Blue Sky One Road
Yi Jinpyeong had no particular thoughts on the matter. Not even when he posed the question.
"What can you do with sword arts?"
But the response from his eldest brother, Yi Jingang, was utterly unexpected.
Cheongcheon Ilro.
It was baffling. Why Cheongcheon Ilro of all things? Of any martial art, no less.
It wasn't even a completed sword art yet. The art that even the world's greatest martial artist, Yi Gyeol, had failed to perfect. The one that had troubled him the most, ultimately shoved away into some forgotten corner of his mind. He hadn't even anticipated it would be passed down to later generations.
Yet Yi Jingang claimed that was the only thing he could show.
Strange indeed. Yi Jinpyeong felt compelled to verify it firsthand.
"Brother. Could you demonstrate that sword art for me once?"
At Yi Jinpyeong's request, Yi Jingang gripped his sword and stood immediately. Though his body trembled from the grueling all-day training, his posture and gaze when holding the sword were utterly serious.
It pleased Yi Jinpyeong, but it wasn't enough. A mere attitude toward the sword wouldn't conquer the world.
But then Yi Jingang's sword began to move slowly—and as the white blade began to bloom—
Yi Jinpyeong's eyebrow twitched.
A short while later.
Yi Jingang and Yi Jinun finally returned to their quarters in the annex after finishing the exhausting training.
Yi Gajang was vast—how could there be only one room? But having grown up in an increasingly empty estate since childhood, they had naturally grown accustomed to sharing a single space.
Having lost their entire family at a young age, along with their retainers, the brothers had only each other to rely on.
Besides, in the cold winter, huddling for body heat was practical, and it made tending to their youngest brother Yi Jinpyeong's frequent seizures easier. Their choice to live in the annex was reasonable in many ways.
Even so, the annex was far too cramped for grown men in their twenties—the patriarch brothers of a clan, no less. Lying down side by side, their shoulders touched.
Yet Yi Jinun's face, finally able to recline, was filled with a happy smile.
"Brother. Our little brother has gotten scary strong, but he's still got a soft spot! He pushed us all night like he would, but surprisingly let us rest early..."
"Indeed."
"But brother. Doesn't Jinpyeong sleep here with us? He's not planning to pull an all-nighter at the Mugunjeon again, is he?"
"No. He just said he had more to think about. Told us to go ahead and rest."
"I see. Running around all day, overseeing every warrior's training... Doesn't he ever get tired? What a guy."
"...Yeah."
"Brother. Still, we're lucky. Mmm... Our little brother miraculously regaining his sanity... Mysteriously learning all our ancestor's martial arts in a dream... Mmm... Now we just follow Jinpyeong and—"
Yi Jinun's words trailed off into snores.
Yi Jingang quietly sat up. The aftereffects of pushing his body all day were severe. Exhausted to the bone, yet sleep eluded him.
He looked down at his open palm. Fingers still trembling uncontrollably. The shaking wouldn't stop.
Not since he'd poured everything into unleashing Cheongcheon Ilro moments ago.
Not since seeing Yi Jinpyeong's expression upon witnessing it.
"......"
Among the Yi family's martial arts he'd inherited, Yi Jingang truly lacked confidence in any.
Even Cheongcheon Ilro, which he thought he understood best.
He knew well the world's view of Yi Gajang's current state—and its martial arts.
The founding patriarch, the world's greatest, Yi Gyeol. Even after his sudden death, people had expectations. His martial arts, the mighty clan, that glorious name—they believed it would endure in history.
But it crumbled swiftly.
Few descendants could properly execute Yi Gyeol's arts.
As time passed, failures mounted, worsening the situation.
Interpretations of the Gu Hwa Yeon Cheon Gong diverged among descendants; fierce clashes arose over the deathbed wish to "live by giving generously."
Enraged, some abandoned the family name and left; martial arts were even lost in the chaos.
Those who remained clung to Yi Gyeol's oddly emphatic final words, perhaps for that reason. Lacking confidence in martial prowess, they sought to uphold the clan's virtue and fame through boundless generosity.
However.
Virtue alone could never rule the world.
Especially not in the Central Plains, where martial might reigned supreme.
Whispers about Yi Gajang grew louder over time, reaching a consensus: The clan existed only because of Yi Gyeol. Without him, the descendants meant nothing. Even those grand martial arts could only be wielded by him alone.
Cheongcheon Ilro was no different. From childhood memories, his father had seemed particularly insecure mentioning it.
'Our descendants lack the talent to fully awaken the ancestor's arts. This sword art especially. No ancestor ever claimed to grasp its mysteries...'
The short booklet clutched in Yi Jingang's hand. Soon after, his father passed.
Leaving behind his naive second son and the frequently seizing youngest.
Thus, Yi Jingang became the head.
