The Vault of Heaven and All Under Heaven (3)
Whooosh.
In the wake of the collision, residual winds swept across the sparring stage, and silence settled over it like a held breath.
Every gaze fixed on Cheonhwa—Namgung Myeong’s included, and those of every spectator who had come to watch the bout.
Having received the final stroke of the Sovereign Sword Form, Cheonhwa still stood upright. The sleeves of his white robe had been shredded beyond repair, reduced to little more than rags, yet beyond that he bore neither outward wound nor any sign of internal injury.
And that was precisely the problem. How could anyone take a strike that had become pure lightning and remain so unscathed?
“That final form with which you received my last blow,” Namgung Myeong asked in a low voice. “May I hear its name?”
Cheonhwa answered without hesitation.
“The twenty-fourth form of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven: World-Cleaving Thunderbolt.”
“A thunderbolt that spans the world. A form true to its name.”
Namgung Myeong allowed a satisfied smile to touch the corners of his mouth and let his sword hang at his side.
“I yield.”
In the end, he kept his word. If asked whether he had no chance of victory, the answer would have been no. Prolonging the exchange would inevitably have favored him. But this was a sparring match, not a duel to the death, and he had no desire to cling on in an unseemly fashion. More than that, it would have been poor manners toward a junior who had given him such long-missed joy.
The referee was briefly flustered by so clean a concession, then recovered and delivered the verdict.
“The victor of this bout is Cheonhwa of the Zhongnan Sect!”
With the referee’s declaration, the silence that had held until that moment erupted into noise. The strongest favorite for the championship of this Dragon and Phoenix Gathering had fallen, and the crowd began to buzz with talk of the match.
“Wind roaring, lightning flashing—are we certain this was a spar restricted to the First-class level, and not a fight between Peak Experts?”
“Heavenly Sword Dragon was always a Peak Expert, but wasn’t Jade Light Sword supposed to be only at the pinnacle of First-class? And yet we get this result.”
“And unlike the bout with Tyrant Blade Dragon, neither of them was hurt. It ended cleanly. Completely different from the last match.”
“Could Heavenly Sword Dragon have thrown it on purpose? But looking at his face, he seemed thoroughly pleased. Hard to believe he lost deliberately…”
People cast doubtful looks at a bout that had concluded far too neatly. The earlier match between Cheonhwa and Paeng Mu-jin had left both men in tatters, so the contrast could not have been sharper. Suspicions of a fixed fight even arose—that Namgung Myeong had deliberately lost—but the martial artists who had watched the exchange dismissed the idea out of hand.
“If anything, it was the bout between Tyrant Blade Dragon and Jade Light Sword that was strange. You rarely see people fight that desperately in a spar that isn’t a life-and-death duel.”
“Deciding a winner matters, of course, but this is still an occasion for measuring each other’s martial arts. There’s no need to tear each other apart.”
“We’re lucky the hosts are the Sichuan Dang Family, with their mastery of medicine. With injuries that severe, a fighter might not even make the next match under ordinary circumstances.”
“Imagine barely winning, then forfeiting the next round because of your wounds. How galling would that be?”
Opposing views crossed and the crowd murmured on, yet the two who had actually fought were exchanging courtesies in an almost amicable atmosphere.
“I learned a great deal from this bout, Great Hero Namgung Myeong.”
“That should be my line. I hope next time we can spar without restrictions.”
“By that, do you mean you believe I will become a Peak Expert?”
“Why wouldn’t you? You’re already at the extreme of First-class, and you’ve found the thread that leads into Peak. It wouldn’t be strange if you became the youngest Peak Expert of all.”
Perhaps because they had poured out their entire martial learning and crossed blades in earnest, Namgung Myeong read Cheonhwa’s condition as if he had looked straight into the young man’s heart.
“You really are a remarkable person. I’ve never seen anyone quite like you.”
