Stubbornness (1)
"Senior Uncle Muwol, forgive me, but I would like to settle this matter myself."
"…And why is that?"
Taken aback by the unexpected answer, Muwol asked for his reason.
"If the sect intervenes, the problem before our eyes will be resolved at once. But the root cause will remain untouched."
Why had the opposing faction been harassing Cheonhwa like this in the first place?
Simple resentment toward him.
It was a matter of emotion. Even if a third party stepped in to mediate, it would be nothing more than a stopgap. Given enough time, something similar would inevitably happen again.
"That is why I believe I must resolve this alone. I will make certain the sect suffers no disgrace. I ask this of you."
"…Haa."
Muwol studied Cheonhwa's eyes in silence. When he confirmed the unshakable will to finish the ones who had picked the fight with his own hands, he let out a long breath.
"I understand your reasoning, but are you certain you want me to leave it alone?"
"Yes. If I may make one request, I would like you to remain neutral and render a fair judgment. That way there will be no room for talk afterward."
"Very well. I will keep the second-generation disciples in check. Do as you will."
Finding Cheonhwa's words reasonable, Muwol nodded and accepted the proposal.
Cheonhwa offered a faint smile of gratitude—gratitude toward Muwol for respecting his will.
In the martial arts, the word Extreme Attainment carried two meanings.
One was to unleash a technique to the absolute limit of one's ability.
The other was the state in which a martial art had transcended mere mastery and reached the ultimate realm.
What Cheonhwa sought was the latter.
The Extreme Attainment of the first half of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven began with the next secret formula:
Four Mother Sword Intents.
What did one pursue through the four fundamentals of the sword?
Those four fundamentals were the four techniques that formed the sword-forms of every sword art in existence.
Strike, Thrust, Guard, Shear.
Slash, pierce, block, and part. Even a divine, peerless technique, so long as it possessed a sword-form, could never escape these four. Therefore what truly mattered was not the shape of the sword art, but the intent one sought to place within the blade.
What this is asking is not the original sword intent of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven. It is the intent the swordsman himself wishes to pour into the blade.
What did he wish to place within his sword?
Cheonhwa could not answer readily. This was of an entirely different nature from all the training he had done so far. Even the knowledge gained through spiritual resonance stated that this part had no clear correct answer.
Yet he was not without clues.
The founding master once said that Extreme Attainment was the process of finding one's own sword.
He had listed many examples, saying diverse experience was required. Among them were insights gained through training and through sparring.
I will find the clue through the wheel-battle spars.
Day after day of wheel-battles against the opposing faction, Cheonhwa searched for the answer.
In the first month he thought of nothing but crushing his opponents with everything he had. He wanted every exchange as short as possible. Distribution of stamina and inner power came a distant second. Trusting in the recovery of the pupil-breathing method, he focused solely on unleashing his sword art to Extreme Attainment.
He did not want to concede even a single victory.
He understood with his head that winning or losing the spars did not matter. Yet the desire to silence the opposing faction so thoroughly they could not make a sound would not let him act otherwise. Somewhere in him lingered the vague hope that if he won every single wheel-battle, he might break their spirit.
Of course the opposing faction did not simply roll over and take it. They stretched the length of every exchange by any means possible, making victory harder for him.
Around the time the dull thud of wooden swords colliding became familiar, Cheonhwa grasped the knack of releasing force—what was called shedding power.
Pouring out full strength every time is not always best.
Strength and inner power unleashed with force produced an equally powerful rebound. In a prolonged fight, excessive rebound risked injury. The searing pain in his muscles, bones, and meridians—scorched by overuse—proved it.
From the second month onward, Cheonhwa began using only the bare minimum of strength and inner power. Overwhelming victories of the previous kind became impossible. In exchange, even when exchanges dragged on, the burden on his body lessened. Because he could read the premonitions of each form, even minimal sword force was enough to dominate his opponents.
In response, the opposing faction refined the completeness of their counter-methods and began a battle of wits. If he read the premonitions and cut them off in advance, they would predict his movements under that interference and prepare countermeasures. The battle of wits naturally lengthened the exchanges, forcing Cheonhwa to seek a new variable that could change the flow of the spars.
Weakness alone will not do. At times I must also go strong—so that I can make the flow of the spar my own.
Shedding power and unleashing power. When variation of force was added to what had been a constant sword strength, noise began to appear in the opposing faction's counter-methods. Beyond that, he reached a stage where he could operate the pupil-breathing even unconsciously. The endurance of the method improved, giving him more room to spare.
From the third month he went beyond simply winning or losing and learned how to control the flow of a spar through the variation of sword force. As if refusing to be outdone, the opposing faction launched a fierce pursuit. Just as Cheonhwa had grown through three months of crossed blades, so too had they. Once their skill rose enough to answer the variations, the counter-methods regained their power. As a result, the exchanges stretched to sixty and more.
