Revenge (3)
“Hold on a moment—what nonsense is this? You’re going to convert a sword art into fist techniques and teach it to me?”
Yeophwa, who had been listening from the side, cut in with a voice thick with disbelief.
The suggestion was that absurd.
Yet Cheonhwa could not have been more serious.
“Then is there any faster way to grow stronger under our present circumstances?”
“That is…”
Yeophwa had no answer.
They were in the middle of a war. Even ordinary daily training was impossible. Growth through real combat was possible, of course, but dramatic leaps in strength would be hard to come by.
“Even so, converting the foundational forms of a sword art into fist techniques is hardly as simple as it sounds.”
“Yes. You’re right. Alone, it would be impossible for me.”
Faithfully practicing what one had learned, or even adapting it, was one thing. Completely rewriting forms into an entirely different system of martial arts was a problem of another order entirely.
But—
Cheonhwa turned his gaze to Yeonhwa as he continued.
“With Junior Sister Yeonhwa’s help, I believe it can be done.”
Beyond merely deriving applied forms from existing techniques the way Cheonhwa did, Yeonhwa was someone who had created entirely new martial arts. Those who left a lasting mark on the martial lineages by founding new arts were called Grandmasters. In that sense, Yeonhwa clearly possessed the makings of one.
“Junior Sister Yeonhwa, please help me convert the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven into fist techniques.”
Cheonhwa made the request with quiet formality. Among the third-generation disciples, only Yeonhwa could turn the idea he had conceived into reality.
“All right.”
Yeonhwa accepted without the slightest hesitation. Part of it was her desire to help Yeophwa, but she also seemed genuinely intrigued by the prospect of researching martial arts together with Cheonhwa.
The intended beneficiary, Yeophwa, could only stand there looking dazed. His expression must have been thoroughly comical, for Myeonghwa nearby burst into snickering laughter. Even Jeokhwa and the other martial siblings nearby cracked smiles of their own. Wiping away tears of mirth, Myeonghwa spoke to Yeophwa.
“Curious why he’s going this far?”
“……I am. We may be martial siblings of the same generation, but there is no need for him to go to such lengths, is there?”
“Maybe not. But it seems our Hwa-generation senior disciple thinks differently.”
Myeonghwa looked over at Cheonhwa, already deep in earnest discussion with Yeonhwa. Yeophwa’s gaze followed.
Cheonhwa had long since sensed that Yeophwa carried some private burden, yet he had waited in silence until the man chose to speak of it himself. The moment Yeophwa finally broke that silence and laid his heart bare, Cheonhwa had set himself to helping with everything he had.
“Cheonhwa isn’t doing this because he particularly pities you, Junior Brother Yeophwa. He would have acted the same way for any of us in the Hwa generation.”
It was care for his martial siblings. It was the duty of the senior disciple of the Hwa generation. And it was simply the nature of the man named Cheonhwa.
“If that goodwill feels like a burden, just keep the debt in your heart and repay it by helping Junior Brother Cheonhwa later. How does that sound?”
Myeonghwa’s words carried the flavor of advice from a senior who had lived through something similar. Only then did Yeophwa realize that Myeonghwa, too, carried a debt of the heart toward Cheonhwa. After all, Cheonhwa had been there when they rescued Myeonghwa’s father, the head of the Cheongun Merchant Group.
“Cheonhwa did help save my father, true. But have you forgotten that you were there as well, Junior Brother Yeophwa?”
Myeonghwa clapped Yeophwa lightly on the back as he spoke. Just as Cheonhwa had his reasons for wanting to help Yeophwa, Myeonghwa had reasons of his own. And so did every other martial sibling present.
Yeophwa looked around at them. Their eyes held nothing but goodwill toward him. These were the bonds he had built over more than ten years of life in the Zhongnan Sect.
The realization sent emotion surging up through him; he felt the heat rise behind his eyes. But weeping like a child was not the way of a man. Yeophwa swallowed the tears, drew a steadying breath, and offered a formal bow to his companions.
“You have my gratitude. I will repay this debt without fail.”
