Chapter 29
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Chapter 29
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Surpassing the First Wall (2)
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The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling.
"Ugh......"
Widening my view slightly revealed that unfamiliar ceiling along with one familiar face.
The brain cell murderer staring down at me expressionlessly──
"Eek!"
"......?"
I let out a low, idiotic scream like a complete fool.
What the hell.
Was she planning to doodle on my face or something?
I blankly stared at Cheon Luri's face, which held the richest emotions of any expression I'd seen from her yet.
Cheon Luri herself seemed startled by the noise she'd made.
She immediately clamped both hands over her mouth and bolted out of the room.
......There was a rule in sparring class: if you completely knock someone out, you take responsibility and escort them all the way to the medical hall.
But she hadn't ditched me and had stayed by my side until I woke up.
Unlike her usual behavior, she seemed to have a human heart after all.
Let's believe it wasn't just an excuse to legally skip class......
In my mind, I stuck a praise sticker on Cheon Luri's forehead.
There weren't any other injuries anywhere serious.
I gathered myself and promptly left the medical hall.
Though that "eek" had briefly shaken my mental focus.
Something felt like it was fuzzily swirling around nonstop in my head right now.
Forget the club or anything else—I wanted to clear this up first.
I headed straight to the dorm to grab my sword, then made for the private training hall.
Standing in the center of the training hall.
Drawing my sword.
"Huuu......"
I exhaled deeply and replayed the earlier match.
The sword I'd seen, imitated, and swung myself.
I compared it to the sword form shaped even more perfectly and naturally from Cheon Luri's hand, then disassembled and analyzed it.
Same motion.
Different trick.
Similar motion.
Different application, same trick.
To the sword of the sword demon that had split my skull open during the match and embedded itself in my brain.
I overlaid the hues of Cheon Luri and added a new interpretation.
What if I'd swung like this here?
What if I'd mixed in a few more feints to better conceal the real strike?
What if I'd stolen her breath with swift strikes instead of heavy ones?
What if I'd dropped my stance and slashed her chest in a single blow?
What if I'd stepped in even closer to narrow the gap──
All those possibilities.
I swung my sword, pitting them against Cheon Luri's vividly reenacted moves manifesting before my eyes as if real.
There were wrong answers.
No—there were more wrong answers.
She accurately reads the feint I've mixed in, turns it against me instead, and carves a sword wound across my chest.
A blade flies toward my brow faster than my full-power speed, piercing right through.
A strike so clean it would've halved my sack of humanity if we'd been going all-out brushes futilely against my clothes and dissipates into nothing.
Closing the distance actually favors the smaller-framed Cheon Luri; the instant my stance crumbles, she slips in at my waist and blasts a palm into my gut.
Yeah.
That's how it'd go, huh.
What about other approaches?
Diagonally, with softness?
Advance my front foot to shatter balance?
Bait an attack by exposing an opening, then counter?
To land one solid hit on that annoying little squirt, I accelerated my thoughts endlessly.
Swinging my sword futilely through empty air, I chewed over that sensation from before.
But.
I couldn't surpass her like this.
In my mind-image, I was butchered endlessly until even my form was unrecognizable.
No.
This isn't it.
Simply imitating couldn't catch up to the years they'd piled up.
Not stopping at mimicking what they'd shown.
Fully as my own—with my thoughts, my will.
Reconstructing my mirage-like scattered body and forging it anew.
Again, again, and again.
The martial arts within me.
I swung, and swung.
For the first time, I etched faint surprise onto that sullen expression.
Made those tiny lips bite down ever so slightly.
Creased the brow I itched to flick.
And while I was at it.
I began slowly melting into my knowledge each individual sword strike I'd fragmented endlessly and internalized.
And with that, a sudden question arose.
Did it have to be the Blood Wolf Sword Technique (presumed)?
What if it was the Flying Heaven Sword Art?
I swept away the surging killing intent and quietly contemplated the void.
First form. Flying Wing Lightning Flash.
Fragment and fragment until only a horizontal slash remains, then layer on swift-sword speed.
Second form. Soaring Heaven Straight Up.
Fragment and fragment until only an upward horizontal lift remains, then layer on illusory sword.
Sky Swimming.
Revolving Flying Wings.
Eagle Claw Descent Assault......
