That's How You Put It to Use
Namgung Seowol and Ojeong's spar began on the other side of the grounds.
The age gap was wide enough that if Ojeong had married young, he could easily have had a daughter her size. That didn't mean he could treat her like a child. She was small, yes, but she was an adult in her own right — and more than that, she was who she was.
The Sword God's daughter.
Ojeong offered a careful martial salute.
"I look forward to a good match, young lady."
"......"
Namgung Seowol's sullen face left Ojeong a little awkward. Even a blank expression can carry feeling. Hers carried a clear complaint: her sparring partner was him, not Sun Wukong.
Isn't she looking down on me a little too much?
He snuck a glance aside. There was Sun Wukong, slipping like water through the dazzling weave of Namgung Muyoung's sword forms.
...Right.
If that was the kind of spar she'd been hoping for — well. He couldn't blame her for being disappointed.
Ojeong scratched his chin, looking sheepish. They were sparring either way. And it struck him, even now, as strangely wondrous. To think I'd live to cross blades with the Sword God's daughter. It was absurd — and yet, deep in his chest, something old and restless stirred. The hunger he'd felt when he first learned martial arts, dreaming of becoming a great warrior. The weight of the sword he'd taken up to avenge the people of his slaughtered village. That old fire was beginning to twitch back to life. Since meeting Sun Wukong, it had kindled into a small, stubborn flame.
Ojeong knew his place. He wasn't some hot-blooded youth about to be swallowed by a little spark. He'd seen the worst the world had to offer — a river pirate's life, then Shaolin. A veteran, in his own way. Pride was most beautiful when you knew when to fold it.
He grinned and bowed with exaggerated deference.
"Well, young lady. I am your senior in the martial world, so, uh... I suppose I could give you the first three exchanges?"
"......"
His fumbling, sheepish offer drew a flicker of incredulity across Namgung Seowol's face. She let out a brief sigh and returned the martial salute.
Silent acceptance.
Shwick—!
Ojeong thrust his sword straight at her. Seowol tilted her head back and slipped the blade.
"......?"
A question surfaced in her eyes. A lock of black hair drifted down, light as silk — but there was no time to watch it fall. The sword that had thrust past her tipped head suddenly dropped, chopping straight down.
A thrust into a downward chop. The transition should have been awkward. They weren't linked forms; the middle had been skipped entirely. And yet the motion flowed like water, so natural that the two actions looked like a single form from the start.
Seowol's brow furrowed as she twisted aside. She evaded again. Ojeong's movements were sharper and faster than she'd expected — but she could still see them clearly. If she could see the movement, no attack could touch her.
...Or so it should have been.
The corner of her eye twitched. Another strand of hair, severed, scattered through the air. Someone else might have dismissed it as just a single strand. The problem was that it fell outside her calculations. She stared at Ojeong with a look of genuine incomprehension — then, realizing the three conceded exchanges were over, she struck back at once.
Clang. Clang-clang. Clang-clang-clang!
Even as the exchange intensified, a look of baffled incomprehension flickered across Seowol's face.
Why is he blocking everything?
Her attacks, hunting for openings, were lightning-fast. Given Ojeong's level, half of them should have landed. She was pressing him hard — and yet not a single blow had found its mark.
That was when she noticed something was off. Her eyes went wide.
His breathing!
Seowol possessed an exceptional gift. She could read the flow of a person's inner energy from the rhythm of their breath. It was a skill any martial artist needed — but hers was extraordinary. The depth of a breath. The length of an exhale. The frequency of inhale and exhale. Every one of them was a signal, a way to predict the movement of inner force.
Why is he breathing like that?
Ojeong's breathing was abnormal. He wasn't breathing at all. And yet his inner energy moved freely — faster, more powerful than she'd anticipated.
An internal energy master who wields his force by pure sensation, without breathing at all? This man?
Seowol was rattled. There was a saying about cutting the pulse of someone's breath. Interrupt a person mid-sentence — a gesture, a word — and they often go silent, struck dumb. You've severed the thread between their breaths. Namgung Seowol's specialty was driving a blade into that pulse. Do it, and the opponent's energy circulation fell into fatal disarray.
But if the man wasn't breathing to begin with — how was she supposed to work with that? And then, in the middle of their exchange, Ojeong squeezed his eyes shut.
What a bizarre man!
Closing your eyes in the middle of a fight? She'd never seen anything like it. And every time he did, the sword that had seemed to be losing ground suddenly swung faster, harder. It was a movement she could not comprehend.
Ojeong's unexpected showing stretched the spar longer than anyone would have guessed. But the limit was clear. Even Ojeong couldn't hold a single breath forever.
The instant his breathing broke, Namgung Seowol exploded forward, unleashing her inner energy all at once. Ojeong scrambled to block — but this time it was too much. Her blade came to rest against his Adam's apple.
Ojeong raised both hands.
"I yield!"
Namgung Seowol withdrew her sword. She'd won — and yet her face was strangely unsatisfied. Ojeong, by contrast, was flushed and glowing.
"Well? Not a bad sparring partner, is he?"
Both their heads turned at almost the same instant. There was Sun Wukong, watching them with an easy grin. To Seowol, who was staring at him with that same sullen look, he said:
"See? You've got a sparring partner even without me."
"...Hmph."
She whipped her head away. But he'd clearly left an impression, because she turned to Ojeong, offered a martial salute, and said:
"Later. One more time."
"...Another spar? Ah — of course, young lady."
Ojeong returned the salute, his face still flushed with pride. He felt a considerable swell of satisfaction.
