Premonition
Yeobhwa felt unsettled as he awaited his next match.
In the bout just before, after all, Cheonhwa had been carried off to the Medicine Hall on a stretcher.
Yeonhwa had followed right after him, yet that did little to ease the worry.
He knew Cheonhwa’s recovery was unnaturally swift. The restorative power gained from mastering the Profound Heaven True Qi, the pupil-breathing that continued even when consciousness faded—coupled with the Sichuan Dang Family’s medical arts—would have him back on his feet in no time.
What lingered in Yeobhwa’s mind was Cheonhwa’s expression at the end.
Even as they carried him away, Junior Brother Cheonhwa was smiling as if he were satisfied.
It was only a feeling, but Cheonhwa would probably have worn that same look even in defeat. It had been a match in which he poured out every last scrap of his strength.
Could I ever feel that kind of satisfaction myself?
Yeobhwa put the question to himself, yet no clear answer came. Whether it was because he secretly believed it impossible, or because he would never know until he tried—he could not say for certain.
For now, think only of giving everything I have.
He lightly slapped his own cheeks and stepped up onto the newly prepared sparring stage.
Already waiting there was the Heavenly Sword Dragon, Namgung Myeong. His demeanor was as composed as ever, yet something buoyant colored it as well. Yeobhwa thought he understood why.
Even the Heavenly Sword Dragon was stirred by Junior Brother Cheonhwa’s match against the Tyrant Blade Dragon.
To set the blood of the tournament’s strongest contender for victory boiling like that—it must have been a duel that truly moved a martial artist’s heart. Pride swelled in Yeobhwa at the thought, and at the same time a quiet anxiety: could he ever catch up?
“Are you worried?”
As if he had seen straight through him, Namgung Myeong spoke abruptly.
“Being compared to a sect brother is a heavy burden. All the more so when the opponent is the previous Dragon and Phoenix Gathering’s champion.”
Yet—
“Will you simply step aside without even crossing hands once?”
“...I will not.”
“Of course not. The fire in your chest would never allow it.”
Saying he was the same, Namgung Myeong drew the sword at his waist.
“Instead of employing techniques, I would like to match pure sword skill for once. Will you indulge me?”
“I shall meet you with every ounce of strength I have.”
“That spirit! Excellent!”
As the two took their opening stances and faced each other, the referee shouted.
“Begin!”
At the signal they charged. Fist and sword collided; a heavy resonance rolled across the stage.
Heavy.
After a single exchange, Yeobhwa’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar sensation traveling up his arm. It was not merely sword force—the sheer weight of the blade itself was extraordinary.
Could this be the Thousand Catty Hammer method?
The Thousand Catty Hammer was a technique that used inner qi to increase weight. Useful when combined with movement arts or lightness skills, it was nonetheless rarely employed. The reason was simple: the strain on both body and inner energy was severe.
The more weight you add, the more violently the technique consumes qi, and the flesh must endure the sudden mass and the rebound that follows.
Mastering it therefore demanded outstanding achievement in both inner and outer arts. Namgung Myeong had tempered both thoroughly enough to wield it freely. Weight, jin release, and inner energy fused into absurd sword force.
“The Iron Sword Twelve Forms. The Namgung Family’s foundational sword art, and a heavy-sword method that embodies the principles of the Thousand Catty Hammer.”
Namgung Myeong kindly named the technique even as he began to swing in earnest. Its forms traced clean, single-strike trajectories much like the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven; in their wake came a biting wind and palpable sword pressure.
One solid hit and it is over.
Cold sweat slid down Yeobhwa’s spine. Hidden until now by the dazzling match against Wudang’s Heogong, the truth revealed itself the moment they crossed hands: Namgung Myeong, like Cheonhwa, was a martial artist who had polished the fundamentals to the bone. Even Yeobhwa, who had trained his basics with steady diligence, fell short by comparison. In foundation alone the opponent held the edge.
He stepped the Nine Palaces Footwork to evade as best he could, yet he could not dodge every strike. He deflected the sword’s path with fist-art jin releases, and though the Sword-and-Blade Immunity and protective qi arts shielded his body, a sharp ache still rose through his knuckles. At this rate, like clothes soaked by a fine rain, the damage would accumulate until his fists shattered.
I have to find a way before that happens.
Namgung Myeong seemed intent on using nothing beyond the sword qi that rode his blade. Without wide-ranging attacks from sword wind, Yeobhwa could stay on the defensive and search for an opening. Piercing air-splitting cracks and dull impacts of deflected strokes filled the stage; within the flashing iron, the towering Taoist moved as if dancing.
The longer the standoff lasted, the clearer Yeobhwa’s disadvantage became. It was no longer simply that he struggled to receive the assault. The opponent’s sword slowly, methodically shrank the space in which he could move—a spatial domination of the heavy sword, similar yet distinct from the dull blade. Under the steadily tightening pressure, Yeobhwa thought and thought.
Was there a way to break this?
Ideas rose and vanished; the longer time dragged, the deeper the despair. So he forced himself to simplify.
What is my strength?
