The Heavenly Demon Takes the Field (11)
The match began, and Whip Master Love swung his whip. It was a strike that detonated ganggi at the tip of the whip—an improvised technique I often used myself. Its flaw was simple: sever the middle, and the force vanished. When I brought my own whip down on the middle of his strike, Whip Master Love’s attack dissolved into nothing.
Next came a whip embodying the principle of illusion. Illusion required one’s own understanding, yet the man before me merely copied the illusion I had once displayed. Breaking it was child’s play. Once again, his technique ended in failure.
The pattern repeated. He imitated me, wielding techniques he had seen me use. No one understood my whip arts better than I did. Even if I faced my own techniques performed by another, I could counter them without difficulty—let alone when someone far inferior attempted the same. No matter how long the exchange dragged on, nothing changed. Whip Master Love’s attacks achieved nothing.
“Is this all you wished to show me?”
“...”
“How dull.”
My open provocation made Whip Master Love grip his weapon tighter. It was obvious what he had come here hoping for. He had wanted recognition. He had wanted my praise. He had imagined me kindly pointing out his shortcomings afterward. Reality, however, offered none of that. He received no acknowledgment, and I merely dismissed him without a second glance. His thoughts must have been in turmoil.
His attacks grew fiercer, yet he still could not escape my shadow. Until the very end of the match, I allowed not a single strike to land.
“Decay. What happens in a situation like this?”
“Uh, we just randomize a new map and do a rematch.”
“Understood. Let it be so.”
The battlefield changed, and once more Whip Master Love and I faced each other. His eyes wandered, lost and trembling.
“Come. Try again.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I do not understand what you mean. Am I not indulging your wish by examining your whip?”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
What a foolish child. Under normal circumstances I would have repeated this until he awakened, but the situation was what it was. I would show mercy.
“You have been swinging that whip for years, long before I appeared. Is that not so?”
“It is.”
“Then why can I see only my own whip in your hands? Where has yours gone? Where has your martial art disappeared to? Has your mind fallen into delusion? Have you buried yourself beneath my shadow?”
“Are you curious why I offer no praise?”
“...Yes.”
“I like martial artists, but I have no fondness for mimic clowns.”
That answer should have sufficed.
*
Do-hyun could do nothing but watch Hwa-ryeong, who waited only for him to move. Her earlier words echoed in his ears. When she asked where his whip had gone, he had been unable to answer. He had discarded himself in order to follow her.
To Do-hyun, the whip style he had once used was nothing but shackles that held him back. The results spoke for themselves. When he used his original techniques he had remained stuck at Challenger, yet the moment he followed Hwa-ryeong’s style he had reached the pro league. To him, the whip she displayed was truth itself. So why did the very person who had shown him that truth now ask about his own whip?
Do-hyun could not understand. When truth stood right before him, why must he seek anything else? The question rose to his throat, yet he closed his mouth and gripped his whip instead. Just as before, he followed Hwa-ryeong’s style. He pursued the truth that had lifted him higher. Hwa-ryeong watched him with an expressionless face.
Their whips clashed, yet the outcome remained the same. None of Do-hyun’s strikes reached her. Trapped in the stalemate Hwa-ryeong had forced, he felt impatience rising. This was not the scene he had imagined. He had pictured showing her his whip, receiving praise, and being taught directly by her. Instead, her expression grew increasingly sour, and only criticism left her lips.
Why? What was wrong with him that made her wear that face?
Then, without warning, Hwa-ryeong stopped swinging and thrust her arm forward. As if drawn by a magnet, his whip coiled around her forearm. Do-hyun tried desperately to retract it, but the weapon remained motionless, stuck to her arm.
“Whether you are foolish or blind, either way you are unbearably frustrating.”
“What do you mean?”
“Child. Imitating my whip is fine. But do you understand the principle contained within it?”
He did not. Hwa-ryeong’s enlightenment was far beyond his reach, so he had chosen simply to copy her. Because truth stood before him, he had decided to follow blindly.
“I am not criticizing the act of imitation itself. I am criticizing the decision to stop thinking.”
Hwa-ryeong spoke. The moment one ceased thinking and chose to follow without question, one died as a martial artist. One must always consider one’s own whip and ponder how to reach its end. Hearing those words, Do-hyun bit his lip.
Did she think he had not tried? He had given everything he had. But her whip was simply too lofty—what was he supposed to do?
“You understood none of my words.”
Seeing his expression, Hwa-ryeong sighed and continued.
“I heard you were Apis’s last Whip Master artisan.”
“That is correct.”
“At present you are no longer a person—you are merely a puppet mimicking me. In effect, every Whip Master has been eradicated.”