A person’s path was ordinarily shaped by the measure of talent they were born with, and martial artists were no exception. If anything, innate talent mattered even more among them. Without it, no amount of struggle would ever bring one to a high realm.
Cheonhwa stood at the opposite pole of that common sense.
Facing him myself, I can tell. His natural gifts are utterly ordinary.
Cheonhwa’s sword held none of the characteristic spark of the gifted. In its place was a seasoned craftsmanship, forged through countless hours of training.
Even allowing that he studied the arts of a great sect, building a foundation like that before he has even passed his twentieth year cannot be called ordinary.
No matter what fortuitous encounters a man might have, overcoming an ordinary constitution was never easy. Cheonhwa had done it, and the root of that achievement was surely effort. Ten-odd years had passed since he first entered the martial path, but even the same span of time held different densities for different people. In that sense, Cheonhwa had packed those years with a density of effort that rivaled any genius.
How far will this junior go, I wonder.
Perhaps, contrary to expectation, he would fail to break past the limits of talent and simply fall. Or, as expected, he might achieve with ordinary gifts more than any genius ever had. No one could know until time itself answered. Even so, Namgung Myeong found himself quietly hoping that Cheonhwa would succeed—because he trusted the effort of the young man who had drawn out his own sincerity in their exchange of blows.
A junior worth watching, in more ways than one.
Once Cheonhwa and Namgung Myeong’s bout was over, the Sichuan Dang Family moved at once to prepare the next match. Fortunately, unlike the fight between Cheonhwa and Paeng Mu-jin, the sparring stage had suffered little damage, and preparations proceeded swiftly.
The next match was between Mangya of the Hwajeong Sect and Cheong-ha of the Huashan Sect.
“A Taoist of Huashan sparring with a descendant of the fallen Hengshan Sect…”
“Considering they once shared the history of the Five Mountains Sword Sects, it’s a strangely bitter pairing.”
“Ordinarily Huashan would draw every eye, yet this time their presence has been oddly muted.”
As a descendant of the extinct Hengshan Sect, Mangya had attracted attention on many fronts. Cheong-ha, by contrast, had climbed to the semifinals without any particular hardship.
“He did defeat Second Young Master Dang Pae-ho of the Sichuan Dang Family, but somehow the whole thing ended far too blandly.”
“Who would have thought the decision would come before ten exchanges?”
People talked as they recalled the previous day’s bout between Dang Pae-ho and Cheong-ha. It had begun with Dang Pae-ho loosing hidden weapons from a distance. Cheong-ha had not only deflected every one of them with sword wind, but had pressed the attack in turn, and the match was decided before ten exchanges had passed. It had happened so quickly that most of the audience was left blinking in confusion. Only martial artists of real skill grasped what they had witnessed.
“Not flying swords, but a scattered sword art precise enough to bounce back every incoming hidden weapon. The man was born with a gift for sensation.”
“And that isn’t all. It isn’t only the scattered sword—the principles of a swift sword are woven through it as well.”
“The scattered sword would be the Seasonal Rain Sword Art, the swift one the Wind Playing Sword Art. I can feel both. He’s not merely switching between utterly different sword arts at speed—he’s bound them into one.”
“It isn’t so strange for superior martial learning to hold many principles, but binding completely different sword arts into a single whole is certainly something worth marveling at.”
“Though—am I the only one who finds the method oddly familiar?”
“No. I was thinking the same thing. It carries a flavor very like the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven that Cheonhwa of Zhongnan displayed.”
Knowledgeable martial artists were astonished by Cheong-ha’s unexpected achievement. When he had first entered the main tournament, he had not been at this level—and then, as if a fish returned to water, he had shown explosive growth. Speculation rose that Cheonhwa had something to do with the change, precisely because Cheong-ha’s sword art bore points of resemblance to Cheonhwa’s own.
