The Number One Clan Under Heaven
Dancheon Hak's opponent was a warrior of Zhongnan.
"Dancheon Hak, eldest son of the Dancheon Clan."
"Yeonghak of Zhongnan."
On the surface, Yeonghak Jinin cut the figure of a warrior far senior to Dancheon Hak in years. Not that he was prematurely aged — it was simply that the Yeong generation of Zhongnan denoted second-generation disciples. Where Dancheon Hak had not yet reached thirty, Yeonghak Jinin had long crossed that threshold and was approaching forty.
Years are not everything in the martial arts, but when both men had mastered the arts of an illustrious sect and a great clan respectively, a decade's difference in training was not to be dismissed. They say a heaven-sent genius transcends time, yet Yeonghak, second-generation disciple of the great Zhongnan of the Nine Sects, was hardly some ordinary talent who had never once been called a genius.
No rule barred second-generation disciples from entering, but the fact that Dancheon Hak had drawn one — a swordsman of Zhongnan, no less — nearly wrung a hollow laugh out of me.
The crowning art of the Dancheon Clan is the Dancheon Sword Formula. If one had to classify it, the Dancheon Sword Formula resembled the sword of Mount Hua, for both centered on the subtleties of speed and variation. In swordsmanship, such subtleties matter more than outward form anyway, so that was simply the closest way to put it. And it was common knowledge to anyone who had ever held a sword that Zhongnan stood in the starkest opposition to Mount Hua's blade.
Which meant Dancheon Hak had been matched against exactly such an opponent.
"Come."
Yeonghak Jinin said with serene composure. On the surface it looked like a senior yielding the first move to a junior, but that was not the truth of it. What was Zhongnan's supreme art, after all? The Thirty-Six Swords Under Heaven — the pinnacle of defensive swordsmanship, sealing every one of the thirty-six directions. The orthodox way to break Zhongnan's sword would be the Namgung Clan's heavy blade or the Paeng Clan's crushing force; with the Dancheon Sword Formula, any reasonable judge would call it a hard fight.
"Be careful."
So saying, Dancheon Hak raised the Dancheon Sword.
Guuuung—
Without warning, an uncanny ripple began to coil around the Dancheon Sword.
"Hm?"
"...That's—!"
Anyone with even a passing grounding in the martial sciences could not have failed to recognize it. What suffused Dancheon Hak's blade was not sword qi — it was Sword Gang, the unmistakable proof of the Harmony Realm.
Along with that dazzling Sword Gang, a smile finally settled over my face as well. I could tell that whoever had drawn the bracket had a good head on his shoulders. It meant he, too, had analyzed each sect's signature arts and done thorough research into their matchups.
But there was something he had missed — namely, that overwhelming power brushes aside notions of compatibility without a second glance. Water extinguishes fire, but a fierce enough fire boils the water away. Such is the way of the world.
Woooong—
"Now... wait—"
It would be fair to say Yeonghak Jinin's reaction came too late, for before the words had even left his mouth, Dancheon Hak's sword was already falling.
KWAANG!
"Khek!"
The sword of Zhongnan, hailed as the pinnacle of defense, collapsed in a single strike. Because Dancheon Hak had aimed solely and precisely at Yeonghak Jinin's blade, not a mark was left on the man's body despite the tremendous force of the blow — a strike that could only be called immaculate. Though Yeonghak Jinin, unable to absorb the shock, did go tumbling across the ground all the same.
Yeonghak Jinin rolled with the fall as if even that were part of his artistry, and sprang back upright in one motion. But his ordeal was not over.
Crreeeak—
Cracks began to spider across Yeonghak Jinin's blade—
KRAK.
It shattered to pieces.
"Well fought."
Declaring his victory, Dancheon Hak turned on his heel with lofty grace.
"..."
The assembled crowd kept its silence.
The Sinjin Gyoryuhoe. In the very heart of the Nine Great Sects. The rightful heir of the Dancheon Clan, a man not yet thirty, had just proclaimed himself a Harmony Realm martial artist.
The world of the murim is a tangled, many-layered place, one that defies any single yardstick. Setting aside the righteous, the heterodox, and the demonic paths, it is a world where people of every conceivable conviction cross swords.
Yet even there, an order holds universally. The sensible would call it law built upon the imperial edict. They would be wrong — the people of the murim are, as a rule, folk sorely lacking in common sense. The order that truly governs the rivers and lakes is force.