Approaching the limit, are we?
Sixty-odd exchanges against each person, more than three hundred against all five. Even while reducing consumption and recovering through the pupil-breathing, there was a limit.
The opposing faction has hit the same wall.
Cheonhwa at least had the pupil-breathing to recover with. Only a handful of the opposing faction had reached the third stage of foundational work. Fighting sixty-odd exchanges at full strength without it naturally drained stamina and inner power dry.
And things only become visible after one reaches the limit.
Until then the opposing faction had been little more than puppets faithfully executing their counter-methods. Yet as their capacity as martial artists rose and they hit their limits, each one's individuality began to stand out. People differed in build, specialty, temperament, and what they aimed for; even when using the same Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven, each revealed a different face.
From that point Cheonhwa began to see the opposing faction not simply as enemies, but as martial artists in their own right. The hostility had not vanished, yet they had mixed blades for far too long to pour out only negative emotion. After nearly a hundred days of facing one another every day, how could one still call the other a complete stranger?
The feeling was mutual. At some point the resentment in the gazes directed at Cheonhwa began to dwindle.
Why do you swing your swords?
He could not ask them directly. They were not close enough for that. Yet there was another way. They were martial artists, and a martial artist spoke of himself through martial arts. A spar could be called a conversation.
From the fourth month Cheonhwa deliberately began lengthening the exchanges. Setting aside his obsession with victory, he tried to converse with them a little longer. The one who had sought to shorten the exchanges had become the one who lengthened them—and yet, as if by a lie, room appeared beyond the old limits.
While sparring with the opposing faction, Cheonhwa tried, even in fragments, to understand their feelings. At first they had come to the spars simply to drive him out of the Zhongnan Sect. While the counter-methods held, that purpose had been plain. But as the exchanges lengthened and concentration frayed, the counter-methods loosened and other things became visible—the private motives each of them carried.
Most of the original resentment had already evaporated. Yet pride would not allow them to fold as things stood. To prove that the time and effort they had poured in had not been wrong. Because they wanted to see that impassive face contort. Out of loyalty to the comrades who had walked this path with them. For their own reasons, each clung stubbornly and continued the spars.
In a way it was the perversity of a martial artist, the obsession, the will. The opposing faction poured their individual thoughts and emotions into their swords and swung them. Different characteristics settled into each sword-form. Similar forms might exist, but nothing was ever exactly the same.
Then what about me?
Cheonhwa looked back at the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven he himself used. His sword art was orthodoxy itself. Form and intent were faithfully complete, without a single flaw—yet he could find no color of his own within it. He had merely reproduced what he had learned through the founding master's intent.
How can I find a sword that is mine alone?
The question he had wandered after throughout the wheel-battle spars. The method of finding the answer lay surprisingly close at hand.
The opposing faction's counter-methods.
Those counter-methods had been built around Cheonhwa the martial artist. They might contain more about him than even he himself knew.
From the fifth month Cheonhwa began examining himself through the counter-methods—starting from which forms he used most often, all the way to the tendencies revealed in his sword art. He forgot even the original purpose of sparring with the opposing faction and concentrated solely on dissecting himself.
Before he knew it the exchanges had stretched past a hundred. At that point the opposing faction often collapsed first, unable to endure. Cheonhwa, having received more than five hundred exchanges alone, still remained on his feet. The opposing faction stared at him with the eyes of men looking at a monster—how could this be the same breed of human being?
Cheonhwa gave a quiet snort of laughter. If he was a monster, he was a monster they themselves had made; it was only right that they deal with him.
Today as well, Cheonhwa took up his wooden sword for another spar with the opposing faction.
Five months after the wheel-battle spars with Cheonhwa began, the opposing faction stood on the verge of collapse.
For the first three months things had seemed to flow according to their wishes. Cheonhwa had shown an obsession with victory, and they had exploited it to the utmost, succeeding in driving him to the very brink of their goal.
Or so it had been.
At some point Cheonhwa's attitude toward the spars changed. He abandoned his obsession with winning, and rather than merely enduring and prevailing, he began lengthening the exchanges himself. The counter-methods lost all meaning. Their plan had been to exhaust him by dragging the fights long; instead the opponent was stretching the exchanges beyond the opposing faction's own limits. Was this not a complete reversal of host and guest?
They were the ones being dragged along, pushed past the point they could endure.
"I can't do this anymore! That stubborn bastard is going to collapse from exhaustion before he ever gives up—and it's going to be us who fall first!"
