The Martial Artist's Flame

Sun Wukong nodded without the slightest hesitation.

"I've been waiting a good while for you to bring it up."

"How long have you known?"

Namgung Jinbaek's face colored with embarrassment.

"Since I came back from dealing with Baekgwiwang."

"..."

"You were hemming and hawing so long I nearly said it myself. Figured I'd hold my tongue and wait."

"That's..."

Namgung Jinbaek started to speak, then closed his mouth.

This was no ordinary spar. It was not a match in which two men would simply display their martial arts and exchange insights. What Namgung Jinbaek wanted — what he was asking for — was instruction. A spar that was, at its heart, a request to be taught.

A request a lesser man makes of a greater one. To make it, he had to admit that he stood below. Namgung Jinbaek, who had lived as the foremost of the Ten Great Masters and the hegemon of Anhui, had to fight his way through a savage inner conflict before the words would come.

Sun Wukong waited, calm and unhurried, until Namgung Jinbaek spoke for himself. If he said it first, it would sound as though he were offering to bestow his teaching — and to a man who had climbed to a realm without a known ceiling, that might well feel like humiliation. Without making a show of it, Sun Wukong was being considerate.

What a fine character he is.

That small courtesy settled deep in Namgung Jinbaek's chest. Sun Wukong paced slowly through the wide space, murmuring as he went.

"People have eyes. The eyes are windows the feelings pass through. You can look in from the outside, and you can look out from within."

"I agree. That's why a martial artist must never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look away from his opponent's eyes — and why he must also work to hide whatever those eyes might hold. To think every feeling in mine was on display..."

"There are things at the root you simply can't hide."

Sun Wukong's words unspooled, unhurried.

"The Clan Lord's eyes were a martial artist's eyes. When I showed up after a fight, they weren't looking at what had happened, or at anything else. They were looking at me."

"..."

"They still are."

Sun Wukong grinned, bright and easy. He was always grinning, wandering through the world with that same open smile. A smiling face was a difficult thing to spit upon, as the saying went — and that was precisely why people found him so strange, so wary-making, and yet, in the same breath, so approachable.

A laugh as pure as a child's. A brat's wicked little smirk. And through it all, the eyes stay still.

But Namgung Jinbaek could not look any deeper into those windows.

The gap, I suppose.

The gulf between himself and Sun Wukong. A bitter smile touched Namgung Jinbaek's mouth.

I thought Teacher Sun's skill might stand level with mine — that he was a man who could easily take a seat among the Ten Great Masters.

Admitting that much was already an admission that his own eye had fallen short.

He's already above me.

Baekgwiwang had been a terrifying opponent. No matter how many times Namgung Jinbaek replayed the fight in his mind, he could not picture a version in which he won. There was only one path: mutual destruction. Throwing his own life away to drag Baekgwiwang down into the underworld with him. Nothing else would have worked.

Sun Wukong had handled that man as if it were nothing. Exhaustion had sat heavy on his face, but his body had not carried a single wound that was his own.

Teacher Sun may already stand above the Ten Great Masters. He may stand level with the Three Venerables.

Three absolute masters who had climbed past the Transcendental Realm into the Absolute Realm — the Three Venerables. Namgung Jinbaek had crossed paths with Do Jon once.

The moment I saw Do Jon, my whole body felt as if it were being sliced apart. But Teacher Sun...

Still. Quiet. He hid everything behind that gaudy manner, those bratty little antics, that pure and shining laugh. And if every last scrap of that decoration were stripped away...?

Namgung Jinbaek's throat bobbed.

He had been able to stand before Do Jon. The weight had been crushing, almost more than he could bear, but he had clenched his teeth and endured it. But if that smile were gone? If this were not the Sun Wukong who laughed so brightly and tossed off wicked little jokes?

I want to see it.

Sun Wukong's true face. Namgung Jinbaek felt the desire of a martial artist stir in his gut. A strange hunger began to burn like fire. It was the way he had felt as a boy — the way he had felt before he became Clan Lord, standing in the heart of the Orthodox-Unorthodox War.

When had it been, the last time a small flame had roared so fiercely in his chest?

Elder Brother...

A shadow rose, faint and hazy. The Sword God. An ideal he could only ever look up at had been standing right in front of him. That steadfast back — nothing in the world had felt so reassuring as looking at it from behind. But the man was no longer there.

What stood before Namgung Jinbaek now was only the Namgung Clan he had to lead. A house weakened, broken, reduced to its pillars, that he would have to rebuild with his own hands. The countless gazes of the clan, all of them fixed on him alone. A savage pressure, a crushing weight, had settled on his shoulders. The spirit of the warrior who had fought more fiercely than anyone as the Blue Sky Great Captain in the Orthodox-Unorthodox War had grown faint. In shouldering all of it, Namgung Jinbaek had lost a martial artist's flame.

Right now, I am a martial artist.

