The Mad Dog's Retreat
With a thunderous boom, Jang Muhwi and Ma Uiryong retreated at the same time.
Ma Uiryong was the first to speak.
"Not bad."
"I could say the same to you, Young Master Ma."
They glared at each other, stepping back one pace at a time.
The onlookers tilted their heads in confusion.
They had heard the boom, yet none could grasp what had just happened. All they saw was the sound and a fleeting flash of light.
It was not only the spectators. Even among the Jang family warriors, few had clearly witnessed the exchange.
One of them finally spoke up.
"It looked like an ordinary attack to me. Why are you so surprised, Hall Master?"
"Hmph. You didn't see it."
"See what?"
"There was only one sound, but they traded two techniques."
Jang Yuseong swallowed hard after speaking.
He was astonished by Ma Uiryong's skill, and even more so by Jang Muhwi, who had matched it.
Busy managing the family, Jang Yuseong had paid little attention to the younger generation. Qinghai was the frontier of the murim, after all. Promising talents usually left for the Central Plains, and those who gained fame rarely returned. That was the reality of the border regions.
The Jang family itself had never produced anyone remarkable. Yet the scene before him defied everything he had believed.
He had thought Ma Uiryong was nothing more than a hot-tempered brute, but the young man's martial prowess far exceeded his expectations.
One of his subordinates asked again.
"There's something else I don't understand. Neither of them seems injured, so why are they still so wary of each other?"
"Watch them closely."
Jang Yuseong pointed at the two youths and drew a deep breath.
His subordinate still looked puzzled.
"I don't see it."
"Close your eyes and sense the scent of blood. Then you'll understand."
Jang Yuseong's eyes gleamed as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the two fighters.
The important thing was that even his own men had failed to follow the movements of Ma Uiryong's spear and Jang Muhwi's sword. Only a handful, including himself, could perceive such speed.
It was truly astonishing.
At first he had stepped forward to stop the fight. Then, to protect Jang Muhwi, he had watched without blinking. Now he found himself forgetting his original purpose, simply absorbing the duel with both eyes.
For the first time in a long while, Jang Yuseong felt the blood in his veins stir.
He had grown complacent with reality. Protecting a family that could collapse at any moment had long since buried any sense of hope in some forgotten corner of his mind.
In a way, the family head's decision to pour everything into the eldest son had been influenced by Jang Yuseong's own advice. Because of that, Jang Muhwi had never received a single elixir, not even a single medicinal herb.
Jang Yuseong was, above all, a practical man.
But today was different.
As the family's future began to take shape before him, the desires of a martial artist long dormant began to awaken. At the same time, a pang of guilt toward Jang Muhwi surfaced.
Until moments ago, he had not truly believed in his nephew.
"Now is the time to believe."
"What do you mean, Hall Master?"
"Put away your swords. All of you."
Jang Yuseong gave his men a signal.
At his command, the Jang family warriors sheathed their blades in unison. Across from them, the Ma family warriors did the same.
For that moment, no one spoke. Not the warriors, not the spectators.
Though they did not understand the details, even the onlookers sensed that the duel had been extraordinary.
As the silence grew awkward, Jang Muhwi flicked his sword.
Chwaak!
A faint line of blood appeared on the ground.
Ma Uiryong's lips curled upward. He raised his spear and shook it in the air.
Hwik!
The scent of blood spread in all directions.
They had each shaken the other's blood from their weapons.
Just as Jang Yuseong had said, they had exchanged two strikes. Though Ma Uiryong's spear was longer, Jang Muhwi's thrust had been just as swift.
Ma Uiryong was surprised by his opponent. There had been no trace of fear in Jang Muhwi's sword—only the clear intent to sever his opponent's neck, even if it cost him his own life.
In that instant, Ma Uiryong had withdrawn his spear to block the sword. It was the first time he had ever pulled back against an opponent, regardless of their strength. No one had ever charged at him with the willingness to die together.
If he had continued his thrust, his spear would have pierced Jang Muhwi's throat. But Jang Muhwi's blade would have reached his own neck as well.
A messy mutual destruction, the kind the murim despised.
Fortunately, he had withdrawn in time to avoid disaster.
As their weapons clashed and rebounded, both extended their arms once more. Ma Uiryong raised his spear high again, then paused, tilting his head.
It was because of the expression on his opponent's face.
Jang Muhwi, known as Qinghai's greatest dullard, wore a faint smile.
Ma Uiryong realized something was wrong.
Then his white teeth flashed in a grin.
To survive, one must go mad!
That was Ma Uiryong's creed. Train like a madman. Crush opponents like a madman. In Qinghai, he had to become the madman. That was the only way to survive in the murim.
He felt ashamed that he had been briefly intimidated by the so-called greatest dullard of Qinghai.
"Kukuk. You're dead today."
"Haha. Do as you please."
Jang Muhwi laughed in return as he faced Ma Uiryong's bared teeth. It was a genuine laugh. He could not remember the last time he had smiled like this.
He had yet to fully absorb the opportunity he had gained from Dang Jihwa at the Dragon Gate Assembly. The only change so far was Baekdokbulchim and the resulting transformation of his blood vessels. His meridians had become as tough as iron.
To adapt to such physical changes, nothing was better than real combat. Had the ancient sages not said that iron grows stronger the more it is struck?
