Please, Let It End with Words

Please... let it end with nothing but words.

"Hyeon! It's me. The Heaven-Breaking Sword Saint!"

"Wh... who are you?"

"What... did you say?"

Anyone would be struck senseless if disciples they had raised for more than thirty years looked them in the face and did not know them. Cheon Hwi was no exception.

You don't recognize me? Me? I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠took you in as a disciple when you were small and raised you for nearly thirty years, and you don't know who I am?

A changed face could not explain it. If that were all, the name Heaven-Breaking Sword Saint should have drawn something from her. But this Hyeon... it feels as though her memory of me—no, her very memory of her past life—has been wiped clean.

While Cheon Hwi stood frozen in that thought, the girl before him went on.

"And why are you throwing our names around like that? You're supposed to call me senior."

"...Senior, my ass."

"Aagh!"

"Since when are you the senior here! Why would you be my senior?! Huh?! Is that how I raised you?! This is betraying your master and casting down your ancestors! That's what this is!"

Cheon Hwi roared it, pinching Hyeon's cheek and stretching it long.

His body had grown young again, but his mind was the same as ever, and an adult's manner of speech had clung to him without his thinking of it. That he had forgotten even that, and was shouting like a man unhinged, said everything about how deep the shock had gone. One of them was undone by the sight of disciples he had raised with such care now playing the senior—the proper order of master and disciple, shattered. The other was undone by the discovery that a freshman who had barely entered through a transfer exam was a raving lunatic. Cheon Hwi and his four disciples took the same blow, however different the reasons.

You lunatic! You're the one betraying your master!

In that moment Hyeon understood, bone-deep, the old saying that common sense was useless before a madman. And while she was still thinking it—

"Hoo... hoo... Right. That could happen... No. It must not..."

Eyes glaring, Cheon Hwi kept drawing her cheek out thin as paper and began to mutter without end. It was more than enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to sink her into dread. A beggar, using not a single spell, had overwhelmingly crushed Matthew, a man who stood among the strong. A sentence made of nothing but words that had no business sharing a breath. Beating Matthew was something Hyeon herself could do. Beating him that utterly was a height even she could not swear she could reach.

She was still shivering through the thought when Cheon Hwi, who had seemed only to stare at her, spoke.

"When class ends tomorrow, come to the training grounds— no. The field."

"Y-you mean it, sir?"

Jolted clean out of her wits, Hyeon even slipped into polite speech.

Cheon Hwi did not trouble himself to answer. He turned and was gone.

"Do I actually have to go...?"

Hyeon murmured it, worry thick in her voice. Go, and she would have to suffer the madman's antics all over again, just as she had today. Stay away, and she feared that same madman's revenge. At a glance he was twice as strong as she was. Not being afraid of him would have been the strange thing.

I'll go and see, for now... A transfer student wouldn't really hit a senior in earnest, would he? Hah. Of course not.

Clinging to that bright little hope, Hyeon made up her mind to go.

What kind of world was this? Cheon Hwi could not help but be astonished. He had been astonished when he was first born into this world as well, but this time the reason was different.

This place called Elysia Academy... What a cumbersome name. He would simply call it the Academy.

True to its name as the finest academy in the world, the teaching was superb. It could make even Cheon Hwi, who knew nothing whatsoever of this world, grasp magic, spirits, and all the rest. As for the quality of the learning, nothing more needed to be said. But the shocking part—

"No! How has swordsmanship fallen this far!"

However specialized in magic this world might be, it could not exist on magic alone. For that reason there were martial faculties as well—the Swordsmanship Faculty, the Spearmanship Faculty, and others—yet their skill was wretched, and their numbers more wretched still. The Magic Faculty, the most popular of them all, looked to hold twice the students of the Swordsmanship Faculty, and more besides.

Think on it, and it was only natural. True martial cultivation did not seem to exist here at all. In a world without even the notion of inner energy, let alone a dantian, who would bother to temper the body? Everyone simply used magic, which anyone could learn.

"Do that in the Central Plains and you'd have been beaten until you spat blood. This place is different."

Even the Central Plains had possessed things that resembled magic. The Ice Palace formed ice in their hands and attacked with it, and outstanding martial artists brought fire forth from their palms through the Samadhi True Fire. But those who trusted in that alone and never trained their bodies caught a sword and died where they stood. Why? Get in close, and how were they to stop you? What use was gorging on spirit pills until one's inner energy ran deep, if the body could not follow? It meant nothing. And this Academy was doing precisely that.

Of course, unlike the Central Plains, Void Grabbing belonged here among the simplest fundamentals, performed with ease, and even without profound inner energy one could call up the Samadhi True Fire or conjure ice without the slightest difficulty.

"And defense came just as easily."

Who, then, would learn the grueling sword? Far better to sit at ease, meditate, imagine, and cast the magic that came of it. Even one who forged the body with desperate effort would be hard-pressed to overcome magic in this world.

"Others fling fire and loose water. Pure flesh and a sword could never cut through that and win."

Still, if there was any comfort to be had, it was this: his disciple Hyeon belonged to the Swordsmanship Faculty, and she alone in that faculty could defeat the Magic Faculty. She had won by grit and raw stubbornness, taking the hits as they came—but a win was a win, was it not?

"I will not let the ones who struck my disciple go."

Yet however soundly she had won the fight, to Cheon Hwi, whose love for his disciples ran deeper than most, all that remained was the fact that his disciple had been hit.

"Worry not, Hyeon. I shall make certain you never lose again!"

Cheon Hwi set his resolve. He would teach her.

At that same hour, Hyeon was talking with a friend.

