The Promotion Exam
The boy was dreaming.
Of a time even younger than now. Of a memory from the past, when he had faced a starving, aging wild dog.
Its sunken belly and eyes glazed with hunger told him the beast had gone mad with emptiness. To simply turn and run would have been a fatal mistake. Showing your back to a beast was as good as admitting you were prey. The moment he retreated, the creature would tear into him — that much was certain.
The boy forced down his fear and locked eyes with the wild dog. In his hand he gripped a sharply honed shard of stone in a reverse grip — a declaration of will that even if he lost, he would land one blow before the end.
The dog moved. So did the boy.
"Aaaah!"
He roared until his throat tore, raising the stone shard high — and in the next instant, everything began to change.
His arms and legs lengthened in a flash. His line of sight rose. Instead of the stone, a tightly clenched fist swung through the air. The opponent, too, shifted — no longer a starving old dog, but Inwol, the martial arts instructor. A distant past was overlaid with yesterday's memory.
The fists he threw followed the forms of the Five Elements Fist. The steps he took followed the footwork of the Nine Palaces Steps. It was the most perfect strike among every punch he had ever thrown.
And still, that fist never touched Inwol.
The instructor turned aside every attack with effortless ease, making the gulf in skill plain.
"You've improved a great deal since last time. Your movements flow smoothly now — no more breaking halfway through."
The instructor's praise lifted the boy's spirits. Four months of living and breathing footwork and fist arts. He could not call it mastery, but it was achievement enough to claim a lesser completion. With this, he was certain, he could pass the promotion exam.
"But your killing intent is still thick. That reflexive habit of aiming for vital points hasn't been corrected."
In a sparring match meant for training, a killing technique aimed at a vital spot was a breach of courtesy. He understood it in his head, yet his body would not obey. The habit of targeting vitals had sunk that deep.
The life of an orphan without a single relative had been an unbroken struggle for survival. To wild beasts, a human child was easy prey. The boy had always stood in the position of the weak — and for the weak to live, they had to carry venom and killing will. That was why the moment a fight began, murderous intent rose in him by reflex.
"Is sparring still awkward for you?"
The boy nodded. Avoiding a fight entirely was one thing. But once you fought, staking your life was only natural. That was why matching skill without killing felt utterly strange to him.
"You still don't know the true flavor of sparring."
The true flavor of a fight — somehow, it sounded as if it would reek of blood.
"There is the smell of blood, yes. Mixed with the salty taste of tears and sweat as well."
When you fought, a winner was born, and a loser. The victor tasted the sweetness of triumph; the defeated chewed the bitterness of loss.
"In a fight to the death, it ends there. But if you don't kill, a next time is born."
The loser would strive to reverse the defeat. The victor would strive to keep the victory. That held a charm entirely different from a contest that divided life from death.
"Someday, when you leave dying and killing behind and come to hold a pure heart that simply does not want to lose — then you'll understand what these words mean."
With Inwol's final words, Cheonhwa woke from the dream.
In a daze, he traced back through the contents of the dream that still lingered so clearly. Distant past and yesterday's memory joined into a single dream — a strange thing indeed.
He rose from his bedding and opened the window. The sky was slowly brightening toward dawn. Only then did he recall what day it was.
Today was the day of the promotion exam.
Cheonhwa dressed carefully and left the dormitory to take the promotion exam. The training ground set for the trials was packed with second-generation and third-generation disciples. He blended in among the third-generation disciples and waited for the exam to begin.
While he waited, the whispered voices of his martial brothers drifted from nearby.
"Did you hear? The elders of the Hyeon character generation and the Won character generation are coming today!"
"Really? Even if the martial uncles are one thing, the elders are people you can barely get a look at once."
"Apparently it's tradition for them all to watch the first promotion exam of the entry-level disciples together."
"So if you put on a good showing in today's exam, you can leave an impression with the great elders of the sect?"
"Exactly!"
They had lowered their voices as much as they could, as if sharing secrets, yet the words carried perfectly well to those around them.
If the first-generation martial uncles are coming… does that mean Martial Uncle Jinhyun will be there as well?
If so, the boy would have one more reason to throw himself into the exam with passion.
Before long, Muwol, the senior brother of the second-generation disciples, entered the training ground with the elders. Once the elders had taken their prepared seats, Muwol stepped forward.
"We will now begin the promotion examination."
Whether he had amplified his voice with inner force or not, the words rang thunderously across the entire training ground. An explanation of the exam followed.
The first promotion exam proceeded in three major stages. The first trial was a check of one's achievement in the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art. The passing standard was completion of the first stage, so Cheonhwa cleared it without trouble. On the other hand, third-generation disciples who had not yet learned martial arts, or who failed to meet the standard, were eliminated. The remaining numbers shrank to nearly half of what they had been at the start.
