Do You Even Need It?
This was no duel.
This was a sword dance.
The only sound that broke the stillness was the soft crackle of the fire. In that deep, settling silence, Taecheong lifted the Songmun Ancient Sword and the Taiji Sword.
"Lend me a sword."
"......Teacher Sun."
"It's just a dance. A dance."
Muhwa carefully unfastened his own blade and held it out. The scabbard, etched with a brilliant white line against a field of blue, made its presence known without a word. A sword that symbolized the Namgung Clan now rested in Sun Wukong's hand.
To join a Wudang sword dance while holding a Namgung blade...
Muhwa could feel that something unusual was unfolding.
It isn't hostility. It isn't killing intent, either.
The Sect Leader harbored no such feelings toward Sun Wukong.
But I can sense a kind of worry in him.
What was he worried about?
Whether Teacher Sun can be trusted?
Taecheong's face, as he held his swords, was solemn. For something that was supposed to be a mere sword dance, the gravity in his expression was heavy indeed.
A thread of wind brushed faintly through the gathering. At the same time, Sun Wukong's silk robe billowed with it.
"Ah."
A gasp of wonder escaped from somewhere in the crowd. From beneath the fluttering hem of Sun Wukong's robe, a streak of blue light uncoiled and slipped, like a wave, between the Sect Leader's twin blades.
There was no sharpness in that sword. No killing intent. No force of presence. It simply reached out.
The three blades passed one another at an angle, leaving a gap so narrow a needle could barely thread it. They seemed to pierce through each other's bodies, and yet they only grazed. Beneath the moonlight, shadows burned red. The two rippling afterimages were endlessly in harmony.
Was it the atmosphere that intoxicated them? The eyes of the Wudang disciples grew hazy, as if they were under a spell.
And then—
"All of you, concentrate!"
The voice of the Mugok Pavilion Master rang out, low but fierce. Only then did the disciples' eyes sharpen.
Two sword dances, flowing on and on like water. They did not aim for each other's bodies. They carried no killing intent. They did not fight with ferocity. And yet they were in perfect accord.
What in the world is this...
How can anyone move like that?
Every hand clenched into a fist. Palms were damp with sweat.
This was no duel. There was no purpose of striking the other down and claiming victory. It was a memorial rite for the fleeting souls that had died so pitifully — a solemn requiem composed of nothing but the keening of swords.
"Watch closely, all of you. Watch the Wudang sword as the Sect Leader unfolds it."
The Mugok Pavilion Master's voice trembled, just slightly. He clenched his quivering eyelids and refused to look away for even a moment.
This is the last sword dance.
His chest felt as though a heavy stone had been laid upon it. He could barely breathe.
Master is giving us his final teaching through this last sword dance.
This was no mere performance. Everything Taecheong had built over a lifetime unfurled with exquisite grace from those two blades. In a single current, the wind flowed. In two sweeping arcs, waterways rose. And in the end, he moved as one with nature itself, without the slightest difference in stature.
The longer they watched, the deeper they fell — and with their wonder came a strange, gnawing sense of inadequacy.
Could I have danced with him?
If this had been a duel, perhaps. If they had fought with savage determination to win, maybe then. But a sword dance was something you could not match. You had to understand each other's breathing. You could not go against the current that was flowing. You had to move together.
You have to be of the same caliber.
The thought struck the Mugok Pavilion Master like a blow. His body trembled with the shock of it. Otherwise, you would have no choice but to cut each other. These were live blades. A single misstep, and they would become terrifying edges that tore through flesh.
And the fact that Sun Wukong could dance with Taecheong's sword dance did not simply mean they were of the same caliber.
What Master is unfolding is the fully completed Taiji Sword of Wisdom. The entire cosmos of Wudang is contained within it.
And this was only a sword dance.
Only someone who has reached the same height and fully mastered the Taiji Sword of Wisdom can dance alongside him.
By rights, that place should have been his. At Taecheong's declaration, the Mugok Pavilion Master had felt, if only for an instant, a flash of jealousy and regret. But as he watched the sword dance, those petty feelings slowly fell away.
I couldn't do it.
A shimmering gold filled his vision. More astonishing than the Sect Leader's movements was Sun Wukong's sword dance. The gold that moved with a single blade, matching the Taiji Sword of Wisdom, was beyond beautiful — it was elegant. The man who had seemed relatively lighthearted, even mischievous, was revealing an entirely different face.
