Each Their Own Main Tournament (2)
After finishing his match, Cheonhwa descended from the arena with Yeonhwa and made his way toward where their companions waited to watch the next bout.
Main-tournament entrants had their own section of the stands, so finding seats was no trouble at all.
"You've worked hard, Junior Brother Cheonhwa, Junior Sister Yeonhwa."
"Both of you did wonderfully."
"A fine match."
Myeonghwa, Jeokhwa, and Yeobhwa spared no praise. Cheonhwa accepted it with quiet thanks and settled in beside them.
Before long the stage was cleared and the second match began.
The pair who climbed up were Paeng Mu-jin and an unnamed contestant from a minor sect.
"What do you make of it, Senior Brother Myeonghwa?"
"Unless something as crazy as what you pulled off happens, Senior Paedo-ryong will win."
Myeonghwa answered without hesitation. Tyrant Blade Dragon Paeng Mu-jin was that strong a favorite—and a Peak Expert besides. Barring the extraordinary, his victory was a given.
"Not wrong, yet the upset Junior Brother Cheonhwa showed us in the preliminaries has changed the conversation."
A voice of disagreement rose from behind them. Cheonhwa turned and found Yang Palsan of the Beggars' Sect standing there.
"What do you mean by that, Senior Yang?"
"Exactly what I said, Junior Brother Cheonhwa."
At the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering it was not unheard of for a first-class martial artist to defeat a Peak Expert laboring under the tournament's restrictions. But when that Peak Expert belonged to Shaolin—the towering pillar of the orthodox path—the story changed entirely.
"What has happened once can happen twice. Plenty of people are hoping someone will topple another famous Peak Expert the way you did. Gamblers, to be precise."
"Gamblers?"
"That's right. They put money on who will win. Guess correctly and the odds pay out handsomely."
"And if they guess wrong?"
"They lose every last copper they staked—nothing left."
Yang Palsan laughed it off, explaining that any tournament of size drew this sort of wagering. Trying to ban it only drove the bets underground, so the organizers preferred to keep the practice where they could see it.
"So what does match-gambling have to do with me?"
"Bet on a heavy favorite and the payout shrinks. Bet on a long shot and the odds soar."
The moment the explanation reached that point, Cheonhwa understood.
"You mean more gamblers are putting money on the underdogs—hoping for an upset like the one I pulled against Monk Beomhye?"
"Exactly."
A one-sided fight was dull. Nothing was more entertaining than an unknown walking away with a fortune. Whether for thrills or for a sudden windfall, people always leapt into hopeless bets.
"And this opponent was a complete nobody until he reached the Gathering. Plenty of them rushed in claiming another Cheonhwa-style miracle was possible."
Yang Palsan pointed here and there through the stands. Faces flushed crimson, veins standing out in their eyes, the people he indicated were roaring for the minor-sect fighter with a fervor that looked nothing like ordinary cheering.
"You can't mean all of them…?"
"Gamblers who put their money on the minor-sect man, hoping for a reverse."
Whether their choice proved wise would be decided in the match about to begin.
"Ready—begin!"
At the referee's signal, Paeng Mu-jin wrapped his willow-leaf saber in true energy that crackled like scarlet lightning and charged.
The art was one Cheonhwa recognized at once: the Primordial Thunderclap Divine Art and Primordial Thunderclap Saber that Paeng Gun-ak had used.
Is that really the same martial art?
The gulf in attainment between the two brothers was so vast the thought rose unbidden. Where Paeng Gun-ak had been dragged along by a superior technique, Paeng Mu-jin had made the Primordial Thunderclap Saber wholly his own.
The minor-sect fighter moved well enough, yet never broke free of the first-class mold. The bout ended in Paeng Mu-jin's overwhelming victory.
Cheers erupted from the stands much as they had after Cheonhwa's own match. Amid the roar, the Six Harmony Sensory Path caught the curses and wails tangled beneath the applause.
It was probably the same during Yeonhwa's and my match…
People laughing and weeping over results was only natural, yet a faintly sour feeling lingered. In the end Cheonhwa decided every tournament simply had its own ways.
Right now something mattered more than match-gambling.
The bout just finished had decided his next opponent.
Tyrant Blade Dragon Paeng Mu-jin—heir of the Hebei Paeng Family who had reached Peak before the age of thirty. A martial artist with whom fate had tangled him, however awkwardly, through Paeng Gun-ak.
Come to think of it, if Zhongnan posts a better record than the Hebei Paeng Family, Young Hero Paeng Gun-ak promised a formal apology…
He had completely forgotten after their first preliminary clash left them with little further contact.
The only Paeng left is Great Hero Paeng Mu-jin, the Tyrant Blade Dragon.
And by sheer coincidence, that man was Cheonhwa's next opponent. Defeat him and Zhongnan would outrank the Hebei Paeng Family.
Even under restriction he is still a Peak Expert. This will be no easy fight.
Harder than facing Iron Fist Dragon Beomhye—yet he could not simply yield. Cheonhwa steeled himself once more.
As if sensing that gaze, Paeng Mu-jin's eyes swung toward Cheonhwa's seat. Their stares locked across empty air. In the other man's pupils Cheonhwa glimpsed a predator sizing up prey.
It seemed he was not the only one aware of the other.
