Greed and Madness
Gang Ryong, whose defeat had loomed thick and heavy, suddenly remembered something. It wasn't some teaching from Yi Jinpyeong. He still hadn't properly taught Gang Ryong how to fight, after all.
And that was true. Over the past week, aside from rebuilding his foundations, what had Yi Jinpyeong done? Beat the crap out of him to his heart's content, make him stand guard while he circulated his qi, send him out to collect debts from every corner, and have him run errands to buy elixirs. Oh, and force him to drink like a fish. But there was one thing. Thanks to Yi Jinpyeong, he'd gotten to witness a fight. The clash between Dongjeonghoe's strategy officer Gwak Sung and some nameless shorty from Jang Gapae.
Gwak Sung boasted sleek, elegant swordplay fitting his flashy looks. In contrast, the shorty moved with crude, rough motions. Even Gang Ryong, who had rarely seen peak martial arts, could tell the shorty was struggling. But did he lose? No. He advanced step by step, accepting his own losses, dragging the fight into a style his opponent absolutely hated.
That was the scene Gang Ryong recalled.
The shorty had shown a rare move, slamming his arm down to abruptly change his blade's trajectory—but that was beyond anything Gang Ryong could imitate or even attempt. But enduring losses? Not fearing wounds? That much, he could do.
Jeok Anh-ho's blade dug into his side. He ignored it. It wasn't fatal, he'd judged. Instead of thickening his defense, he lunged forward a step.
Recalling how, just moments ago when he'd lost balance and nearly tumbled forward, Jeok Anh-ho had stepped back to create distance. Sure enough, reacting instinctively to his advance, Jeok Anh-ho retreated a step.
A habit honed by years of training and experience. Fighting at the optimal range where his arm length, twin blades, and flashy moves maximized.
Gang Ryong didn't let him get comfortable. He stuck like glue, advancing another step. The distance wasn't particularly advantageous for him. But it was enough to rattle the enemy.
Jeok Anh-ho, grasping his intent, furrowed his brow.
"Ridiculous!"
In truth, nothing had changed much. Gang Ryong still couldn't thrust his blade forward, barely managing defense. But what had changed... was that even as he barely blocked those ferocious attacks, he was advancing step by step.
Jeok Anh-ho ramped up his speed. Blade winds whipped fiercely. Attacks grazed him ever more perilously. Blood sprayed from Gang Ryong more frequently, more intensely.
But the gap between them shrank bit by bit.
"You bastard! You've really decided to die!"
At some point, Jeok Anh-ho stopped retreating. Now so close that arms outstretched would touch faces. Not a swordsman's distance at all, noses nearly brushing as they swung blades.
Breaths mingling in that space. On the knife-edge between life and death, Gang Ryong laughed instead.
Seeing his grin, Jeok Anh-ho exploded in rage.
"You mad bastard!"
Jeok Anh-ho held nothing back now. Twin blades in his hands stormed like a tempest, slamming down. Each strike, laden with raw power and inner energy, sparked violently.
Gang Ryong braced his polearm with both hands to block. Ears rang, body burned. But his eyes never left the foe.
Crack!—His polearm, enduring relentless assault, finally split. In that instant, Gang Ryong shot out one hand, seizing Jeok Anh-ho's throat.
"Gurk!"
Jeok Anh-ho's face twisted. Manly Gang Ryong roared with laughter at the sight.
"Hahaha! Gotcha! This man's victory!"
Victory, my ass. The blade descends. To lop off his arm clean. Grabbing a throat once, only to lose an arm—what loss could be greater?
But Gang Ryong just laughed wildly at the mere fact of touching his foe. Covered in spurting blood, howling with glee—what a bizarre sight.
Jeok Anh-ho's blade drops. Slicing off the arm clutching his throat.
Clang! But it cuts only an afterimage.
A gust of wind. Yi Jinpyeong, who'd stood motionless till now, finally launched forward, snatching Gang Ryong's nape and hurling him back. The blade grazed his fingertips by a hair.
A moment later, and he'd truly be one-armed.
"Chief Steward Gwak! Catch Supervisor Gang!"
Gwak Yeonyong, mouth agape watching the fight, hastily extended his arms to snag the tumbling Gang Ryong.
