A Blade That Devours Its Master

A cursed blade.

At those words, a flicker of puzzlement crossed Namgung Hwi's face. He took a step forward and spoke up.

"Commander, may I ask why you say such a thing so suddenly?"

It was Unhak, oddly enough, who seemed taken aback by the question.

"Do you not know that blade?"

"I know it as the sword my brother received during his Sword Selection."

The Sword Selection?

Unhak's eyes narrowed. He, too, knew of the Namgung Clan's rite of choosing—and then……

"The Sword Emperor placed that blade inside the Sword Soul Cave? Is that what you're telling me?"

Unhak let out a hollow laugh of sheer disbelief. Then, as though recalling something from long ago, he narrowed his gaze toward Mukhon and spoke again.

"The last time that sword showed itself in the Jianghu was during the Great War of Justice and Demons. Back then, the Sword Emperor cut down countless demons with it personally. But that sword was originally……"

Unhak exhaled a quiet sigh.

"It belonged to the Young Cult Leader of that era. The one who would later become the Heavenly Demon—Cheon Myeong-hyeon."

"……!"

Namgung Hwi's eyes flew wide open.

The Heavenly Demon's sword.

How had such a blade ended up in the Sword Soul Cave of a single noble household—and of all people, in his little brother's hand? Confusion flooded his mind.

Unhak's gaze shifted back to Namgung Cheon.

"The Sword Emperor must have had his reasons for allowing you that blade. I do not doubt his judgment. However……"

He paused for a moment and looked at Namgung Hwi.

"Hwi, you know this as well as I do. A malevolent thing will sometimes devour its own master. And that sword is no ordinary malevolence."

Unhak's eyes deepened.

"So even if your brother is remarkable beyond his years, as a senior of the martial world I cannot help but worry."

As a senior of the martial world.

Namgung Hwi knew the Commander's true nature well enough to understand that the words were spoken in earnest. And so he found no grounds to argue any further, and simply bit his lip.

"Which is why I wish to see for myself."

Unhak turned to Namgung Cheon once more.

"Whether you are swayed by that sword, or whether you rule it completely. Do you understand?"

Unhak took a step forward and continued.

"Even the Sword Emperor struggled when he first wielded it. The demonic qi steeped into that blade was simply too potent."

Namgung Hwi's eyes widened again.

A sword that had burdened even Father.

And his younger brother was carrying such a dangerous thing.

Just as he was sinking into anguish, Namgung Cheon—silent until now—gave a small nod.

"Very well."

Not a trace of agitation in his voice.

"I will show you."

"Cheon."

Namgung Hwi called out softly, but Namgung Cheon gave no answer, only holding Unhak's gaze.

At his words, Unhak nodded silently and turned first toward the door. Namgung Cheon followed after him.

"……Whew."

After a moment's hesitation, Namgung Hwi sighed and trailed after the two of them.

"Everyone, halt your training and withdraw."

Unhak's commanding voice rang across the entire training ground. At that single command, the dozens of Heavenly Will Squadron members absorbed in their drills sheathed their swords in perfect unison and fell back to the edges of the yard.

In an instant, the vast training ground stood empty. The eyes of the withdrawing disciples remained fixed on Unhak and the two men standing at his side.

The Commander, Unhak. The Sword Dragon, Namgung Hwi. And the man they knew only by rumor—the Azure Sky Sword Hero, Namgung Cheon.

Certain that something was about to happen, the members held their breath and watched from a distance.

Over in one corner of the yard, the Flash Lightning Sword, Danri Chu—late to join the gathering—leaned in and whispered to the Chivalrous Dragon, Myeongjin.

"Any idea what's going on?"

"I only just arrived myself, so I couldn't say. I didn't even know the Sword Dragon had returned."

Myeongjin shook his head. Danri Chu's gaze drifted back to the center of the yard.

Standing on the training ground means……

They meant to cross swords. Which would mean……

A sparring match between brothers?

But Danri Chu quickly shook his head. If the two of them fought and a winner was decided, it would inevitably cast its shadow over the question of who would lead the Namgung Clan as its next head.

Unless those two truly intend to fight, the Commander would never go this far.

Unhak was not the sort of man to meddle in another family's affairs and stir up discord without cause.