The words were thanks to the martial siblings who had stepped forward without hesitation to help him. They were also the words he had never been able to speak to the benefactor he could no longer meet.
The face of his former bodyguard, Yu Unyeop, flickered through Yeophwa’s mind. Even the day he had chosen his Taoist name, he had taken “Yeophwa” in order to honor Yu Unyeop. He still could not say how close he had come to the man who had once protected him, but at the very least he wanted to stand unashamed before the benefactor who had burned away his own life for his sake. For that man’s sake alone, he had to put an end to the cursed bond with Gal Sahyeok.
Alone I would be powerless. But with my martial siblings beside me, it is possible.
The boy who had once fled alone in a tiny boat was no longer alone. That day, Yeophwa gave silent thanks to heaven that he had been able to become a disciple of the Zhongnan Sect.
The war against Paegeommun was not something that would end in a day or two. At the shortest it would drag on for half a year; at the longest it might stretch to a full year. The reason was that the heart of the conflict was not a single decisive pitched battle or final duel, but a campaign of occupation across the northern reaches of Shaanxi Province. Enemy forces had to be driven back, each region stabilized, and the front lines slowly pushed northward. Naturally, the process would take a long time.
A prolonged war benefits no one.
And it was not only open war. Even the smaller clashes between martial artists cast a pall over the surrounding lands. Ordinary people who had never cultivated internal energy trembled in constant dread, never knowing when the blades of the martial world might turn toward them.
And once full-scale war breaks out, that fear only grows worse.
A grim atmosphere that never lifted weighed heavily on the common folk. Worse still, bands of marauders could emerge who plundered villages simply to sustain the fighting. The longer the war lasted, the greater the suffering not only for the great sects waging it, but for every ordinary person living on this land.
If it goes too far, the Imperial Court will have no choice but to intervene.
When the depredations of war grew extreme, the military would move its forces with scorched earth as an accepted cost. That period of grace was one year. Fail to end the war within a year, and the army would sweep through without distinguishing between orthodox and unorthodox factions, wiping them all out. In effect, a time limit had been placed upon the war.
Looked at another way, that gives us time to prepare for Senior Brother Yeophwa.
With half a year to a year remaining, they should be able to convert the mid-section forms of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven into fist techniques. Of course, completing the fist method itself was only one of many problems that still needed solving.
Even if Senior Brother Yeophwa grows stronger, it means nothing if he never meets his enemy.
Gal Sahyeok, known by the moniker Scholar-Weak Sword. The man who held the post of tactician in a Paegeommun obsessed with the blade. It was almost certainly Gal Sahyeok who was currently orchestrating the course of the war from the enemy side. Naturally he would be directing operations from a position where his face was not easily seen. To confront him, they would have to drive deep into Paegeommun’s main force itself.
And even if we eliminate Gal Sahyeok, everything becomes meaningless if we lose the war against Paegeommun.
Fail to win the war, and Yeophwa’s revenge would be the least of their worries—the whole of Shaanxi Province would fall into chaos. Cheonhwa had already heard the current flow of the war from Jang Sam.
“At present the mixed force is locked in confrontation with Paegeommun’s main army over the Botap region.”
Botap, together with Yan’an, was a critical nexus linking the surrounding territories. For the Zhongnan Sect and the Huashan Sect it was a vital bridgehead for advancing northward. For Paegeommun it was an equally vital stronghold for maintaining the front.
“Because the region is vital to both sides, Super Experts are said to be moving.”
Super Experts—martial artists who had surpassed the Peak and achieved the union of essence, energy, and spirit, setting foot in the realm of the Three Flowers Gathering at the Peak. The fact that they were taking the field meant the fighting would grow that much fiercer.
“If Super Experts are moving, it means we can offer little direct aid.”
“Yes. The realm of a Super Expert means their very way of seeing the world is different.”
The higher a martial artist climbed, the more extreme the gulf in ability became. Just as a vast chasm separated Peak Experts from those below them, an equal—or even greater—gap existed between Super Experts and Peak Experts. Correspondingly, the number of Super Experts was limited even among the great sects. Even Shaolin Temple and the Wudang Sect, the twin pillars of the orthodox martial world, counted fewer than ten Super Experts currently active. There was a reason that reaching the Super Expert level earned one a place among the Hundred Great Masters of the Martial World.