"You're going to see that transfer student?"

"I have to, don't I? He's a transfer. He must have something to ask a senior."

Did that even make sense? The friend had not seen the incident, but the one called Cheon Hwi could only be described as insane. She was going to a man who had pinched the cheek of someone he had only just met and thrown a goddamn fit because she didn't recognize him? No—fine. Going itself could be understood. Refuse a lunatic's request, and there was no telling what might follow. But going for a reason like that was beyond all reason.

"That doesn't make any sense."

The friend said it, hoping to drag Hyeon back to reality.

"...I know. Shut up."

What came back was a cold answer.

"So I have a favor to ask."

"What favor?"

"Come with me."

"No."

If you were going to die, die alone. Dragging a friend along to die with you—what kind of vicious streak was that? Met with a refusal that held not a shred of hesitation, Hyeon put forward another request, as if she had expected as much.

"Then if you don't hear from me within two hours after Academy classes end, bring a professor and come get me."

"All right."

That much seemed a reasonable favor, so the friend accepted. A professor would be coming along. What could possibly happen?

The words were desperate beyond measure.

Nothing but talk? Who had let a mad thing like that out of their mouth? Was this a conversation? Well? Was this a conversation?

Hyeon was being ground into the dirt under Cheon Hwi.

Was every training session I've ever done just a game...?

She had been certain she trained with all her might, and yet a single bout of Cheon Hwi's torment—no, his training—was wearing her down to a spent wreck. A doubt rose against herself, that perhaps she had not trained hard in her ordinary days, but it collapsed almost at once. Unpopular as the Swordsmanship Faculty might be, it was still a faculty of the greatest academy in the world. How could its training be soft? No—precisely because the faculty was weak, they trained all the harder. Had they been lax, the Swordsmanship Faculty would already have vanished into history. And still Cheon Hwi's training was harsh enough to make even that academy regimen look like a children's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠game.

If it was that hard, couldn't she simply refuse? She was the senior. Why was she obeying a junior's every word? No! If she could have, she would have done so from the start!

She still remembered. That horrific scene.

"Hah! Good. Yes—this is how my disciple ought to be. You listen well."

Some transfer student she was meeting for the first time was treating her as his disciple and offering her none of the respect due a senior. She had abandoned any such expectations of a madman long ago. Better to recite scripture into a cow's ear. A cow, at least, would sit still and listen. Speak to this transfer student and he flew into a fit. There was nothing to do but give up. And Hyeon, wisely, did not let that question leave her mouth. Yesterday had taught her well enough what would happen if she spoke—and that speaking would change nothing.

"So why did you call me here? Something you want to ask, as a transfer student? I'll answer you. As your senior."

She asked with a thread of hope still intact. His lack of manners, she had decided, came of being a beggar who had never been taught, and treating her as a disciple was simply the mark of a lunatic.

"Ah, nothing of consequence. You are far too weak, so I thought to put you through a little training. A disciple of the Heaven-Breaking path must not be this frail."

"What did you say?"

Weak? She was one of the precious few from the Swordsmanship Faculty who had fought the Magic Faculty and won, and she was weak? Yes, she had been hit, and her nose had burst with blood, but if she had won, that meant she was strong. Fine. Grant it—one chance in a thousand, one in ten thousand—that she was weak. Hearing the words, she could force ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠herself to understand. Her professors told her often enough that she was still weak; that far, she could accept. But to hear it from a mere beggar-born transfer student, not a professor and not even a senior, could only scrape her pride raw.

"I am weak, aren't I. Mm..."

But what could she do? An opponent she could only barely defeat, blood streaming from her nose, Cheon Hwi had finished in a single blow. When a man like that spoke, all she could do was assume she was the one who was wrong, and listen in silence.

"Even so, it is all right. I shall make you strong before long."

"Really...?"

Hyeon asked it with doubt in her voice. Learning from the transfer student would surely make her stronger. Her professors taught her how to answer magic. Cheon Hwi would teach the sword itself. How could she be so certain? Recall it once more. A beggar who had beaten Matthew, a champion of the Magic Faculty, without a single spell. With that before her eyes, how was she to withhold belief? She had not merely heard of that duel. She had seen it herself. She had no choice but to believe.

And still she asked with doubt clinging to her, for one reason.

What do I even know of what that lunatic means to teach, that I'd swallow it whole?

What she learned from her professors would be enough to make her strong. Was there any need to walk, of her own will, down a road to hell that demons would be glad to welcome her onto?

"No. I'm fine as I—"

"Yes... Refusing my offer is your choice."

"Ha ha ha... Then I'll just be on my way—"

"But you see. I don't recall ever giving you a choice, Hyeon."

The moment the words ended, Cheon Hwi moved to begin the training.

"First—come at me."

"Pardon?"

An opening that made no sense at all. Had she misheard? A duel—with that insane monster? A spar against an ordinary expert, perhaps she might have borne. Against Cheon Hwi, she wanted no part of it. Why? The first duel she had ever seen him fight, he had smashed his opponent's skull the instant it began. As if she would be eager for that!

"Um? I clearly said I wasn't going to train. Is there really any need for a duel...?"

With that frail hope, Hyeon asked whether a match was even necessary.

"I clearly never said I was giving you a choice. Is there really any need not to train?"

That was the answer Cheon Hwi gave her.

"Hm. If you will not come, then I shall come first."

The more Hyeon fled, struggling to get clear of him, the more fiercely Cheon Hwi pursued.

"Kh— that lunatic..."

And the match, as a matter of course, ended in Cheon Hwi's victory.