Later Generation Prodigies (1)
A different sensation from encountering someone from the Black Path.
Biting my lip at this unfamiliar feeling, I scanned the surroundings, but nothing stood out.
I guess I should ask Master about this.
Master said he was coming to watch the tournament too, but where was he?
Oh, right...
Master had told me,
"Personally speaking, the Dragon-Phoenix Martial Tournament is quite an intriguing event, so I plan to observe. But when we meet again, we might not be able to exchange greetings, so I ask for your understanding on that."
So he was probably watching from somewhere, disguised as someone else or hidden away.
I wondered where he might be.
Huh?
I blinked. The unsettling energy that had been bothering me just moments ago had vanished completely.
What the hell?
Usually, such auras faded gradually, but this time was different.
It just... cut off abruptly, gone in an instant.
As I tilted my head in confusion, the Alliance Leader finished his remarks of gratitude.
"Then, let the 36th Dragon-Phoenix Martial Tournament finals begin now!"
"Woooaaah!"
"First, we introduce the 108 finalists!"
At those words, the 108 participants who had been waiting below ascended the arena stage.
Having been briefed on their positions in advance, the finalists stood in neat order, facing the audience.
"These are the 108 prodigies of the later generation who will lead the martial world! Give them a big cheer!"
"Woooaaah!"
The spectators roared and waved their fists at the announcer's call.
I cheered too, for Sister Hyang-ok, along with Jegal Yu-a and Tang Su-bin, and Jo Woong-i.
108 finalists, huh...
From what I'd heard, the number was set at 108 by a Shaolin monk who was the Alliance Leader when the tournament first began.
A wish that these heroes might conquer the 108 earthly desires, or something like that?
Anyway, that made deciding a winner through a straight knockout bracket a bit awkward.
From 108 fighters clashing, 54 would advance.
From those 54 battling again, 27 would move up.
By necessity, byes were inevitable.
Since they drew lots for matchups, a good draw meant you could advance once without fighting.
Of course, you had to win the first two rounds to enjoy that luck.
So even in a skill-based tournament, luck with the draw mattered quite a bit.
"Now, please come down from the arena one by one and draw your numbers."
Following the announcer's instructions, the finalists descended while drawing their lots.
And on the large board beside them, names began appearing on the papers.
Of course, to prevent damage to the papers, three clerks recorded everything separately.
Thus, the final bracket was set.
Now, around this time in my previous life, that incident should happen where a sword qi from the arena flies toward the spectators.
I'd stuck close to Mother throughout the preliminaries just in case, but it actually happened during the finals, didn't it?
But a sudden thought occurred to me.
This tournament was very different from my previous life.
For instance, Jegal Yu-a and Jo Woong-i making the finals.
The bracket would be different too.
So maybe that incident wouldn't happen at all?
I shook my head soon after.
If I let my guard down like that and it did occur, I wouldn't forgive myself.
Still, hoping nothing like that would happen, I watched the tournament.
.
.
.
Fortunately, the tournament ended without any major incidents today.
Of course, being a real-sword duel, injuries among the participants were par for the course.
From minor bruises from tumbling in the arena to cuts and stabs from blades.
Some even suffered internal injuries from overexerting their qi.
Stretchers were carried out now and then.
In my view, the warriors pushed so hard for honor.
Outcomes in the finals were decided by surrender, ring-out, or the referee deeming continuation impossible.
Inability to continue meant unconsciousness or life-threatening injury.
Surrendering was ideal, but one win built fame.
For martial artists, fame was more tangible than one might think.
It strengthened standing in clans or sects, brought patronage.
It could even revive declining families or schools.
That's why they fought so desperately, leading to far more injuries than in the preliminaries.
Ah, so that's why they lacquered the arena barriers... bloodstains are hard to scrub from wood.
I escorted my parents to the inn and headed to the merchant group's temporary shop.
But...
"We're truly sorry. We're out of stock right now..."
What? Out of stock?
What did that mean?
I hurried to Manager Yoon.
"Manager Yoon! What's going on?"
"Ah! Young branch leader, you're here?"
"I overheard we're out of stock. Didn't we restock just the other day?"
"Yes. We have plenty of everything else, but we're short on fishbone powder and oyster shell powder for the golden sore medicine."
Golden sore medicine stops bleeding from external wounds.
And fishbone powder—finely ground fish bones—is the key ingredient for the highest-grade version.
Lime powder is a cheaper alternative.
Knowing from my past life how much these would sell during the tournament, I'd stocked up extra, and now we're out?
"No choice. Send a pigeon to the main group right away to replenish fishbone powder and oyster shell powder."
"Understood."
"I'll check nearby merchants to see if anyone has surplus."
.
.
.
Several hours later.
I could only wear a dazed expression.
"...None left?"
"That's right. We've scraped the bottom of ours too."
Every merchant group I visited gave the same answer: none.
And the last one was no different.
"Oyster shell powder?"
"Out of that too."
What the hell was going on?