Then it came.

"Myeongjin."

Unhak called to him quietly. At the summons, Myeongjin shot Danri Chu a puzzled look, then shrugged and walked to the center of the training ground.

"You called for me."

As Myeongjin spoke with due courtesy, Unhak began.

"You told me once that the Namgung young hero's sword at the River-Along Martial Assembly left a deep impression on you."

Myeongjin nodded silently.

"Yes, I did."

In the days since their meeting at the assembly, Myeongjin had replayed that duel in his mind countless times. A sword that belonged to the orthodox path, and yet was at once relentless and domineering—the exact opposite of his own.

And that was precisely why it had lodged itself so fiercely in his memory. Since that day, Myeongjin had thrown himself into his training all the harder.

Then the moment arrived.

"So this time, it is your turn to show me."

Unhak stepped back and went on.

"Show me how breathlessly far you have run."

"……!"

At Unhak's words, a new light kindled in Myeongjin's clear eyes. A sudden command, an explanation utterly devoid of context—and yet.

Thump. Thump.

His heart began to pound violently.

The hunger to test himself against the strong. It was a feeling no hot-blooded martial artist ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could escape, and it slowly pushed every other thought from his mind.

"I understand."

Myeongjin gave a grave nod and turned to face Namgung Cheon.

"It has been some time, Young Master Namgung. I didn't expect us to meet again like this, but—"

"Nor did I."

The two exchanged brief greetings. But sparks were already flying between their eyes.

Namgung Cheon's hand moved toward the blades at his waist. But what he grasped was not Changcheon.

Shiiiing―

A jet-black blade that seemed to swallow the very sunlight. Mukhon revealed itself.

Myeongjin likewise drew the sword at his hip.

Sriiing―

In perfect contrast to Mukhon, a snow-white blade emerged with a clear, ringing note. As it caught the sunlight, the pine-bark grain etched across its surface gleamed with a soft, quiet light.

The Songmun Sword—the Pine-Grain Sword, symbol of the Wudang Sect and a treasured blade said to be granted only to those of the Transcendent Realm and above.

"I look forward to crossing blades with you."

Myeongjin lowered his sword tip in a formal salute. And in the same instant—

Whoosh―

Wudang's clear, azure energy began to bloom across his entire body.

"Begin."

Before the word had even left Unhak's lips—

Thud!

Myeongjin's foot struck the ground.

Pah!

His toes had only lightly pushed off the earth, yet his form rose smoothly through the air as though stepping on invisible stairs, then glided down and forward. Wudang's signature art of lightness, the Cloud-Ladder Leap. A movement as soft as a cloud drifting on the wind.

The distance between them opened in a heartbeat. Namgung Cheon tightened his grip on Mukhon.

Wudang's sword leans toward defense over aggression—that's why he's putting space between us.

From here, Myeongjin would drag him into a long, tedious exchange of probes. But Namgung Cheon had no intention of waiting.

To crush the enemy before he reads you. That is Mukhon's way—and the Heavenly Demon's way.

BOOM!

Namgung Cheon slammed his foot into the earth. A sudden assault aimed straight at Myeongjin's blind side—the distance between them collapsed in an instant.

Shwaak―!

Mukhon carved a black arc through the air, hurtling toward Myeongjin's shoulder. A direct, destructive single strike, stripped of every flourish.

"Hup!"

Myeongjin swept his sword up at once. Wudang's supreme art, the Taecheong Sword Art. First form: Flowing Clouds Crossing the Sea—a technique that deflected the enemy's blade as gently as drifting clouds crossing an ocean, scattering its force across the current.

The Songmun Sword traced a supple circle, seeking to catch Namgung Cheon's descending blade—the subtle principle of softness overcoming hardness, rendering the attack powerless.

But Namgung Cheon had read through even that intent. In the instant before the blades met, he twisted his wrist by the smallest degree. The black trajectory struck somewhere entirely apart from where Myeongjin expected.

"Kgh."

CLANG!

The shriek of steel against steel rang out sharply. At the same moment, Myeongjin's brow furrowed.

What is this?

His blade had deflected the altered path—of that much he was certain. But the moment it connected, his sword and his feet grew heavy, as though he had stepped into a clinging swamp. And then—

"If you can't block it, say so."

