Quite the Poisonous Guest (4)
Geomang. The only word that came to mind was that his sword was even more overwhelmingly superior than the rumors suggested.
I had seen countless swordsmen better than him throughout my life. The Sichuan Tang Clan alone had around ten super peak experts, and naturally some of them wielded swords. I had wanted to fight them. I had crossed blades with them. And of course, I had been defeated. Yet even though those opponents had possessed an even greater gap in skill, none of them had given me quite this same sense of overwhelming dominance.
His later strikes arrived before the initial ones. An extreme fast sword that couldn’t even be tracked at equal cultivation. Each individual blow carried power that could not be ignored. And the fact that the one overwhelming me like this was only ten years old… At most four or five years since he had first taken up the sword, and within that time he had stepped into the peak realm and surpassed me.
Sparring with such a monster was pure joy. Even as my arm was sliced open, even as wounds bloomed across my body and blood flowed freely, I was happy. At least in my life, this bout ranked among the top three. Simply being able to clash with an opponent like this brought me unparalleled satisfaction.
“Poison Dragon, I have a question.”
Just as exhilaration was washing over me, he suddenly lowered his sword and asked. What could he possibly want to know?
“Is the reason you’re doing this spar merely for fun—nothing more?”
I pretended to ponder for a moment, but the question wasn’t even worth the time. Hadn’t I already said it? For fun. Did two martial artists truly need any other reason to cross blades?
“Of course. The sensation of surviving a fight where blood sprays between us, where we stake our very lives—that is what brings me joy.”
That was my answer. The spar wasn’t over yet despite being pushed back, so I reached into my sleeve for a throwing knife to resume.
It was then that he spoke again.
“…From now on, I’ll do things a little differently.”
He changed his stance. The tip of his sword no longer pointed at the sky but straight at me. He spread his legs front and back, creating a flexible, balanced posture. Another fast sword? Anticipation surged through me. As expected, he was a swordsman who could truly satisfy me.
His blade moved once more.
“What is this…”
It wasn’t a fast sword. His movements flowed like water, yet they held no speed at all. There was no sign of them gradually accelerating like before. They were neither flashy nor disorienting. Just a continuous sequence of horizontal cuts, vertical cuts, and thrusts. It was the Three Talents Sword Technique, executed at its peak.
“…Come at me.”
It looked like nothing special. At first glance, it seemed like something even I could replicate. But his eyes burned with determination, moving with absolute conviction. Come at me. The words sounded like an invitation to throw everything I had, as if he would accept it all.
Was he claiming he could stop me with that kind of sword? Was this an insult suggesting I no longer held any value as an opponent? I couldn’t stand it.
“Since poison doesn’t work on you…”
I still had plenty of hidden weapons left. With this quantity, even at my level I could imitate something close to the Ten Thousand Calamity Rain, if not the technique itself. My fingertips danced as I flicked throwing knives without pause. From my other hand came poison needles. The instant they were ready, I launched them.
“…I cut horizontally, then vertically.”
I knew. It was obvious to the eye. What could he possibly achieve with that? It wasn’t something that could be blocked with just two simple cuts. Or so I thought.
“That’s all there is to it.”
His sword whipped up a fierce gale that swept away every hidden weapon. Of course, he took even deeper wounds than before. It was the first time his limbs had been properly cut. Yet he stubbornly adhered to the Three Talents Sword Technique and used nothing beyond it.
His sudden foolish behavior made me think—foolishly—that I might win. We exchanged dozens of moves like that. Only then did my thoughts begin to change.
“Something’s…”
Strange. He was clearly injured. He must be in pain. Any normal person would groan under such conditions. His wounds had now become comparable to my own. Yet even though his sword had simplified, even though he was hurt, even though his movements should have grown dull—his blade and presence remained overwhelmingly powerful. I was the one being pushed back. Why?
“People are born from nothingness and return to nothingness.”
Correct. An obvious truth. But I couldn’t understand why he was bringing it up now.
“Among them, some fill that nothingness of life with martial arts.”
It seemed he was speaking of us. Yes. We must fill our lives with martial pursuit.
“Isn’t martial arts what defines your life? It should not be taken so lightly.”
Lightly? Was he saying that after seeing everything I had built? Even though the words came from a child, anger surged within me uncontrollably. I thrust a poisoned blade. It was blocked, as expected.