I shredded my knowledge stitch by stitch, weaving it into experience.
Until there was nothing left to scatter.
And then.
Reassembling the fragmented forms one by one.
"A being that had set foot only on the earth breaks its egg for the first time and spreads its wings; its speed rivals lightning itself."
"It rises endlessly toward the open sky, and with a single flap, glides softly as if skimming along the ground."
"At last, after wheeling full circle, it gazes back upon its birthplace......"
⟨ Flying Heaven Sword Art ⟩
Reciting the oral formula.
I imbued intent into my sword and swung.
At first, lightly without loading qi.
As the motions gradually grew familiar, I drew up true qi to make it heavy.
The inner power that had crouched in my dantian till now poured along my meridians, coiling around the blade.
But.
Had I fully contained it?
The Flying Heaven Sword Art was the sword of the golden mean.
A blade biased toward neither yin nor yang.
Yet the greatest root of my current inner arts was the Blazing Shadow Heart Formula.
Did it deem it unfit for martial principle?
The fiercely yang qi forged by the Blazing Shadow Heart Formula merely lingered quietly in my dantian still.
The discomfort I'd felt all along.
The stuffiness every time I circulated the Flying Heaven Sword Art—like wearing clothes that didn't fit.
I'd found its source.
Does a bird soaring the skies need to cling to the path of the golden mean?
No need to bind itself.
What reason was there for me not to embrace fire?
Fly forth, Vermilion Bird......
"Keuk."
Nearly twisted my qi and blood when stray modern thoughts suddenly intruded, etched into my genes.
Soon regaining my clear mind──
I kicked the ass of that fiercely yang qi lounging stretched out in the corner of my dantian, setting it free to romp as well.
The space heated up in an instant with warmth.
But now, that heat felt all the more welcome and refreshing.
Imbuing intent into the form, I swung with qi—and swung again.
Before I knew it, Cheon Luri had vanished.
Here remained.
Only me.
And my sword.
The final form.
The instant I swung Heavenly Light Single Flash──
A firebird wreathed in ferocious momentum as if to rend space itself detached from the sword tip, leaving a scorch mark on the wall.
"Hmm~ hum~"
Moyong Seol hummed a little tune.
She was still swamped with grueling duties.
But amid the hectic day, there were moments laced with joy.
Namely, when she personally tutored Geum Sihyeon in swordsmanship.
Unlike those rude brats from prestigious sects who'd been force-fed elixirs since childhood yet somehow skipped all manners training.
He was polite to a fault, yet tossed sly jokes with effortless charm; had those delightfully touchable lean muscles; and a look quite to her tastes.
Even his learning speed was like a sponge, absorbing her teachings perfectly.
A man who pleased her as a teacher—and as a woman.
Not quite budding romance, perhaps.
But moreover, today.
[Taek: Breaking news) Geum Sihyeon got thrashed by the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's Young Leader, passed out, and was carted off to the medical hall]
She even had piping-hot fresh gossip she could legally pry with.
Of course, the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult Young Leader──Cheon Luri's prowess had shocked even Moyong Seol herself.
At her age, already past Peak mid-stage and sniffing at late-stage.
Beyond mere talent.
Judging from that slender frame, one could easily imagine the sheer effort invested.
She must have endured brutally harsh days in the cult......
But she looked like such a small, cute little critter on the outside.
"Puhu......"
Imagining the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's Young Leader in feline form chomping cutely on Geum Sihyeon's forearm, Moyong Seol found herself chuckling.
It's about time he showed up.
──she thought, just then.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Moyong Seol flashed a beaming smile at the knock but quickly schooled her expression, replying as indifferently as possible.
"A bit late."
The moment the instructor room door opened and Geum Sihyeon entered.
"Uh......"
Moyong Seol was momentarily at a loss for words.
What had happened in the interim?
Or had he perhaps attained enlightenment?
Geum Sihyeon's aura felt subtly different.
Had the spar with the Young Leader stimulated him that much?
"It's fine. Let's get to it today too."
She'd originally planned to tease and pry a bit.
But curiosity to verify her subtle warrior's instinct won out; she headed straight for the training ground.
As always, Geum Sihyeon quietly raised the arm holding the straw dummy before him.
And then.
"Hoo......?"
Watching him unleash a single stroke with a completion she'd never seen—and intent she'd never witnessed him contain before.