One by one, deserters began to appear among the opposing faction. Whether body or spirit, they had reached their limits and abandoned the spars. As time passed the number of deserters kept growing, and as the deserters grew the cycle of spars for those who remained grew ever shorter. More people hit their limits, more deserted—an endless vicious circle.
You think I'll just quit like this?
After coming this far?
I'll outlast that bastard no matter what!
Those who remained continued the wheel-battles with malice burning in their guts. They knew full well how ugly it was to have forced a wager on Cheonhwa, who had been minding his own business, for no better reason than that they disliked him. Yet understanding with the head and accepting with the heart were separate matters. Even if they came to regret it, once they had chosen this path they had to see it through to the end.
The opposing faction challenged Cheonhwa without cease, and challenged their own limits. Their numbers steadily dwindled. The fewer they became, the higher the skill of those who remained rose.
When five months had passed since the wager began, only ten of the opposing faction were left. Their achievement in foundational work had reached at least the eighth stage of the second level, and their mastery of the first half of the Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven had reached minor completion. That put them just below the upper ranks of the entry disciples. Even so, despite forming a wheel-battle with men of that caliber, they still could not break Cheonhwa.
"Senior Brother Daehwa, can we even break him?"
Sohwa's question spoke for the entire opposing faction. Unlike them, Cheonhwa was fighting every single day. Even with the pupil-breathing, foundational work had its limits. He was in a state of exhaustion so complete that collapsing at any moment would not have been strange. Yet he did not fall. No matter how hard or worn he became, those eyes still burned with unbroken will.
"…"
Daehwa swallowed a silent sound. Though he himself did not enter the spars, he had watched every one of them and taught the opposing faction; from that position he rendered a cold judgment.
We're blocked.
The opposing faction was hitting its limit before Cheonhwa ever did. Any further overwork would clearly lead to the faction's collapse.
Where exactly did we go wrong?
He did not know. They had come too far to turn back and examine such things. Those who remained were holding on half by inertia, half by sheer perversity. The time had come to throw a decisive throw—even if it meant Daehwa himself entered the spars.
Fortunately, a suitable occasion was at hand.
The second promotion examination. We settle it there.
Cheonhwa came out to the training grounds to take the second promotion examination.
Only those who had passed the first promotion examination could participate. What about those who had failed last year's examination? They would take the first promotion examination again when it reopened in the near future.
"This humble one alone left for the first promotion examination… I feel rather left out."
Yeobhwa, who had come looking for Cheonhwa as usual, spoke with a bitter face. Among those who received individual training together, only Yeobhwa had failed last year's examination. He would have to sit alone in the spectator seats and cheer, and his expression was dark because of it.
Cheonhwa offered words of comfort from beside him.
"Watching the spars will also be study."
"Mm. Everyone who passed the examination will be exceptional. As Junior Brother Cheonhwa says, this humble one shall approach it with the heart of a spectator who has come to learn."
Fortunately the comfort took hold; his face brightened. As always, his emotions shifted quickly.
"How will the second promotion examination proceed?"
"Did you not ask Senior Brother Myeonghwa?"
"Yes. Because I still have not settled things with the opposing faction, it is difficult to meet him privately."
"From what this humble one has heard, unlike the first examination, which follows a fixed format, from the second examination onward the contents change every time."
The content of the promotion examinations was kept secret until the day itself. Those with faster information networks seemed to learn of it a day or two in advance, but that was a world far removed from Cheonhwa.
"And from the second examination, some of the restrictions on martial arts are lifted."
"Meaning we can use techniques other than the Four Entry Martial Arts?"
"Indeed. Compared to the first examination, which focused on fundamentals, things will grow considerably rougher in many ways."
"Learning higher techniques does not automatically mean an advantage."
Higher techniques, unlike the Four Entry Martial Arts, possessed clear individuality and direction. Advantage and disadvantage would likely split according to the examination method and the compatibility of the arts one had learned.
While they conversed, preparations for the examination seemed finished; Muwol, the senior disciple of the second generation, stepped forward.
"The second promotion examination begins now. Those who are not participants, move to the spectator seats."
At Muwol's command, the onlookers who had been talking with the participants returned one by one to the stands.
"This humble one shall take his leave as well. This humble one wishes Junior Brother Cheonhwa fortune in martial fortune."
Yeobhwa and the other entry disciples withdrew. Roughly three-tenths of the people remained. Once it was confirmed that only participants were left, the explanation of the examination continued.
Unlike the first promotion examination, the second would consist of only a single test. Passing the first examination itself was already proof that one possessed the fundamentals.
At last the content of the examination was revealed.
"This promotion examination will be a wheel-battle spar."
Cheonhwa let out an involuntary snort of laughter. Without intending to, he and the opposing faction had spent five months preparing for the promotion examination together.
