Martial Arts Tournament (2)
Martial Arts Tournament (2)
The moment the deputy official left, Sannyeo and I resumed our conversation.
It was about the Tournament Killer. Even after hearing the name, Sannyeo wore a puzzled expression.
"Tournament Killer. That's a name I've never heard before. Either they began using it recently, or they kept it very well hidden."
"They say he's at the first-rate peak. Can I handle him?"
Sannyeo laughed at my words. She always reacted strongly whenever I showed weakness.
"First-rate peak and first-rate are different. Just as standing on the threshold and being inside the room are different. The gap between realms—it's like... the difference between holding onto the door of a room and actually being inside it."
"Isn't that barely any difference? Put like that, it doesn't really sink in."
When I thought about her metaphor, it sounded surprisingly close. Sannyeo turned her head toward the warehouse.
"If you're just holding onto the door, can you take out the things inside? Can you know what's in there? How can you claim to have reached the threshold without grasping that mental image?"
She looked back at me, her red eyes fixed on me as her energy enveloped us both. It felt stifling, as if we were trapped inside some invisible sphere.
"Docheol. With your current skills, you can more than hold your own against second-rate fighters. The time we've spent training and your talent prove that."
I stared right back at Sannyeo and asked.
"You believe in me?"
Sannyeo answered without hesitation.
"Of course."
Her refreshingly candid answer seemed to crush the small anxiety stirring inside me.
"Hahahahaha!"
I burst into loud laughter. Caught off guard by my reaction, Sannyeo blinked her red eyes like warning lights and stared at me. When she focused her gaze, the corners of her mouth dropped and she looked just like a doll.
I stopped laughing. Then, looking straight into her red eyes, I said.
"If you believe in me, then I have to win."
Sannyeo lifted her head. Looking down at me, she spoke in a teasing tone.
"If you lose, I'll run away."
"Then I'll rise straight out of my grave and catch you. You said you'd make me the best in the world. You can't run away then, can you?"
"In that case...."
Sannyeo rolled her eyes, searching for what to say.
Then she moved to the center of the courtyard and drew a line with her toes. The line traced a sweeping curve in the dirt, like a wave a sailor might chart. At its end stood Sannyeo, poised and ready.
"We should train, shouldn't we? This time, let's work on applying your left hand better in actual combat."
Fuck.
I had no rebuttal.
Because the martial arts tournament was approaching.
*******
They say the place where the martial arts tournament is held is the closest thing to hell. Gamblers betting money on the contestants and those thirsting for death are all mixed together, shrieking in a cacophony of agony with every match.
Even though the tournament had been arranged so suddenly, the gamblers cared about nothing but the names on the bracket and betting on who would win. And on a raised platform overlooking them, a muscular giant of a man sat in his chair, gazing down.
From where he sat, the shouts of the gamblers rang out clearly.
"Docheol! Is there no one betting on Docheol? The new chieftain of the Crimson Ring Sect! Docheol!"
No one bet on Docheol. Unlike the other participants, he was practically a nobody. Seeing this, the man spoke.
"No one's betting. Could word have leaked that the bastard is going to die on the day of the tournament?"
The middle-aged man sitting next to him glared and said.
"Watch your mouth."
The man furrowed his brow at this and asked.
"I don't understand why you're so afraid of one man named Docheol. You've gone so far as to bring in a madman from the unorthodox sects—and not just me. If that bastard Purple Nether Sword causes an incident at the tournament, it'll be your headache."
"On the contrary, it would be better if he does cause trouble. It gives us justification to eliminate him on the spot."
The giant leaned back against the chair. Under his massive weight, the backrest groaned alarmingly. The middle-aged man glanced at him, then looked away.
"Well, whoever kills whom, I don't care as long as I get paid. But I can't help feeling this is excessive. Isn't this a case of using a butcher's cleaver to kill a chicken?"
"Don't they say hope for the best, prepare for the worst? The more thorough the preparation, the better. In any case, that bastard Purple Nether Sword is late. I explicitly told him to be here today, two days before the tournament."
"Could he have fled? He's lived a rough life—he would have caught on."
"He has no future if he runs. He's made far too many enemies."