"The second trial is a demonstration of martial arts. Draw a lot and display the art that is selected."
The second trial — the one that caused the most trouble among the promotion exams — had arrived. The lots held footwork, fist arts, and sword arts. If sword arts came up, the only option would be to forfeit on the spot.
Cheonhwa carefully drew a lot from the jar. The character written on it was Fist. In other words, the second trial would be decided by fist arts.
Thank goodness.
Cheonhwa felt a quiet wave of relief. He had braced himself for drawing sword arts and failing, but the thing he had feared did not come to pass.
The entry-level disciples were divided into three groups according to the results of the lots. Now all that remained was to wait until the second-generation disciple serving as examiner called their names. Cheonhwa closed his eyes quietly and reviewed the forms of the Five Elements Fist in his mind.
Before long, his turn came. Before the examiners and the watching crowd, he took the opening stance of the Five Elements Fist for the demonstration. After countless repetitions over four months, the posture rose of its own accord.
"Oh?"
"He's got a fair bit of form."
Surprise flickered among the first-generation disciples and elders watching nearby. Unaware of their reactions, Cheonhwa poured himself into the demonstration of the Five Elements Fist.
With each advancing step he shifted the center of his body. He poured the momentum of that advance into the hand at his waist and drove it out with force. The sound of his foot striking the blue-steel stone rang out as his open palm shot forward — the first form, the Metal Cleaving Fist.
Without pause the forms continued. Advancing as he drove a vertically held fist forward: the Wood Collapse Fist. Turning the back of the hand forward and driving upward as if aiming beneath the chin: the Water Drill Fist. Blocking and thrusting a fist in the same motion: the Fire Cannon Fist. And finally, moving on a diagonal while raising an arm to strike sideways: the Earth Lateral Fist.
The five forms flowed together like water, and the martial demonstration was over in a blink.
"That might have been the cleanest fist demonstration I've seen so far."
"I don't know about the sword, but I've never seen an entry-level disciple polish the fist arts to that degree."
"He spent four months day and night on nothing but the fist — so of course."
The examiners' evaluations were favorable. In particular, the fact that he had properly trained the fist arts — so often neglected — left a strong impression. As a result, he received the highest score available in the second trial. Unless he ruined the third trial, the sparring match, his passage was all but assured.
Knowing nothing of that, Cheonhwa was speaking with Myeonghwa.
"How about it, Junior Brother Cheonhwa? Looked pretty good to me."
"I did the best I could, so I'm satisfied."
"You spent four months digging into nothing but the fist arts — of course you passed. It would be stranger if you hadn't."
"How did Senior Brother Myeonghwa do on the exam?"
"I just did it the way I always do."
"Meaning you did well, as usual."
"Whoa, for the dull-witted one to praise me like that — I don't know where to put myself."
While the two talked, the results of the second trial were announced. Both of them had passed. Now only the third trial remained.
"Just sparring left. Think you can handle it, Junior Brother?"
"Are you confident, Senior Brother?"
"Of course! I may not look it, but I'm the best information broker among the third-generation disciples. I know every one of our martial brothers' strengths and weaknesses inside and out. What about you?"
"I don't know."
He had sparred with the martial instructors during morning training, but that had felt closer to receiving instruction than true competition. Sparring against someone his own age was a first. He could not say how far the effort he had poured in so far would carry him. Even so, what he had to do was clear.
"As I always have, I intend to do the best I can."
"Hahaha. Junior Brother Cheonhwa never changes."
Myeonghwa burst out laughing at the answer. Before long, the third trial began.
Half of the third-generation disciples who had remained after the second trial were eliminated. Only thirty-two were left. Those taking the third trial ranked among the upper tier of the third-generation disciples. At the very least, in terms of the form of their martial arts, they had cleared the passing mark.
"Cheonhwa. Yeobhwa. Step forward!"
At the examiner's command, they climbed onto the sparring stage. Cheonhwa's opponent was a large boy — taller by at least a head, his frame solid and strong, as if born with the bones of a martial artist.
Cheonhwa looked into his opponent's eyes. There was fighting spirit and hostility, but no killing intent. That should have been only natural, yet to Cheonhwa it still felt strange.
This is not a fight to the death.
He repeated it inwardly, soothing the murderous impulse that rose of its own accord before a fight.
"Ready."
At the examiner's word, both took their opening stances. Neither held a weapon. That meant neither had refined his foundational arts enough to have learned swordsmanship. The martial art they would use, then, could only be the Five Elements Fist.
"Begin!"
