I Shall Now Call the Names
Gun Myeong-o had confidence in his own skill. No — he was arrogant well past the point of reason. That did not mean, however, that his eyes were so knotted shut he couldn't gauge an opponent's level.
The notion that Gun Myeong-o had underestimated Sun Wukong was simply untrue. He might have, at first. But watching how things unfolded, he had revised his opinion.
Even if my master has always valued propriety, there must be a reason he took such a low posture.
His master, One Blade Shaking Heaven Gun Wi-ryang, was a man for whom the word "gentleman" was genuinely fitting. He showed courtesy even to those of lesser standing than himself. But the way he treated Sun Wukong was distinctly unusual.
Is it simply to shield me? Could that be it?
There was surely some of that intent as well. For all the stern, cold demeanor he always displayed, wasn't he unexpectedly warm and tender underneath?
When it comes to discernment — the eye for reading a martial artist — no one sees as clearly as my master.
Gun Myeong-o guessed at his master's thinking.
It means he's too unsettling to make an enemy of.
His master's attitude made it abundantly clear he had no intention of turning this man into an enemy.
Do rumors arise for nothing? He's the man who resolved a catastrophe like the Wudang Blood Tragedy. He's the sworn brother of the Heaven's Edge Sword Saint, isn't he? And even Geom Wi-hyeon — a man whose pride is so towering that even I, Gun Myeong-o, would yield a step — bowed his head and withdrew.
Didn't that mean his skill was the genuine article? Perhaps, as the rumors claimed, he stood at the very summit of the Peak Realm. Or had he even ascended to the Transcendental Realm, enough to challenge the Ten Great Masters?
Above all, I couldn't gauge him at all.
The Sun Wukong he had seen was utterly ordinary. Ordinariness itself. He hadn't sensed so much as a handful of internal energy. But Sun Wukong's reputation proved it beyond doubt.
He's a master. That's certain.
Gun Myeong-o had been called arrogant since long ago. And yet the fact that he still toured the martial world with all his limbs intact was a telling point. Could that really be possible just by riding his master's prestige? No matter how formidable his master's reputation, the martial world was full of reckless men who would swing a blade without a second thought if something rubbed them the wrong way. The reason his two arms and two legs remained intact despite being called arrogant and narrow-minded was obvious.
If I actually fought him, there's no way I'd walk away in one piece.
But the reason Gun Myeong-o was called narrow-minded was equally clear.
He's laughing at me?
He was petty, and he despised being looked down upon with a passion. He wasn't young, either. The world still called him a rising talent, but he was nearly thirty. He was, by any measure, a grown man. And yet his master, Gun Wi-ryang, always kept him close at his side.
For Gun Wi-ryang, it was because he still worried over Gun Myeong-o's immaturity — but inwardly, Gun Myeong-o had accumulated no small amount of resentment. Resentment at still being treated like a mere child. His skill had already reached the Peak Realm, placing him well beyond the category of a rising talent, and wasn't the reason the world still boxed him in as one precisely because he remained wrapped in his master's sleeve?
And what's more, treating me like he's educating a small child — what is that supposed to be?
It started with the way Gun Wi-ryang had scolded him in front of watching eyes, as if punishing a frustrating, thick-headed child. And then, when he saw Sun Wukong's face, grinning mischievously as he watched it all, rage surged through Gun Myeong-o like fire. Didn't it look, to anyone watching, like the man was openly mocking him? Those eyebrows arched in amusement, that cackling laugh.
Of course, Sun Wukong always wore a smiling face — but Gun Myeong-o had no way of knowing that. In a fit of anger, he had sent a sound transmission declaring he wouldn't let this slide at the martial arts tournament.
Since when does a fight in this world get decided by realm alone?
This was a world where, though uncommon, a lesser fighter beating a greater one did happen. Wasn't that just the nature of a fight?
Rather than the tournament, mixing blades in this exhibition spar might not be such a bad idea.
As the eve festival event unfolded on a larger scale than expected, Gun Myeong-o's mind began to turn with startling agility.
There's already a rumor he's sitting out the tournament. And more than that — if it were the tournament, that man would go all out.