The middle-aged man spoke as he tapped the armrest with his fingers.
******
Purple Nether Sword
People gave him the epithet Purple Nether Sword after witnessing his blade, steeped in poison. The moment an opponent sustained even a slight wound from his sword, their body would stiffen with crushing fatigue.
He was a madman of the unorthodox sects who delighted in vulgar and despicable methods of murder—stabbing his immobilized opponents with a dagger to torment them, or hanging them by the neck.
Because of this, he had many enemies. He always had to conceal his face, and the Purple Nether Sword—his pride and joy—was not something he could reveal lightly. At first, he had lived drunk on the infamy surrounding him, but one day, after an arrow struck beside his bed, he felt weariness for the first time.
He had come to think that people were tormenting him too much.
From his position, having so many people consider him their enemy was irrational and bizarre. How many things in the world could truly be defined as the evils of all creation? That so many people would invest their mental energy in someone as trivial as he was, compared to those great evils, was one of those things he simply could not comprehend.
He had accepted this commission from the Murim Alliance to escape that weariness. Just once. If he cut off just one person's head, he could escape safely to Heilongjiang.
Once he escaped to Heilongjiang, he could resume his hobbies there.
"Huh-ha!"
A joyful laugh escaped as he imagined the future. But contrary to his laughter, the Purple Nether Sword was now sitting on a rock, legs shaking, passing an anxious moment. With so many enemies, unease always came first in a shaded forest.
One never knew when or where an enemy might spring forth. He had confirmed no one was following him, yet he still scanned his surroundings repeatedly, clutching his anxious heart.
"To pick such a deserted place...."
He understood the reasoning, but the Purple Nether Sword was still displeased. Even if he had chosen the place himself, he would have picked somewhere just as deserted—which irritated him all the more. Frowning, he huffed through his nose as he scanned for nearby presences.
"Hm?"
The moment he focused, he sensed a presence right beside him that he hadn't detected until just moments before. The Purple Nether Sword's face went pale, and he drew his sword, shouting.
"W-Who goes there!"
The violet blade tore through the air in a peculiar arc. The Purple Nether Sword recognized his opponent and spoke, his face trembling even more.
"Wh-What? You're not the Murim Alliance contact I was supposed to meet?"
"I am Im Seo-ryeon of the Hengshan Sect. That person had other business, so I came instead."
Im Seo-ryeon spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. Her cold tone and beautiful face helped the Purple Nether Sword swiftly regain his composure. He shook his head and said.
"Ha, Hengshan Sect? You mean that place full of nothing but women? Ah, I see. You startled me for nothing."
The Purple Nether Sword sheathed his blade. Seeing his hand leave the scabbard, Im Seo-ryeon pointed past his shoulder and said.
"Is that friend of yours with you?"
"Who are you talking about?"
His guard momentarily lowered, the Purple Nether Sword turned his head. But there was nothing there save trees.
"Nothing...."
A belated sense of dread struck him, and the Purple Nether Sword hurriedly reached for his scabbard—but a tingling pain had already grazed his neck. Im Seo-ryeon had drawn her sword and slashed diagonally. The tree beside him was severed in a sharp, clean cut.
The Purple Nether Sword remained frozen, hand still on the scabbard, unable to move. His eyes had already lost focus, and his body toppled like a felled tree. Im Seo-ryeon caught the corpse with her foot and rolled it into the underbrush.
After a few rolls, the corpse tumbled down the slope, and Im Seo-ryeon pulled out a shovel and sighed.
"...Better make this quick."
******
The middle-aged man raised his head. In the distance, the man he had sent on an errand was returning. The man, who had a plain face, shrank back at the sight of the muscular giant beside the middle-aged man.
"Why are you alone? I explicitly told you to bring him."
"I waited a long time at the meeting place, but he never showed up, so I returned. I asked around, and people said they saw someone matching his description heading into the forest. It's strange he never came to the meeting place."
"Euhahah!"
The giant burst into thunderous laughter. The middle-aged man's face flushed bright red, and he silently mouthed a string of curses.
The giant laughed heartily and said.
"Elder! Don't you worry! I'll take care of everything for you! Euhahah!"