaths were held, Moyong Wicheon smiled leisurely.
Six jang was close range, perfect for observing every muscle twitch.
His training wasn't so lax he couldn't deflect a predictable arrow with known trajectory.
No matter if infused with qi, could it surpass a weapon channeling energy directly from his dantian?
He'd swat it away spectacularly and mock the lowly fool.
That's what Moyong Wicheon thought.
Even as the arrow sliced through the air toward him, he felt no real threat.
Predictable path, predictable arc.
But.
In that fleeting instant.
Moyong Wicheon clearly saw the crude brown arrow gradually reddening.
He'd planned to deflect and sneer, but a ominous feeling made him swing his sword to block.
Boom—!
"...!"
The sheer volume of true qi in the arrow exceeded expectations.
His solid stance wavered, and intense pressure jarred his wrist.
Arrow fragments, carrying sparks, briefly obscured his vision.
Right after.
A hazy figure charged silently through the smoke.
"Petty trick—!"
Moyong Wicheon bellowed, but a faint tremor laced his voice.
Stronger and more insidious than expected. The subtle heat suggested a fire-attribute art this lowly fool had hidden. But wielding a wooden sword now, his own weapon wouldn't survive—
Moyong Wicheon's thoughts spun.
But sometimes, pride trumps reason in humans.
Only one of the three conceded moves had passed.
He couldn't strike first, so he crossed his twin swords in defense against the follow-up.
That was the fatal mistake.
And then.
Bursting through the smoke, Geum Sihyeon swung his sword—
No, the end of the bow grip—brutishly.
Thud—!
"Guhk...!"
A massive wave of true qi crashed in post-collision, shaking Moyong Wicheon's internals.
The blow far exceeded predictions, nearly crumpling his stance and exposing his side.
How, how could a greenhorn from lowly stock wield more internal energy—naturally—than him, or even more than him...?
But.
As he saw Geum Sihyeon's lips curl in a disgustingly smug grin, Moyong Wicheon's thoughts shattered, instinct screaming danger.
"Why are you smir—."
The question didn't finish.
Geum Sihyeon gripped the bow's farthest end, so the clash point was slightly below the center.
Whoosh, the bowstring ignited.
Crack—!
The limbs, tensed by the taut string, lost tension and snapped back to straightness with explosive elasticity.
Like a long-compressed spring, the rebound whipped through the narrow gap, smashing Moyong Wicheon's exposed side.
"Khek—"
Breath caught, stance crumbling.
Geum Sihyeon didn't miss the opening.
Charging like a street thug in a brawl, he rammed his shoulder, fully toppling Moyong Wicheon's balance.
Sensing defeat, Moyong Wicheon instinctively met Geum Sihyeon's eyes.
In the eyes he'd pegged as those of a rich-boy dandy.
Burned a fierce, inextinguishable inferno of malice and intensity.
"Just this?"
Geum Sihyeon's low murmur thundered in Moyong Wicheon's ears.
Meaning: Is this all you arrogant prick had?
Infuriating.
But no retort.
Arrogance, misjudgment.
Even calling it a high-level deception—his own carelessness led to defeat.
But.
'With this skill, conning three moves, you despicable bas—.'
Laced with resentment.
Amid the excruciating pain in his solar plexus, Moyong Wicheon lost consciousness.