The Goal

Cheonhwa's eyes never left Yeonhwa—not a single motion, not a single breath.

In their last bout he had barely managed to react at all. Now he could read the tells in her movements and answer them in kind. That leap forward had only become possible because he had digested the founding master's intent.

Knowledge and experience of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven, woven into the will he had absorbed—that was what had let him weather Yeonhwa's relentless assault.

Other sword arts I might not manage. But the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven—those I can answer all day.

The forms might have shifted with the centuries, but the sword-intent at their root had not. Sword-intent was will itself, and will flowed into internal energy and into every cut. Branches that grew from the same trunk would always lead back to one another if you followed them far enough down.

To break the Thirty-Six Swords, he opened the Five Elements Fist.

Every motion of the form moved by will refined through heart, mind, and consciousness—no waste, no excess. Clean movement meant force that never leaked, a smooth current of power. The efficient motion he had clawed out through endless study and trial during his outer-art training toward the third stage of cultivation became a river of fierce jin, and that river shoved Yeonhwa's blade aside.

Outmatched in both reading and Jin Release, Yeonhwa was driven back with nothing left to do about it. Keep this up and she would be forced step by step until she left the ring—a perfect echo of the promotion exam spar.

Cheonhwa did not let himself grow careless. His opponent was the finest talent among the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠third-generation disciples. Her reserves were nothing to take lightly.

As if to confirm the thought, Yeonhwa struck back.

"……!"

She stamped a Quaking Step and poured the rebound into her wooden sword, then shifted her center so the blade's heavy weight and her own mass rode the same line. After that she drew the power of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art to its peak—so sharp that even his qi-sense felt it clear as day. Even if he blocked the form, the sheer pressure threatened to crush him flat.

Cheonhwa's eyes narrowed.

So that's her full strength.

The Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven was a middle-path sword. Kindly put, it leaned toward nothing. Harshly put, it had no striking character of its own. A hard sword would have crushed him by force even after a clean block. A swift sword would have cut him down faster than he could guard. An illusion sword would have slipped past his defense on a feint and found the gap.

But the Thirty-Six Swords is a middle-path sword—and a heavy sword as well.

The heart of Zhongnan's heavy sword was concentration of force: the strength of a body tempered by outer arts, the power refined through neigong—everything heaped into a single edge. How much of that stockpiled strength you could pour into one stroke decided the weight of your blade.

Until now, Yeonhwa had used perhaps three-tenths of her power. Her lazy nature recoiled from putting everything into every strike; she preferred to hunt openings with that exquisite sense of hers. A strike aimed at a gap was dangerous enough at three-tenths. With less weight behind it, chaining forms became easier, and finding the next hole easier still. Against lesser opponents, that was more than enough.

But the Cheonhwa standing before her now was someone she could not beat without going all out. She had to stake everything on a single, do-or-die exchange. She knew it—and so she had thrown the decisive card.

Blocking is impossible.

Try to stop it and the overwhelming sword-force would only hurl him away.

Dodging is impossible too.

The distance was already too close. Even if he gave ground, he could not escape the reach of a longsword.

Then there's only one way left.

Straight through. Meet it head-on.

Cheonhwa locked his lower body with the Nine Palaces Footwork, then took half a step forward. That brief surge of advance ran from the tips of his toes through his knees, his waist, his torso, all the way into his hands.

Among the Five Elements Fist, the Wood Crushing Fist held the greatest breakthrough power—and this was no ordinary Wood Crushing Fist. He had poured intent into it thick and deep, wrenching the force of the blow as high as it would go. She had come to decide the match. He would answer with a trump card of his own.

Dense intent flooded his limbs, stoking body and true qi alike, forging him stronger still.

A crash rang across the training ground—a sound no one could believe came from a sword meeting a fist.

Screeeech—!

The rebound sent both of them skidding backward, feet dragging. Nearly ten paces they slid, and when they stopped, both still stood upright. Neither of them had trained so carelessly that a clash like this would knock them off their feet.

