The Shocking Mutual Strike
After the sparring match between Yi Jinpyeong and the Shaolin disciple ended, amid the crowd's roaring cheers, Jinpyeong was calmly chatting with his brothers, utterly unperturbed. Jingang and Jinun were visibly excited, though not as shocked as the others. They knew better than anyone just how exceptional Jinpyeong's skills were and what he was truly capable of.
"It's a shame Gang-hyung isn't here to see this."
"Indeed. If he knew that the Gu Hwan Nan Gyeok he's been diligently practicing crushed Shaolin martial arts, he'd be over the moon. Probably wouldn't sleep a wink and dive straight back into training."
"That Shaolin disciple was impressive too. I'd never seen Geumganggwon before! Every step, every punch radiated extraordinary energy."
Jinpyeong nodded.
"Mm. He's well-trained. The type who walks the righteous path without distraction. He's got the talent to make a big name in murim someday."
"Ho..."
"I see. But he's not the only one."
Jingang glanced toward the arena. Next up were disciples from Cheongsung and the Open Faction. The Open Faction's junior was a rare sword-user among beggars, and his skill held its own against even Cheongsung swordsmanship. Their flashy blade work drew endless gasps from the crowd.
"That Hwasan kid too—Shaolin, Cheongsung, Open Faction... Every single one is no ordinary talent. I thought the heroes of Dongjeong Lake were something else, but the Central Plains truly lives up to its vast reputation."
"These are just a tiny fraction of their sects' disciples. Back home, they'll have peers just as good or even better. Not to mention the countless elders, sect leaders, and old fogeys propping them up..."
"These folks alone could probably flip Dongjeong Lake upside down, and they're just a sliver of the pie!"
Jinun stuck out his tongue in awe.
"Great power draws more power. As sects grow, talented folks flock to them, and those kids mature to uphold and pass on the legacy."
"That's the strength of the prestigious orthodox sects. Systematic organization, endless talent, the ability to hand down their power intact to the next generation..."
There was a bite to Jingang's words—a self-mocking glance at Yi Gajang's reality. Regret toward ancestors who failed to preserve the family's martial arts and fortune, but above all, boundless shame at their own helplessness, clinging to a single parting word from the forebear. Even if spoken in self-reflection, Jinpyeong—who could never fully escape that reflection—couldn't help but flinch.
"But today, didn't we brothers show them properly? No matter how many centuries or millennia their sects have endured, they still can't stand against Yi Gajang."
"I-Is... that so?"
"Of course. Even our founder Yi Gyeol himself would've been thrilled to see us three brothers spar."
"Really?! Would he have jumped for joy?!"
Jingang and Jinun's faces lit up. Jinun puffed out his chest, while Jingang gazed at Jinpyeong with eyes full of anticipation, as if he were Yi Gyeol incarnate.
"Jumping? Nah... maybe a slight nod at most."
"Aha..."
Just as the brothers' shoulders slumped a bit, Yi Jinpyeong—who'd kept his eyes glued to the arena even mid-conversation—frowned. In the next instant, his figure vanished.
The brothers whipped their heads around, tracing his trail. On the arena stood the Cheongsung and Open Faction disciples, blades buried deep in each other. In the midst stood Yi Jinpyeong, gripping both sword edges firmly with his bare hands. Blood sprayed like a fountain, soaking his white uniform.
"Aaah!!"
The crowd shot to their feet. The sparring supervisor stood awkwardly, clueless about what had just happened in that split second—or how Yi Jinpyeong had even appeared on stage.
Cheongsung warriors and Open Faction beggars nearby charged in from all sides. Even the elders on the distant high platform leaped down in alarm. In moments, the arena brimmed with both factions' members.
Jemyeongseon Jangro of Cheongsung landed and bellowed.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
His rage was absurdly aimed at Yi Jinpyeong.
Clutching the blades tight, Jinpyeong spoke calmly.
"Everyone, back off."
"You insolent brat! You're the one who should back off. Release those hands now!"
Jinpyeong turned cold eyes on Jemyeongseon Jangro.
"If I let go now, these two die. That what you want?"