The essence of a martial arts tournament was, quite literally, a competition. To defeat your opponent, advance, and ultimately seize victory. It was self-evident that everyone would give their all. It would become a fierce battle, essentially no different from a life-or-death duel. Even for Gun Myeong-o, whose faith in his own skill was unshakable, that was a rather unsettling prospect.
But the eve festival event isn't that kind of format.
It was strictly a format in which a junior requested instruction from a senior. Occasionally a truly gifted one would appear and press so hard as to fluster the renowned master offering instruction — but those were exceedingly rare exceptions. Ordinarily, an overwhelming gap existed.
He won't go all out. He'll come at me half-heartedly. I can use that.
Wearing a peculiar smile, Gun Myeong-o stepped up onto the training grounds. It was a place where hot-blooded young martial artists outnumbered the seasoned masters of the jianghu by more than two to one, and with just a few simple words, he had seized the atmosphere. Sun Wukong wouldn't be able to slip away from here. And he could hardly unleash killing techniques at full power against a junior who had politely requested instruction.
In an exhibition spar, a master holding back is the baseline. I'll watch for that opening and go for one decisive blow.
I'll unleash the secret technique here.
A martial art of single-lineage transmission. Gun Myeong-o was Gun Wi-ryang's sole direct disciple and successor. There was a reason they said in the martial world that you should hide three-tenths of your true skill. The martial arts of the Nine Sects and One Gang and the Five Great Clans were widely known throughout the jianghu. That was only natural, given their deep history. But a single-lineage martial art was different. In any given era, only two people knew it — master and disciple. A true secret technique.
And even among those secret techniques, there was something buried even deeper. The Extreme Fierce Absolute Technique.
With this one technique, I once severed the wrist of a Transcendental Realm master of the Sama Order.
The fight itself had been his defeat. Gun Myeong-o's entire body had been broken and torn. His dantian was damaged, and he had suffered grave internal injuries. Had his master Gun Wi-ryang not arrived in the nick of time, he would have been the one to die. But the fact that he had severed a Transcendental Realm master's wrist — that alone was enough for Gun Myeong-o to hold pride and conviction in the secret martial art he possessed. He steeled himself to bring out the most powerful technique he could presently display. His very best.
There's a gap, so I don't expect this technique to overpower him either.
Gun Myeong-o was arrogant, but he was coldly realistic about his own capabilities.
But I should at least get to see that leisurely face of his twist.
You can't prepare for what you don't know, and the moment it appears, it's fatal. And that wasn't all. It wouldn't be a form he could casually counter.
To block it, he'll have no choice but to reveal his true skill.
And if, in the heat of the moment, he unconsciously used a killing technique — if he showed himself to be a hothead who couldn't hold back and used excessive force while supposedly instructing a junior — wouldn't that put a crack in that brilliant reputation of the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven that had only just begun to spread?
Winning isn't the goal. I'll humiliate him so thoroughly that his reputation takes a hit.
He would make it a label that followed him for the rest of his life. The label of a scoundrel who used vicious techniques against a junior who had merely asked for instruction.
Full of confidence in the plan he had constructed in his mind, Gun Myeong-o had stepped up — and the moment he saw Sun Wukong slowly ascending onto the training grounds, every hair on his body stood on end.
......
A strange sensation surged through his entire body. Gun Myeong-o's eyebrows twitched. A peculiar silence settled over the great training grounds, which had been filled with roaring cheers and applause. As if they had all made a pact. The hundreds of spectators and rising talents gathered here, even the dozens of seasoned renowned masters of the jianghu — all of them fell silent. They shut their mouths, their attention fixed on a single person.
There had been no signal, no agreement. As if this were simply how things ought to be.
What is this......
Everyone stared, as if spellbound, at Sun Wukong walking out in silence. Only Gun Myeong-o felt a strange kind of freedom. Was this what it felt like to be the only person who could see in a world of the blind? Feeling as though he alone had been set apart, Gun Myeong-o's head whipped this way and that.