Their weapons, however, had not endured as well as their masters. Yeonhwa's wooden sword had shattered from mid-blade to tip. The iron plate that guarded Cheonhwa's knuckles on his hand-guard had crumpled flat.

With both weapons broken, only close-quarters grappling remained. Even with a longsword in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hand she had never held the advantage. At the same range, Cheonhwa's edge was overwhelming—the outcome was as plain as day.

"I lost."

Yeonhwa admitted defeat. Muwol accepted it and delivered the final judgment.

"Victory in this bout goes to Junior Brother Cheonhwa!"

The declaration set the onlookers rocking; for a moment they could find nothing to say. The hardworking grindstone had beaten the genius—not a momentum-driven decision win like last time, but a complete victory. When the loser herself conceded, there was nothing for the gallery to argue about.

The crowd's eyes refused to leave the boy who had produced such an absurd result.

Not once, but twice…

The first time you could call a miracle, a fluke. The second is different. There's something real there.

Already using Jin Release… Did he truly reach that realm by effort alone?

Impossible. That can't be right.

That last strike—that was no ordinary Five Elements Fist.

Shock, speculation, longing, envy, suspicion—every kind of thought rode those stares. The person at their center paid them no mind at all.

"……."

Cheonhwa looked down at his hand in silence. The crumpled hand-guard filled his vision. That final fist strike, the one that had sealed the win, had been a single blow gathering every scrap of effort he had poured into himself—and because of that same blow, his head throbbed with a splitting ache.

Small wonder. Reinforcement through intent was a last-resort technique, the kind only a Peak Expert should be able to use. If he had never absorbed the founding master's will, he might have collapsed the way he had during the promotion exam. Drawing on intent drained the spirit that severely.

Still—it was worth the work.

Effort was not always rewarded. But in moments like this, when it was—the thrill of it defied words.

And where there was someone whose efforts paid off, there was usually someone whose efforts did not. Cheonhwa looked toward Yeonhwa. The girl stood wordless, staring down at her broken wooden sword. Those clear, transparent eyes gave no clue what she was thinking.

Is she all right?

Six full months of grinding effort had not belonged to Cheonhwa alone. Yeonhwa must have trained hard for this bout as well; her basic skills, plainly sharper than before, were proof enough.

What am I supposed to say?

He had never been good with people. He had no idea what words fit a moment like this. The worry proved pointless—Yeonhwa came to him first.

"Can we spar again sometime?"

"Pardon?"

There was not a trace of defeat in the eyes that met his. They shone instead like a child who had found a fascinating new toy. For someone who had just lost, she even seemed oddly lightened.

"I don't mind, but…"

"Then tomorrow?"

"Even so, isn't that a little soon?"

He was glad she wasn't crushed—but the eagerness was a bit much.

"Could we wait at least a month?"

"All right."

Yeonhwa accepted the offer without a fuss. So long as they could spar, the timing hardly seemed to matter.

"Why are you so set on sparring?"

Before, it had been closer to curiosity—wanting to understand him. Now pure hunger for the match itself showed through. Yeonhwa answered at once.

"Sparring with you is fun."

"Fun?"

"Mm. I learn things I didn't know."

In their last bout she had learned the power of will and the weight of fundamentals. In this one she had learned—whether she liked it or not—that there were moments when you had to give everything. It was a different kind of joy from learning martial arts under an instructor. And Cheonhwa kept showing her a stronger version of himself, so there was no room to grow bored.

"So I want to do it a lot."

"It won't be like this every time, you know."

"That's fine."

A loose smile touched Yeonhwa's lips as she went on.

"Because you don't give up."

"……."

For a moment Cheonhwa found nothing to say. Those clear eyes had cut straight to the core of who he was. An ox of a man did not give up no matter how many times he failed. He would take each failure as fertilizer and keep refining himself—and true to the name, he would walk on steady through any trial that came. That was why she looked forward to whatever he would show her next.