Zhongnan and Huashan, both seated in Shaanxi Province, had always exchanged freely, and it would have been a lie to claim their martial studies had never influenced each other. Still, no one had expected to see growth and transformation this explosive right before their eyes. Cheong-ha’s swordsmanship had already left ordinary First-class territory behind; to fully contain it would require a Peak Expert.
“A dark horse that has burst out of nowhere!”
“Hengshan and Huashan—how will this bout unfold?”
That the crowd’s interest gathered around them was only natural.
“You summoned me, Family Head?”
“……”
In the study of the Family Head’s Hall of the Sichuan Dang Family, Family Head Dang Tae-un sat at his desk and regarded the man before him. That man’s utterly untroubled manner made his own hands tighten of their own accord.
“Do you understand what you have done?”
“What do you mean, Father?”
“Feigning ignorance will do you no good. The fact that you joined hands with the mysterious faction and betrayed me—and, beyond that, this house—has already come to light.”
Dang Tae-un spoke with a cold face to his son, Dang Baek-seon. The rightful eldest son of the Sichuan Dang Family, pushed into the role of physician because his constitution could not handle inner energy. That his own sore finger would turn traitor… The gaze the Family Head fixed on the betrayer burned with a fury so fierce it had gone ice-cold.
“After suspicion of spies arose, this house conducted a secret investigation. As a result, we were able to single out a number of dubious individuals, including the one called Mangya.”
“……”
“And by curious coincidence, every one of those spy candidates had been passed through by you. Then everything became clear—how they entered Dang-ga-ta, how they obtained information, how they shared it in safety.”
Even under Dang Tae-un’s interrogation, Dang Baek-seon offered no answer. He simply listened, as if inviting the other man to keep talking. That strange composure left Dang Tae-un with a thirst that burned his throat, yet he pressed on.
“Your filthy scheme ends now. We will seize you during this semifinal bout, and before the eyes of all, the firmness of this house and of the Orthodox Path will be made known to the world.”
“If you truly thought so, you could have arrested me long ago. Calling me here alone like this suggests you still haven’t announced that I am a spy.”
“It is not too late. Confess their plans and the purpose of the faction you serve, even now. Then some measure of your crime can be lightened. It is the last chance a father can give his son.”
“A son… Heh. Heh-heh. Ahahahahaha!”
Dang Baek-seon twisted his face as if he could no longer hold it in and began to laugh. Dang Tae-un’s expression twisted in turn.
“What is so amusing?”
“Heh. How could I not laugh? You failed to notice until things came to this, and only now you call me son. How am I supposed to keep a straight face?”
“……”
“There was a time when I, too, was filled with pride as a direct descendant of the Dang Family—as a son. You know perfectly well how that ended, don’t you?”
At Dang Baek-seon’s question, Dang Tae-un fell silent. The moment it became clear the boy could not learn martial arts, he had stripped him of the Young Family Head’s seat. When the boy showed talent as a physician, he had given him a suitable title and all but locked him away in the Medical Hall. To this very day, he had been little more than someone who tended the family’s rear.
“Did you truly think of me as a son? Or only as a burden?”
“You insolent—!”
Dang Tae-un flared at the mocking sneer, but Dang Baek-seon did not so much as blink.
“You throw away the chance you were given—how utterly foolish. A grudge is repaid tenfold. That is the family precept of this house, a duty even a direct descendant cannot escape. I will seize you myself and interrogate you!”
Energy surged violently from Dang Tae-un’s body. Dang Baek-seon seemed to choke under the overwhelming pressure of qi, yet the smile never left his lips.
“You’re far too late.”
“What do you—?!”
Dang Tae-un never finished the sentence. He could not. As if he had never been there at all, his presence vanished completely.
From outside came the shouts of Dang Family martial artists, thick with confusion. Through that chaos, Dang Baek-seon strolled out of the Family Head’s Hall at his leisure and made for the Medical Hall.
“Soon enough, my purpose will be fulfilled.”
A smile full of rapture never left Dang Baek-seon’s mouth.