The Intent of Kings and Gods
Clang!
Shhk—
"Ghh…."
"Next."
People hear the word vagabond and picture nothing but roughness, but Yi Chun-baek's sword was nothing of the sort.
"Haaap!"
Clang!
Shhk—
"Khek."
"Next."
Chwipung-gae took in the swordplay of Yi Chun-baek the vagabond—impeccably refined, as though he were performing the ceremonial forms of a great noble house.
A truly fine martial artist.
The thought came to him naturally.
Shhk—
"…."
"Next."
In the space of that brief reflection, Yi Chun-baek's sword sent another warrior of the Eumhyeol Goru family's head tumbling to the ground. The man met his end with a face full of savagery, never even realizing that his head had parted from his body. It was a stroke so clean, so utterly free of excess, that the dead man never knew his own head had fled.
With his broad, hard-won discernment, Chwipung-gae understood what he was seeing. It meant Yi Chun-baek's martial arts had reached a true realm of mastery—and that those arts were a supreme killing technique, honed to the utmost for real combat.
He perceived, too, that a profound subtlety suffused Yi Chun-baek's sword path: it had touched upon what the Daoists of the Nine Sects so often spoke of—the Dao. Yi Chun-baek's clean swordplay held both the Dao and the Kill in full measure. Truly, Chwipung-gae thought, a master of the Mystic Sects.
But this was no moment to stand entranced, a mere spectator.
"Die, you beggar!"
"HAAH!"
KRAK—
"Khek!"
Against the sudden ambush, Chwipung-gae blasted out his Jade-Crushing Divine Palm, caving in the Eumhyeol Goru warrior's chest. The demon toppled where he stood, wheezing wetly a few times as though shattered bone had punctured a lung, and then passed into eternal sleep.
How crude.
Chwipung-gae had lived a lifetime hardly ever doubting the sufficiency of his own martial arts, yet watching Yi Chun-baek's sword, he felt a sting of remorse. Had he been neglecting his training all this while? He wanted to blame the coarseness of his form on the fury of facing his mortal enemy, but he knew in his bones it was not that alone. There was a swordsman who, having only just entered the Harmony Realm, still refined himself with merciless discipline—and there was a beggar who had entered it long ago and was quietly rusting away. That was all there was to it.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
The warriors of the Eumhyeol Goru family drew all manner of weapons and closed in around Chwipung-gae. He had already cut short a number of lives, but the enemy still outnumbered them many times over. Their leader, seemingly without a shred of concern, had thrown every last fighter at Yi Chun-baek and Chwipung-gae.
"We should fight as one."
With that, Yi Chun-baek darted to Chwipung-gae's side, then set his back squarely against the old beggar's.
Chwipung-gae understood his intent at once.
"We watch each other's backs, then?"
"That would be best."
Entrusting one's blind spots to another is the very essence of combined combat—but it is no easy thing, for it must be built upon absolute trust.
Hm.
Yet the vagabond Yi Chun-baek showed not a flicker of hesitation. A vagabond who would so readily hand his back to another—it was a strange sight indeed. So far as Chwipung-gae knew, vagabonds were creatures born alone and dying alone.
"Then so be it."
But what did it matter? Was not Chwipung-gae himself a beggar of the Gang, a man who lived with righteousness and chivalry held to his heart? To answer the trust of a young master who believed in him—that was the duty of an elder of the Beggars' Gang.
"Take care of yourself, now."
"You as well."
Shhk—CRUNCH!
Having exchanged those parting words, the two threw themselves into slaughtering the enemies before them, their rear left utterly unguarded. It went without saying, but the combined assault of Harmony Realm masters who trusted one another completely was devastating. With no mental focus wasted on guarding their blind spots, every single strike carried their full strength.
If Yi Chun-baek and Dancheon Myeong, back when they were still merely at Peak Transcendence, had together annihilated a modest sect like Black Water Gate, then it stood to reason that the combined assault of Yi Chun-baek and Chwipung-gae—both now of the Harmony Realm—would carry power beyond even that.
And so—
Shhk—
"Urk."
KRAK—!
"Keok!"
Elite they might be, but the warriors of the Eumhyeol Goru family could not withstand the combined assault of Yi Chun-baek and Chwipung-gae. Whether brainwashed or simply mad, they hurled themselves forward like moths into a flame, and so the matter was settled in the space of a breath. It was not yet mountains of corpses and seas of blood, but the enemies' blood gathered in the low ground, forming a crimson stream.
"…So it is done."
"Well fought."
