Goal (3)
During the individual training period of morning practice, Cheonhwa stood face-to-face with Yeobhwa.
Why was Yeobhwa standing in front of him?
To learn the reason, he asked Inwol.
"Why is Senior Brother Yeobhwa here?"
"He has been temporarily assigned to me so I can teach him the outer arts training method."
Ordinarily a martial arts instructor was allotted a large number of newly initiated disciples to teach alone. Until now, because Cheonhwa had entered late as the youngest, Inwol had essentially taken sole charge of him. Establishing the outer arts training method changed that. Until the other instructors mastered the method themselves, Inwol would personally teach every initiate who wished to train in outer arts.
Yeobhwa was the first such temporary charge, assigned at his own fervent request.
Cheonhwa looked at him. The big-framed boy was smiling with pure, open delight. The fact that he would train alongside Cheonhwa seemed to please him enormously. Cheonhwa, on the other hand, found the gazes directed at him distinctly uncomfortable. Yeobhwa's stare was burdensome enough, but Inwol's gaze felt strange as well. The suspicion that had filled those eyes when Cheonhwa first learned the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven had vanished; in its place was a warmth far more pronounced than before.
I don't know what happened, but I'll keep my mouth shut.
Cheonhwa decided not to poke a bush that might hide a snake. Better to leave things covered than to stir up trouble for nothing.
"Instructor Inwol, may I go fetch the training equipment?"
"While you're at it, bring the first-stage equipment for Junior Nephew Yeobhwa as well."
"Understood."
Cheonhwa headed for the storeroom in the corner of the training ground—a newly built structure for housing the equipment. Throwing open the latch revealed rows of training tools, each marked with a placard numbered from one to ten. He carried out the ones labeled with the character for "one."
Yeobhwa eyed the gear set before him with open curiosity.
"What is this?"
"Equipment for outer arts training. Instructor Inwol will explain how to use it."
Having brought Yeobhwa's share, Cheonhwa returned to the storeroom for his own. This time he emerged with the tools bearing the placard for "ten."
Outside, Yeobhwa had already begun. Weighted sandbags strapped on, he was lifting and lowering a carefully smoothed log, sweat pouring off him; the first session of outer arts training was clearly no easy thing. Inwol stood beside him, correcting every flawed posture.
"Focus on the movement of muscle and bone. Wrong posture turns training into injury."
Yeobhwa answered with only a small nod. Simply holding the proper form was already exhausting. Outer arts training was hardest before the posture settled; until then efficiency dropped, and in severe cases muscle and bone could be damaged. That was why the lightest equipment was used to learn form first.
Cheonhwa stopped watching and turned to his own training. He settled a log that served as a crossbar across his shoulders and slowly rose. Rocks hanging from ropes at either end of the log lifted into the air after him. The combined weight of wood and stone pressed down on his body. From that position he gradually lowered himself into a horse stance.
The tenth-stage equipment had been designed for a martial artist who had completed the second stage of internal cultivation. Simply holding the horse stance placed an enormous load on the flesh. The greater the weight, of course, the greater the danger of a mistake. Even a body that had finished the second stage would suffer catastrophe if the carefully distributed load of the entire frame suddenly concentrated in one place—muscles tearing, joints shattering. At best, long convalescence; at worst, permanent crippling.
Considering that danger, training for long periods with lighter weight would have been safer. The reason he continued this perilous regimen was singular: the greater the risk, the greater the efficiency. The proof was that every muscle and bone in his body was screaming even though he had already completed the second stage.
Once he would have relied on the restorative power of a Qi Building Pill. Having reached the third stage, things were different.
He drew a long breath and took in the natural qi of the world. In an instant it refined into pure true qi and raced through his meridians, seeping into wounded, exhausted muscle and bone and restoring their vigor. He exhaled the turbid qi. Vitality flooded his limbs.