“My true sword exists to oppress and kill others. However, my original sword is slightly different.”
I didn’t understand. Hadn’t he just said our lives were defined by martial arts? Why, then, was sharing that martial art with others considered light?
“When I first learned the sword, it was both teaching and scholarship to me.”
…Was it not?
“When I learned the original sword, I was happy. When I learned the true sword, I was miserable. And the moment I awakened to the original sword once more, I felt both regret and relief.”
His eyes were fixed on me. That was why he continued cutting and thrusting at me. Yet he wasn’t truly seeing me. Through me, he was recalling someone else. And in that recollection, he was speaking.
“I hope you do not walk the same path I did.”
A small question I had asked myself, and a small conviction someone else had given me. Those thoughts began to dominate my mind.
“Surely when you first learned poison arts, you did not pursue mere combat. Please remember.”
The end of this spar no longer felt important. The only question that remained was—what exactly should I remember?
“Your original intent.”
.
.
“Ho-young.”
Someone had once asked me that. He was a white-haired elder who always sat on a wooden chair, quietly watching me. I had called him Grandfather. I learned poison from him.
The man known as the Elder Council Head taught me poison arts one ordinary day. I remember it clearly. It was the day I finally moved past nerve toxins and began learning lethal poisons. That day, the person who was both my grandfather and my master called me over and asked.
“You are the only male direct descendant of the Tang Clan.”
He stroked my head gently, as if admonishing me, and spoke while seated.
“If you commit no treason, you will become the master of this family without needing to do anything at all.”
I had learned martial arts from him until then. Only he could ask me such a question.
“Even so, why do you learn martial arts?”
I remember my answer from back then with perfect clarity. The boy I was then wiped the poison from both hands onto his clothes, smiled brightly at Grandfather, and answered with confidence.
“The Tang Clan is a family of poison. If the future head of such a family avoids poison, what would the world say about us?”
“Poison users are cowardly and vicious after all. Look—even their family head is ashamed and keeps his distance. Such gazes will cling to the main house like a shadow, like a yoke, for an entire century.”
Grandfather had tried to ask something more at the time. I hadn’t understood the question then, but I understood it now.
“Of course, that is not the only reason. Apart from that—”
It must have been whether those reasons were all for others. I had thought that alone should be enough, but it seemed Grandfather wanted my own true reason.
Surprisingly clever for my age, I had known how to answer.
“—It is because I am truly proud of our family’s poison arts.”
“I know that the Tang Clan’s poison does not receive the same respect as the sword in this world. That is why I hope that one day our poison will be treated as the sword’s equal. I pray for the day the world truly acknowledges our greatness.”
“That is why I have worked hard. I am doing so even now. And I will continue to do so in the future.”
Yes. I had been so proud of my poison arts, of our family’s poison arts. I had wanted to proclaim that truth to the world for ten thousand generations.
.
.
“Ah.”
The world flipped once more. I was no longer in Grandfather’s residence at the main house, but on the training grounds of the Namgung Clan. Quite some time must have passed; the scene before my eyes was vastly different from when I had first fallen into thought. The warriors of the Sichuan Tang Clan were clearing away hidden weapons and poison mist, while the Namgung Clan members were repairing the training ground around the purified areas.
“…Where is Geomang?”
I turned my head and spotted him easily. A young girl—Namgung Seha—was speaking with Geomang. I hadn’t realized he could be so close with the one he served. …Since when had it begun? Since when had proving the Sichuan Tang Clan become the same as proving myself? The days I had distanced myself from our people, claiming I would become a family head worthy of no shame. The time when I had focused not on cultivating strength but on wielding and flaunting it.
Watching the two children, an unfamiliar shame suddenly washed over me.
“…Geomang.”
I approached the pair, intending to speak to him. He noticed me first. His face brightened, and he extended a hand.
“Poison Dragon. It seemed you had fallen into enlightenment, so I paused our spar. Were you able to organize your thoughts well?”
To think he could ask so casually after handing me such profound enlightenment himself. I truly was lacking in many ways.
“When it’s spoon-fed to me so generously, failing to swallow it would be the real problem.”
Did it even matter? Thanks to him, I had gained a valuable realization.
“I learned well. Geomang.”