I returned to the inn, reported to Father, and went up to my room.
"Palgap, a cup of tea, please."
"Yes, sir."
Sipping the tea Palgap brewed, I gathered my thoughts.
Hm, his tea-brewing skills are improving daily... no, focus...
In my previous life around this time, I was busy running a fabric shop with my sickly body.
So I didn't know much about this Dragon-Phoenix Martial Tournament. I'd only heard the gist from Brother Jin-ho, who went to Luoyang for it.
He went because the external steward recommended it to broaden his horizons, given his interest in martial arts.
Our group's status was lower then, so it wasn't a big deal.
But circumstances had changed so much that I came instead.
Anyway, according to Brother Jin-ho back then...
"There were a ton of injured folks. Our fishbone powder and oyster shell powder sold out completely."
"What'd you do?"
"What could I do... Nearly died hauling more back, but in a way, it was lucky."
"Huh? Lucky how?"
"While I was out of Luoyang fetching more, sword qi from the arena flew into the stands. Hit the E-section, of all places."
"Ah... dodged a bullet there."
"Anyway, even the refill sold out fast. Not just us—everywhere. Prices for fishbone powder and oyster shell powder skyrocketed. Over tenfold."
Remembering that, I'd brought way more than planned.
But... something felt off.
Over a hundred merchant groups had set up temporary shops targeting the tournament.
All stocked essentials like fishbone powder and cheap oyster shell powder for golden sore medicine.
Combined, it should've been enough to cover every finalist head to toe—with leftovers.
Even if finals were fiercer than prelims and injuries piled up, how could it all vanish after just one day?
My eyes gleamed.
The cheapest oyster shell powder, fine. But fishbone powder cost four silver nyang per hop.
Price of a chicken.
And it sold at ten times that? Meaning someone bought at that markup.
Martial artists die in fights from vital strikes to throat or heart, sure—but plenty from blood loss without timely treatment.
What can you do?
To survive, no matter the price, you buy golden sore medicine.
Nothing's worth more than your life.
But Brother Jin-ho definitely said,
"Even the refill sold out fast. Not just us—everywhere. Prices skyrocketed."
If everywhere was out, where did people get more?
Something smelled fishy.
I asked Palgap for light blue silk and hung it over the window.
Time to meet Chunil.
.
.
.
The next morning.
As I ate breakfast, Palgap approached.
"Sir, a kid just dropped this off."
I unfolded the paper Palgap handed me.
Meet at the side of Yumi Inn at the beginning of Si hour today (9-11 a.m.).
Si hour beginning—perfect, meet Chunil then head to the arena.
I got my parents' permission to go ahead to the arena, then headed to Yumi Inn.
Pretending to wait for an order nearby, an inn errand boy approached with dumplings.
"Sir, your dumplings are here."
Feeling the familiar aura, I grinned.
"Ah, thank you."
I took the dumplings and passed them to Palgap.
"We have work to do."
"What is it?"
I briefly explained the situation to Chunil and gave him instructions.
"...Investigate that."
"Got it."
I started to leave, but Chunil's words stopped me.
"Sir, that's seven bronze nyang."
"..."
With a sigh, I dug out seven bronze coins and handed them over. Chunil beamed and took them.
"Thank you. Please keep patronizing us."
He's thorough with the disguise.
Having tasked Chunil, I headed straight to the arena.
Today's matches were crucial—Sister Hyang-ok was competing.
According to yesterday's bracket, fourth up.
"Did you wrap things up well?"
"Yes, all sorted."
"Good. The matches haven't started yet."
I nodded at my parents' words and sat down.
Then the announcer came out.
"Now, day two of the finals begins! First matchup..."
Two warriors climbed the arena.
One a disciple of Mount Hua Sect, the other of Mount Zhongnan Sect.
Both sects in Shaanxi Province, they were rivals.
Not on good terms.
"Even trying, you couldn't draw a better rivalry matchup..."
"Indeed."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Father looked intrigued too.
"Mount Hua and Mount Zhongnan... same age, same rank too..."
One thing was certain.
Losing here meant a dark future for the loser.
A fight with no retreat.
Dong-!
The drum sounded, and the match began.
Usually, they'd probe early on, but not this time.
They'd clashed often enough.
"Haat-!"
The Mount Hua disciple struck first. Brilliant sword qi erupted from his blade.
"Heh! Sword qi already!"
Even first-rate warriors could manage sword qi, just not sustain it long.
So he slashed in short bursts, like plum blossoms scattering.
A few petals, but potent.
Using qi from the start meant he wanted a quick finish.
But the Zhongnan disciple wasn't yielding easily—he unleashed his own qi.
Zhongnan's signature: Heavenly Thirty-Six Swords!
The moment their blades clashed fiercely!
The full-force sword qi from both warriors ricocheted away.
Someone once said it: the unexpected kills.
This was exactly that. The deflected sword qi flew toward the stands—right at us.
Damn it!
I drew my sword in a flash.