The Reason Rules Exist - 3

Thud.

With a low, shuddering impact, Hong Ryeon went tumbling across the ground. Anyone who witnessed such a sight would have been struck speechless.

Her beautiful red hair was smeared with dirt and dust, and her training robes were torn in places here and there. The lone mercy was that she bore not a single external wound.

"Hah... hah..."

Hong Ryeon scrambled upright and gripped her greatsword. The one she leveled it at was a beauty wreathed in mystery, her hair a deep navy blue, dark as the sea itself.

Every time she met those fathomless eyes, whose depths she could never find, Hong Ryeon felt herself shrinking smaller. Even so, she gritted her teeth and charged.

—PUWAAANG!!

Slow, but aimed with perfect precision at the gap in her guard. Unable to evade it, all Hong Ryeon could do was wrench up her internal energy and throw a protective qi barrier between them.

But even a guardian barrier that could endure the fangs of demonic beasts could not endure that light fist.

"Kgh..."

Pain rang through her organs — yet there was no internal injury. The woman had clearly pulled her blow. Hong Ryeon ground her molars until they threatened to shatter.

Rage at her own weakness.

"HAAAAAH!!"

What burst out of her was a fierce roar — and then despair, at cutting empty air yet again. Frustration surged higher with every attack that followed.

And still, she did not bow her head.

Hong Ryeon's eyes were fixed on that place beyond her reach.

Meeting that gaze, the woman smiled.

—KWAAANG!!

Behind the smile came a force impossible to resist. Even knocked rolling across the ground, Hong Ryeon's heart did not break.

She welcomed it. She delighted in it.

The woman took up her sword.

"You have changed beyond recognition, these past days. As your master, it gladdens me truly."

For all the gentleness flowing from her full lips, there was no mercy in her hands. A single fall of that greatsword brought pain as though her whole body were being hammered by a forge mallet.

Curl inward. Raise the internal energy. And what held the burrowing pain at bay was Hong Ryeon's hardened heart.

And so — the woman, Hong Ryeon's master, the Sword Saint Na Yerin, Sect Leader of Hongseong Gate, leapt into the empty air.

"HAAAAAP!!"

A colossal force, like a star plummeting from the heavens. Hong Ryeon knew all too well that only another star could hope ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to stop it.

The Sword Saint had not yielded before that tremendous power. Though one knee had been driven to the ground, she flashed a grin up at Hong Ryeon, who now stood looking down at her.

"Your frail heart is being tempered at last. As your master, I could not be more pleased. And yet — it is still not enough."

The Sword Saint's voice was calm and even, but it brimmed over with joy at her disciple's growth.

"As you know, the Hongseong Divine Art is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the martial art of the Ominous Star. One who cannot temper the heart, one who cannot engrave righteousness upon it, becomes a fiend. Just as your martial aunt did."

A fiend swept away by the Ominous Star, who butchered her own sect family and her own master alike, and set out to destroy everything in the world.

Unlike herself — clumsy at everything in this world but the sword — that woman had been perfect in all things, loved and acknowledged by every soul in Hongseong Gate, destined beyond doubt to become the next Sect Leader. In the end, she had been left no choice but to kill her by her own hand: her daesajeo, her eldest senior sister, whom Na Yerin had trusted and followed like a true elder sister. Yet even speaking of her, the Sword Saint did not let her smile falter.

"So I beg you. Never forget the teachings of Hongseong, which exalt righteousness above all. Do you hear me?"

"...Ha. Haha... you've had that drilled into my ears... since the day I entered the gate... Master."

At her praise, Hong Ryeon slowly closed her eyes.

Na Yerin carried the fallen girl and poured internal energy into her. She had tempered her strength, but Hong Ryeon would need days of rest regardless. Even so, Na Yerin could not keep the smile from her face.

Of course she couldn't. Every sparring match until now had ended the same way: with Hong Ryeon's heart in pieces, her head bowed beneath the crushing weight of it all. It had grieved Na Yerin endlessly that her disciples wore themselves down doing what should have been her own work — so at the end of every match she would insist that from now on she would take it up herself, only to be refused and left sulking, more times than she cared to count.

But in these last few days, so much had changed. Her disciple had come seeking instruction with a face noticeably lighter, and though she had lost as always, her heart had not broken. She had not given up.

To the Sword Saint, that was joy beyond measure.