"Not bad. You're not a complete idiot, at least. Means you actually got what I was telling you."
"Would it have killed you to just say it straight? Hold your breath, shut your eyes, cut off every sense?"
"The easy path is the one that collapses first."
The sudden weight of that advice made Ojeong scratch his cheek. Then he offered a martial salute in thanks.
"Anyway — thank you. I've taken a step forward thanks to you. I can handle Water Transformation Qi effectively even on dry land now."
"Pardon?"
"Looks like there'll be plenty of sword-work ahead. You'll need to pull your own weight, same as the old days."
"The old days?"
Sun Wukong didn't answer. He simply looked away.
Back when Bajie and I were always out front, slaying demons. Ojeong was the one we could trust to stay behind and protect Sanzang.
Now it was time for Ojeong to take up that role again.
He turned his gaze to Namgung Muyoung and Namgung Seowol. Both of them were already reviewing the spars they'd just fought, faces grave and focused.
And so the two of them threw themselves into training. A few days later, the day of the Changryong Chulgwan dawned.
"They'll do well, won't they?"
Muhwa looked at Namgung Jinbaek, his face tight with worry.
"You know Muyoung and Seowol's skill as well as I do."
"I know, but... I didn't realize the Changryong Chulgwan was this terrifying."
Of everyone in the current Namgung Clan, he was the only one who had never undergone the trial. He'd been taken in as an orphan during the war and brought to the clan — and during the war, there had been neither time nor resources to hold it.
Namgung Jinbaek smiled and looked ahead. A path built from countless mechanical formations and trap arrays stretched before them. Led by Namgung Muyoung, the clan's rising talents walked in.
"It's the first one in twenty years. The brothers may have gotten a little carried away."
"I think they went well past 'a little.'"
"If they can't break through something of this level, they have no business being Namgung's heirs."
"Did you break through something like that, my lord?"
Namgung Jinbaek shook his head.
"Today's Changryong Chulgwan will be harsher than the one I faced."
The mechanical formations and traps from that era were all still there. The Namgung Clan had maintained them diligently even through busy years, and they still functioned perfectly. The real problem was the Namgung martial artists who would be going in as additional obstacles.
"They'll have to break through the clan's elites."
Namgung Jinbaek's eyes narrowed, as if looking back into the past. It was a process of proving you could become an heir who stood above even your seniors — age and seniority be damned. Things were different now.
"Back then, at least it was the younger generation of rising masters who stood in the way. Now it's the monsters who carved their names through the Orthodox-Unorthodox War."
"What would you have me do? We're short on people."
"Being short on people doesn't mean the elders should go charging out against the juniors, does it?"
"Hahahaha."
Namgung Jinbaek laughed, utterly unbothered. They wouldn't die, of course. The Namgung martial artists would never actually harm Muyoung and Seowol. But Muhwa didn't want to see them broken against a door they couldn't open — and Namgung Jinbaek smiled as if he understood that worry perfectly.
"It can't be helped. Not when you consider the weight on Muyoung and Seowol's shoulders."
"......"
"The old monsters who survived the Orthodox-Unorthodox War — those are today's elders."
"Old monsters" was a stretch, relatively speaking. Most of them were men in their forties, still in their prime. But their skill was vicious enough to earn the title. Their temperaments were just as foul and short-fused.
"They're Namgung blood, every one of them — and that means their standards are just as exacting."
"If they aren't satisfied, does that mean they won't recognize Muyoung as clan lord?"
"Of course they'll recognize him. The question is whether they can offer him the kind of loyalty that comes from the deepest part of the heart."
As long as Namgung Jinbaek lived, there would be no problem. He had filled the void left by the previous lord — the Sword God — magnificently. He himself had proven his ability in the thick of the Orthodox-Unorthodox War. No one could find fault with him. And above all, he was the strongest — ranked among the very highest of the Ten Great Masters under heaven.
But the generation that had not lived through that war was another matter. Namgung Muyoung and Seowol were different. They were promising rising talents, watched closely by the martial world. That much was true. But in the eyes of elders and retainers who had survived the Orthodox-Unorthodox War, that alone was not enough.
"And on top of that, the burden of leading as the head of the Five Great Clans."
On one shoulder, the weight of the Namgung Clan. On the other, the weight of sitting at the head of the Five Great Clans. There would be great hardship ahead for Namgung Muyoung and Seowol. That much was certain.
"In the long view, even today's Changryong Chulgwan will be nothing more than a small stone in the road."
A flicker of worry crossed Namgung Jinbaek's eyes. Only then did Muhwa realize that even this man, who stood like a great mountain, carried the human worries of a father and an uncle.
"Don't worry. Those children have improved by leaps and bounds."
"Hahaha. I'm sure they have. Especially lately — it looked like they'd been sparring with Teacher Sun."
Muhwa nodded.
"Hall Master of Discipline."
"Yes, my lord."
"We need to secure that man. Firmly."
"Pardon...?"
"He's someone who could become a great strength to Muyoung and Seowol in the days to come."
"Well, that's..."
But he wasn't Namgung blood. Of course, even remaining as a guest retainer would be a help. Namgung Jinbaek, however, seemed to mean something deeper than that. Muhwa nodded for now.
"As long as Teacher Sun doesn't turn the Namgung into an enemy, we'll have no reason to treat him as one."
"Yes. That's how it should be."
If only he hadn't known.
"The thought of meeting him as an enemy... I don't even want to imagine it."
It was a terrible thought.