The Wudang Sparring Challenge
Even after careful consideration, the words of the Wudang disciple sounded like nothing more than an excuse. Yet Jinryeong, having just witnessed such a shocking scene, found himself unable to make a proper judgment. A demon destined to rule the heavens, and a man fated to defy the heavens to stop him. It was impossible to dismiss as mere nonsense. At the very least, the woman cloaked in darkness whom Jinryeong had seen could only be described as a demon. Still, blind trust was out of the question. Thus, Jinryeong made a single proposal.
“If you truly bear the destiny of heavenly reversal, then you must possess the strength to stand against that demon. Do you agree?”
“Yes. However, given my age, I am still weak.”
“Haha. At your age, the only person I can think of who possessed such martial prowess is our founder, Taoist Zhang Sanfeng.”
“You flatter me.”
Baekri Hyeong knew full well that even with his extraordinary talent, he was no match for Zhang Sanfeng. The founder of the Wudang Sect and its first grandmaster, Zhang Sanfeng stood alongside the first Heavenly Demon—who had established the Heavenly Demon Cult—as one of the twin pillars of the martial world. Whenever they moved, heaven and earth trembled, and their battles were said to have transformed flat plains into the rugged Hundred Thousand Mountains. At present, their realm felt impossibly distant. Yet one day, he would have to reach it. If he failed, that horrific future would repeat itself.
“It is a path I must one day walk. And I will reach it, without fail.”
“…If you can defeat one of Wudang’s first-generation disciples in a sparring match, I will believe your words. But if not…”
“I will accept the punishment for deceiving and insulting the sect leader.”
“Follow me.”
Guided by Jinryeong, Baekri Hyeong arrived at the training grounds where Wudang’s first-generation disciples were practicing. The disciples immediately clasped their fists toward their sect leader. Overwhelmed by the imposing atmosphere, Baekri Hyeong swallowed hard.
A few familiar faces here.
These first-generation disciples would later become the vanguard in the war against the Heavenly Demon Cult, so most were faces Baekri Hyeong knew well. He had never expected to meet them again like this. Some had even been close to him, and he felt the urge to greet them. Of course, he refrained—lest they think him mad.
“This young hero is Baekri Hyeong, the young master of the Baekri Clan.”
“I greet the first-generation disciples of the Wudang Sect. I am Baekri Hyeong, young master of the Baekri Clan.”
At Jinryeong’s introduction, the first-generation disciples began murmuring among themselves. The Baekri Clan was the house ruled by the Sword Sovereign of this era, and its young master, Baekri Hyeong, was the Sword Sovereign’s son. As swordsmen and martial artists of the Wudang Sect, they naturally took interest in him. But after Jinryeong cleared his throat a few times, the training grounds fell silent once more, and his voice rang out.
“The reason the young master has come is simple. He wishes to spar with our first-generation disciples.”
“Sect Leader! The young master is still a child! How could he possibly spar with us?”
One of the first-generation disciples, deeply shocked by Jinryeong’s words, raised his hand in protest. The age gap was enormous—more than twice the eight-year difference between Baekri Hyeong and his sister, the Sword Phoenix. How could they possibly be opponents? Just as the disciple was about to suggest sparring with the second-generation disciples instead, Jinryeong spoke again.
“I assure you, at least half of the people here will be unable to defeat the young master.”
“..!”
“If any disciple believes this concerns them, accept his request to spar.”
The shocking statement did not end there. Jinryeong went so far as to claim that Baekri Hyeong’s skill was on par with that of Wudang’s first-generation disciples. Coming from anyone else, it might have been dismissed, but these words came from the sect leader—a man who had never spoken a lie in his life. Whether he was insulting Wudang or simply praising the young master of the Baekri Clan, his intent was impossible to discern.
“I will step forward for the sparring match!”
At that moment, one of the first-generation disciples raised his hand and stepped forward. His Taoist name was Cheonghwang. Among the first-generation disciples, he was known for his strong pride in the Wudang Sect. He was well aware of the monstrous talent possessed by the bloodline of the Baekri Clan. The Sword Phoenix, Baekri Hyang, was proof enough. A woman who, at only twelve years old, had defeated renowned swordsmen and earned the title of Sword Phoenix. What about her younger brother, Baekri Hyeong? Though a year younger than Baekri Hyang had been when she earned her title, he was a boy. At such a tender age, there was likely no one who could match him. Still, he needed to be humbled. If arrogance took root, even the greatest talent could lead to ruin. That was why Cheonghwang stepped forward with confidence.