What? Did she mean that everything he had done to produce results as a Whip Master, every action he had taken to revive the class even slightly, had ultimately killed Whip Masters instead?
Hwa-ryeong saw the tremor in his eyes and unwound the whip from her arm, returning it to him.
“Let us begin again.”
“...”
“Come.”
Do-hyun swung his whip once more, and Hwa-ryeong deflected it again. The same situation repeated—except this time Do-hyun chose to see her whip as she had instructed. He decided to think again. And then he saw something different. How she swung the whip, how she moved it, how she bewitched her opponent, where she placed her feints. What Hwa-ryeong now displayed was nothing less than a textbook on how to wield a whip.
Only then did Do-hyun realize. She had been trying to show him this from the very beginning.
“Haha.”
A laugh escaped him. No wonder she had looked at him with such frustration. She had been teaching him right in front of his eyes, yet he had seen nothing. She was right. He had been foolish.
I understand, at least a little. What you were trying to teach me.
When Do-hyun’s whip changed, Hwa-ryeong’s eyebrows rose slightly. Whip met whip, carving out a space that belonged only to them. It resembled a kind of circus performance—each taming the other with their whips. More beautiful movements. Faster forms. A more dazzling show!
Within that space, Hwa-ryeong launched the first offensive. Her whip pierced through Do-hyun’s defense and struck his face. The impact at the tip sent his body flying backward. Yet she did not pursue. Instead of pressing the attack, she waited for him to rise. Only after Do-hyun staggered to his feet did she speak.
“Had this been a place for instruction I would have played longer, but this is a tournament, is it not?”
“It is.”
“Then I shall raise the pace a little.”
Hwa-ryeong’s whips poured down like a torrential downpour. Whether one held an umbrella or wore a raincoat, anyone beneath it would inevitably get soaked. Even within that overwhelming assault, Do-hyun saw. He saw her whip. He saw the path he must pursue. He saw the principle contained within it.
Even after facing the word “defeat,” Do-hyun continued to stare at the scene he had just witnessed. Truth was not something one merely followed. It was something one reached by understanding why it had become truth and tracing the footsteps others had left behind. Do-hyun felt that he could improve. Facing the truth that was Hwa-ryeong, he felt he could chase after her. He felt he could become a Whip Master once more.
“Thank you.”
He offered his gratitude with genuine feeling, yet Hwa-ryeong’s expression remained far from pleased.
*
Teaching a fool who did not even know what he was doing had been acceptable, but thanks to that, the fanaticism in the boy’s eyes had begun to sprout. He still seemed unaware of what had taken root inside him, but the moment he realized it he would surely become a nuisance. Regret was pointless now. When someone walked the wrong path yet believed himself correct, how could one stay silent? For now he appeared to have understood my words, so there was no need to extend further kindness. My task was simple: remove the fanatic standing before me. Erase the headache-inducing fool from sight.
Let me see. Last time it took me three seconds to defeat Decay. Shall I shorten it further this time?
*
“...Uh, Lord Gwon-jon. How many seconds did the third match take?”
“2.7 seconds. Even faster than Lord Decay’s three seconds last time.”
“That’s amazing! Now Lord Whip Master Love’s name will be mentioned instead of mine.”
This idiot. Is this really the time for that kind of talk?!
When Gwon-jon glared at him, Decay averted his gaze. He too understood the current atmosphere was far from pleasant. There was only one problem: Hwa-ryeong had been overwhelmingly dominant. Until the Whip Master mirror match appeared, the mood had not been bad. The near-extinct Whip Master class sending not one but two representatives to clash in a tournament was certainly something that could excite people. Yet the moment the first match began, the atmosphere shifted.
Even under Whip Master Love’s fierce assault, Hwa-ryeong wore a bored expression while parrying every single whip strike. She never launched a single attack of her own. The sight almost looked like she was toying with her opponent. Thus the first match ended in a draw.
Fortunately, Hwa-ryeong’s actions in the first match did not become controversial. The second match revealed why she had behaved that way. She had merely intended to teach Whip Master Love. While not the sort of thing one usually did in a tournament, the audience’s reaction had not been negative, and more importantly the person involved had accepted it, so it was understandable. The third match, however, had been excessive. Ending the fight in 2.7 seconds? Whip Master Love was no ordinary player. He had played Apis for years, appeared in numerous tournaments, and had recently entered the pro league—one of Apis’s top-tier users. That same Whip Master Love had been defeated in 2.7 seconds. And not in a simple ranked match, but in an invitational tournament!
Gwon-jon muted the broadcast audio and turned to Decay with a sharp question.
“Seriously, hyung, what on earth were you thinking when you invited Lady Hwa-ryeong to this tournament?”