Encounter with the Enemy (4)
'What the hell?'
At first, I thought Yong So-a was trying to kill me. His question—Why are you still alive?—was that bizarre. On top of that, the bastard had plenty of reasons to want me dead. One of them was probably what happened at the Ma-ryeong Plateau. He'd screwed up, and it tanked his and Mudang's reputation. I'd heard that for a while, Mudang's influence in the Jeongdo Council had plummeted as a result.
After getting somewhat close with Haomen, I'd spread malicious rumors about him. The backlash hadn't let up at all—I'd kept the criticism flowing nonstop. It worked like a charm. People who'd secretly resented Mudang's high-handedness all jumped in at once to bash them, and Mudang's activities shrank compared to other Jeongdo Council sects. Above all, the once-sacrosanct fame of Yong So-a had definitely faded.
According to Dang Seohui, during Yongbong Assembly events, people even spat curses right in his face sometimes. That alone would drive most people to suicide or make them obsess over tracking down the source of the rumors. Anyone could see the one-sided pile-on felt a bit too orchestrated. Naturally, he'd want to hunt down and kill the guy behind it.
With Yong So-a's skills, there'd be no issue with powerlessness. No need to hold back. So yeah, it was a reasonable suspicion that he might try to off me here.
But.
'Something's off.'
There was no killing intent from him. No hostility or aggressive aura.
'What the fuck.'
His face was filled only with pure bewilderment.
"What...?"
And somehow, that felt even more irritating than killing intent.
For a split second, Yong So-a's eyes flashed sharply before dimming again.
"......"
A suffocating silence followed. The only sound was the flickering torches swaying in the wind beside us.
The shadows from the flames made his expression go blank again.
"Why."
Without that hint of human curiosity, facing him felt like staring at an inanimate object once more.
"Did I ask if you were alive."
And then I realized it. The question itself was all wrong.
Word of me surviving death countless times was legendary, so he'd know. Most reactions to those rumors were What the hell did you do?! or How'd you even survive?! Not Why are you alive?
But this guy...
"Does it piss you off that I'm still breathing?"
He was talking like my death was a given.
I circulated the Tae-eul Jin-gyeong. The wind died down, but my robes began to swell slightly.
White Moon Heaven-Subduing Three Forms? Ten Thousand Swords of Heaven and Earth? Or maybe Jeon Cheon-gi's Three Forms?
I ran through the martial arts that could take him on. I'd been through enough real battles—no fear no matter the opponent. But judging by my memories of Yong So-a, I wasn't sure how effective they'd be.
He was an object of endless hatred and disgust, but as far as I knew, he was a monster who didn't fall short of those damn Demonic Cult bastards.
"Yeah, well, I ain't thrilled you're still drawing breath either, Yong So-a."
"You fail to comprehend my words."
He slowly turned his body. It looked relaxed, but I knew better. That was his Sword Drawing Stance—a unique ready posture disguised as casual standing. He hid his intent and aura, striking before the enemy could even think to react.
'This crazy fuck's really gonna do it here?'
I poured full power into the Tae-eul Jin-gyeong and assumed my own drawing stance. No matter how fast his draw, the Extreme Swiftness of the White Moon Heaven-Subduing Three Forms could surpass it.
Even standing casually, he showed no openings—my palms grew slick with sweat. Staring without blinking, he glanced at my form and spoke.
"Hm... So you know of this?"
Bewilderment crept back onto his face.
"Few are aware of the Sword Drawing Stance yet."
He muttered that most who knew were dead.
"......"
Damn it. I'd revealed my hand too soon because of my grudge against him.
"After talking about killing me, you thought I'd let my guard down?"
I tried playing it cool, but he was already staring straight through my eyes, uninterested.
"Jin Sowoon. You... are an uncertainty."
"......"
"And uncertainty always breeds problems."
Shing.
His beloved Whirlwind Sword slid free. Under the faint moonlight, its silver blade gleamed clearer and purer than any sword I'd seen.
I remembered the moment that beautiful blade had aimed for my throat.
And.
"You know what? You're a definite wrong answer."