Everyone was watching Sun Wukong. It looked like a kind of phenomenon. The most ordinary thing in the world, occurring as a matter of natural law.
That's impossible!
How could such a thing exist in this world?
He's... forcing this atmosphere!
Sun Wukong was, right now, compelling silence upon everyone present. What was it?
It's not aura. Not internal energy. Not martial arts. It's none of those things.
The corners of Gun Myeong-o's eyes trembled. What was the source of this force compelling the crowd to silence?
Thud.
"This is Teacher Sun, the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven."
The moment that resonance — light yet profound, flippant and playful yet wildly arrogant — rang out right in front of his face, Gun Myeong-o understood the reason.
Presence.
Just that man's presence. That crushing presence, created simply by walking, by standing here, by opening his mouth. It compelled all of this as if it were only natural, as if it were simply how things should be. It was embarrassing now, how he had thought he'd stirred the young martial artists' blood with a grand speech, how he'd believed he held the entire scene in the palm of his hand. Sun Wukong overwhelmed the crowd simply by standing there.
......Could even Master do this?
No. Even One Blade Shaking Heaven, one of the Ten Great Masters — this kind of presence was something unknown, something even he would not dare to imitate.
This was a mistake.
The sensation transmitted through his entire body. His writhing instinct. The color slowly drained from Gun Myeong-o's face. Then Sun Wukong suddenly tossed aside his steel staff and drew a dagger. A dagger even shorter than a short sword. A weapon that could never serve as a primary armament — and yet Sun Wukong smiled brightly.
"Wouldn't want you getting hurt."
"......!"
The moment those words fell, Gun Myeong-o saw a faint hope, mixed with rage and humiliation.
No matter how great the gap, with nothing but a dagger?
This was such a blatant dismissal of him that humiliation welled up. And at the same time, hope flickered — that this very carelessness might let him land a proper blow on the Sun Wukong who boasted that overwhelming presence. If he could land a satisfying blow right here, right now, on this Sun Wukong who had seized everyone's attention in an instant — this man rumored to be the sworn brother of the Namgung Clan's patriarch — he could almost hear, faintly, the crowd crying out his name and title.
Sun Wukong grinned and waved his hand.
"Come on, then. Junior."
An arrogant gesture. Gun Myeong-o's body shot forward like a streak of light. In that instant, the dagger at Sun Wukong's fingertips flicked.
SHWEEEK—!
Don't parry it — dodge!
A thrown dagger travels in a straight line. It doesn't curve, doesn't turn, doesn't bend. See it and dodge. Gun Myeong-o's dynamic vision flashed to life.
Whoosh!
"......!"
A vivid red line of blood was drawn across his cheek. The corners of Gun Myeong-o's eyes trembled.
If I'd been even a fraction slower!
The dagger would have buried itself dead-center in his face. He had dodged with everything he had, and even that had been razor-close. A chill ran down his spine. But the moment he evaded the dagger — Sun Wukong's hands were empty.
Now!
Gun Myeong-o's eyes flashed. The distance closed in an instant. The saber strike stretching out was a hair's breadth from splitting Sun Wukong's body. A faint smile formed on Gun Myeong-o's lips. He didn't expect this strike to cut the man in two. But dodging it wouldn't be easy, and to block it, Sun Wukong would have to pour out a fatal killing technique at full power. Either that, or roll across the ground in a humiliating tumble!
That was when it happened. The moment the saber reached Sun Wukong's face, he saw that the man's smile hadn't changed at all. Only then did he realize that the fingertips that had thrown the dagger had never been withdrawn — they were still extended. Something pulled taut from inside the sleeve caught the sunlight.
Thread...?!
A golden thread, nearly invisible to the eye. Gun Myeong-o's eyes flew wide. The moment of recognition always comes too late. The golden line that had stretched out along with the dagger wrapped around Gun Myeong-o's throat.
Chrrrrrk!
"......Ghk—khak!"
Had he infused it with internal energy? The line coiled and tightened of its own accord, as if it were alive. It happened in a mere instant, without a single trace of internal energy being circulated. His throat clamped shut in a single motion, and Gun Myeong-o dropped to his knees on the ground, his face a mask of bewilderment.
