Become the Blood Lotus

Moonlight washed the White Lotus Sword Sect's training grounds a pale, ghostly white.

Unlike the day, silence hung thick over the space. And in the heart of that silence, Namgung Cheon and Lee Ja-seong stood facing one another.

Namgung Cheon rested a hand on his waist, regarding Lee Ja-seong with detached composure.

He's tense.

Blue tendons stood out vividly along the back of Lee Ja-seong's sword hand.

"……I will begin now."

Lee Ja-seong spoke the words quietly.

Thak!

With a light step, Lee Ja-seong closed in. It was the second form of the White Lotus Sword Art, Blossoming Lotus in Full Bloom — a flurry of sword energies raining down across Namgung Cheon's upper body. The kind of ornate yet disciplined movement that was the hallmark of the Orthodox Path.

But—

A feint.

It was laid bare before Namgung Cheon's eyes: the true intent buried beneath the dazzling rain of blades.

Just as he expected, Lee Ja-seong's sword trajectory shifted violently at the decisive moment.

Shiiik—!

The blade that had been thrusting straight bent like a serpent, slithering in beneath Namgung Cheon's armpit. A vicious trick aimed at his blind spot — closer to the killing techniques of the Unorthodox Path than to any orthodox sword principle.

But to Namgung Cheon, it was transparently obvious.

Chaeng!

He pressed Changcheon's flat down against Lee Ja-seong's blade, and the momentum of the attack snapped off in an instant. Yet Lee Ja-seong did not retreat. He immediately dropped low and continued with a treacherous stroke aimed at the lower guard.

Namgung Cheon's gaze went cold at the movement.

Too low a stance for an orthodox sword, and far too many needless preparatory motions for an unorthodox one.

In a word—

Half-baked.

Back in Anhui, he had met Gwak San, the Thunderbolt Saber. To that man, he had merely offered a warrior's courtesy and a small reward — a thread of a hint to grasp. Whether Gwak San took hold of it or not was entirely his own affair.

But Lee Ja-seong before him was different.

The White Lotus Sword Sect. Men who had kept the banner of the Orthodox Path flying, unbowed, even as the Unorthodox flourished around them. That tenacity and that will, at least, deserved recognition.

Which meant—

These are the only blades in Hunan worth trusting and putting to use.

A cold light flickered through Namgung Cheon's eyes. This half-finished sword had to be honed into something real if it was ever to be of use.

So what Lee Ja-seong needs is to be taught how to walk.

Merely tossing him a clue would not be enough. He would have to break the man's sword apart and rebuild it, if that was what it took.

Kaang!

"You're hesitating."

Namgung Cheon deflected Lee Ja-seong's blade and said, "Do you want to cut your enemy down — or do you want to strike a pretty pose?"

Lee Ja-seong's eyes wavered. "That's… not it!"

Gritting his teeth, he swung his sword again. He drew up his internal energy and poured out sword energy relentlessly, but to Namgung Cheon it was nothing more than a struggle all noise and no substance.

"No — your sword is lying, Young Sect Leader."

Shwaaaa—.

A soft, yielding energy coiled around Lee Ja-seong's blade. "You took up the killing sword to survive, yet you still want to cling to the ideals of the Orthodox Path. That is why your blade has grown dull."

Tang!

Lee Ja-seong's sword was knocked spinning into empty air. As he staggered, off balance, the tip of Namgung Cheon's blade stopped dead in front of his throat.

It was utter defeat.

Lee Ja-seong hung his head, gasping for breath. "……I am ashamed."

Namgung Cheon had spoken true. In order to survive, Lee Ja-seong had blended in trickery and studied killing techniques — yet in some corner of his heart, the pride of the Orthodox Path had always lingered like dregs. It was what made his sword a muddle, until it became nothing but a half-finished blade that was neither one thing nor the other.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

When all along, he needed only to wield the killing sword and nothing else.

Namgung Cheon sheathed Changcheon.

Cheolkak.

"The moment you draw your sword, your choice is one of two things. To cut — or to fail to cut."

Namgung Cheon's voice settled low over the training grounds. "And this—"

His hand moved toward another scabbard. A scabbard black as ink — Mukhon.

The instant his fingers closed on Mukhon's hilt, Namgung Cheon's aura transformed.

Seureureuk.

The instant the blade bared itself, the colossal killing intent he had been suppressing erupted outward like an explosion.

KWAAAAAH—!