I knew the future he'd forged.
"Everything you've decided has always been wrong."
I knew the outcomes of his choices in my past life.
They were never right.
But.
"I... don't make wrong choices."
He still didn't know in this life.
"Ha... fuck."
That emotionless voice ignited my rage.
"Then... the Ma-ryeong Plateau was this fucker's doing!"
The pent-up fury finally burst.
White Moon Heaven-Subduing Three Forms, First Form: Extreme Swiftness.
The blade whipped out.
Kyaaang—
No one escaped unscathed from speed beyond human limits. The fastest, sharpest sword—that was the essence of Extreme Swiftness, the first strike of the White Moon Sword.
But.
Slash.
Mudang's signature blue-and-white robes tore open.
The red line that should've followed...
"Heh...?"
Was nowhere.
"Sharp, fast sword. With a surprise attack to boot."
His reaction showed it was his first time seeing it. Yet his admiration lasted only a moment.
"But that's all."
Shing— With a sword hum, the Hyeoncheon Chilseong Sword unfolded.
The instant seven blade shadows fell, I scattered the Twin Heaven Sword Conclusion to block.
Chrararararak.
Countless sword images halted the seven shadows. Mudang's style was supposedly Taiji softness.
But each falling blade carried tyrannical weight. Flowing like water into weaknesses, yet oppressively heavy—just like him.
I drew more power from the Tae-eul Jin-gyeong.
Pupupung!
Sword qi exploded, flinging his Whirlwind Sword back. His twitching brows showed real surprise.
"You still think I'm that Jin Sowoon from the Ma-ryeong Plateau!"
Sword aura engulfed his surroundings. Each swing slashed everything, intent on annihilation, pouring down relentlessly.
Even the Demonic Cultists in Mukrim had faltered before this power.
Pupupung!
The blast's shockwave toppled the illuminating torches. Embers rose like fireflies everywhere.
At the center stood Yong So-a, shining as ever in the light.
Yeah. He always shone nobly alone in the muck, amid those dying as meat shields, among third-rate scrubs clawing for one more day.
So truly.
"The one who deserves to die is you! Yong So-a!"
Chrararararuk.
More blade shadows and illusions than ever branched out. The area became a dense sword forest—no escape.
Shing—
In that storm of sword aura and shadows, a graceful silver blade danced.
Shing— Shing—
Instead of clashing explosions, soft grinding sounds like whetting a blade on a stone echoed repeatedly.
Shing— Shing— Shing—
Then, from the sword thicket, a man in blue-and-white robes glided out smoothly like flowing water.
'How the hell...?'
Not admiration for his realm, but pure bafflement at the impossible.
No matter how alert, no one dodges falling rain or blocks seeping wind.
Yet he'd done it. Even for Yong So-a, this was absurd.
But no time to ponder. I'd learned in Mukrim, in Magyeong: if it doesn't work, keep going till it does. Hit till it breaks.
Chrarararar.
The Socheon Sword Technique repeated, layering like Great Heaven Sword Method or Twin Heaven Sword Conclusion.
Saruk— Illusory blades leaving afterimages.
Realizing it wasn't working, Yong So-a shifted to defense. Taiji qi seemed to manifest visibly along his blade tip.
Goooong—
The moment our full-power auras clashed—
"What the hell are you doing?!"
A voice rang out. An immense, undeniable pressure halted both our swords.
Mine at his heart.
His at my throat.
"I want an explanation for this situation!"
The low voice, dripping cold, belonged to Dang Seohui.
"......"
"......"
Yong So-a's gaze shifted from my eyes to her. Slowly, he sheathed his Whirlwind Sword.
"It's nothing. Just a casual spar."
With that excuse, he turned and walked off. Dang Seohui glared, but he headed to his quarters without a word.
Then expectant looks turned to me for answers.
I sheathed the Red Light Sword and replied.
"Just a spar."
Nothing else to say.
# The next day.
While eating, Dang Seohui approached.
"Yong So-a left first."
Hwa Jeong-san came over too.
"Kid. You really crossed swords with Yong So-a?"