Eight matches were scheduled for the first day of the main tournament. Of those, the bout everyone watched most closely was that of the previous Dragon and Phoenix Gathering champion—Heavenly Sword Dragon Namgung Myeong. His opponent was Heogong of the Wudang Sect, the other great pillar of the orthodox path alongside Shaolin.
"How do you think this one will go?"
"Nine times out of ten Heavenly Sword Dragon wins."
"Wudang's luck is rotten—drawing the previous champion in the very first main-stage match."
Wudang was a renowned sect and Heogong no weakling; reaching the main tournament after cutting down so many rivals proved as much. Yet there was always a higher peak. Namgung Myeong, champion of the last Gathering, simply stood on another plane.
Even the gamblers who had just thrown money at a minor-sect underdog refused to bet on Heogong. The gap between the two men was that stark.
"The stands are restless."
"When the previous champion steps onto the stage, isn't that only natural?"
Namgung Myeong frowned, clearly displeased by the spectators' noise. Heogong merely curved a faint smile, as though the clamor meant nothing.
"Wudang indeed—deep waters."
Whether that composure pleased him or not, Namgung Myeong's expression eased.
"I know you have reached the extreme of the first-class realm. Few arts deepen as much as Wudang's sword once true mastery begins. Therefore I will hold nothing back from the first exchange."
"Then this humble one shall also give everything he has."
By the time either finished speaking, both had already drawn their swords. The motion was so natural that half the crowd never registered the moment the blades left their sheaths—proof that both men had entered a rarefied realm of swordsmanship.
Heogong settled into the opening stance of the Two Principles Sword Art. As one of Wudang's supreme techniques, its essence lay in opposing great force with little; it stood in perfect opposition to the Namgung family's overbearing style.
The Two Principles Sword Art… it has been a long time.
Looking at Heogong, Namgung Myeong felt a flicker of old nostalgia. He had faced the same art at the previous Gathering. Softly diverting every assault while turning the opponent's power back upon him—the grafting-flowers-onto-wood method—had given him no small trouble.
Wudang techniques grow dangerous the longer a fight lasts.
Even with the difference in realm, the tournament restrictions meant the board could still flip. So Namgung Myeong chose a short, decisive battle.
He raised his sword high in an upper stance. Wind began to coil around the blade—the heavy-sword art that spreads its aura wide to strike a vast area: the Azure Firmament Boundless Sword Art.
Heogong braced for the coming sword wind, then his eyes flew wide. The gale wrapped around the blade had swollen without end. No mere whirlwind clung to the steel; it enveloped Namgung Myeong's entire body and climbed toward the sky like a colossal tornado. Anyone who had not watched the wind gather might have mistaken it for a dragon's ascending whirlwind.
Looking for all the world as though he held a storm torn from the heavens, Namgung Myeong spoke.
Then—do not die—he added, and brought the sword down.
Along the blade's path the storm poured as though the sky itself had collapsed. Heogong unleashed the Two Principles Sword Art at its absolute peak. Laden with the ultimate of Neutralizing Jin, the art sought not to oppose the storm's vast current but to receive and divert it. Yet no matter how well a reed bends before fierce wind, when the very earth in which its roots are planted is overturned, endurance becomes impossible.
Unable to neutralize the firmament-rending storm with Neutralizing Jin, Heogong was swept clean off the stage. He managed to flash footwork and lightness skill so that he suffered no fall injuries, but the sword wind had still left his body covered in shallow cuts. Only his protective true energy had kept the damage so light; bare flesh would have meant grievous wounds.
The match ended in a single exchange. The entire assembly was struck speechless. In the silence Namgung Myeong looked to the referee. The man recovered his wits and announced:
"Th-the victor is Namgung Myeong of the Namgung Family!"
Claiming a victory no one could dispute, Namgung Myeong descended the stage at a leisurely pace. His bearing and the result he had produced seemed to declare: I am the greatest wall you must climb if you would reach the summit.
Among the main-tournament contestants, at least, no one could deny it.
"As expected of Heavenly Sword Dragon. To display such prowess even under restriction…"
"Only today do I understand why the character for Heaven sits in his title."
"Truly a sword strike as though heaven itself delivered divine punishment."
The exquisite artistry Namgung Myeong had revealed seized every heart. People spoke of nothing but his match; the next bout might as well not have existed. The spectacle was that shocking, and the weight of it settled squarely on the shoulders of those who had to fight afterward.
"Senior Brother Yeobhwa."
Cheonhwa called to the man who would enter the fourth match. Yeobhwa turned. Anxiety and tension were written plain across his face. In that state he would never be able to display his true ability.
So Cheonhwa spoke.
"Concentrate only on pouring out every scrap of achievement you have forged through training. I—we—will be watching."
Yeobhwa was not alone here. Fellow disciples who had climbed to the main tournament with him sat nearby, and still more of the sect watched from the stands.
The anxiety and tension drained from Yeobhwa's features, replaced by unshakable resolve.
"My thanks, Junior Brother Cheonhwa."
A match was the place where one proved oneself and no one else. The crowd's indifference therefore meant nothing. What mattered was pouring out every last drop of the attainment he had built—so that he need never feel shame before the sect.
"Then I shall go."
Leaving his companions behind, Yeobhwa climbed onto the arena stage.