Crash!—The tangled pair rolled across the ground.
That instant, the others—who'd fixated solely on Yi Jinpyeong—lunged.
Chwi Go-gae's leather whip snaked through the air like a serpent. From Mae Cheong-ju, crouched low, a flash of light streaked from his waist. Jeok Anh-ho, rubbing his freed throat, charged back with sweeping twin blades.
All assaults converged on Yi Jinpyeong's slight frame. The fifteen-year-old boy grinned, eyes sparkling.
"Perfect!"
***
A moment earlier. Yi Jinpyeong watched Gang Ryong fight. Just as he'd predicted.
The twin-blade warrior—Jeok Anh-ho—was at least two or three levels above Gang Ryong. But he seemed wary of Yi Jinpyeong's gaze, not unleashing full power. Trying to end it quick while hiding strength—that dragged it out.
But that wasn't all. Despite the vast gap, Gang Ryong blocked the onslaught surprisingly well. Good eyes, that meant. And good eyes were the foundation to climb higher.
'Still. That's as far as it goes today.'
Fine by him. Gang Ryong showing drive was good enough. Since Yi Gyeol the world's greatest days, he'd favored the greedy. Greed drove creation.
Thus, inevitably, Gang Ryong's defeat loomed. Another spurt of red blood, expecting him to crumble any second...
Gang Ryong stepped off the cliff. No—charged deep into the enemy's range.
Not just the foe panicked at the unexpected move. Even Yi Jinpyeong's fingers twitched.
Coincidence? No such thing. Gang Ryong repeated it. Blood gushing everywhere, yet advancing relentlessly. The one retreating under unilateral assault? Chwi Hwa Bang's warrior.
Yi Jinpyeong realized Gang Ryong's movements echoed Jang Gapae's shorty's. Ignoring self, doggedly pressing to crack the foe...
'Found his own answer? How he should fight?'
The fight peaked. Unable to endure, the polearm splits. Abandoning it, Gang Ryong seizes the throat.
Hahaha! Gang Ryong bellowed.
'...Mad bastard!'
Blind to his arm about to go, thrilled at one touch. Yi Jinpyeong finally moved. A faint smile playing on his lips.
Yi Gyeol the world's greatest favored the greedy. Mad ones too. Greed plus madness? Talent to shatter heaven's limits!
His appointed Supervisor had potential. Couldn't let him break easy.
***
"Brother Gang, stay still! The blood!"
"I'm fine, leave it!"
Gwak Yeonyong insisted on emergency treatment. Gang Ryong grumbled but let him do as he pleased.
Whatever he did to his body, as long as he could watch Yi Jinpyeong fight—that was enough. Eyes wide, he watched how the boy handled foes who'd toyed with him so easily.
Though now it was one against three, unlike his bout. Utterly different fight.
Jeok Anh-ho's twin blades dazzled. Blades from each hand whirled at differing angles and rhythms like a storm. Fierce gusts rose where tips crossed.
Gang Ryong now realized he'd held back against him.
Chwi Go-gae's whip was mesmerizing. Snaking low like a serpent, waiting—then surging to tear space. At peak, pop! pop!—like fireworks.
And Mae Cheong-ju. Deep-hatted, body tilted, circling opposite Jeok Anh-ho. While blades dazzled vision, he'd stab like a awl now and then. Each gleam chilled Gang Ryong's heart.
The three moved as one body. Organic assault from synced breaths over long years. A formation Gang Ryong had never seen.
But Yi Jinpyeong didn't care. Light steps swaying to evade.
Focusing on dodging the trio's barrage. Suddenly, he lightly tugged Jeok Anh-ho's sleeve. Chwi Go-gae's whip exquisitely wrapped his blade. Linking one arm and whip.
Mae Cheong-ju's sword flashes seizing the chance. Jeok Anh-ho, one hand free, unleashes a fierce kick. As Chwi Go-gae shakes loose the tangled blade, Yi Jinpyeong flips mid-air evading, then—flash!—hurls something.
A small metal shard. From Gang Ryong's broken polearm on the ground.
"Dodge!!!"
Chwi Go-gae jerks back. But astonishingly, the shard veers mid-flight, diving straight for his brow.
Onlookers cried out at the shocking sight.
“Void Grasping!”