Teach Me the Sword
After our first meeting, I spent a full month in deep, careful thought. Could I truly keep using this sword as I was?
Despite having reached first-class long ago, the reason I still hadn’t left the village was likely that same knot of worry lodged in my heart.
Every sect has its grandmaster, and beneath them countless disciples who inherit those teachings. Put simply, a disciple’s sword can never be complete without the grandmaster’s guidance.
To be clear, my God-Slaying Heaven-Shattering Sword had diverged so far from what my master taught me that it could almost be considered an entirely different art. If I simply kept my mouth shut, no one—not even Jeon No, who had once been my master—would ever notice.
Yet I had never once denied that the root of my sword lay in the Pacheon Sword Gate. Even now, I had no intention of denying it. That was precisely why it felt as though I could only wield my blade with a clear conscience if I formally received instruction in this life.
“I see that you handle the sword.”
Having finished my thoughts, I no longer hesitated. I strode over the ridge and headed straight for the house where my former master, Jeon No, lived. For the past couple of months, every training session and every moment of rest had taken place there. Strangely, my body felt lighter and stronger than ever.
During that time I had often noticed a sword hanging in the room where Jeon No stayed. Since I wasn’t a total stranger, the question probably wouldn’t seem odd. It shouldn’t.
“Are you speaking of the sword hanging inside the room?”
“Yes.”
When I answered, he glanced at the sword on the wall, rose, drew it, and showed it to me. The blade was chipped and missing teeth in several places. In a tone laced with regret, he said,
“As you can see, I laid it down long ago. My clumsy teachings might only poison a young man like you.”
No. A true famous sword never loses its edge, no matter how much time passes. And my master had been exactly like such a blade. The sword I remembered from my previous life had been flawless. Jeon No’s skill had not rusted in the slightest. Poison? On the contrary, this was my chance to lay down my inner demons.
Since I couldn’t say that outright, I chose my words carefully.
“I am a man of Namhyangchon, Elder Jeon No. There are no martial artists in this village. I am completely illiterate when it comes to the sword. Even this haphazard training seems to be producing results, but who knows what the future holds? If you would teach me even a little, I will accept it gratefully.”
Jeon No stroked the toothless blade once more, set it down gently on the floor, and shook his head.
“That makes it even less possible. If what you say is true, you reached first-class in less than half a year without any foundation. Instead of learning from me, you should seek out the Nine Great Schools or the Five Great Families. You are already doing well. Who else in the world comprehends inner energy through such a crude sword method? You may not realize it, but that is a rare opportunity few in the murim ever encounter.”
The moment I heard those words, certainty bloomed inside me. Ah. This will work.
The way he had stroked the sword was almost certainly an extension of the regret he felt. My master had never been greedy, but he was still a martial artist. I still didn’t understand what had moved him to accept me as a disciple in my previous life, but when a talented pupil rolled in like a vine heavy with fruit, there was no way he would refuse until the very end.
Of course, that was only my own hopeful interpretation. Still, a man’s intuition is a powerful thing. I felt it clearly. Right now Jeon No was wavering, if only slightly—wondering whether he was truly qualified to teach me.
Since I couldn’t give him the answer, I nudged the line just a little.
“Even a short lesson would be enough.”
“Hmm…”
After a quiet sigh that was neither long nor short, he spoke.
“…Sowoon. My sect is truly insignificant, and so is its martial art. But if you are willing to accept that, I will teach you briefly.”
“I would be overjoyed with even that much.”
It was done. Jeon No—no, my master—carefully extended his hand.
“Could you lend it to me for a moment?”
Overcome with emotion at this reunion that crossed time and space, I unconsciously placed my hand over his. I will gladly lend you anything.
“Sowoon.”
Yet my master’s voice sounded troubled.
“Could you lend me the wooden sword?”
Ah. My apologies.
…
“The murim holds hundreds of families and thousands of sects.”
“The patriarchs and sect leaders of each generation pass down to their disciples the teachings of their ancestors and the convictions contained within their martial studies. Take the Namgung Family that holds influence over Namhyangchon. Their conviction is Changgung—the Boundless Blue Sky. It is an arrogant will that claims the vast heavens themselves.”