So this is his true nature.
The Mugok Pavilion Master let out a small sigh.
This is what Master was after.
This was not simply a final sword dance meant to teach the Wudang disciples.
A sword dance that does not match in caliber, that is not the same Taiji Sword of Wisdom, will inevitably leave wounds.
And if, in the course of this dance, a wound were left on the Sect Leader's body? Even a graze would cut deep. The two of them were dancing close enough that their breath touched.
This is his final arrangement. For me. No — for Wudang.
The Mugok Pavilion Master let out a groan of understanding.
He's going to get a hold of one of Teacher Sun's weaknesses.
His mind went numb, as if ice water had been dumped over his head.
That's right. Come to think of it, Teacher Sun's status and influence within Wudang have grown enormous, almost without anyone noticing.
If he ever decided to interfere in Wudang's internal affairs, it would be nearly impossible to stop him.
Even if Teacher Sun inherited a lineage of Wudang, looking at his path, he's an outsider. If anything, he's closer to the Namgung Clan.
His eyes caught on the sword in Sun Wukong's hand, tracing its beautiful curves. A white line against a field of blue. From the Azure Firmament Sword that symbolized the Namgung Clan, the Taiji Sword of Wisdom was unfolding.
Because this isn't a duel — it's a sword dance. In a sword dance, the weaker the dancer, the less skilled they are, the higher the chance they'll wound the one they're dancing with. And the Sect Leader may have been hoping for exactly that.
Squeezing out every last scrap of inner energy scattered through his body, the Sect Leader poured out everything he had. If Sun Wukong left even a single scratch here...
A warning. He wants to burn a clear warning into the Wudang disciples.
He wanted to show everyone present that this man was not one of Wudang — that he was an outsider who could harm Wudang at any time. This was not simply a matter of oppressing an opponent. Nor was it the foolishness of turning someone into an enemy. It was the refinement of using a single sword dance to give Wudang both a warning and a lesson.
But in that moment, as the Mugok Pavilion Master watched Sun Wukong's sword dance, a single question rose in his mind.
The entire plan rested on the assumption that Sun Wukong was weaker than the Sect Leader. Of course it did. Even though the Sect Leader had lost his dantian, this was not a life-or-death duel. There was the experience he had accumulated, the inner energy still spread through his body, the profound martial study of the Taiji Sword of Wisdom. An absolute master who had never once, in decades, surrendered his place among the Ten Great Masters.
So there would not have been a shred of doubt that Sun Wukong would be the one to make a mistake.
But. But.
A thought wormed into the Mugok Pavilion Master's mind like a heart-demon.
What if Teacher Sun is stronger?
The Pavilion Master's wavering pupils froze. In the midst of that dancing, rippling gold, a streak of white laughter hung, bright and unburdened.
This is different from the Taiji Sword of Wisdom that Dangrang showed me.
Time is a terrifying thing. What Sun Wukong had feared most was time. Those years imprisoned on Wuxing Mountain had been more vast, more lonely, and more frightening than the palm of the Buddha himself. That was why Yu Baekheum had been such a joy to meet, why they could become friends — and why, the moment he saw Sanzang, it had felt as though a halo had burst before his eyes.
The magic of time had transformed martial arts as well. The Taiji Sword of Wisdom that Dangrang — Jang Sambong's master — had taught was the original form. Taecheong's Taiji Sword of Wisdom had been refined by hundreds of years and the efforts of masters across generations.
Sun Wukong delighted in this sword dance.
In a single dance, the entire history held within the sword is laid bare before my eyes — how could I not be delighted!
Sun Wukong's smile grew even deeper. He could see it. The entire current of history. How the changes held within the sword had flowed. Countless years inscribed themselves into Sun Wukong's body. From the original form of the Taiji Sword of Wisdom to its present shape — Sun Wukong took it all in with his entire being.
Shhk—
Taecheong's Taiji Sword suddenly stretched out along a strange path. No — more precisely, it failed to match. It passed through Sun Wukong's dancing, rippling blade, failed to keep up, and veered onto a different trajectory.
Taecheong's eyes flew wide. A strip of Sun Wukong's sleeve was cut. A little deeper, and the wrist might have gone with it — a dangerous moment. But Sun Wukong spoke calmly. His gaze did not waver in the slightest.
"Don't stop. Keep going. This is a memorial. We have to comfort the souls that died for nothing. Keep going."