"Changed beyond recognition. Beyond recognition. Haha. Truly, most admirable."

With a soft sweep of her hand, Na Yerin stroked Hong Ryeon's hair. The reason her heart had crumbled so easily all this time must have been that she was tending the other disciples in place of this inadequate master, who knew nothing in this world but the sword. Like a sand tower scoured by the wind, her heart must have weathered and worn away.

And now she had raised a new tower. Not a tower of sand like the old one, but a proper, steadfast tower built of stone. It was small still — but stone piled upon stone would one day carry her past her master's realm and up into transcendence itself.

The student, surpassing the teacher. What master could fail to rejoice at such a blessing?

More than that — of all things, the tempering of the heart was the one where even a master could offer little help. That a disciple she was forever apologizing to had grown of her own accord made Na Yerin unspeakably proud, and unspeakably fond.

She stroked her disciple — head pillowed on her thigh, for all the world a daughter — with all the affection she had, and then—

"Ow."

"Ah. Oh dear. Forgive me."

She had run her fingers through the tangled locks and plucked out a few strands besides, and could not scrub the sheepish look from her face.

She set the awakened Hong Ryeon to breathing meditation, and while her disciple replayed the spar in her mind, turning it over and over in search of answers, Na Yerin found herself with nothing in particular to do. And after all that furious swordplay—

Grrrooowl.

She was... hungry.

But she could not go to the kitchen. Once before, hunger had driven her there to forage, and because she had no idea where anything was, she had ransacked the entire place — and been scolded soundly by Hong Ryeon and Ryu Hyeon. She was their master. She was the Sword Saint. But with disciples she was forever indebted to, the grumbling had to be swallowed in silence.

Then — the food stores?

No. The food storage had been blasted apart in the battle against those absurd demonic cultists who had infiltrated the mountain. Worse, the demonic qi that had erupted during the fighting had seeped into everything, rotting most of the provisions past saving. They had certainly bought fresh grain since, and stored it in the warehouse near the mountain gate. She would simply have to sneak a handful of barley from there and chew on it.

Mind made up, the Sword Saint set off toward the new warehouse, step by soft step, savoring the feel of the earth against her bare soles.

And then she found something: her disciples, gathered in a single cluster.

What could this be?

Curiosity piqued, she made her way over — and stopped short in astonishment.

There was a man.

Mount Hongseong was sacred ground, and strange things came prowling for its spiritual energy. Souls. Wraiths. Apparitions. It was to hold back those things, brimming with yin energy, that Hongseong Gate had planted itself here upon the mountain's holy soil. And so the gate barred men — the living emblems of yang — from setting foot here, lest in the worst case the yin clinging to those creatures do them grievous harm.

And yet, a man, here?

Her face hardened for a moment, and she started forward to send him out — but as her steps slowed near her disciples, Ryu Hyeon's words came back to her. At the government's request, the village innkeeper would be visiting today, and he was to be sheltered by the Guardian Star Formation. He had done a great deal for Hongseong Gate, so please, please do not cause any trouble.

Recalling her darling disciple's expression — pleading to the very edge of threat — Na Yerin calmed herself. A cool, clean energy wreathed the sturdy man and his warm, kindly smile; the disciples had already unfolded the Guardian Sword Formation around him.

Then there was nothing to worry about. Relieved, the Sword Saint turned back toward the food stores — and then—

Good heavens. What in the world is that?

Her eyes went wide. Glittering. Pretty. Radiant. They were dang-gwa — sugar-glazed confections — the likes of which she had never once laid eyes on. And he was sharing them out among her disciples.

Watching them handed to one and all without discrimination, Na Yerin found herself torn.

Should I line up too?

They wouldn't refuse the Sect Leader... would they?

In the end, she could not hold out. She scurried over, took her place in the line, and waited — and when her turn came, and she took her dang-gwa and her eyes met his, the Sword Saint forgot everything else in an instant and marveled, with pure and unguarded wonder, at the man before her.

This one.

What a truly wondrous creature.

A person, it was said, was made of three things: heart, qi, and body.

The body was the vessel — a shell made to hold the soul and carry it through the world. One without a body passed into the realm of death. Qi was the power that filled the vessel and set a person in motion. And because a vessel existed to be filled, anything at all could be poured into it; the qi held within gave the vessel weight, and gave it worth — just as a bowl of water and a bowl of Empty Clarity Stone Milk were not the same. But nothing could be poured into a vessel that could not bear it. As a crude clay pot, one knock from shattering, could not hold heavy water for even a breath, qi was bound intimately to the body.