Moyong Seol let an admiring exclamation slip unwittingly.
What on earth had happened?
The motion was impeccably clean.
Yet natural fluidity now permeated what had previously felt awkward precisely because of that cleanliness.
As if.
He had fully internalized the forms as his own.
"Cadet Geum Sihyeon? Could it be......"
"Ah. Well...... It's a bit embarrassing."
Geum Sihyeon flushed faintly.
He then disjointedly recounted his mindset after clashing with the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's Young Leader, along with the insights he'd gained alone in the training hall afterward.
Watching him, a complex mix of emotions welled up in Moyong Seol.
Admiration......
And the faintest twinge of jealousy.
She'd intuited it from their first meeting.
Geum Sihyeon possessed martial talent surpassing anyone she'd ever witnessed in her life.
He hadn't fully grasped it yet.
But given just a little time, he'd reach man-sword unity──the Peak realm in short order.
The realization she'd barely grasped midway through her second year at Hundred Flowers Academy, after grueling training.
By someone not even two full years into proper martial arts training.
Who'd been in the Academy less than a month.
And now Geum Sihyeon had brushed its edge.
Of course, she figured his own efforts must be part of that realization too—but even so, Moyong Seol found herself gripped by an odd mood.
Come to think of it, this pisses me off?
I'm carving out personal time to teach him.
Was wondering if the slow progress was my fault.
"In summary, you grew by getting utterly dog-piled by Cadet Cheon Luri?"
"......Is that the takeaway?"
A chill emanated from Moyong Seol's body.
"Then let's tweak the lessons starting today. Sparring."
"Pardon?"
"Obviously, for real improvement, real swords beat wooden ones, right? Use your inner power freely too. Oh, you know the medical hall here's basically the best in the Central Plains? As long as it's not fatal, they can patch you up quick—no need to worry."
"Pardon?"
Come to think of it, some folks only shot up when getting beaten black and blue.
Like her little brother, Moyong Taek.
Moyong Seol smiled dazzlingly bright.
"Come on, you won't die or anything."
Sensing the sincerity in Moyong Seol's words, the blood slightly drained from Geum Sihyeon's face.
Already the second time.
Gazing at Geum Sihyeon, who'd visited the medical hall twice in one day, Dang Mok wore a complicated expression.
What the hell was he getting up to around the Academy?
At this rate, wouldn't he just keel over naturally?
Of course, if he could lend a "natural" hand in that process, nothing could be better.
But even with approval from the main family and council.
He couldn't brazenly commit acts that would blemish the reputation he'd built as a physician.
He'd be the prime suspect, after all.
If Geum Sihyeon had come alone, that'd be one thing.
But he had company this time too.
"Hmm. No scarring, right?"
"He cut himself...... Ow!"
"Be quiet, or the wound might fester. Cadet Geum Sihyeon."
Moyong Seol had never shown personal interest in cadets, let alone other instructors.
Yet here she was, acting chummy toward Geum Sihyeon like an old friend.
Dang Mok arched one eyebrow ever so slightly, desperately reining in his emotions.
What did she see in this punk?
The face? The face? That goddamn face?
Feeling his mood sour rapidly.
"......Treatment's done for now. Seems you'll keep getting hurt, so I'll prepare some salve."
Dang Mok turned and shuffled slowly toward the pharmacy.
He'd originally planned to just chuck a pre-made trauma ointment at him.
'No—this is an opportunity.'
Judging from his showings in herbology and toxicology.
No way that punk properly grasped medicine or poison.
Couldn't mix in anything too potent.
But enough to gradually stiffen muscles and twist surrounding qi flow? Wouldn't raise big suspicions.
Decision made.
He pulled an ointment jar from a drawer, mixed in a pinch of aconitum powder and a trace of black viper venom, then ground and reformed it.
If he kept getting banged up like this.
Each application would slowly warp his body.
He wrapped the finished salve in paper, then reentered the sickroom with the most indifferent expression, handing it to Geum Sihyeon.
"Plenty here—rub some on every time you get hurt."
And with that, he naturally took his leave.
Dang Mok didn't see it.
Geum Sihyeon furtively peeling off a dab of salve out of Moyong Seol's sight and slipping it into his mouth.
Right after, the faint, sinister smile and glint in his eyes.
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