As he murmured the words, Chwipung-gae's gaze drifted of its own accord—chasing the movements of Eumhyeol Sinma, the man who was his mortal enemy across heaven and earth.
"Hm."
Chwipung-gae's eyes could not find Eumhyeol Sinma. For the space where the man stood was filling to the brim with a blood-red mist.
By any common measure, this was no natural phenomenon. It had to be the work of martial arts. Having entered the Harmony Realm, Chwipung-gae could now glimpse the faintest fringes of Intent, and what he sensed within that energy was wickedness, steeped through and through. That strange phenomenon was, beyond any doubt, Eumhyeol Sinma's sorcery.
"This bodes ill."
For martial arts to warp the very environment around it—even Chwipung-gae, who had spent his life neck-deep in information, had never once encountered such a marvel.
But—
"No... he is fine."
He corrected himself almost at once. For he had confirmed a colossal presence that seized his gaze with far more overwhelming force than any ominous crimson mist.
Chwipung-gae's eyes came to rest on Dancheon Myeong, standing revealed through the blood-red haze. Looking upon that proud, towering figure, he felt a strange flicker of déjà vu. It was a gallant bearing Chwipung-gae had glimpsed once before, from far away.
"Come at me."
Dancheon Myeong stood there, resolute and alone, in a bearing that recalled the Sovereign of Destruction, Yeom Gi-ha—the mightiest martial artist Chwipung-gae had ever witnessed. It was the presence of an absolute master, carrying himself with all the gravity of a true Grand Master.
"Hm."
Even Yi Chun-baek, who had been hurrying to rejoin him, stopped mid-stride.
Intent.
A concept—and a power—that could only be grasped in its faintest fringes by one who had awakened the spirit and entered the Harmony Realm.
It is also a supreme power said to be the province of the Ten Greatest Masters Under Heaven—those who had proclaimed their existence to every corner of the Central Plains.
Of course, in truth it is not a power wielded by only some ten souls in all the Central Plains. The Ten Greatest Masters Under Heaven merely names 'the ten strongest among the martial artists of the Central Plains who had made known their names, their existence, and their strength.' There are many Mystic Sects, eccentric masters and strange hermits, and secluded ancients who never once announced their existence.
The martial arts of the Nine Sects in particular double as arts of nurturing life, and so among the great masters of past generations—those who withdrew from the front lines to live in seclusion, honing themselves without pause toward ascension—the number who could wield Intent would be difficult even to estimate.
There are masters who wield Intent even in the lands called the frontier, beyond the passes. It has long been said that the truly mighty are born of barren ground, and no one of the Jianghu would dare dismiss the latent strength of those outer lands. By all accounts, the frontier taken whole is vaster than the Central Plains, so it would be right to assume that countless masters dwell there.
And in the Tianshan Mountains of Xinjiang, too, there are masters who wield Intent. The Heavenly Demon and the Five Great Divine Demons are such.
Of course, they are hardly the whole of it. Was not Cheolsanmagun, who held rank above the Demon Lords that served beneath the Divine Demons, himself a master who had already set foot upon the threshold of the Profound Realm?
In any case—
if one went looking, one would find no small number who had awakened to and wielded the power called Intent. But that fact is no grounds to deny the greatness of Intent. Intent is not a power that can be won with ease; it is simply that the history of the martial world has held many great souls.
For convenience's sake it is called 'Intent,' but in truth this power defies any concrete definition. Which is to say: explain the concept of Intent to one who has never awakened their spirit, and a hundred days of explaining will buy you nothing. It is not merely that one cannot put one's own enlightenment into words—it is closer to say that those who have not awakened their spirit cannot comprehend the concept, or its substance, at all.
In any case, to explain it in my own fashion: Intent is the power most often drawn upon to employ the formless arts.
The Formless Sword, for one, is exactly that. If the Sword Gang is the testament of the Harmony Realm, then the Formless Sword is the testament of the Profound Realm.
Intent might be said to border upon the materialization of mental imagery. The Formless Sword is a sword of Intent given form. To materialize the ground of one's Intent and take a step upon it—that is Void-Treading. And a wall of Intent made manifest is protective gang qi.
Even this explanation cannot fully capture what Intent truly is. But in any case, that is the kind of power it is. A power that shakes heaven and earth, and grants one the right to be called an army unto oneself.
"Keh heh. Think you can stop it?"
In that sense, the blood-red mist Eumhyeol Sinma had unfurled could also be called Intent. He had mixed something into it—killing aura, or resentful spirits, or perhaps the essence blood of others—and given it form.
