The Supremes' Amusement (4)
“Having a bad dream or something?”
At Yeom Hwa-sin's question, Baek So-cheon opened his eyes.
The carriage was still rolling along, and Yeom Hwa-sin was lying across from him. It was a massive carriage built just for the man, so when he bent his knees, there was enough room for that enormous frame to stretch out.
“You looked startled.”
Just moments ago, Baek So-cheon had been sitting there with his eyes closed, only to suddenly flinch and shudder violently.
“It was a memory of the moment you got me. When you ripped out my dantian.”
He said it calmly, but it was a lie.
In truth, Baek So-cheon had been pondering the Thousand-Handed Asura God Sword. His journey with Yeom Hwa-sin had given him endless stimulation and insights, but there was one regrettable thing.
He couldn't actually practice his swordsmanship.
So, whenever he found a spare moment, he trained in his mind.
As the saying went, in seeking, one finds—what started as mere imagination began to feel real, gradually turning into true practice.
Baek So-cheon slowly recalled each form, from the first style to the sixth. Each style consisted of anywhere from a few to over twenty individual strikes.
But he'd never reviewed them this slowly before.
The Thousand-Handed Asura God Sword was a sword art built on extreme speed from the start.
Not only the individual strikes but the styles containing them were all fused together, exploding out in a single flash.
Seizing this opportunity, he examined each strike as an independent form—and the moment he realized how exquisitely masterful each one was, a shiver ran through his entire body.
Truly an astonishing martial art.
The technique unfolded so swiftly in one burst that he'd never appreciated the brilliance of its individual components.
To put it simply, the finished product was so perfect that he'd overlooked the quality of its parts.
Without this carriage journey with Yeom Hwa-sin, he might never have made this discovery. He might have fixated solely on completing the seventh style and missed it forever.
“Anyway, where are we now?”
Baek So-cheon peered out at the scenery, but he had no idea. He could only sense that it was growing colder outside.
“Does it matter? What matters is that we're enjoying this trip together.”
Normally, he'd have shot back with something like, 'You're the only one enjoying it.' But Baek So-cheon held his tongue. Truth be told, he was enjoying it too.
As Baek So-cheon closed his eyes again to sink back into meditation, Yeom Hwa-sin quickly asked,
“What's in that shoulder pouch of yours?”
Baek So-cheon had been lost in meditation all day, leaving the man bored.
“This and that.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“No.”
“Come on, just once. Please! It's my dying wish!”
“Shut up and drop it.”
In the end, with a look that said he couldn't be stopped, Baek So-cheon handed over the pouch. Who could rein in Yeom Hwa-sin once he'd set his mind to something?
Yeom Hwa-sin peered inside with keen interest.
“Just martial robes? Nothing else?”
“Isn't that enough?”
“What if you need to attend a banquet?”
“I'd wear the martial robes.”
“Ha! No wonder you chugged all that loser juice. You think women would like that?”
“I remember you drinking more of it.”
“I'm an old man.”
“Only when it suits you.”
Yeom Hwa-sin pulled out a box full of medicines next, nagging all the while.
“What's with all these pills?”
“You might never get hurt again, but my body's the type to snap at a touch.”
“All sore loser remedies, no doubt.”
Yeom Hwa-sin drew out something else: a leather strap with over twenty daggers slotted into it. As if he'd spotted something repulsive, he lifted it gingerly by the fingertips.
“What are these tacky hunks of metal?”
“Daggers, as you see.”
“You're not planning to chuck them if things get tough in a fight, are you?”
“Why not? I'd aim right for the back of the head when they're off guard.”
“Toss 'em.”
As he moved to hurl them out the window, Baek So-cheon snatched them back in a flash.
“Fair enough. How could you understand the plight of a frail wretch without any inner power?”
“Who knows what the world holds? Even I might end up powerless someday.”
Baek So-cheon stared silently at Yeom Hwa-sin.
“Why the stare?”
“Getting humble? Or just pretending?”
“Pretending would mean faking strength too. Too much hassle. I've truly become humble.”
“Not even a little funny.”
Baek So-cheon knew. The moment Yeom Hwa-sin truly believed that 'to change one's martial arts, one must change oneself,' he'd become the man who could remake himself. He'd fool even himself to fool the world.
Yeom Hwa-sin rummaged further and pulled out the wrist and arm guards Baek So-cheon used to wear. Made of solid metal, they were far heavier than they looked.
“What's this?”
“For stamina training.”
They were old ones he'd worn during physical drills to keep the pouch's weight balanced.
“Oh, damn heavy.”
“Heavier than regular iron.”
Yeom Hwa-sin glanced at the guards on Baek So-cheon's wrists.
“Those for training too?”
“Yes. Even heavier.”
“Let me see?”
Baek So-cheon removed the ones from his limbs and handed them over. Definitely heavier than the ones from the pouch.
“Classic training method.”
“Didn't know any other way...”
“Sometimes the old ways are best.”
“Feels like I could fly after taking them off so long.”
Inner power rendered the weight meaningless, but without it, he felt light as air.
Yeom Hwa-sin pocketed them instead of returning them.
“Leave 'em off for now. You'll need to loosen up soon.”
“What out of the blue?”
Yeom Hwa-sin called to Jong Mu-jin at the driver's seat.