Sun Wukong had said so. That he had been looking at him with a martial artist's eyes.

The flame in my soul hasn't gone out after all.

Vitality surged through Namgung Jinbaek's whole body. When he spoke, he meant every word.

"Doesn't look like I'll just be teaching the Clan Lord, though."

Sun Wukong flicked a glance to the side. Namgung Muyoung, Namgung Seowol, and Muhwa were lined up in a neat little row, watching.

"With an audience, I suppose I'd better do this properly."

Namgung Jinbaek's eyes lit. The look in them was fierce with hunger, and hot. Sun Wukong smiled faintly and took hold of his iron staff. In the same breath, Namgung Jinbaek drew his sword.

The instant their hands closed, a flash of ink-dark light and a flash of blue burst together. As if to say the small stuff did not matter, a single strand of blue light drove straight into Sun Wukong's front — not as something that had suddenly appeared, but as something that had always been standing there.

Those who plant their feet upon the earth can only gaze up at the lofty heavens. They cannot see the currents that flow there, cannot read them, cannot feel them. There is only one exception. Those who face the Sovereign Sword Form shall feel the flow of the sky.

A low hum. The iron staff shuddered and gave a cry, and the eyes of everyone watching trembled at the corners. With that cry, the single strand of Azure Current that had been stretching forward blurred, as if it were being erased.

"...!"

He had broken the first form with nothing more than a vibration of force. But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the movement that followed from Namgung Jinbaek was no less fierce. The Azure Current that had seemed to fade and vanish split, in an instant, into five strands, and all five drove forward.

The corner of Sun Wukong's mouth lifted, just a little.

By the time you saw it, felt it, understood it, you were already too late. It was a speed that belonged to another order of things — a speed you could only answer with instinct. The iron staff traced curves as if it were dancing, brilliant and wild.

Muhwa, whose martial arts stood highest among the spectators, was the first to cry out in shock.

"He cut those down?"

"...!"

Namgung Muyoung and Namgung Seowol could not even manage a gasp of wonder. The Sovereign Sword Form Namgung Jinbaek was showing them was so fast they could not track so much as a faint afterimage. And Sun Wukong was meeting it head-on — and turning every blow aside without taking a scratch. What did that make him?

To their eyes, a blue current seemed to shimmer for a single instant, and in the same instant the iron staff tore through it.

Namgung Jinbaek let out a groan that was almost delight.

"Even Do Jon had no choice but to take one of those strands."

Five strands of Azure Current. Even Do Jon, whose name shook the world, had failed to evade one of them and taken it clean. Sun Wukong had slipped them all. Namgung Jinbaek's eyes burned hotter still.

The tip of the extending sword trembled, a shiver so fine it was almost nothing — and countless afterimages bloomed into sharp, terrible clarity. Sword-shadows, multiplying without end, filling the field of vision until the eye itself grew dizzy. Even Sun Wukong checked for a heartbeat.

Ah. If I peeled the skin off this guy's face, I bet a Great Demon would pop out.

Sun Wukong clicked his tongue. No matter how he looked at it, this did not look like a human's martial power. It had the kind of force you expected from a Great Demon. There was a gulf no one could cross between the Seven Great Sages and the Great Demons, it was true — but a Great Demon was a Great Demon for a reason. Most of the creatures that had given Sun Wukong such grief during his trials through Tianzhu had been Great Demons. A Great Demon, the moment you let your guard down or hesitated, would have its fangs a hair from your heart.

He had to stay taut. He had to stay cold. Sun Wukong watched the pouring sword-shadows with eyes that had gone low and still. He was sorting them. Which were false, and which were real. Feint and true strike.

This is hard.

Telling them apart was no simple thing.

So that's the idea. Split them into feints and true strikes — then make even the feints so savage you can't afford to ignore them.

Ignore the feints and only stop the real ones? Then what if you made the feints so fierce that ignoring them was no longer an option? Every sword-shadow was heavy. Every one of them carried a savage, crushing force, a tyrant's will that looked ready to smash the world to pieces. These were no mere empty forms. Namgung Jinbaek had poured his inner power even into the feints that should have been nothing but things to let slide past. Astonishingly, that was what his sword was.

A faint smile rose on Sun Wukong's mouth. It deepened, and deepened again, until at last the corner of his lip pulled up as if he could no longer keep the pleasure in.

If I can't tell the false from the true...

A red light surged from the tip of the iron staff as if it were catching fire.

Then I just wipe them all out. No need to tell them apart.

Sun Wukong laughed, bright and delighted, and thrust the staff straight out. He charged the wave head-on, without a shred of hesitation. If he could not sort feint from true strike, he would simply erase the whole of it in a single stroke. Blood-red sword-gang boiled up around the iron staff.

The extending staff trembled, faintly. Namgung Jinbaek's eyes flicked up.

Vibration?