"I'll be counting on the next spar, too."

"…Likewise."

Cheonhwa gave a wry smile and nodded. And so a new promise settled between them.

Several days passed after Cheonhwa and Yeonhwa's rematch. Among the third-generation disciples of the Zhongnan Sect, the heat still had not cooled—one or two days would never be enough to quiet it. The second-generation disciples who taught them felt the aftershock clearly enough.

Gathered for a meeting, the second-generation disciples listened as Senior Brother Muwol spoke.

"How is the entry disciples' training progressing?"

"Every entry disciple has now entered the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art."

"Already? Faster than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I expected."

A year and a half had passed since the third-generation disciples entered the sect. Full entry into the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art usually took about two years. Shortening that by nearly half a year was unusual.

And it was not the only unusual thing.

"Nearly half the entry disciples have finished the first stage and begun second-stage training."

"One-tenth of the entry disciples have entered the third stage."

"That many?"

Muwol asked back, startled. They were pillars of the sect now, but once the second-generation disciples had been entry disciples themselves. They knew exactly how hard that path was. Training centered on the basics was dull and grinding, and as progress slowed with time the frustration only grew. The further along people got, the more of them started cutting corners. That pattern was common in every generation.

This cohort was different. The longer time went on, the more people threw themselves into training. And at the center of that shift stood a single entry disciple.

"I never imagined Junior Brother Cheonhwa alone could produce a result like this."

The other second-generation disciples nodded in agreement. Back when he had only been muttering to himself over his studies, no one had seen this coming. The reason a hardworking grindstone could defeat the finest talent of the third generation was one thing only: relentless effort. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Spurred by that, the entry disciples had begun throwing themselves into training one by one. Once more than half of them were immersed in it, the mood spread through the whole cohort of its own accord. Even those with no interest in training found themselves swept along by the atmosphere and forced into practice half against their will.

"And recently he even took a win in a private spar against Junior Sister Yeonhwa."

"Which proves his earlier victory was no mere accident."

"Because of that, the third-generation disciples' drive seems to be overheating."

"Senior Brother, shouldn't we take some kind of measures?"

Muwol listened to his junior brothers, thought for a moment, and decided.

"We watch them carefully on our end, so that excess zeal doesn't end up injuring anyone."

When the juniors were fired up, the seniors could hardly douse them with cold water. Still, to prevent accidents before they happened, the second-generation disciples would take a more active hand. Compared to the days of watching over Cheonhwa's Nine Palaces Footwork and Five Elements Fist practice, it would be far easier work.

I've started measuring things against Junior Brother Cheonhwa without even noticing.

Not only the third generation—the second generation, too, had come under his influence.

"So how is Junior Brother Cheonhwa these days?"

At Muwol's question, Inwol—who oversaw Cheonhwa's individual training—stepped forward.

"He's learning the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven."

"He said he was putting the sword art off while he trained the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art."

Having completed the second stage, taking up the sword art was only natural.

"At the last meeting, didn't he propose reviewing the formulas first from a martial manual?"

"Yes. When I checked, he had memorized the first half of the formulas without missing a single character."

Pre-studying the formulas through a martial manual had been Cheonhwa's own idea—a way, he said, to save time during individual training. Entry disciples were not normally allowed to browse manuals for arts they had not yet been taught; they were still too green to learn freely. Any other entry disciple's request would have been refused. Cheonhwa was another matter. A year and a half of conduct had proven his diligence, and the subject of the review was one of the four basic entry arts, so there was no need to worry about qi deviation. They had granted him access to the manual readily enough—and it seemed the results had been real.

"Then you must have taught him the forms for the first half of the stances. How far has he gotten?"

Muwol asked out of courtesy more than anything. It was the first day; he knew there could not have been any great progress.

"Well…"

Inwol hesitated a beat, then delivered an answer no one expected.

"He mastered them all in a single day."