“How much farther?”
“Almost there.”
“Got some trash to clean up.”
“Who?”
“Some rude bastards.”
What kind of fools were they? One thing was clear: ones he deemed worth handling personally. Important enemies, in other words.
“Don't tense up. Not righteous faction scum.”
“Good to hear.”
“Your love for the righteous faction—your own people should know about it.”
“They know enough. Doesn't matter if they don't. Anyway. You want me to fight alongside?”
“Yeah. Don't your limbs itch?”
“Told you, I'm sitting this out.”
“Why?”
“Why? Don't drag me into your business.”
“Beating up random nobodies now and then is fun too.”
“For you, maybe.”
Moments later, the carriage arrived.
“We're here.”
They'd stopped at the mouth of a gorge. Towering walls rose on both sides, and a precarious path stretched endlessly ahead.
“How many?”
At Yeom Hwa-sin's question, Jong Mu-jin replied,
“Around two hundred, estimated.”
Yeom Hwa-sin turned to Baek So-cheon.
“Hear that? You take a hundred, I take a hundred. Fair split.”
“Where the hell is this?”
“Traitors' den.”
“Traitors?”
“Ones plotting to betray the alliance, building secret forces here. Found out recently.”
Baek So-cheon looked incredulous.
“Right? Hard to believe. But impossible things happen all the time.”
“Who are they?”
“Gyo-ryong-mun.”
Gyo-ryong-mun was one of the Sa-do Seven Families, the seven powers representing the unorthodox factions, wielding immense influence.
Originally far stronger than the Black Heaven Alliance, there had been a time when the alliance danced to their tune. Even the alliance lord had rotated among them.
But over time, they grew corrupt and decadent. Like stagnant water, they rotted in every nauseating way imaginable.
Unorthodox resentment swelled, but the Seven Families justified it with terror and tyranny.
The era demanded heroes, and heaven did not forsake their cries.
A century ago, the peerless master Yeom Ra-in slew the alliance lord who served as the Seven Families' hunting dog and claimed the throne himself. He was Yeom Hwa-sin's great-grandfather.
All unorthodox folk, weary of the Families' tyranny, swore loyalty to Yeom Ra-in and united. He crushed them one after another, forcing their surrender.
The Families' leaders all perished, and their heirs pledged absolute obedience to the Black Heaven Alliance.
Yeom Ra-in spared them. It would breed future trouble, but their symbolic power in the unorthodox world was vast. Eradicating them would upset the balance with the righteous Murim.
“The Seven Families swore a pact with the alliance. No secret forces beyond their known troops. But they've been breeding elite warriors here on the sly.”
The pact existed to prevent betrayal of the Black Heaven Alliance.
“Can't shake their rotten nature. Senility's kicking in.”
“Clean this up and hit Gyo-ryong-mun too?”
“Nah. Leave them be. Once this is done, they'll know I've caught on.”
“What if they defect to the righteous?”
“Think they'd take them?”
No chance. The Seven Families were treated like the Black Heaven Alliance.
“Your side wouldn't anyway, and they wouldn't dream of it. They hate you less than us. They'll probably lead the war to atone, rack up merits to save their sect...”
That was Yeom Hwa-sin's magnanimity and political acumen. Like accepting the Blood Cult after planting that letter.
Minimize emotional waste for the goal.
At least, Baek So-cheon thought there was something to learn there for running an alliance.
“Alright, let's go.”
“Said no.”
“Show off your skills for once.”
“No. Traitors to you are our allies—want me killing them?”
“Spare 'em, and they'll recruit more and lead the charge. Better wipe 'em now while I'm in the mood. Good for you too.”
True enough. If Yeom Hwa-sin was stepping in personally, they had no chance.
“You're so damn willful. You never change.”
“Hahaha, sorry, but I am changing. Lead on.”
Baek So-cheon took the lead.
“Thinking of fighting without inner power too.”
“Just sweep 'em in one go.”
“Can't watch you struggle.”
With murderous intent like a blade's edge, the two slowly entered the gorge.
Half a shichen later, Baek So-cheon and Yeom Hwa-sin emerged.
They were drenched head to toe in blood.
It started with a hail of arrows, escalating to sword qi and sword gangs flying everywhere.
Their breaths synced perfectly. Masters saw the flow: take this one, then that one covers while you hit the next. Their thoughts aligned.
But two hundred foes, trained by skilled instructors—not average. They fought like madmen to wipe them out.
“Never doing this crazy shit again.”
“Felt my blood boil for the first time in ages. You?”
“Not bad.”
More than that, really. The carriage confinement's frustration melted away.
Had he ever fought so at ease?
With Yeom Hwa-sin at his back, it felt like an iron wall guarding him.
Baek So-cheon eyed Yeom Hwa-sin. What had he felt in this fight?
“Seeing blood's got me hungry and craving women. What first?”
“Wash up first.”
“Right, let's go.”
Yeom Hwa-sin strode toward the carriage.
Already aboard, he beckoned Baek So-cheon.
“I'll buy you some fine clothes too! No loser juice tonight! Hahaha.”
Baek So-cheon chuckled and headed over. An unpredictable journey, but...
“You're right. There's joy in not knowing tomorrow. Fine, let's enjoy it till whenever it ends!”