At the signal, the opponent charged in with terrifying force, clearly intending to seize the initiative and overwhelm him with momentum. Yeobhwa closed the distance in a single rush and launched a Wood Wall Fist. In contrast, Cheonhwa attempted a defense with the Earth Lateral Fist.
In terms of the picture alone, it was a fight between a giant and a small man. Anyone looking would have said the giant held the upper hand. The result was the opposite.
Yeobhwa's Wood Wall Fist was stopped cold by Cheonhwa's Earth Lateral Fist. The reason was simple: the completeness of the fist arts. Cheonhwa's weight shifts and the flow of power that followed them connected with natural ease. Yeobhwa's footwork for movement and the fist he threw operated separately from each other.
With his attack blocked, Yeobhwa's posture collapsed. Cheonhwa did not miss the opening and poured out successive fist forms. The upward driving strike of the Water Drill Fist cracked into the big boy's jaw. Reeling from the unexpected shock, his opponent staggered backward — and Cheonhwa finished it by driving home a Wood Collapse Fist.
"Guh!"
The fist landed cleanly in the solar plexus, and Yeobhwa expelled a ragged breath. He sank to his knees where he stood, his body trembling.
"That's enough!"
Judging that further exchange was meaningless, the examiner called the end of the spar. Cheonhwa bowed to his opponent and quietly checked his condition. He had struck a vital point, but the boy did not seem badly hurt. Relieved that he had controlled his strength properly, he stepped down from the stage.
Myeonghwa, who had already finished his first spar, welcomed him.
"Well done, Junior Brother. Defeated in three moves? You're more impressive than I expected."
"I was lucky. My opponent moved first and showed me an opening."
If the other boy had stayed still and fought defensively, it might have been difficult. Myeonghwa answered with a mischievous smile.
"Spare me the humility. Even if it had gone long, you still would have won easily enough."
"I won't deny it. The gap in training with the fist arts was greater than the difference in build."
No matter how strong one's natural power, it meant nothing if one did not know how to use it properly. That was how wide the gap in skill had been with his first sparring opponent.
Cheonhwa watched the other spars together with Myeonghwa. Beside him, Myeonghwa chattered endlessly about whoever climbed onto the stage. Then someone worthy of special note stepped up.
"Ohh. Here comes the leading contender to win this exam."
The contender Myeonghwa named was a girl with a languid air.
"She looks half-asleep, but she's actually the greatest prodigy of this generation."
"A prodigy? How much of one?"
"She came in completely illiterate at entry and still blasted through basic literacy in a month. She completed the first stage of the Balanced Heaven Qi Accumulation Art in a single day. And she was the first among the entry-level disciples to learn sword arts."
"…"
At Myeonghwa's explanation, Cheonhwa was struck speechless. It was an overwhelming record that seemed to mock the desperate effort of a boy like him. He fixed his attention on the girl's spar.
Her opponent was likewise a girl. Both held wooden swords — so the other had learned sword arts as well.
"Jeokhwa. Like me, she's from a secular disciple family — fairly talented in her own right."
Myeonghwa supplied timely information on the opponent. Then the spar began.
"Haah!"
Jeokhwa let out a shout and seized the initiative. Knowing the gap in skill, she meant at least to strike first. Against a descending cut from above, the languid girl raised her wooden sword from below.
Tak!
Wooden blade met wooden blade with a heavy crack. It looked like a single exchange of forms. The reality was different. The girl's wooden sword had locked her opponent's blade tight, its tip leveled at the throat.
Cheonhwa could not understand what had just happened. Myeonghwa, who had learned the sword, provided the commentary.
"She blocked the descending cut — Heaven's Final Seal — with the upward guard, Heaven's Steadfast Barrier, and at the same time linked into the thrusting form, Heaven's Downward Gaze, and pinned her. That's how."
"So she defended and attacked in the same motion?"
"Exactly. And she finished it in a single exchange. It's terrifying — how is anyone supposed to spar against that?"
Indeed, the girl's opponent was gripped by fear. With a pale face she struggled somehow to free her wooden sword, but the result did not change.
"That's enough!"
Judging the match decided, the examiner called the end of the spar at the same moment. The girl offered a bow to her opponent, then climbed down from the sparring ground with a yawn. From start to finish, her manner had been utterly at ease.
"…Senior Brother. What was the name of the junior sister who just won?"
"Yeonhwa. A junior sister as unmatched in skill as she is pretty of face."
Cheonhwa burned the girl's figure into his eyes and repeated the name to himself. A premonition rose in him that she would be the greatest obstacle of this promotion exam.
And that premonition proved all too correct.
For Cheonhwa's second sparring opponent was none other than Yeonhwa.