Lee Ja-seong's eyes went wide. Over the clear, blue internal energy that wreathed Namgung Cheon's body, a blood-red aura was rising like heat haze.

He's… he's giving killing intent physical form!

The serene blue energy and the menacing red malice, refusing to blend, wove together in an eerie harmony that coiled around Namgung Cheon's entire body.

"The resolve to truly kill the one before you."

Lee Ja-seong's sword trembled so finely in his grip that it seemed about to fall. The pressure was on another plane entirely from anything he had tried to imitate — an absolute crushing weight, as if to erase his very existence from the world.

Namgung Cheon leveled Mukhon and took a single step forward.

Thak.

At that small footfall, Lee Ja-seong swallowed drily.

"Come at me again."

Namgung Cheon's eyes gleamed coldly. "With the resolve to kill me."

Time flowed on without pause. The moonlight slanted, and around the hour of the Ox, when darkness lay deepest, the training grounds rang without cease with nothing but the clash of steel against steel.

Kaang! Chaeng!

Namgung Cheon was merciless. He knocked aside Lee Ja-seong's sword, slipped into every opening, and left shallow wounds scattered across his body — wounds that would not kill, but whose pain was unmistakably vivid.

"That's not killing intent. That's nothing but resentment."

The rebuke cut like a blade. Lee Ja-seong clenched his teeth and swung, but as time passed, his body grew heavier and heavier, as though a boulder were pressing down on him. It was the killing intent pouring off Namgung Cheon.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Swiik—.

A single black streak grazed across his shoulder.

"Kgh."

Blood welled up with a sharp sting of pain — and in that very instant, the malice binding him grew stronger still. Like a viper's venom working its way into a wound, the killing intent burrowed into his mind.

SWAEK—!

A thrust came straight for his chest.

Dodge it.

His instinct screamed. But his body would not obey. Fear was deadening his senses. The black arcs of Mukhon seemed to multiply into tens, into hundreds, until they blanketed the whole world.

I can't block this.

Despair wrapped itself around his whole body — and in that moment of hesitation, Mukhon bored in like a serpent and carved into the shoulder it had cut only moments before.

"Kreugh!"

Reeling backward, Lee Ja-seong felt despair flash across his face.

"Is that the extent of your resolve, that you even picked up a sword?"

Namgung Cheon's voice struck his ears. "You have no thought of cutting down your enemy — you simply pray not to be cut by mine. Anyone frightened of the sword that much could do the same, even the children who came today."

The words struck home, and Lee Ja-seong could say nothing at all.

Namgung Cheon drove him relentlessly onward. And so the night wore deep, and just as Lee Ja-seong's mind began to dim, Namgung Cheon withdrew his sword and asked:

"Why do you try to cut?"

It was an abrupt question. "……To survive."

"Is that all?"

Namgung Cheon pressed him. Then Lee Ja-seong answered with a desperate expression. "Then… what am I supposed to do?"

Namgung Cheon was silent a moment, then raised Mukhon for him to see.

"There are also those in this world who take up the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sword for one purpose alone — to cut."

His voice sank low. "Men who believe that strength is justice, and that the weak passing away is the natural order of things."

The sword made for a world where only the strong survived. The sword principle of the Demonic Path.

Seureuk—.

Namgung Cheon drew Changcheon. "And there are others who take up the sword to protect. To keep from losing what is precious, they gladly throw away their own lives."

The sword of chivalry and guardianship. The sword principle of the Orthodox Path — of Namgung.

Namgung Cheon extended both swords before Lee Ja-seong. "Which are you, Young Sect Leader? No—"

His eyes gleamed cold. "That question was wrong. To protect… are you prepared to be stained, and gladly?"

"……!"

Lightning split Lee Ja-seong's mind. To be stained. It was the word he had feared and turned away from all his life. The hypocrisy of proclaiming the Orthodox Path's duties even as he trained in killing techniques; of hunting for justification even as he cut down his enemies.

Was it… being stained that I feared?

No. What he had truly feared was that he would have no justification left with which to excuse his stained self.

Then another of Namgung Cheon's words rose in his mind. To protect.

Yes.

Lee Ja-seong's eyes changed. One who feared to touch the mud could never make a lotus bloom. To willingly stain oneself with blood in order to guard what was precious —

How could that ever be filthy?

If anything, was that not the most sublime chivalry of all?

Preserving the shell of the Orthodox Path is not chivalry. Protecting my people, my sect — that is true chivalry.