It was not trembling because the staff was too heavy, or because it was hard to swing, or because his focus had scattered. The staff itself was vibrating — so faintly the eye could barely catch it.

It's shaking from the inside. It keeps vibrating.

He was taking the force that wanted to surge outward and driving it inward, and inward again. The sword of the Sovereign Sword Form was a tyrant's blade, and a heavy blade besides. It moved with crushing weight and smashed everything in its path — and it was blindingly fast on top of that. A completed emperor's sword, in every sense of the word.

And yet Namgung Jinbaek felt his body give a fine, sudden shiver. The weight coming off that vibrating iron staff. A savage, hegemonic force that looked ready to break everything it touched. Somehow...

It's similar.

The weapons were different. The movements were different. The forms were different too. And still the sense of recognition was startling. Namgung Jinbaek smiled, wry and thin.

"So all rivers return to the same sea, is that it?"

The Azure Wave and the blood-red sword-gang crossed.

A shriek of metal on metal. Inner power slamming into inner power. Savage waves of force. And through all of it, what surged forward was the iron staff. Sparks bloomed in empty air. Sword and staff punched through each other and hammered each other in a brilliant, furious exchange.

It was a swift sword the eye could barely follow — and every single blow carried the weight of a mountain, a tyrant's blade that could have shattered stone. Force erupted in every direction and tore Namgung Jinbaek's robes. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sun Wukong's long golden hair whipped about him in a wild tangle. And yet, to those watching, there was nothing in the world more elegant than the sight of them.

Their collision was strength against strength, but their bodies moved like a river flowing — fluid, continuous, beautiful. Then, as suddenly as they had come together, the two of them broke apart.

Namgung Jinbaek bit down hard on his lip.

"I understand. You stand a rank above me, Teacher Sun. Not one of my attacks could put so much as a scratch on you."

"So. Thinking of calling it quits?"

Sun Wukong asked it almost lazily, leaning at a slant against the iron staff he had planted in the ground. The corner of Namgung Jinbaek's mouth lifted.

"Hardly. For the first time in my life, I've met a master I can pour every last scrap of my strength into."

"Got some last trick tucked away?"

"I don't think we need any more small exchanges. This is the final form of the Sovereign Sword Form as it has been handed down. Even our founding ancestor never achieved it. It is something the generations after him created."

Sun Wukong's eyes flashed. The last form of the Sovereign Sword Form, which had been nothing but an empty space in the hidden cave.

"In that case, I'll take it seriously too."

"Watch closely. This is the completion of the Namgung martial tradition."

The words were not for Sun Wukong alone. They were for Namgung Muyoung, Namgung Seowol, and Muhwa, who stood watching. Namgung Jinbaek drew a great breath, then began to pull his inner power up, slowly, steadily. Beside the feet he had planted so firmly, sand and small stones shivered, then drifted up into the air.

A deep, rolling hum. Inner power driven to its absolute pole. The aftermath of it began to swallow everything around them. Even Sun Wukong's face tightened a little at a weight he had not felt until now.

The sword began to draw a path, slow and sure. It moved as if it had all the time in the world, and yet no one could have come near it. An edge that looked ready to cut through all things. A weight. A savage force that looked ready to smash whatever it touched. A blue trajectory rose slowly toward the sky, like a watercourse returning to the home it had always known. It looked like dragons climbing from the sea to ascend to heaven.

The dragons trying to go home multiplied — one, then two. It was not moving slowly at all. A single traverse of the blade split into countless branches, and dozens of trajectories painted themselves toward the sky. Dozens became hundreds, rising in a rush, until the whole of it looked like a single painting. That motion, as if everything were trying to return to heaven, stole even Sun Wukong's gaze.

What a strange gift.

Sun Wukong laughed under his breath before he could stop himself. How had a human being come to possess a gift like this? If demons still walked the world, would they have been able to show a gift like that? No. No, they would not.

A demon is a creature of the wild — it eats, it swallows, it crushes things with force.

It could never show the beauty of a painting, the way this did. That was what a demon was.

The countless rising dragons climbed, and climbed again, and then, at a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠certain height, they stopped. As if they had realized they could go no further. As if they had felt, no matter how they surged, that they would never reach the sky. And the end of all things that stop on their way to heaven is only one.

Sun Wukong wore a faint smile. A human gift. An aesthetic born of a human being's boundless potential.

"Then as the King of Demons, I ought to show you a demon's idea of beauty too, don't you think?"

The force pouring from the sky burned fiercer and fiercer, gathering strength as it fell — as if it meant to work out, by tearing the earth apart, the grievance of never having made it home to heaven.

"Hoo. Hah."

Sun Wukong's body began to move, slow and sure. He erased every thought in his head. He erased them, and erased them again, until he had hollowed out a space of nothing at all. And in that emptiness, Sun Wukong stood holding only a single staff.

A meteor shower of swords, pouring from the heavens. Then he would sever the space between that sky and this earth.