Thus began the hastily arranged sparring match between Baekri Hyeong and a Wudang first-generation disciple, proposed by Jinryeong. Finding himself unexpectedly matched against a familiar face, Baekri Hyeong fell into thought.
What should I use?
It was a difficult dilemma. The Baekri Heavy Sword would struggle against Wudang’s Taiji Sword. The Taiji Sword, which combined swift swordplay, illusory techniques, and fluid swordsmanship, was the natural counter to the straightforward Baekri Heavy Sword. Yet he could not use the sword art his father had taught him. It was his trump card, the result of years of secluded research within the clan. That left only the Baekri Thirteen Swords and the Four Guardian Deities Sword. Though other sword arts existed within the clan, he had not learned them. He believed it was better to master one art to its extreme rather than dabble in many.
“I will grant you three moves. Move as you please.”
“You will regret those words.”
Seeing Baekri Hyeong deep in thought, Cheonghwang offered to yield the first three moves. That was the kind of man he was—someone whose confidence soared when he judged an opponent inferior at a glance, yet someone who would sacrifice himself without hesitation to save his comrades when death loomed. He was a man one could hate, yet could never truly bring oneself to hate. Cheonghwang was that kind of person.
“Then I’ll go first.”
“..!”
Thud.
Baekri Hyeong stomped the ground with the White Tiger Step, invoking the White Tiger Manifestation. In an instant, the air on the sparring stage grew heavy, and the attention of the first-generation disciples focused on him. Was that truly a sword art of the Baekri Clan? No matter how much they racked their brains, they had never heard of the Sword Sovereign using such a technique. Meanwhile, Cheonghwang was visibly shaken by the aura emanating from Baekri Hyeong.
I didn’t expect… this much.
Baekri Hyeong had only taken a single step, yet cold sweat had already formed on Cheonghwang’s back. He had not even attempted an attack. Nor did it seem he was gathering energy. What was he doing?
Shhhk.
Cheonghwang kept his eyes fixed on Baekri Hyeong without losing focus. In the blink of an eye, Baekri Hyeong vanished without a trace, his presence completely concealed. Startled, Cheonghwang drew upon the inner energy of the Taiji Divine Art and wrapped himself in a protective qi barrier.
BOOM!
“Kuh!”
Suddenly, Baekri Hyeong appeared right before Cheonghwang’s eyes. With a flash of white light in his gaze, he unleashed the first form of the White Tiger True Sword—Fierce Tiger’s Severing Strike—aiming for Cheonghwang’s legs. But Cheonghwang was no novice. Not content with merely his protective barrier, he reversed his grip on his sword and blocked Baekri Hyeong’s opening move. Yet Baekri Hyeong’s assault did not stop. The moment he realized his first strike had failed, his eyes turned crimson.
“Haaah!”
“Ugh!”
The first form of the Vermilion Bird Killing Sword—Blood Wing Explosion—grazed past Cheonghwang’s neck. It was a strike of extreme speed. If the first attack had emphasized power, this one focused on swiftness. Though the sword path felt similar, how could a single sword art seamlessly shift between heavy and swift techniques? The question arose, but there was no time to dwell on it.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Kuh! This brat!”
After another attack was thwarted, Baekri Hyeong began swinging his sword wildly. He had judged that it was better to strike recklessly and deny his opponent any opening than to fail the three-move advantage and return to an even footing. And that judgment proved partially correct. Though he swung wildly, Baekri Hyeong’s sword still followed its own path, carving precise trajectories. Even Cheonghwang found it difficult to employ the Taiji Sword at such speed. Whenever he tried to retreat, Baekri Hyeong’s white qi-infused steps and footwork closed the distance in an instant, like the ferocity of a tiger.
If this continues, I’ll be completely overwhelmed.
Just as Cheonghwang, who had been focused solely on defense, briefly closed and reopened his eyes, the White Tiger qi that had dominated the stage vanished. In its place, the refreshing energy of the Taiji Divine Art began to spread. Cheonghwang looked at the slightly flustered Baekri Hyeong and grinned.
“Now it begins, Young Master.”