Heaven's Flawless Garment (2)

The adventurers who had been mocking Mok Yeon-hwa left without another word, abandoning her to stand there trembling with rage.

Even after they had vanished, she remained rooted in place for a long while, silently swallowing her fury. Only then did Evan step into view before her.

"Master."

"…Evan?"

"Why didn't you fight them?"

From Evan's perspective, her skill had clearly been superior — pure curiosity, nothing more, born from watching her refuse to draw her blade. But Mok Yeon-hwa seemed to take it as a rebuke. Her shoulders flinched, and she carefully lowered her gaze.

For a moment she sank into self-reproach, then finally opened her mouth.

"…I was afraid."

"Pardon?"

"My hair… it's short, right? I only cut it recently. I didn't actually want to."

Mok Yeon-hwa still remembered that day with perfect clarity. The day adventurers had brazenly sold off her dojo's sword techniques as their own, and her father, seething with rage, had charged at them with a single blade in hand.

They had subdued him through underhanded means — and they hadn't stopped there. They had come to collect a ransom for her father's life.

The old man attacked us, they said. Pay us compensation for that.

"We didn't have the money. The sum they demanded was absurd."

Hearing that there was no coin to be had, the adventurers had suggested another form of payment. And then they had come for Mok Yeon-hwa herself.

Back then her hair had been long, and she hadn't bound her chest with bandages. She had been a beauty anyone would have been proud to claim. That the adventurers had targeted her was, in a twisted way, only natural.

She had resisted with everything she had, but in the end she was overpowered just as her father had been — and she had come within a breath of losing her purity before Mok Cheon finally offered to pay, bringing the ordeal to a close.

After that, she could no longer bear the gazes of men. Cutting her hair and binding her chest had begun around then.

"Father put the dojo up as collateral and borrowed the money to hand over to those bastards. Thanks to that, I've been drowning in debt ever since… and even that wasn't enough for them. Now they're standing right in front of our dojo, peddling our sword techniques for pocket change—!"

"That does sound strange. Didn't you try asking the Guild or the lord for help?"

"Of course we did! You think we wouldn't have tried!? …They said Father was the one who attacked first, that everything was settled by mutual agreement, so there was nothing to be done about it."

Hearing that, Evan felt something off — a dissonance he couldn't quite put into words, the kind of wrongness only a Sword Saint who had dealt with Guilds and lordly estates would sense.

Having roughly grasped the true shape of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that dissonance, he nodded as if he understood how the whole situation had been arranged.

"I see. Are you finished saying what you needed to say?"

"…What more is there?"

"Then let's go back to the dojo."

"…What?"

"You still have to teach me the sword, don't you? Today's only day two — are you already planning to give me a refund?"

Mok Yeon-hwa stared at him for a long moment, as if gauging whether he was serious. Then she let out a hollow little laugh and nodded.

Right. Of course. Evan was a paying customer who had purchased the right to train at the dojo, and she — drowning in debt — had already spent every last coin of his tuition.

A refund was out of the question. And there was no chance this child could solve the crisis that had befallen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her.

"Fine. Let's go."

Mok Yeon-hwa clicked her tongue, a bitter taste lingering in her mouth — thick with self-loathing for having expected anything at all from a boy so young.

"…Our school is called the Cheonbong-ryu — the Heaven-Sewing Style."

"Ooh. Sounds impressive."

"Cheonbong — to sew the heavens shut. As for what kind of swordsmanship it is, showing you will be faster than explaining."

Mok Yeon-hwa rose from her seat, wooden sword in hand, and beckoned to Evan. Answering her call, he took up his own practice blade — and the moment he faced her, he realized there was almost no opening to be found. A soft sound of admiration escaped him.

She's a completely different person from yesterday.

He swung lightly at the woman who showed no gaps. Mok Yeon-hwa deflected the incoming wooden blade as if it were nothing, then thrust the tip straight for his throat.