Namgung Cheon's frigid voice struck Myeongjin's ear—

Shshshk!

—and Mukhon began to dance once more. Black afterimages crashed over Myeongjin like a storm.

An unrelenting barrage of powerful linked strikes. Myeongjin had no room even to breathe; he could do nothing but swing desperately to keep the blade at bay.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The concussions of colliding sword qi thundered one after another. Myeongjin marshaled every variation the Taecheong Sword Art had to offer—a sword path swift as wind and shifting as clouds.

But Namgung Cheon's blade bored straight through every one of those changes.

Heavy. And…… savage.

Myeongjin was rattled. The aura was so ferocious it was hard to believe this was an orthodox swordsman's blade. And yet the eyes of the man wielding it were impossibly still. That uncanny discord ratcheted Myeongjin's tension ever higher.

Worse still—

No openings.

A sword of overwhelming force like this should, by its nature, breed gaps. Great power demanded large movements. But now, quite the opposite—

He's targeting the gaps in my defense.

Every single strike threaded precisely through the rhythm of Myeongjin's breath. The most awkward angles to parry, the least convenient instants to circulate inner energy. Namgung Cheon's blade sank its teeth into those cracks with the persistence of a living beast.

Rip!

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

In the end, the hem of Myeongjin's Daoist robe tore away. It had been close—if the blade had come even a breath later, it would have taken flesh with it.

This cannot continue.

Cornered on the defensive, Myeongjin made his decision. Feinting a retreat with the Cloud-Ladder Leap, he suddenly plunged forward instead—a counterattack aimed at the enemy's blind side.

Blue sword force gathered at the tip of his Songmun Sword.

Taecheong Sword Art, fifth form: Clear Wind, Bright Moon.

Sword force swift as the wind and radiant as the full moon drove toward Namgung Cheon's heart. A decisive blow meant to overturn the entire course of the battle in a single stroke.

But Namgung Cheon, as though he had been waiting for exactly this, lifted Mukhon. His eyes flared cold.

Vmmm!

Mukhon let out its cry. A blue light began to frost over the black blade.

Blue-white lightning flickered along the blade.

KA-BOOM!

The two waves of sword force collided head-on. Myeongjin's Clear Wind, Bright Moon was sharp and fast—but Namgung Cheon's Heavenly Thunder was faster still, and far more destructive. The colossal shockwave drove Myeongjin back several steps, his wrist numb from the impact.

Namgung Cheon, meanwhile, stood firm where he was.

A gulf of power.

Myeongjin understood at last. The Taecheong Sword Art could not contain this savage blade.

Then—

BOOM!

Once more, Namgung Cheon stamped the earth with terrifying momentum. Myeongjin's eyes deepened.

Yes—the Taecheong Sword Art cannot withstand him.

But even so. His sword—Wudang's sword—could not be allowed to break here.

"Hoo."

Steadying his breath, he raised the Songmun Sword upright.

Whooooosh―!

The air around him changed. Every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠current of energy in the vicinity seemed to be drawn into Myeongjin's blade.

One of the Twenty-Eight Stars of the Realm, the Wudang Elder—no, the Sect Leader himself—the Sword Immortal, Baekryeongja. And Myeongjin, that Sword Immortal's direct and sole heir.

"……I will show you."

Myeongjin's voice rang low.

"Wudang's true sword. The Taiji Wisdom Sword."

Vmmm―

The Songmun Sword began to trace a vast circle. Along the path of the blade, the air itself warped, and an overwhelming pressure wheeled within it.

The Taiji Wisdom Sword, first posture: The Boundless Gives Birth to the Taiji. Drawing existence out of nothing, motion out of stillness—the very genesis of the Taiji.

KWAAAH―!

A colossal vortex of energy came crashing down over Namgung Cheon—an absolute power bent on swallowing all things and returning them to the void.

And yet, facing it, a smile played at the corners of Namgung Cheon's mouth.

So I get to see that sword again.

The Taiji Wisdom Sword. The towering edifice of centuries of Wudang history—the most perfect, most idealized path that generations of sages had refined through endless trial and error.

But to Namgung Cheon's eyes, that very perfection was a fatal poison.