But even this order of force, settled as it appears, bristles with variables when examined closely. The reason is simple enough: force itself comes in many kinds. To raise a great clan properly, one must survive an endless war in which the strong devour the weak — which makes an understanding of force an essential virtue.
Before we came to the Sinjin Gyoryuhoe, a conversation I had once shared with Dancheon Hak surfaced in my memory.
"Brother."
"What?"
The more often I crossed swords with Dancheon Hak under the pretext of training, the more our conversations deepened. Were we not, after all, forever engaged in dialogue through each other's martial arts?
"Brother, what kind of clan do you want to build?"
It had never been formally declared, but Dancheon Hak had long since become the Young Patriarch in all but name. I had announced my withdrawal from the succession early on, and Dancheon Hak had proven himself beyond all doubt by entering the Harmony Realm.
"You — will you become Captain of the Dancheon Clan's guard?"
"That is my dream."
"Then you will stand beneath me."
"That doesn't sound so bad to me."
Dancheon Hak would go from Young Patriarch to Patriarch, and I would become Captain of the clan's guard — which meant that speaking of the clan's future together had become the most natural thing in the world.
"A strong clan. That's what I'll make of it."
An answer as plain and unadorned as Dancheon Hak's own character.
"And what is a strong clan?"
At my follow-up question, Dancheon Hak's face promptly scrunched. If I had to sum up the look in his eyes, it read something like, that rascal, again...
"Strength means martial power, doesn't it? The murim is a place packed wall to wall with those who revere the martial way — isn't that simply the law of nature?"
He had answered anyway, which meant Dancheon Hak would make a fine Patriarch indeed. Not that my questions were finished.
"Martial power isn't the answer to everything, is it?"
"If a problem arises that force cannot solve, then reflect on whether your force was simply insufficient — is that not the teaching of the ancient sages?"
"I see."
I had to concede the point, at least in part. After all, in orchestrating my regression, the effort I had invested most heavily was the Yakseon Heart Decision — that is to say, force. And yet I still thought it an incomplete answer.
"But martial power alone isn't enough, is it?"
"Why do you think that?"
Curiosity surfaced on Dancheon Hak's face.
"Because force itself comes in many kinds."
"...?"
Dancheon Hak clearly did not grasp it at once. One could hardly expect of him the seasoned judgment of a Myeonggae, so there was nothing to be disappointed about.
"Then tell me what you're thinking."
This, too, was one of Dancheon Hak's virtues. Just as Myeonggae prided himself on flexible thinking, Dancheon Hak possessed the capacity to entertain another man's ideas.
"Martial power may be the foremost of forces, but it is not the whole of force. As I said — force has many kinds."
"Kinds?"
"Enumerated, they would come to something like the strength of one's faction, the power of gold, and the power of information. It was long said that authority was the wellspring of all force, but—"
"And the murim is precisely where authority holds no sway."
"You're right, Brother."
But Dancheon Hak's sharpness was beyond dispute, and he latched onto my argument at once.
"The strength of a faction is a force as mighty as martial power. In the murim of old — an arena where the righteous, the heterodox, and the demonic clashed — the demonic path was driven out not because their martial strength fell short. It was that their power, bound up in a single monolithic faction, could not overcome the righteous and heterodox paths arrayed against them."
"Mm."
"Examples abound. Consider the standing of the Walpae, who fill out the Lower Five Gates' numbers, or the reach the Beggars' Sect extends across the whole of the Central Plains. A clan cannot call itself strong on martial power alone."
"You speak true."
Dancheon Hak's reaction was one of genuine satisfaction.
"Wealth, too, is a force to rival martial power. Look no further than the case of the Yang Family Fort."
"Mm."
The Yang Family Fort was a clan of short history, yet it had shot up in the blink of an eye to become the third-ranked clan in Anhui — all thanks to the fortune it had amassed as great merchants.
"Wealth has the power to move men. And it does not end there. Secret manuals, divine weapons, even elixirs — with enough gold, all of them lie within easy reach."
"Indeed."
Had I been chasing the wanderer's life like Chun-baek, perhaps it would not matter — but for the sake of a strong clan, wealth was a matter that demanded relentless pursuit.
"And then there is the power of information."
At that, Dancheon Hak stared straight at me.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Why is there no explanation for this one?"
"Information is power. Even setting aside the information brokers, no learned man alive would deny that proposition."
"...?"
"Brother... were you not a learned man?"
"..."