When the content of the second promotion examination was announced, the participants and the spectators alike began to stir. The second-generation disciples found the flustered reactions understandable; even they had never expected a wheel-battle spar to appear in a promotion examination.
The content of the second promotion examination was decided by selecting candidates at a second-generation disciples' meeting and then choosing among them at an elders' meeting. The reasons wheel-battle sparring had been selected were as follows:
—Because this cohort of entry disciples has achieved more than previous ones, a difficult examination is required.
—A wheel-battle spar allows the examination of many elements, including distribution of stamina, through continuous spars.
—Above all, considering that the format of wheel-battle sparring—which might otherwise feel unfamiliar—is already well known to the third-generation disciples, it is selected as the examination content.
What played the decisive role in selecting wheel-battle sparring for the second examination was the conflict between Cheonhwa and the opposing faction. They had conducted wheel-battle spars without missing a single day for five months. There was scarcely an entry disciple who had not watched them; many had followed the spars diligently as one of the few spectacles available. As a result, the great majority of entry disciples were inevitably familiar with wheel-battle sparring.
The examiners explained the sparring regulations and distributed slips of paper marked with numbers to the participants. The numbers indicated both the examination order and the numbers that would be used for drawing lots.
"That concludes the explanation."
Muwol had explained the rules, yet most of the participants cocked their heads, unable to understand. He had expected as much; the regulations were complex, so few would grasp them at once. In such cases it was faster to demonstrate with an example.
"Whoever holds the number-one slip, step forward."
At the command, one person came forward.
The participant holding the number-one slip was Daehwa.
Cheonhwa glared at Daehwa, who had been selected as the first to take the second examination. With the other members of the opposing faction, five months of continuous spars had diluted the emotions, but Daehwa was different. Not only had he never once entered a spar himself—he was the one who had sought to cast Cheonhwa out of the Zhongnan Sect.
"From this moment, number one becomes the examinee, and all remaining participants become challengers. If anyone wishes to challenge number one, raise your hand."
Thus, when the chance to thrash Daehwa arrived, Cheonhwa moved to raise his hand at once—only for someone beside him to stop him.
Cheonhwa frowned and checked who had blocked him.
It was none other than Myeonghwa.
"Junior Brother Cheonhwa, you're too sunk in emotion right now. Cool your head."
Myeonghwa spoke in a voice low enough for only Cheonhwa to hear.
"He's the strongest among this cohort of entry disciples. If you charge in recklessly, you have no chance of winning."
"But if I miss this chance, who knows when I'll get another?"
"The opposing faction is probably thinking the exact same thing you are."
"…"
Cheonhwa could not deny Myeonghwa's answer. Given the opposing faction's tenacity, it was more than possible. In the end he accepted Myeonghwa's advice and postponed the challenge.
After that, not a single other hand rose. In a way it was only natural. Daehwa was a talent who had ranked among the top ten in the first promotion examination. Unless someone harbored personal feelings like Cheonhwa, no one would want to waste strength fighting a powerhouse from the very start.
Once it was confirmed that no one would step forward voluntarily, Muwol moved to the next procedure.
"Since no challenger has come forward of their own will, a sparring opponent will instead be selected at random from among the remaining numbers, excluding number one."
At Muwol's gesture, one of the examiners brought out lots. Daehwa drew one from among the many. The number written on it was twenty-eight.
"The participant holding the slip marked twenty-eight, ascend the sparring stage."
The entry disciple whose number was called climbed onto the stage with a rigid face. The spar between the two followed. They leveled their wooden swords at each other. On the first exchange, the opponent's wooden sword went flying into the sky.
The result needed no further looking: Daehwa's victory.
The same thing repeated afterward. A lot was drawn. The participant of that number came up and began the spar. It ended in a single exchange.
When he achieved his fifth consecutive victory, Muwol asked Daehwa,
"Three consecutive wins is a pass. Five consecutive wins is the highest score. Will you end it here?"
"How many consecutive matches are possible at most?"
"Ten."
"Then I will go as far as I can."
After that, Daehwa stepped down from the sparring stage only after achieving seven consecutive wins. He still seemed to have room to spare; he had come down to conserve stamina. Yet Cheonhwa sensed another intention in it.
Is he saying he has shown enough?
It felt as though he were flaunting his skill. As if to confirm that impression, Daehwa, descending from the stage, looked precisely at Cheonhwa. Unlike before, he was clearly regarding Cheonhwa as an enemy. The chilling sensation of having been marked by a predator.
Cheonhwa gauged the man's strength from the martial prowess he had so openly displayed.
At the very least, stronger than Junior Sister Yeonhwa.
A level of martial might of a completely different order from the other entry disciples. It was no empty claim that Daehwa was the strongest among them. While Cheonhwa felt the premonition that the fight would not be easy, the curtain rose on the second promotion examination.