No two people are born with the same form or the same qi.

Different lengths of limb, different depths of breath, different cadences of the heartbeat. To surmount all of that is true mastery—to take a single art and make it wholly one's own.

But he has not mastered the Taiji Wisdom Sword. Which means……

A shimmer of blue light stirred in Namgung Cheon's eyes.

That flaw can only remain.

The hinge where yin turned into yang lay bare before his sight, plain as day. Sever that single connecting thread, and—

Sfft.

Namgung Cheon drew his blade down in a single quiet stroke. He needed nothing more than one point of light, threaded into the faint seam in the immense circle his opponent had built.

A single shaft of moonlight, cleaving a night-black sky, was drawn into the heart of the Taiji's rotation.

SHWAAK―!

Myeongjin's eyes went wide. The instant his sword momentum reached its zenith was also the most vulnerable heartbeat of the entire exchange—the moment of the energy's reversal. And Namgung Cheon's blade tip had pierced precisely that point.

"……!"

CRAK!

A sharp, splintering noise tore through the air. And then—

KRRRUNCH!

The flawless circle collapsed in an instant. The moment the harmony of yin and yang shattered, the masterless energies ran wild in every direction.

Myeongjin desperately retracted his sword, struggling to gather the scattered currents. But—

Sfft.

A night-black edge hung before his throat.

At that moment, the sword cried out.

Vmmm.

A faint tremor ran down the blade, as though mourning that it had not yet tasted blood.

Namgung Cheon cast the sword a single indifferent glance. At that look, Mukhon's cry subsided at once, the blade falling silent as though nothing had happened at all.

Slowly, Namgung Cheon withdrew the sword and slid it back into its sheath.

Click.

The sound of steel finding its sheath rang out, oddly loud in the stillness.

Only then did Myeongjin release the breath he had been holding.

"Haaah……"

Cold sweat poured down him like rain. Greater than the terror of a neck nearly lost was the hollow ache of watching the sword of Wudang—the art he had built his entire life upon—shattered by a single stroke.

He stared blankly at Namgung Cheon for a long moment, then bowed his head deeply.

"……I have lost."

There was not a trace of resentment in Myeongjin's voice.

The watching members of the Heavenly Will Squadron could only stare, dumbstruck. The Chivalrous Dragon, Myeongjin, had been defeated—despite unfurling even the Taiji Wisdom Sword, the supreme art of Wudang.

Then—

"Magnificent."

Unhak spoke quietly. His gaze turned toward Mukhon.

That was, unmistakably, a sword's cry.

A sword cry was the voice of a blade that resonated with its master's energy and revealed a will of its own. A demonic sword crying out, then, meant it had expressed its own will.

And yet this boy……

Unhak's eyes narrowed.

The moment the sword had begun to sing, Namgung Cheon had silenced it with nothing more than an indifferent glance. With composure so complete it bordered on the unnerving.

He does not bend to the sword's will.

The instant an unwanted cry rang out, he had severed that current without mercy and seized control. That was only possible for one who kept the blade entirely under his dominion.

In the past, the Sword Emperor Namgung Mugang had crushed his own blade into silence with sheer, absolute power—overwhelming dominance. That was the Sword Emperor's way.

But the boy standing here now was different.

He held the sword beneath his feet from the very beginning.

As though he were the master of all the world, he regarded even the blade in his own hand as nothing more than a whetstone for honing himself.

His center is fixed.

It was possible only because he possessed an unshakable center of his own. The method differed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the Sword Emperor's—but in stature, he yielded nothing to him.

Unhak gave Namgung Cheon a small, deliberate nod. No further proof was needed.

He turned his gaze to Namgung Hwi, still standing frozen, and his eyes deepened.

"Hwi."

"……Yes, Commander."

"There is no need to worry. Your brother already walks his own path—a path that belongs to him alone, one no one can stop."

Unhak clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky. An endless expanse of blue. Beneath that sky, countless heroes had risen and fallen—and so they would again, and again.

A faint smile spread across Unhak's lips.

"Which means you, too, must run as though mad."

His gaze swung back and pinned Namgung Cheon where he stood.

"If you do not wish to be swallowed beneath the vast azure sky that boy intends to paint."