I could tell without having to feel it against my skin. That thing was mighty, and it was lethal. It would likely exert a force much like a field of crushing pressure, so perhaps 'dark sorcery' was a more fitting name for it than 'martial art.' It had claimed the very domain itself, and so it would carry real weight even in a battle between masters of the highest transcendence.
But—
"Is that all you have?"
"Keh heh. Still clinging to your bluster, I see."
"Does it look like bluster to you?"
"So you are but a greenhorn who has yet to truly awaken Intent."
No. Eumhyeol Sinma was wrong.
I had not failed to awaken Intent—I had awakened to it more deeply than Eumhyeol Sinma ever could. From my days in the Harmony Realm onward, I had watched with my own eyes and endured with my own body the Intent of masters who had reached the very summit. How could I not know?
I thought of the Supreme Leader of the Sado League, the Overlord Martial Emperor, Wiji Han. His Intent resembled a weapon—a sword, to be precise. Contrary to the world's prejudices about the unorthodox path, his Intent was upright and unyielding. So too was the way he would bend his own convictions, if only a little, for his son's sake, yet lay every sin upon his own shoulders. Looking back, his Intent was the father of all things—an overlord.
The Sovereign of Destruction, Yeom Gi-ha. I thought of the Supreme Alliance Leader of whom all the world spoke when it spoke of the Number One Under Heaven. His Intent resembled a demon of flame—in that it devoured all things to swell its own bulk, and in that it burned its own self to race toward the extreme. If one had to put it into words, an unquenchable hellfire—karmic flame—was the very Intent of the Sovereign of Destruction. An Intent that took the world for fuel, and itself for fuel, would never be extinguished. Perhaps it was precisely because he bore such an Intent that he rose to gaze down upon his era as its finest.
And last of all, I thought of the death I had once faced, the death against which no resistance was possible—the Heavenly Demon, Seol Cheon-sang.
I had thought his Intent resembled death itself. But I intend to amend that, if only a little. His Intent resembled not death, but a god.
I do not know what a god is. But having touched the Heavenly Demon's Intent, I could tell that this was exactly that. Just as the many Grand Masters built a history that was a hymn to humanity, and just as the Medicine Immortal, resembling nature itself, walked the path toward ascension, the Heavenly Demon had sought to become a god.
The Heavenly Demon, Seol Cheon-sang. He was the end of all things, and the beginning of all things.
And his Intent was emptiness. The end and the beginning of everything—and yet, at the same time, hollow to its core. That bone-chilling truth told me that the man I am now could never surpass the Heavenly Demon.
Death, godhood, emptiness. All three share one nature: they are the incomprehensible that no mortal can face directly. Perhaps all of them were, in truth, the Intent of the Heavenly Demon Seol Cheon-sang.
And—
Shaaaaa—
I studied the Intent Eumhyeol Sinma had spread before me. Try as I might not to compare, the comparison came unbidden.
Eumhyeol Sinma's Intent was crude. Not crude merely in comparison to the great ones worthy of the name Absolute Grand Master—it was crude in and of itself.
His Intent was a patchwork quilt, stitched together from the grudges, the fears, and the essence blood of others. Nothing in it was truly his own. So tainted was it that it was a mystery how he had attained the Transcendent Demon state and was manifesting Intent at all.
"Become my strength."
KRAKOOM—
The verdict fell from Eumhyeol Sinma's hoarse voice, and the blood-red mist came charging straight at me.
It was, without question, a threatening sight. Some green Harmony Realm master might well be swallowed whole, unable to offer any real resistance.
But I could not allow that to be. I am the Medicine Immortal's successor, the Sovereign of Destruction's heir, and one who gazes toward the Number One Under Heaven that is yet to come. And above all—I am the sword that will stand against the Heavenly Demon.
Goooooh—
I manifested my Intent and poured it into the Dancheon Sword. True, I had interpreted the Intent of the Grand Masters and disparaged Eumhyeol Sinma's—but even so, I did not yet know precisely what my own Intent was.
But one thing was certain—
KRAKAKAANG—!
my Intent, here and now, was more than enough to shatter Eumhyeol Sinma's crude imitation.
"…!"
Through the blood-red mist as it crumbled into nothing, I could see Eumhyeol Sinma's face, contorted with shock.
"Is it over?"
Like a scuffle between street rabble, our clash of Intent had been decided in a single exchange.
"You still do not know what Intent is."
I returned his own words to him with a sneer.
"Are you ready to die?"
Standing over Eumhyeol Sinma, I would grow stronger still.