"—Like this. Never giving the opponent an opening to exploit — that's the motto of our swordsmanship. In theory, if you reach the absolute limit, you can defend against any attack at all… though neither I nor my father has ever touched that realm."

"Any attack…? Even magic? Or a dragon's breath?"

"Ahaha. I've never seen either, so I couldn't say… but in theory, if you complete the ultimate technique, you should be able to stop them, right?"

Mok Yeon-hwa offered a strained smile as she said it. Speaking so casually of a height she herself had never reached left a sour taste in her mouth.

Understanding her feelings, Evan smiled along with her, then began training his sword exactly as she instructed.

"Right — from there, take one step forward with your foot…"

"Pull your arm back… ah, you've already done it."

"…Yeah. You don't even need me to tell you anymore."

As she taught him, Mok Yeon-hwa was gradually coming to understand that Evan was no ordinary boy.

The unfathomable depth she felt in his blade. The fleeting profundity that flickered each time he swung. The way his form improved dazzlingly with every single stroke.

He was a genius. At the very least, she could tell he was not a being that a single modest school like hers could ever hope to contain.

A grandmaster…

She sensed in him the makings of a founder — the kind of person who could establish an entire school of his own. The quiet joy of being able to teach, even briefly, someone whose name would surely be carved into history settled warmly in her chest.

And so, one month later—

So this is what it feels like.

Evan had mastered the ultimate technique of the Cheonbong-ryu: Heaven's Flawless Garment.

There are many types of adventurers. Some escort merchant caravans, rescue people, run errands — essentially hired hands who take on other people's chores.

Some hunt monsters, selling bounties and materials to scrape by.

And then there are the mercenaries who deal with people.

"Boss, what are we doing today?"

"What do you mean, what? Same as always."

Rex gave his subordinate the order and began putting on his usual getup — the rough, threatening look of a street thug. Looking like someone no one would want to approach was the whole point.

People fear thugs and mafiosi. Beggars, they merely despise and revile.

If they blocked the road to the Mokcheon Dojo dressed as beggars, people would start feeling sympathy for the dojo's folk. Someone hot-tempered might even step in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and try to beat them off the street.

That's human hypocrisy for you.

Once their disguises were complete, they occupied the path leading to the dojo and settled in to wait for people to come.

Anyone trying to pass through got stopped. Anyone whose goal was learning swordsmanship got shaken down for pocket money — after which Rex's crew taught them themselves.

It was the same swordsmanship learned directly from the dojo, so even if the quality differed, the essence was the same. People preferred learning the core techniques quickly and cheaply right there over paying dozens or hundreds of elsos at the dojo proper.

"Boss, how long do we have to keep doing this crap?"

"How long? Until they go under, that's how long."

Rex scolded his subordinate, then frowned slightly. He was just as sick of this nonsense. But what choice did he have? Once a man draws his blade, he has to see it through to the end.

"We're almost there. Those bastards don't even have new students — their cash flow's bone-dry. The old man's still laid up from the beating we gave him, and the loan interest just keeps piling up. Won't be long before the whole dojo gets seized."

"Ohh — and we get to take it?"

"That's right. Pretty clever plan, don't you think?"

Rex grinned — then turned his head at the sound of footsteps approaching from afar. The sound wasn't coming from in front of them, but from behind: from the direction of the dojo.

Figuring that woman had come to run her mouth again, Rex instead found a kid he'd never seen before and tilted his head.

The brat was wearing a mask of unknown origin, pulled down over his face.

"What the hell is that? Did that dojo have a kid stashed away somewhere?"

"No way. That family's just the father and daughter."

"Then who is this?"

"…Maybe that little brat who was throwing a fit about joining the dojo a while back?"

"There was a kid like that? —More importantly, I told you not to let a single person through."

"Ehehe— well, I did take his money and teach him some swordsmanship. Maybe he figured there was nothing left to learn at the dojo and decided to leave?"