He obsessed over Cheongcheon Ilro. Perhaps because it was his father's last gift, or simply because it was shorter than other manuals.
He read the tattered, worn book over and over. Short and simple, yet profoundly difficult and incomprehensible.
But eventually, he sensed it wasn't the end.
If not the end, then what? Possibilities bloomed in his mind.
He chased them, swinging his sword relentlessly.
Today, before his brother Yi Jinpyeong, he unleashed it.
He knew Yi Jinpyeong's level dwarfed his own. His swordplay might look like a drowning man's flailing.
So what if mocked? His brother was staking everything to revive Yi Gajang.
No time for shame. He was the patriarch.
Legs failing, drenched in sweat, he poured his soul into the Cheongcheon Ilro he'd practiced.
Starting with the blade blooming as if rising from his bosom, his body followed the memorized path, repeating endlessly.
The surroundings faded. As if only he remained in the world.
No—youngest Yi Jinpyeong too.
But lost in the frenzy, it wasn't Yi Jinpyeong.
An unfamiliar yet somehow familiar middle-aged man. Fierce tiger-like eyes, wild hair half-white, half-black swept back—emanating uncontrollable pressure. A man with Mount Tai-like presence gazed at him with a strange expression.
Startled, Yi Jingang tried to halt his sword.
But it wouldn't stop. As if alive on its own, thrusting forward.
He abandoned the attempt.
The man faded; only the sword remained.
The book's passages ended swiftly amid ceaseless motion.
But he continued. Unleashing his imagined, believed completion to the end.
And when his sword finally stopped...
The world returned.
The glimpsed man was gone. Only fifteen-year-old Yi Jinpyeong stood there.
His expression... utterly emotionless.
Second brother Yi Jinun clapped like a seal,感動-filled.
"Whoa—brother! Amazing! Felt like way more power today? Jinpyeong. What'd you think? Brother's sword art was pretty great, right?"
Yi Jinpyeong gazed impassively.
He said simply,
"Utterly pathetic. A long way to go."
"Ah... uh..."
Yi Jinun's shoulders slumped.
Yi Jinpyeong looked up at the sky. Dusk had fallen; darkness gathered.
"First day, so we'll stop here."
Unexpected. Moments ago, Yi Jinpyeong had seemed ready to train through the night.
But body and mind utterly spent, Yi Jingang demanded no more.
"Very well."
That was all.
Snapping from reverie, Yi Jingang's hand finally stilled.
What had he expected? Praise? "Well done," "right path"—from the brother just freed from madness?
Yi Jinun's snores boomed in the dim room.
Yi Jingang chuckled softly.
"...Carefree fool."
He tucked the kicked-off blanket over Yi Jinun, then lay back down.
Yi Jinpyeong's spot empty, but no worry needed.
Yes. Regardless, the youngest's madness cured was miracle enough.
Mere martial arts? Nothing.
Nothing at all.
When Yi Jinpyeong entered the room, his two brothers' thunderous symphony already filled it.
Louder than usual—two or three times over.
'They must be exhausted.'
He pulled two small pills from his bosom, placing them at his brothers' lips.
Even asleep, they smacked and swallowed blindly. Like devouring pork.
Yi Jinpyeong chuckled.
Utterly carefree fools.
'What if these were poison?'
But Yi Jinpyeong's gifts poison? Unlikely.
They were BoWonHwan pills, bought by selling some Dongbeonhoe grains. Not massively boosting inner power, but excellent for replenishing stamina and recovering frail bodies.
Priority for his malnourished, skeletal brothers.
Best taken awake, but knowing the cost, they'd refuse. Especially eldest Yi Jingang—certainty, not possibility.
Moonlit, he gazed at Yi Jingang.
Cheongcheon Ilro's form bloomed vividly.
A mess. A twenty-two-year-old youth's sword, self-taught without fatherly guidance or master—
The "what if" became reality.
He'd seen it. Yi Jingang's sword refusing to stop.
Continuing into Cheongcheon Ilro's unwritten latter half.
The very part even Yi Gyeol hadn't completed.
Though the merciless technique brimmed with mercy and warmth—disconcerting—the latter forms brought it closer to completion than anything.
Talent.
Brighter than any other.
With such talent, perhaps he'd grow to rival Yi Jinpyeong.
Yi Jinpyeong quelled his excitement. Stay calm. Martial arts demanded more than sword comprehension and talent.
Stamina, build, inner power, fist and pressure point arts, lightness skill, infiltration, strategy, combat experience...
His brothers' path remained long.
Thus, his answer: Far to go.
Confirming pill absorption complete, Yi Jinpyeong lay between them.
Shoulders touched. Laughably cramped for Yi Gyeol.
But cozy, familiar for fifteen-year-old Yi Jinpyeong.
Amid snores, he murmured,
Brothers. Sleep deep.
The road is long.
But its end... will shine gloriously.