The icy glare startled the Cheongsung and Open Faction warriors. They finally examined the juniors closely. The two were locked in mutual stabs, like a double suicide pact—but frozen stiff, faces drained white.
Jinpyeong stood between them, hands locked on the deeply embedded blades. One more inch, and neither would've survived.
In a friendly sparring tournament, trading lethal blows? Bizarre. And how had Jinpyeong intervened at this do-or-die moment—unnoticed even by the supervisor right beside them?
He's even sealed their pressure points so they can't move anymore...!
Cheongsung's junior was none other than Nam Sogyun—a rare prodigy, bearing the sect's great hopes. Rumored since childhood, he'd been a top contender for the tournament win.
His foe: Open Faction's Dan-bi-no, disciple of elder Bang Cheonpyo. Talented in his own right, but no match for Nam Sogyun's fame.
Their bout had drawn eyes, but after Jinpyeong's shocking clash with Do Jin, expectations were muted. Most figured Nam Sogyun would win handily.
Who could've foreseen this twist?
"Wh-What now...? We need to staunch the bleeding quick!"
"Pull the swords first."
"Yanking them out rashly could cause massive hemorrhage!"
These were seasoned veterans, yet the sudden crisis left them stamping in panic.
Jemyeongseon Jangro gritted his teeth.
"What're you planning? Standing there doing nothing?!"
Jinpyeong replied.
"Wait."
That single word carried unassailable dignity, holding everyone at bay. He closed his eyes. A faint green aura flickered from his hands gripping the blades, flowing into Nam Sogyun and Dan-bi-no through the steel.
A few elders exchanged glances.
"Mok-gi (wood qi) ...!"
Moments later, Jinpyeong opened his eyes, held his breath, and yanked the swords free in one swift motion.
"...!!!"
Deep wounds should've gushed blood, but nothing flowed from the pair. Pale-faced, Dan-bi-no and Nam Sogyun crumpled limply.
Warriors checked the unconscious juniors and sighed in relief. The bleeding was perfectly stanched—no emergency measures needed. But they'd been a hair from death; their vitality was surely drained.
As they hurriedly bandaged wounds and fed pills, Jemyeongseon Jangro stepped forward, blocking Jinpyeong—who seemed ready to leave, business done.
"Explain yourself. What happened here?"
Jinpyeong snorted.
"I just saved your disciples' lives, and now you want me to explain? Ridiculous."
He wasn't wrong. But Jemyeongseon pressed on.
"You brat! Quit sneering and spit it out! Why'd our Cheongsung disciple end up like that? Did you pull some trick—like in your last match?!"
His roar echoed. A gleaming sword gleamed in his hand, poised to strike.
Hundreds of eyes locked on Jemyeongseon Jangro and Yi Jinpyeong.
Jinpyeong eyed the blocking Cheongsung blade. Jingang and Jinun had flanked him half a step back, hands on their sword hilts—ready to fight as one against every Cheongsung warrior if needed.
Jinpyeong spoke, voice neither loud nor soft.
"This happened on the arena, in plain view. And you want me to explain? Are you all blind?"
Jemyeongseon and the others fell silent. Absurd, but true. It had unfolded in a blink; no one had grasped the details.
"But fine, I'll explain—if that's really what you want."
Jinpyeong smirked.
"They thrust at vital points, but the fight was already decided. One blade faster, the other slower. In real combat, the first struck would've died. But this is sparring—they should've acknowledged defeat and withdrawn."
"......"
"But the loser didn't. Even seeing the winner pull back, he kept thrusting. The winner countered, unwilling to die alone. Fools, stabbing vitals anyway. That's when I stepped in."
Jemyeongseon, fuming, scanned around—likely for the Open Faction elder.
"You fools... Refusing defeat?!"
"Hey. I never said who won."
Startled, Jemyeongseon whipped back to Jinpyeong.
"Y-You mean..."
Jinpyeong grinned viciously.
"Even now, you're hung up on winner and loser? Pathetic."
A stinging insult. Jemyeongseon's face shifted through shades of fury.
Jinpyeong brushed past the frozen elder and descended the arena. Jemyeongseon couldn't stop him.