The heart, however, was a little different from those two. Qi and body determined the vessel itself, and its value; the heart was the owner of the vessel, and of everything within it. However cheap the vessel, however rotten the water it held, none of it weighed greatly upon the owner. But the heart was another matter — however humble the vessel and its contents, if the owner's presence was mighty enough, none dared treat them carelessly. And so all who had walked any distance along the path of the martial arts came to prize the tempering of the heart, and the Sword Saint was no exception. But tempering the heart had never once been easy.

And yet — what was this?

His qi and body were mediocrity itself, plain and unremarkable. But the heart that owned them — was it not vast enough to stand beside her own, a heart that had once touched the heavens? This was no will of one soul, or two. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. It seemed almost as if hundreds of thousands of wills had been bound tight into a single place, kneaded together, and molded into the shape of a man.

Even imbalance had its degrees. Those whose qi and body towered over their hearts could be found anywhere — was Hong Ryeon not one such case, right before her eyes? She had mastered nearly all of the Hongseong Divine Art, and born with iron-strong bones, her qi and body would yield to no one, anywhere. But her heart? Its growth lagged behind — and that was why she had yet to truly master the Falling Meteor. Beyond her there was Ryu Hyeon, and even among the masters of other sects, those who could not govern their own hearts were not hard to find.

But this man — this absurdly ordinary body and qi, paired with a heart so mighty — where on earth had he sprung from? Even the Sword Saint had never seen his like, and she nearly opened her mouth without meaning to. What kind of life had he lived, to forge a heart that strong?

Only one thing stopped the words from leaving her: Ryu Hyeon, watching from over there, wound tight with worry, desperately willing her Sect Leader not to put a single foot wrong.

The Sword Saint studied him again, long and level.

A pity. Had he been a woman, she would have taken him as her own disciple. A pity. Had she met him younger, she would have sought out a master worthy of him.

The words she wanted to say stayed coiled on her tongue. The reason she could not loose them now lay in the traces left upon this strange man's body.

The Chae Family Tai Chi Chuan... so the Chae family had already found him, and laid their hands on him.

It came from the family of her own great rival — yet in matters of the martial arts, that was a house one could trust. The traces of the Chae Family Tai Chi Chuan — received from the Mudang Sect and reworked by the Chae ancestors themselves — were etched into the man's body. That her rival had judged it right for this man to learn it was, even in her eyes, beyond doubt a fine choice. The Chae Family Tai Chi Chuan was one of the few arts in all the murim that prized the will — the heart — above qi and body. For a man whose heart was abnormally strong, it might well have been tailor-made. Of course, it was a martial art still; without tempering qi and body, he would never climb past a certain height. Even so, if he trained with patience upon the foundation of that mighty heart, the enlightenment of yielding would be his before many years had passed.

Tsk.

This was a raw gem another had already claimed — and not just anyone, but her own great rival. To lay hands upon it now was, for a martial artist, taboo itself. It would be no different from plucking another's disciple right out from under them.

Na Yerin gazed at him a long while, as if mourning something precious, then shook her head. Greed. It was greed. To add anything of her own to that, to leave her mark upon it — that was greed, plain and simple.

The Sword Saint looked down at her hand. Resting upon it sat a beautiful dang-gwa.

Having accepted even this, I can hardly simply walk away. I ought to give something back...

But what could she say to a man who was to suffer under that eccentric Blade Emperor? For the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sword Saint — never nimble of tongue — raising any topic outside her one field of mastery was a genuinely arduous task. But where there is a will, is there not always a way? As she always did, she found her answer. And true to that answer, she gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

"Take heart, now."

Perfect.

At that level, surely even if Hong Ryeon or Ryu Hyeon overheard, they wouldn't scold me?

"Might I take one more? I would like to bring one back for Ryeon..."

He nodded, granting it without a word, and the Sword Saint resolved to put a little more warmth into it. With her fist clenched tight for one final show of encouragement, Na Yerin padded off toward her own place, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her steps light and brisk.

And in her hand as she went was a pretty, mouthwatering dang-gwa — meant for Hong Ryeon.