Sun Wukong clicked his tongue.
"See, when it comes to instruction..."
It isn't just about teaching martial arts, teaching forms, that kind of thing.
"There's also character education."
Sun Wukong grinned playfully.
He sent a sound transmission.
"I think I went a bit too easy on the punishment."
There was no reply. Only the sensation of a stunned gaze directed at him.
"So I'll have to give your disciple a proper punishment myself."
It was neither permission nor a request.
"If you've got a problem with that, challenge me when this is over."
It was a notification. But One Blade Shaking Heaven Gun Wi-ryang couldn't bring himself to say a word. The presence pouring from the man. That arrogant tone that would accept no refusal. All of it was infinitely, utterly natural. Gun Wi-ryang remained silent.
"Silence is agreement. Don't worry. Harming other people's disciples isn't a hobby of mine. Sometimes a good punishment is the fertilizer for growth, isn't it?"
This was already the second time the great training grounds had fallen into silence. The first time and the second — both were entirely Sun Wukong's doing. If the first had been because no one could find the words, the present silence pointed in a different direction.
SMACK.
How many times was this already? That massive palm had already swept across Gun Myeong-o's cheek several times. Gun Myeong-o's body convulsed briefly, then went limp. Sun Wukong's voice rang out, low and even.
"If you want to become a decent person, you need a beating. That was true then, and it's true now."
"......"
This was on an entirely different track from the eve festival events shown so far. This wasn't a senior bestowing instruction. This was pure violence. And yet not a single person in the crowd could open their mouth to object. Because Sun Wukong's actions felt so natural. It called to mind a stern, violent master roughly punishing his disciple.
And above all, Gun Myeong-o's actual master, Gun Wi-ryang, remained silent. If the real master didn't protest and simply stayed silent, how could anyone else step forward? Especially against an absolute master who had neutralized a Peak Realm expert in a single move.
As stunned gazes poured down from every direction, Sun Wukong looked around and spoke.
"The mood's gone a bit cold, hasn't it?"
He said it with a hint of dissatisfaction, but his face was still full of amusement. As if some entertaining idea had occurred to him, his eyebrows arched into crescents.
"This is an eve festival where everyone's drinking and enjoying the show. Wouldn't it be a shame if the atmosphere went cold? This Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, Teacher Sun — the great saint who rules the heavens — shall liven things up for our audience."
A speech that poured out all of a sudden. Sun Wukong seized the steel staff he had tossed aside.
"The event isn't over yet, so let's keep it going."
"......?"
Doubt gathered in the crowd's eyes. To continue the event, he should step down from the training grounds so the next juniors could come up and request instruction. Why was he still standing there, gripping his steel staff? Just as the crowd's murmuring began to swell, Sun Wukong's mouth opened, his voice low.
Call the names? Was this monstrous Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, going to request instruction? Was that it? From whom, in this place? The crowd's gazes swiftly swept across the renowned masters of the jianghu.
"Geom Wi-hyeon of the Mount Hua Sect."
"......!"
"Hah!"
"They said those two clashed once before — don't tell me?"
"Elder Geom Wi-hyeon...!"
Shock spread in an instant. Elder Geom Wi-hyeon's notoriety ran deeper and older than even the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven's. But the shock did not stop there.
Elder Pyeong Ji-dal of the Jongnam Sect
Elder Wang Ju-dae of the Beggars' Sect
Elder Baek Ri-il-jae of the Jeomchang Sect
Martial Elder Mun Ryang-gyeong of Kongtong
Qingcheng Divine Dragon Baek Won-jeong
"......"
A deep stillness hung in the air. Geom Wi-hyeon of Mount Hua was not the end. Names poured out in a sudden cascade. Every last one of them belonged to the Nine Sects and One Gang, and they were the current leadership of the orthodox martial world, here at the Grand Assembly of Murim as proxies for their sect leaders and patriarchs.
Them.
"All of you."
Sun Wukong grinned. The tip of the steel staff driven into the ground trembled faintly.
Once more, silence ruled the grounds.