Fear and hesitation slowly drained from Lee Ja-seong's eyes, and Namgung Cheon did not miss the change. A faint smile touched his lips.

So the shell finally cracks.

By then, the eastern sky was beginning to pale. The disciples of the White Lotus Sword Sect, drifting one by one toward the training grounds for morning practice, held their breath. Their Young Sect Leader, crossing blades with Namgung Cheon, a master renowned throughout the realm as a Transcendent — and more than that, the aura pouring from him was something none of them had ever witnessed in their lives.

"I will come again."

Lee Ja-seong regripped his sword. His very stance was different now. In place of the orthodox posture with its solidly planted lower body, his weight had sunk low, coiled to spring at any moment.

And then—

Pat!

His form shot out. There were no ornate techniques. SWAEK—! The needless preparatory motions were gone, and the sword traveled the shortest possible distance. Even the sound of it cleaving the air had changed.

Namgung Cheon's eyes narrowed. He raised Mukhon and turned aside the oncoming blade.

KAAANG!

A weight utterly beyond comparison with before.

"Good."

Namgung Cheon said it briefly. But Lee Ja-seong's assault did not end there.

Chakang! Chaeng! Chaeng!

Every motion — blocking, evading, thrusting — flowed together into a single unbroken current. Deflect a strike and he instantly pivoted to attack the opposite side; give ground and he kicked off the earth to close the distance again. Too ruthless to be called an orthodox sword, yet the force within it was far too weighty to be called unorthodox. Because the Orthodox Path's solid command of internal energy formed his foundation, the killing techniques never disturbed his flow — if anything, the longer the fight went on, the more steadily he wielded his blade.

So this is what the White Lotus Sword Sect has truly dreamed of becoming.

A smile flickered at the corner of Namgung Cheon's mouth.

Dozens of exchanges passed after that. The disciples watched the duel in continued silence, and the Young Sect Leader reflected in their eyes was not the man they had known. Their leader's sword had always been one of lofty purity, like the white lotus itself — and many had admired it, for he had blended killing techniques into his art without ever losing the essence of the Orthodox Path.

But now he was altogether different. In place of that aloof purity sat the tenacity and ferocity of a beast staking out its ground.

"That sword…."

One disciple murmured without meaning to, and every head nodded. No words were needed. They all understood: the Young Sect Leader's sword before them was the path they themselves must now walk — and the sword that would protect their lives.

"Still far, though."

Namgung Cheon's voice struck Lee Ja-seong's ears. He knocked aside the man's blade, opened a gap, and bored into it. "You've taken up killing intent, but you still haven't let go of what's unnecessary."

Namgung Cheon's Mukhon crossed with Lee Ja-seong's sword by the barest margin. "Do not try to put thought into your sword. Think only of one thing — to cut, or not to cut."

And he did not teach with words alone. Mukhon's black arcs moved ever stranger, ever more unpredictable, harrying Lee Ja-seong without mercy — striking at his guard the instant he blocked, hunting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his back the instant he dodged.

Lee Ja-seong chased those attacks desperately.

Cast it off. Cast it off. Cast it off.

The names of techniques. The forms of the sword. The honor of the Orthodox Path. He stripped away the clutter filling his mind one piece at a time, until only a single thought remained: the black arc before his eyes, and the man who held it — the man he must cut down.

And in that instant, Lee Ja-seong's sword transformed once more.

Simpler. Faster.

And deadlier.

I will never let him look down on us again!

KWAANG!

Lee Ja-seong's sword met Namgung Cheon's Mukhon head-on. Namgung Cheon lent the blow a sliver of strength and received it, a sharp shock running down Mukhon's blade into his hand.

"That will do."

Thak.

Stepping lightly back, Namgung Cheon sheathed Mukhon — then looked at Lee Ja-seong and at the White Lotus Sword Sect disciples standing around the edge of the training grounds.

"One last thing."

Chak!

"I am listening."

Lee Ja-seong performed a formal sword salute and spoke. Namgung Cheon's words followed.

"Called the White Lotus, how could you keep your pure white unstained without shedding a single drop of blood? And so—"

An image flashed through Namgung Cheon's mind: the weathered plaque he had seen when he first arrived here. The plaque scarred with blade cuts and scorch marks, riddled with wounds. Even so, their will had never once bent. To carry it forward—

"Rather than the White Lotus—"

His voice settled low over the entire training grounds.

"—become the Blood Lotus."