I mulled my response before settling on something vague.
"Just got some pointers."
"Like what you got from me?"
Hwa Jeong-san's face twisted.
I shrugged it off.
"Still, it was less sharp than Huashan's plum blossom sting."
"......Hmph!"
His smirking mouth twitched. He dove back into his meal, but Dang Seohui kept staring.
"Won't tell me why you fought?"
Truth was, I didn't know either—why he'd come at me for real. All I'd felt clashing blades was...
'Dry. Not a single waver.'
There was clear intent to kill, but zero emotion behind it. His sword still lacked feeling, his aura any personal grudge.
So nothing more to say.
"Well... he called your vigilante act childish."
"......!!!"
Dang Seohui gaped, eyes bulging in shock.
"I said it was justice enforcement, not play, and he called me childish too. So we fought."
Snapping from shock, she went blank, then patted my head with her small hand.
"Well done. Very well done. Yong So-a's the real fool."
Hwa Jeong-san shook his head in disbelief beside us, but Dang Seohui seemed satisfied.
She started eating. Since she skipped veggies, I piled some on her rice. She glared daggers, then chewed and swallowed.
"Th-that's... not nice..."
"Gotta grow tall."
Every other bite, I passed her sides. Then Hwa Jeong-san blurted,
"You. What's your real plan?"
"About what?"
"The instructors. You think you can blow up the incident like that and walk away?"
I couldn't hide my shock, gaping like Dang Seohui earlier.
"You actually worried about me?"
Hwa Jeong-san worrying? Worth living again to see this punk fret.
"......How do you even see me?"
"As a punk."
"......This little shit..."
As he ground his teeth, Dang Seohui chimed in.
"Hwa Jeong-san is a punk. Picking fights with other sects' leaders like that. He's a punk."
"......Th-that was just a test! A scheduled inspection!"
"That's why they gave a punk the role. Human nature doesn't change easily."
"......"
Her simple logic shut him up. Seeing it floored me again.
The Sahwal-dan stayed three more days at Mandokmun. They were poison experts with Tang-like medical prowess. Academy students were perfect healthy patients for their treatments—recovering fast.
Once mostly healed, no one needed carrying. Most could move on their own. Still, Mandokmun lent wagons for comfort, plus one squad escort to Gonming Branch safely.
Traveling by day at big inns meant no ambushes. Past Mukrim, Demonic Cult eyes weren't a worry anyway—just in case.
Students weren't too scared. Injuries healed, stamina restored with rest. Some even itched for revenge if attacked.
Dang Seohui and Hwa Jeong-san's presence helped too.
"Why're these kids marching like that?"
I glanced at the students per Hwa Jeong-san's question.
Made sense it'd look weird to him.
"Hey, Jongnam pretty boy! What're you doing back home?"
"Dunno... You heading to your clan?"
"Eh, maybe grab drinks with some Western Gate guys."
With Jeongdo Council, Baekdo Council, and Twelve Bongseong lines blurred, the mixed bag of sects and skills must've looked alien.
I eyed Ilgak and Cheol Sunjik flanking me like guards. Bald... no, Ilgak.
"No idea."
Once out of Mukrim, Sahwal-dan was effectively disbanded. No need post-Mandokmun.
Yet students still matched the formation. Some even boasted deep bonds transcending sects now, like habit.
Hwa Jeong-san found it bizarre.
"If the academy reps are freaks, do students turn out like this too?"
"Harsh words."
"So this is normal?"
"Didn't the Murim Alliance always claim to transcend sects and clans?"
"Idealistic bullshit. Never happened in its history... and you call it natural?"
I shrugged, dropping the persuasion. Yeah, this Alliance form only happened after fleeing to the North Sea—hard to buy.
"Ah!"
Hwa Jeong-san smacked fist to palm like enlightenment.
"You bribed 'em! You got that much cash! Yeah!! That's it!"
"......"
Right. This guy's besties with Gye Cheolyeong—perfect match.
Forgot for a sec.
"Wh-what's that look?!"
Couldn't hide the pity.