That was the power of the third stage of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong. Because he could circulate qi even while moving, he could produce an effect similar to a Qi Building Pill. For now he still needed conscious effort, but he intended to make the simultaneous practice of martial motion and breathing completely unconscious.
First, keep the dual circulation going without pause the entire time I'm awake.
With a training plan that would have made anyone else blanch, Cheonhwa continued his outer arts practice with an impassive face.
Meanwhile Yeobhwa, who had set his log down for a brief rest, saw the sight and his mouth fell open. The image of a man enduring the weight of a rock-laden log was enough to set any observer's heart pounding with admiration and longing. Yeobhwa poured the surging emotion straight into words.
"Can this humble one also train like that someday?"
Inwol answered.
"Not yet."
Outer arts training with the tenth-stage equipment was intense enough to harm the body.
"If you want to use the tenth-stage tools, you must first reach the third stage of Gyunchon Chukgi-gong."
And for that, he would have to complete the second stage step by step through outer arts training.
"If you understand, master the form first."
"Yes, sir!"
"Rest is over. Take your stance again."
Following Inwol's order, Yeobhwa hoisted the log and settled into position. The fatigue of a moment earlier seemed a lie; his hands and feet itched with eagerness.
Someday, without fail.
He would become like Cheonhwa.
In the eyes of the dreaming boy, the light of resolve shone like stars.
After finishing outer arts practice, Cheonhwa drank from a bamboo water flask and glanced sidelong at Yeobhwa. The other boy had finished as well and was deep in qi circulation. His thoroughly soaked robe told how fiercely he had thrown himself into the training.
Cheonhwa approached Inwol.
"How was he?"
"He finished without quitting halfway. He's got grit of his own."
Inwol smiled faintly at the corner of his mouth. Judging by the reaction, he was rather taken with the boy.
"I'll go put the equipment away."
Inwol gathered the first-stage tools and headed for the storeroom. Before long Yeobhwa finished circulating and opened his eyes. The moment he met Cheonhwa's gaze, a bright smile bloomed across his face. It was still strange how every time they met, that same reaction returned.
"Junior Brother Cheonhwa, it seems you've finished outer arts training as well."
"Yes. You worked hard too, Senior Brother."
"Compared to you it's a drop in the ocean."
Yeobhwa spoke while recalling the tenth-stage equipment Cheonhwa had used.
"I heard from Instructor Inwol. You created the training method together, from first to last."
"It just happened that way."
"To do such grueling training every day—truly remarkable."
Respect filled Yeobhwa's eyes. Cheonhwa felt awkward and looked up at the sky.
"I only did what was necessary."
"Necessary does not mean it wasn't hard."
"It was hard, but I have a goal I want to reach."
"A goal that makes Junior Brother strive this hard—now my curiosity is piqued."
"It's nothing special. Just…"
He wanted to become a master. One who could weather the storms of the world, who would not bow to injustice, who would remain unshaken no matter the hardship—that kind of master.
"Doesn't Senior Brother Yeobhwa have a goal like that as well, which is why you work so hard?"
"Hearing you say so makes me shy. I simply thought it looked magnificent. So I wanted to do it."
"The weight of the reason doesn't matter."
Whether heavy or light, a reason was only the spark that set action in motion.
"What matters is whether you can carry it through to the end, isn't it?"
Even the flimsiest reason, if followed all the way, becomes a truth no one can deny.
"At least, that's what I believe."
"…"
Yeobhwa fell quietly into thought, as though something in Cheonhwa's words had struck him. Cheonhwa waited in silence. At last Yeobhwa spoke.
"…Junior Brother Cheonhwa."
"Yes."
"Would you spar with me?"
"…Pardon?"
Cheonhwa stared at him as if the boy had said something completely absurd. As before, the gap between a perfectly sound process and a completely unexpected conclusion was extreme. Yet Yeobhwa's eyes were utterly serious.
"I want to know clearly what level this humble one is at. Will you lend me your hand?"
"Aren't body and mind exhausted from outer arts training?"