Master slowly swept the sky with his sword. Suddenly I recalled the swords of the Namgung I had witnessed in my previous life. The sword formation deployed by the seventy-plus members of the Changgung Sword Squad with the Blue Sky Sword Empress Namgung Seha at its center. The Imperial Sword Form crushing the space, lightning strikes raining from every direction. They had taken the boundless sky completely into their grasp. There was nothing lacking in the arrogant conviction called Changgung.
I nodded in recognition, and Master continued.
“Such teachings may appear to be empty formality on the surface, but they are never mere shells. You must not take them lightly. They are directly connected to the ultimate essence of the martial arts you cultivate.”
This was completely different from the Master I had watched for the past month. The moment he stood with a sword in hand, he was no ordinary old man. There were no openings. I couldn’t even imagine daring to step inside his range.
“And I am the sect leader of the one-man succession sect known as the Pacheon Sword Gate.”
“The teaching of our sect is simple.”
“Do everything that can be done with a sword. Slay the gods and slice the heavens. The God-Slaying Heaven-Shattering Sword—a blade that carries an even more arrogant will than Changgung—is our sect’s martial art and its supreme technique.”
They were words I had certainly heard in my previous life. Back then I had simply rejoiced at the grandeur of the name. Hearing them now, the feeling was entirely different.
“In truth, however, it is a sword art that falls far short of its name. It is nothing more than a slightly stronger, slightly sharper cut.”
He was right. From the murim’s perspective, it would be called third-class martial arts. One-man succession sects usually possessed arts so profound they could only be passed to a single disciple, yet the Pacheon Sword Gate had always been strangely different.
“That is why I hesitated to teach you. I feared it might become a bad habit and harm you instead. But it seems better than the swordplay you learned by fumbling blindly.”
“You are a rational child, but you are also honest, so I must warn you.”
Like an adult carefully yet firmly taking candy from a child, Master cautioned me in a gentle but resolute tone.
“If you ever find a better sword art, learn it. If you discover flaws, fix them without hesitation.”
This was Master’s true gift. Teachings that belonged solely to Jeon No, untainted by the doctrines of the Pacheon Sword Gate. The magnanimous mindset that it did not matter even if the sect’s lineage ended with him.
Tradition, sects—I do not consider them important. Master’s sword slew the gods.
Martial studies are ultimately academics. They are taught across generations, passed down, and developed. Master’s sword blocked the world.
It is no different for martial arts. Learn what is better. Change what can be improved. Discard what does not fit reality. Master’s sword pierced the heavens.
Swordsmanship is not difficult. Cut. Thrust. Block. Why should something composed of only these three actions be considered hard? Simply hold the sword in silence and repeat the cuts. Keep thrusting. Block without end.
Aaah. An indescribable satisfaction filled me. The long-cherished wish I had glimpsed again had finally come true today.
“That aside, I will now show you a proper sword art.”
“This is the first form of our sect’s God-Slaying Heaven-Shattering Sword—”
Cham ()
The wooden sword in Master’s hand rose slowly, then began to flow like water. From top to bottom. A piercing sound tore through the air. The single strike that cleaved half the empty space was followed by a dark-colored sword strike. The tree standing before Master was grazed by that following strike. At the same time, it split cleanly in two with a loud crack. Yet the tree did not fall. A cut so perfect it was nearly one with the void.
Just from the completion of the form, he deserved to be called a master of the sword. I was about to clap, thinking as expected of Master, when something felt off.
…Wait. The sword strike was dark-colored?
Generally, a martial artist who has reached the Peak Realm can manifest Sword Qi. The technique Master had just shown—reaching even the empty air the blade could not touch—was one such art. However, Sword Qi does not possess color. If Sword Qi carries color, it is no longer called Sword Qi. It is something beyond that: Sword Force.
In short, it is the exclusive domain of the Super Peak realm and above.
Of course, there are sword arts that deliberately color Sword Qi—the Huashan Sect’s Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Technique, the Namgung Clan’s Boundless Blue Sky Sword Art, the Wudang’s Taiji Wisdom Sword. Only such supreme divine arts could achieve it. The God-Slaying Heaven-Shattering Sword was absolutely not one of them.
In short…
Master. Since when have you been at the Super Peak level?
It seems I really am a worthless disciple. I hadn’t known a single thing properly.