“We leave the center to them and do what we can from our side.”
“Conveniently, intelligence has just arrived concerning a supply unit. Cutting their supply line should provide meaningful support to the Botap front as well.”
Food was essential for anyone to live, and that held largely true even for high-level martial artists. If anything, their status as critical fighting strength meant they could not be left to go hungry. The enemy would move heaven and earth to get supplies through.
“They can hardly be unaware of how important those supplies are.”
“Exactly. Which is why they have reportedly assigned three Peak Experts to guard the supply unit.”
“Then our unit alone will have difficulty handling them.”
Even for Cheonhwa, fighting multiple Peak Experts at once was recklessly dangerous. Against two, the combined assault of his martial siblings might somehow manage. Three, however, exceeded any reasonable limit. And the Peak Experts would not be the only ones protecting the supplies. A considerable number of first-class martial artists would almost certainly be accompanying them.
“That is why we have decided to link up with another unit for a joint strike. Superior numbers are not Paegeommun’s exclusive advantage.”
Jang Sam spoke with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. It was true that Paegeommun might field more first-class fighters. The spread of demonic arts had sharply raised their average combat power. Peak Experts, however, remained roughly as scarce as before; no one had yet reached that level through demonic cultivation alone. Counting Peak Experts alone, the orthodox side—two great sects united—held the advantage.
“The unit we are scheduled to join is from the Huashan Sect. I am told it includes people Taoist Cheonhwa knows well.”
“People I know well?”
Cheonhwa tilted his head, then brightened into a broad smile the moment he heard the names.
The Paegeommun supply unit heading for Botap was under the personal command of Gal Sahyeok.
Damn it all. Why am I stuck doing this?
Gal Sahyeok’s insides were burning. Under normal circumstances he should have been directing operations from the safety of the rear. Why was the one and only tactician of Paegeommun forced to personally escort a supply convoy?
Why? Because the place is crawling with idiots who can’t even manage a proper transport run.
Every expert in Paegeommun was mad for the sword, and their temperaments matched that obsession. They were a pack of cutthroats who would not hesitate to draw steel on their own side if the supplies failed to arrive. Leaving the task to worthless subordinates risked disaster, so the tactician himself had been forced to oversee the delivery.
At any other time I would have no reason to feel this uneasy…
The boy—the one and only survivor he had failed to eliminate during the purge of his maternal relatives. That boy had grown into a martial artist of the Zhongnan Sect and was now taking part in the war. An old mistake had finally come back to seize him by the ankle.
The unease festered until Gal Sahyeok’s ruined right arm seemed to throb all over again.
Damn it, get a hold of yourself! That bastard is dead!
He still remembered that day with perfect clarity—the day his right arm had been destroyed. Yu Unyeop, the bodyguard who had once been a secular disciple of the Zhongnan Sect. The man had fought Paegeommun’s warriors head-on simply to give his young master time to escape. He had even burned his own true qi without a second thought for death. The internal force that consumed his remaining lifespan had produced power equal to a Peak Expert’s. Alone he had slaughtered half the raiding party, looking more like a demon than any actual demon.
Above all, the words the man had spat with his dying breath still lodged like a thorn in Gal Sahyeok’s mind.
“My young master will grow up and come for his revenge. Keep your neck clean and wait for him until then.”
Words closer to a curse, uttered with eyes full of ghostly malice. The scene still surfaced in his nightmares from time to time. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined those words would actually come true.
It’s fine. I am not the same man I was then.
He had obtained demonic arts and grown stronger than before. More than that, he was not merely being swept along by the demonic power—he had properly mastered it. He could declare without hesitation that he was nothing like the rabble who simply ran wild on the strength of demonic cultivation alone.
And yet a knot of anxiety still coiled in one corner of his heart.
As if that anxiety had struck true, someone suddenly shouted.
“Ambush!”
Units from the Zhongnan Sect and the Huashan Sect had struck to sever the supply line.