"You're the same, Junior Brother. Considering the intensity of the training, if anything you're more worn out, not less."
"Even so, a personal spar requires the instructor's permission."
A voice immediately contradicted him.
"It's allowed."
Inwol, who had returned from the storeroom at some point, joined the conversation.
"During individual training it is quite common for an instructor, at his discretion, to have the disciples under his charge spar with one another."
Inwol looked eager for the match.
"Taking the chance to experience a guided bout won't hurt."
"You mean for me to learn how to control my strength?"
"That's not wrong either, but once you're in the teaching position you'll find there are things to gain."
"…Understood."
After weighing Inwol's persuasion, Cheonhwa accepted the spar.
The abrupt match proceeded without spectators. The two faced each other at a suitable distance. Cheonhwa showed not a trace of tension; Yeobhwa, by contrast, was wound tight with anticipation that showed clearly on his face. The reaction felt surprisingly fresh. Until now Cheonhwa had always been the challenger; standing as the one challenged was a new sensation. By hierarchy he was the youngest, yet the senior-junior relationship somehow felt inverted.
"Final confirmation. The only arts permitted are Gugung-bo and Ohaeng-kwon. Cheonhwa yields the first five moves to Yeobhwa. Any objection?"
"None."
"Yes!"
"Good. Begin!"
At Inwol's signal Yeobhwa moved at once. Cheonhwa remained rooted in place, assuming the opening posture of the Five Elements Fist. Yielding five moves meant exactly that: he would neither attack nor counter until the opponent had completed five techniques. It was also Inwol's assessment of the gap between them. Without at least a five-move handicap, Yeobhwa had no chance of victory.
Cheonhwa watched Yeobhwa's movement carefully. The smooth transfer of center of gravity showed that his mastery of Gugung-bo had risen.
Footwork is solid. What about the fist art?
Closing the distance, Yeobhwa launched straight into the Wood Crush Fist form of the Five Elements Fist. Footwork and fist did not separate; the advance carried real momentum—a proper single punch. Cheonhwa pivoted half a turn and slipped the blow by a hair's breadth.
The form itself is decent. I wonder how the linking will look.
As if answering the silent question, Yeobhwa poured out techniques in rapid succession: Metal Wall Fist, Water Pierce Fist, Wood Crush Fist—the representative attacking forms of the Five Elements Fist. Cheonhwa turned them aside with casual ease.
The linking is clumsy. Not fully internalized yet.
Each individual technique possessed decent power, yet unnecessary motion cluttered the spaces between them. Only one opportunity remained. Yeobhwa's expression grew grave. He had wasted four chances with almost nothing to show; the seriousness was natural. Even Cheonhwa was privately surprised.
He's more capable than I expected.
Because the preparatory signs of each form were visible, evasion and defense came naturally—proof of how thoroughly Cheonhwa had mastered the Five Elements Fist. In other words, Yeobhwa's chances of winning were vanishingly slim.
What will he do?
Cheonhwa kept his eyes fixed on Yeobhwa. After long deliberation the larger boy slowly closed the distance again.
Trying to make me drop my guard for a surprise?
No such intention showed. Cheonhwa remained tense and watched. Yeobhwa's feet finally stopped directly in front of him. The distance between them was barely a handspan—so close they were practically nose to nose. Only then did Cheonhwa grasp Yeobhwa's true aim.
Don't tell me he means to use Amgyeong?
Amgyeong—Dark Jin—was the release of force from extreme close range with minimal motion. Even Cheonhwa, who could employ Balgyeong, found the technique far from easy. Naturally it was beyond Yeobhwa's present level.
So he's decided to gamble.
Without a gamble there was no path to victory. That was the judgment. Cheonhwa willingly accepted the wager.
They stood facing each other at a range too tight even for opening stances. Tension stretched between them like a fully drawn bowstring. Then—
Whoosh.
A single gust of wind served as the signal. Like arrows loosed from the string, the two moved as one.