Taecheong's pupils trembled violently. But the trembling lasted only a moment. Whatever emotion he felt at Sun Wukong's words — his sword dance grew somewhat rougher.
A murmur rippled through the gathering. A faint scent of blood, sharp and metallic, pricked at the nose. In the dim moonlight and the burning flames, the two figures moved as pale blurs. But the smell that stung the nostrils was all too vivid.
"The smell of blood..."
The sword dance did not stop. It was distinctly different from before the scent of blood had risen. Until now, it had been a beautiful, elegant dance — so beautiful that wonder rose of its own accord. Now it was fierce, even desperate. A pathos like someone who had wept to comfort the lives that died so pitifully, only to collapse from exhaustion.
That was Taecheong's sword dance. The sharp-eyed masters among them began to notice, one by one. Sun Wukong's robe had been cut, and through the tears, fresh blood was faintly spreading.
Save for the youngest disciples, there was no one who did not understand what a sword dance meant. A dance in which two people matched their forms. To wound the other person meant—
Ah!
This Teacher Sun...
Has he completed Wudang's martial arts? Has he reached that height? Has he surpassed it?
It was unmistakably clear. Unlike the Sect Leader's desperate sword dance, Sun Wukong remained elegant. Beyond a silence so profound that the only sounds were the crackle of flame, the faint brush of cloth, and the whistle of blades carving trajectories through space — the sword dance came to a halt.
"Hah..."
The Sect Leader let both swords hang long at his sides, exhausted. Sun Wukong's face, by contrast, was still composed.
Their expressions and their appearances were inverted. Sun Wukong, covered in cuts. Taecheong, without a single wound, bearing only the look of a man spent. If this had been a duel, one might have thought the victory belonged to Taecheong.
Sun Wukong caught Taecheong's swaying body and held him upright.
"Teacher Sun."
The Sect Leader's voice trembled faintly. He lifted his weary head and looked Sun Wukong straight in the eyes.
"Wudang's... side. Are you on Wudang's side..."
"More precisely, Wudang's gonna be on my side."
Taecheong's eyes widened.
"I know what you're worried about. But that's a wasted worry."
Sun Wukong laughed, bright and easy. A refreshing smile without a trace of darkness.
Taecheong stared at Sun Wukong's face for a long moment, as if trying to look into his inner self, to examine him thoroughly. Taecheong, who had cultivated the Tao, understood life, and reached a high realm, let out an involuntary sigh of helplessness.
I cannot see it.
He could not read even a fraction. Not the vastness held in those golden pupils. Not the cheer mixed into that expression. Not the steel-hard firmness in that voice. He could not read a single thing.
If I cannot see what is inside him, then in the end, must I simply look at what he shows me, and believe?
Taecheong looked at Sun Wukong again. That wide, easy mouth still brimmed with mischievous laughter. A playful smile, and yet somehow a trustworthy one.
Taecheong, staggering in Sun Wukong's support, stood up straight. Then he formed a martial salute and bowed at the waist.
"Thank you truly for dancing with me, Teacher Sun."
"Don't mention it. We both got plenty out of it."
Sun Wukong looked around. He had shown the people of Wudang clearly — that his status and reputation were no empty rumor, and that he even possessed the legitimacy of having inherited a lineage of Wudang. Everyone gathered here had felt it keenly.
Humans are a breed that believes in what they cannot see — but what they see with their own two eyes still delivers a far more powerful shock, and a far deeper faith.
It would have been burned into the Wudang disciples. What kind of being Sun Wukong was. Taecheong's attempt to test Sun Wukong and instill a warning in the Wudang disciples had, paradoxically, brought a great many advantages to Sun Wukong alone.
Of course, Sun Wukong was not the only one who had gained something.
"The Sect Leader's sitting pretty right here at Wudang. What's there to worry about?"
"Sitting pretty... A martial artist is not alive merely because breath still clings to him. I suppose I shall live out what remains of my life as a complete Taoist now."
His voice was poignant, and bitter. Sun Wukong shrugged.
"Well now. When you forced that dance through to the very end — did you still have inner energy left, Sect Leader? Were you swinging those swords with inner energy?"
Taecheong tilted his head.
Sun Wukong grinned.
"Feel nature. There's energy in the wind that brushes your hand, in every place your eyes fall."
Taecheong's eyes flew wide. Sun Wukong grinned.