The body was no different. As long as one's head remained attached, the body grew stronger with every blow.
Jang Muhwi had been searching for a chance to temper himself. In that sense, Ma Uiryong was a windfall. Of course, there were other benefits to be gained from him besides training.
Right now, however, the priority was to extract every possible gain from this duel without leaving a single scrap behind.
That was why Jang Muhwi had responded in kind. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Only by matching that ferocity could he awaken his long-dormant senses. Nothing sharpened the mind like danger.
Jang Muhwi extended his sword with a light heart. He paid no mind to the wound on his neck. Even if Ma Uiryong had not withdrawn his spear, he had been confident he could dodge.
Narrowing his eyes, Jang Muhwi looked at Ma Uiryong.
"Are you sure about this?"
"I have to kill you."
"There are many eyes watching."
"I don't need them."
Ma Uiryong drove his spear into the ground and kicked the lower end with his right foot.
Tak.
The shaft split cleanly in two, transforming the long spear into a short one.
Everyone tilted their heads. Breaking one's own spear was something none of the spectators had ever seen. They assumed Ma Uiryong was going easy on Jang Muhwi. Otherwise, there would be no reason to halve a perfectly good weapon.
While they were still puzzled, Ma Uiryong swung the shortened spear with a cold smile.
Only Jang Muhwi understood his true intent. The spear had become faster, sharper. The energy gathered at its tip had grown denser.
It was only natural. Even when heating iron, the part closest to the fire glows red first before the color spreads to the end. Ma Uiryong had simply shortened the distance.
Perhaps the head of the Ma family could wield the full-length spear. Ma Uiryong, however, lacked the necessary attainment. His solution was to adjust the weapon's length to match his own ability.
Jang Muhwi also raised his sword at an angle.
In the next instant, Ma Uiryong's shortened spear shot toward his side.
Buung.
The Ma family's spearmanship was peculiar. This was their danchang technique. The character dan did not mean "short," but "to sever." A spear was a weapon specialized for thrusting from a distance, efficient even without advanced footwork. But in the hands of a murim warrior, it changed. Sometimes it became a sword. Sometimes a saber.
The Ma family's danchang concentrated inner energy into the shaft. Whether the obstacle was a shield or a sword, the technique severed everything in its path. That was the essence of their spearmanship.
The spear shaft, now wrapped in crimson energy, resembled a coiled red viper. The deep red color proved Ma Uiryong was pushing his limits. Yet Jang Muhwi did not dodge. He blocked the spear.
Everyone squeezed their eyes shut. No one believed Jang Muhwi could withstand that force. He would have to sacrifice at least one arm.
A short, sharp sound rang out.
Tang!
Jang Muhwi had stopped the incoming spear. That was only the beginning.
Ma Uiryong's ominous crimson spear and Jang Muhwi's sword clashed without pause.
Chaeng!
The crimson spear grew faster and stronger with each exchange. Just as two hands must meet to produce a clap, Jang Muhwi matched his opponent's rhythm. He watched Ma Uiryong's face twist with frustration.
In contrast, Jang Muhwi felt his senses from his previous life returning. His body began to follow his opponent's movements naturally. How long had it been since he had felt such vivid combat intuition? This was a sensation he had never experienced against Wi Gunak or during the Dragon Gate Assembly. It was the precious awareness that only arose when life and death hung in the balance—an essential tool for awakening the body, like fire and hammer in a forge.
But the fight could not continue indefinitely. It was time to end it and collect his due.
Jang Muhwi increased his speed. The spear and sword tangled faster and faster in the air.
Beonjeok!
Jwaak!
With a flash and a strange sound, Ma Uiryong froze. His spear tip stopped two handbreadths from Jang Muhwi's forehead.
The spectators swallowed dryly. It looked as though Ma Uiryong had shown mercy. Yet his face was flushed crimson, and he snorted in frustration.
A warm spring breeze passed between them.
Seureuk!
Their robes fluttered. Between the swaying folds of fabric, Jang Muhwi's sword was revealed—its tip pressed against Ma Uiryong's dantian.
Only then did the onlookers understand. It had not been Ma Uiryong who showed mercy. It had been Jang Muhwi.
Ma Uiryong ground his teeth. He felt as though his blood were flowing backward. He refused to accept what had happened in that final exchange.
He replayed the moment in his mind. Where had he gone wrong?
Regardless, he had lost this match. Come to think of it, he had caught a cold a few days ago. That must have been the problem. He had only moved because he thought Jang Muhwi would be an easy opponent.
He decided to accept the situation calmly.
"I'll be going now."
He emphasized the word "now."
This was not the first time he had lost a duel. But he had always been the final victor in the end. Today's defeat did not matter—except that his opponent was Jang Muhwi, the man everyone had looked down upon.
Ma Uiryong looked at Jang Muhwi once more. To him, the other youth was still prey. Even if he could not devour him today, he could cook him up in a few days. When that time came, he would gather people and throw a feast. He would also uproot the pillars of the Jang family. If his own strength was insufficient, he would borrow his family's power.
Grinding his teeth, Ma Uiryong turned away. The murmuring crowd fell silent, perhaps intimidated by his glare. They feared drawing the Ma family's ire with a single careless word.
Ma Uiryong walked away under everyone's gaze. Just then, Jang Muhwi grabbed his sleeve.
"Please wait a moment."