His natural physique. A frame that stood a full seven feet, bones of iron. In pure innate endowment, the only man at this Dragon and Phoenix Gathering who could rival him was Paeng Mu-jin.
Then how do I put this body to use?
A superb physique suited outer arts. The representative technique of outer arts was jin release. And the trump card a first-class martial artist could unleash with jin release was Stored Jin.
The thought led him naturally to what Cheonhwa had shown in the previous match.
Detonate Stored Jin, then use the rebound to stack and detonate it again.
The principle was simple; realizing it demanded a rock-solid foundation. Yeobhwa already possessed that foundation. Moreover, jin release enhanced by Stored Jin was itself a form within the Heaven-and-Earth Hand Techniques, one he had drilled countless times.
Nothing is more foolish than using an incompletely trained form in real combat.
Martial arts meant the study of combat, and study meant long years of polishing. Unrefined techniques were best left unshown.
But if I do not try now, only defeat remains.
Gamble on a technique that might fail, or accept loss as it stood. At the crossroads Yeobhwa chose the former.
If I lose without even attempting it, can I truly say I gave my all?
He did not think so. He would only regret the chance left untried. This was a spar, not a life-and-death duel. Better to challenge and break than never to try.
“Huu.”
Yeobhwa steadied his breath and drew the Vast Heaven Qi Art to its peak. At the same time the jin force he had accumulated made his qi pulse.
Namgung Myeong could not miss the omen, yet a smile touched his lips. Even driven into a corner, the young Taoist still refused to yield; that tenacity pleased him. Most of his peers quailed at the mere sight of him and forfeited. Those who did challenge soon admitted defeat. So he welcomed any martial artist who fought to the last.
But Stored Jin alone cannot overturn this situation.
Stored Jin was no one’s exclusive privilege. The young Taoist before him surely knew that, which meant something more was coming. To see what it was, Namgung Myeong drew up his inner energy. The qi, raised to its limit, transformed into weight through the Thousand Catty Hammer method; he poured every ounce of that mass into a single stroke.
Even that alone produced sword force beyond ordinary Stored Jin. As Namgung Myeong lifted his blade high and brought it down, Yeobhwa moved to meet it.
One foot advanced; one arm rose in defense, the other shot forward in attack—a simple fist form that offense and defense at once. None other than the Fire Cannon Fist of the Five Elements Fist.
For the first time Namgung Myeong’s face showed genuine surprise.
Not a higher art, but a basic one?
Why the Five Elements Fist instead of the Heaven-and-Earth Hand Techniques? Compared side by side, the latter was clearly superior. Yet from Yeobhwa’s perspective the advanced art was still relatively new to his body. So he chose the form that lived deepest in his muscles.
Just as the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven form the root of Zhongnan swordsmanship, the Five Elements Fist is the root of Zhongnan fist arts.
A sharp pain flared through the arm that had blocked with Stored Jin. He had stopped the blow, yet not fully absorbed the force; tendons and bones were surely damaged. Yeobhwa paid it no mind and drove his fist home.
Thud!
The Fire Cannon Fist’s strike hammered the protective barrier of qi around Namgung Myeong. The hit landed cleanly, yet failed to pierce the body-guarding art. Yeobhwa felt no disappointment. He had expected exactly this.
I never believed one blow would break through.
So he prepared the next. The rebound that returned when Stored Jin detonated—he seized it with inner energy and stored it inside his body. The knack was not so different from ordinary Stored Jin; the difficulty lay in stacking it all at once. Miss the catch and the rebound scattered beyond recovery.
Faster than Namgung Myeong could reclaim his sword, Yeobhwa closed in and unleashed the next forms. A vertical fist—the Wood Collapse Fist—pounded the chest and shattered balance; immediately after, the Metal Cleaving Fist’s palm strike snapped the chin upward.
The linked sequence of the Five Elements Fist: Five Elements Three Cannons. Years of practice made the motions flow like water. Stored Jin nested perfectly as well. Namgung Myeong’s protective qi shattered; fragments of energy scattered like dust.
But that was as far as it went.
My body... won’t move...?!
Three successive detonations of Stored Jin made his entire frame scream. He strained to move, yet only searing pain rose through tendons, bones, and meridians alike—as if they had been branded by fire.
Having regained his footing, Namgung Myeong looked at him and spoke.
“A pity. You were one step short.”
The following sword stroke carried no weight at all. Instead it gently lifted Yeobhwa’s frozen body and sent him sailing cleanly off the stage. Nearby Sichuan Dang Family martial artists waiting in readiness caught him safely. Confirming the ring-out, the referee cried out.
“The victor of this match—Namgung Myeong of the Namgung Family!”
Yeobhwa was carried at once to the Medicine Hall on a stretcher. Ordinarily a sect brother would have accompanied him, yet every one of them was already at the Medicine Hall. The only one left at the training grounds was Jeokhwa, who had to remain for her own upcoming match.
“I shall go with him.”
Namgung Myeong stepped forward of his own accord. Gazing at Yeobhwa, who lay with eyes closed and consciousness gone, he said,
“I wish to show proper courtesy to the Taoist who gave me such an enjoyable match after so long.”
A quiet smile rested on his lips.