I could not understand Dancheon Hak. Why demand an explanation be attached to a self-evident truth? That information is power had been proven beyond all doubt by the Beggars' Sect and the Lower Five Gates — was its truth not crystal clear?
In any case, when my explanation was done, Dancheon Hak let out a long breath.
"Hoo... there is much to think about."
It would be wrong to dismiss his words as mere grumbling. In truth, most great clans poured their entire capacity into martial power alone. Dancheon Hak was not lacking — my sights were simply set higher. Of course, I had no intention of keeping that vantage point to myself.
"Brother. A strong clan is not what I want."
"Then what?"
"...!"
For the first time, I had shared with Dancheon Hak the words I had carried alone in my heart. As if in answer to that single utterance, Dancheon Hak's expression turned grave. In that moment, I knew that he, too, had begun to dream the same dream as I.
"Of course, martial power matters. Which is why we have a task before all others."
"And that is?"
"We must show our strength at Mount Wudang."
"Hmph. That was always the plan."
Dancheon Hak snorted, but the fire of competitiveness was already blazing in his eyes.
Though he had subdued Yeonghak Jinin in a single strike, Dancheon Hak's gaze was not on his defeated opponent. Nor was he preening and posturing at the crowd. Dancheon Hak's eyes were fixed precisely on me.
Did you see that?
Magnificent.
That was the conversation we held with our eyes.
The Nine Great Sects are mighty. Their martial power, built upon the many divine arts handed down from their Grand Patriarchs, was beyond dispute. Their influence was equally vast: the disciples of their main mountains alone were numerous enough to be called great sects in their own right, and once the lay branches and collateral lines were counted, it would be quicker to name the places in the righteous murim the Nine Sects' hands had not touched.
Their wealth was beyond question as well. Were the Five Tiers of the murim not proof enough? The mere fact that pill alchemy — an art devouring astronomical sums — had flourished around the Nine Sects left no room for doubt.
If the Nine Sects had a single weakness, I judged it to be intelligence. Their sects sat deep in remote mountains and secluded valleys, and information, like water, pools in the low places. Was that not why the beggars and the Lower Five had become the very incarnations of intelligence-gathering? It helped, too, that the Nine Sects, as a rule, entrusted the whole of their intelligence to the Beggars' Sect.
In any case — as the old saying goes, it is darkest beneath the lamp. The lofty Nine Sects, wanting in intelligence, had failed to grasp the full measure of the martial artist named Dancheon Hak. Which is to say, right beneath the Nine Sects' own light, Dancheon Hak had blazed forth with the Harmony Realm and Sword Gang — radiance more than enough to set the majesty of the Great Clans brilliantly alight.
"The Harmony Realm, at that age..."
"Primordial Heavenly Venerable..."
"Have the Great Clans' arts... advanced this quickly?"
"Rather than the merit of their arts, I'd say that child of the Dancheon Clan was simply born with a heaven-sent gift."
"A great blessing for the murim, to be sure."
"...A child like that should have entered one of our mountains."
From every corner, the martial artists of the Nine Sects murmured and stirred. The martial artists of the Great Clans, by contrast, were quiet — presumably because they had caught at least a fragment of the news that Dancheon Hak had entered the Harmony Realm. An information gap — that was the fairest way to put it. Judging by Namgung Tan, whose mouth hung open and would not close, even among the Great Clans those gaps ran deep.
In any case, it seemed no one among the Nine Sects possessed the knowledge that Dancheon Hak, at a mere twenty-five, had already set foot in the Harmony Realm. It was not that the Sinjin Gyoryuhoe — open to martial artists under forty — had never before seen a Harmony Realm cultivator, but such a thing was rare enough to justly be called a marvel, so their astonishment was understandable.
"Good work."
"Hmph."
To my flattery, Dancheon Hak gave his usual reply — though I could hardly miss the way the corner of his mouth curled, ever so slightly. He was savoring the awe in the eyes of the martial artists of the Nine Sects, the very pinnacle of the murim.
Come to think of it, of course he was. Since entering the Harmony Realm, the list of those Dancheon Hak had faced amounted to me, Chun-baek, Uncle Yeobaek, and the Patriarch, Dancheon Gang. This may well have been the first complete victory he had tasted since breaking through.
"Keep up the good work."
Once we returned home, victory might be hard to come by for a while yet — so I offered the words as consolation. At my out-of-nowhere remark, Dancheon Hak turned on me a look that plainly asked, is this bastard insane? — so I decided to avoid his gaze.