Whether their guess was right or wrong, the moment of truth was approaching. Rex's subordinate, reading the room, called out to the boy who had drawn near.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Gentlemen, let me ask you something first. Do you have any intention of admitting your wrongs and apologizing?"

"I asked who you are, you little shit — you can't even understand plain—"

"I understood you perfectly."

With that, the boy drew a wooden sword. Rex's crew froze for a beat — then, grasping what the kid intended, burst into roaring laughter.

"Y-you — you brought that thing to, pffft— pick a fight with us?"

"Pick a fight? No, not at all."

"The hell you mean, no? Then what?"

"Pest control."

Guh—!

In the next instant, the boy's wooden sword shot forward and struck the lead subordinate's Adam's apple, dropping him instantly. Rex bellowed at the sight.

"Grab that little bastard!"

His men, practiced at dealing with swordsmen, pulled out gear suited to the tight alley — crossbows and chain nets that were nearly impossible to dodge in such a narrow space — and hurled them.

It was the same method that had subdued even the dojo's master, Mok Cheon, and Mok Yeon-hwa herself. They fully expected to put this brat down just as easily, already thinking about how thoroughly they were going to thrash him.

That thought shattered the moment the boy's wooden sword flicked the arrows aside.

The wooden sword casually deflected the flying arrows, the nets, the chains — then came crashing down on their heads.

It was a practice blade designed to deliver only light impact. Yet that single strike was enough to put Rex and his entire crew down.

Looking down at them as they clutched their spinning heads and writhed on the ground, the masked boy spoke as if nothing of note had happened.

"Go apologize. Today, if you can."

"B…ullshit. What the hell did we even do wr—"

"Understood. Then we'll do it this way."

"Ghhk—!? Gyaaaaaah! You crazy little—!"

The boy planted his foot on the fallen Rex's hand, put his full weight into it, and crushed their hands one by one before speaking again.

"You don't have to apologize. Instead — one a day."

He didn't need to explain what that meant. The men with shattered hands propped each other up and fled the alley as fast as they could manage.

Watching Rex's crew scramble away, the boy let out a long sigh and muttered to himself.

"It'd be nice if this were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the end of it."

He knew all too well that people don't change that easily.

After a full month spent bedridden and recovering, Mok Cheon finally shook off his injuries and returned to the dojo.

"Father, you could rest a little longer…"

"Nonsense. I'm still in my prime. And what good is a man who just lies around? People need to work."

Clicking his tongue and answering as if nothing were wrong, Mok Cheon surveyed the empty dojo and let a bitter smile touch his lips.

"…The dojo hasn't changed a bit."

"I'm sorry, Father. If I weren't so inadequate…"

"What fault of yours is there? If anyone's to blame, Yeon-hwa, it's not you — it's…"

Those damned adventurers, no doubt.

Just as he was about to say so, Mok Cheon's expression twisted. A man was stepping into the dojo — the same worthless adventurer who had blocked the road every single day and driven people away.

"—You. Do you have any idea where you are?"

"I'm truly sorry! Please — please, just spare my life!"

"…Huh?"

Mok Cheon stared at the suddenly apologetic adventurer with a look of pure incomprehension. The man paid no mind and pressed on with his pleas.

"B-Boss and the others can do what they want, but I'm here to apologize! Please, please, just me—!"

"What on earth are you talking about all of a sudden…"

"Y-yes? But that boy told us to apologize to the people of this dojo!"

"Boy?"

"A-anyway, I offer my deepest apologies! I was truly in the wrong!"

Mok Cheon could make no sense of the situation. One of the adventurers who had so relentlessly tormented them had shown up out of nowhere to beg forgiveness — and he could find no thread connecting any of it.

Mok Yeon-hwa, however, was different. The moment the word "boy" left the adventurer's mouth, a certain someone sprang to mind.

…It couldn't be.