What Are You Gonna Do About It? (4)
Indeed, the Namgung Clan never changed. Man or woman, elder or child—they'd smack first and ask questions later, no matter how much time passed. Everyone here thought the same.
A few figures were inwardly regretting, 'Ah... if only we'd hit him a little less when he was younger...' But since they were all accomplices in creating this monster, they kept their mouths firmly shut.
Jamcheong, a late disciple of the Jeomcheong Faction, froze in shock upon witnessing the legendary event he'd only heard rumors about. It defied all common sense. What martial artist in their right mind would swing a fist at a woman who was the closest thing to the world's greatest beauty?
Jegal Sua, who had just been carried off, possessed a beauty that could shake even Jamcheong's disciplined heart, honed over long years of training. No doubt, most of the warriors gathered here had spent at least one sleepless night tormented by thoughts of her. They bore the heavy burdens of their sects on their shoulders, but they were all at that prime age when blood ran hot.
'That goes for him too!' The Namgung Clan's youngest young master stood there with a deeply satisfied grin. And yet, Namgung Daeso was utterly pleased with the current situation.
Everything had unfolded exactly as planned, without a single deviation. Namgung Je-cheon had handed him the matchup list in advance. It listed the names of all fifty fighters who had climbed onto the arena stages. Out of that crowd, he'd targeted Jegal Sua first for one simple reason.
'Can't have her sticking around.'
That was why he'd smashed her right in the head. Namgung Daeso vaguely acknowledged her talents. She was still lacking as a pure martial artist, but in tactical matters...
1. Jegal Sua (Note)—Disciple of former Murim Alliance Vice-Strategist Jegal Sin-gi.
Namgung Je-cheon had marked her specially as a figure of caution, after all.
"Alright~! Everyone."
Now, nothing bothered him anymore. Beating up a woman did prick his conscience a bit, no matter who he was. So he'd ended it cleanly with a solid head smack. Yet for some reason, the people in front of him were all on guard against him. Well, yeah—no one wanted their head smashed. He wouldn't either.
I turned to the next opponent I'd selected after Jegal Sua. He was clearly aware of me. Unlike the others, he was calmly composing himself. As expected of last year's Sawangjeon main tournament qualifier. He stood like a finely forged blade.
Thud—
With heavy footsteps, I kicked off toward him.
"Ho! It's changed again already."
Jinheo, who knew the true nature of that footwork from the start, let out a gasp of admiration.
"Heh, right?"
If you weren't watching closely, you might've missed it entirely. To those unaware it was the Geumgang Budong Sinbeop, it would just look like slow, plodding steps. That was how novel Namgung Daeso's movements were right now.
"Chedeuk."
Jinheo murmured softly. The stage where you'd fully internalized it, making it completely your own. A single form could multiply into many depending on the practitioner. It wasn't that the form itself changed, but its nature shifted slightly. Because the one mastering it was different. The insights infused within varied from person to person.
Moreover, a single martial art evolved, advanced, or even regressed over generations. Only a few survivors earned the title of supreme art. Of course, a genius might suddenly appear and create something entirely new... But some of those geniuses insisted there was no need.
Why create something new? When the well-paved paths of existing arts outshone any newcomer?
Widen the refined road, build new ones beside it, expand further, again and again... Eventually, what started as a narrow trail becomes a wagon path, then a grand avenue for hundreds. Wouldn't that be easier than starting from scratch?
The answer was already there. Namgung Daeso's movements embodied it.
"Do you know what the most unfair thing in the world is?"
Ilseon Daesa spoke as if posing a Zen riddle. By now, Namgung Daeso had arrived before one of the late disciples. The man panicked for a split second but quickly steadied himself and slashed downward with his sword. Sharp sword energy shot forth. The Jeomcheong Faction's signature keenness was unmistakably infused in the strike.
Cheonun Jeolhageom.
'Perfect!'
Jeomcheong Faction Elder Yi Jung-hyeok was deeply satisfied watching Jamcheong unfold his sword art. The Cheonun Jeolhageom was one of the faction's representative techniques, boasting near-perfection.
When the sun sets, the clear blue sky turns ashen in an instant. The whole world bathes in sunset glow. No mortal can escape the fading heavens. Jamcheong slowly extended his sword art. He'd already faced a Namgung before. He knew they were strong—unreasonably so. And after five years of bitter training following that defeat, he'd returned.
'Go all out from the start.'
He wasn't the only one thinking that. The Murim was full of oddballs. Among them, the unclassifiable were called weirdos. Parkga, disciple of the Wine Freak—one of the Wulin Igwe—belonged to that category. He knew the Namgung too, having tasted defeat once before. He drew the secret art he'd been saving for the main tournament.
Parkga began staggering like a drunkard. It resembled Chukwon or Chupal Seonbo, but it was something entirely different. He drew the two swords from his waist. Twin blades. The Jureop Ssangeom, named because once caught, it clung like a drunk refusing to let go.
At that moment, Jamcheong and Parkga exchanged glances. Their utterly different arts began harmonizing. Though it was their first time syncing, they were slightly surprised at how seamlessly they meshed—but they quickly regained composure. Soon, they immersed themselves in the swordplay.
The sun sets in the sky. Crimson glow. As darkness falls, the drunken freak sweeps the earth. Entangling wine. Gasps erupted everywhere.
Every art has flaws. But these two perfectly complemented each other's weaknesses. The crowd watching the first arena brimmed with anticipation and awe.
"Amazing. Who knew those two arts formed such a perfect pair? Tsk, this'll be tough."
"They're blending like they've always been one."
Their joint assault was evolving into something new. Jamcheong felt himself on the verge of a breakthrough. Parkga sensed it too.
'We can do this.' They believed they could topple anyone now.
"Impossible!"
Even Jeomcheong Elder Yi Jung-hyeok hadn't dreamed the Cheonun Jeolhageom would mesh so well with the Wine Freak's art. Coincidence. Miracle. Those words alone explained it. An astonishing discovery. Polish them right, and a new supreme art might be born for the Murim.
Grateful to the heavens, he gazed pityingly at the Namgung Clan's youngest young master, their unlucky opponent.
I was astonished. This miracle born of chance was unfolding before me as a living lesson.
'Whoa! You can use it like that too!'
Sky and earth in martial arts. The Cheonun Jeolhageom became the heavens. The bizarre, quivering Jureop became the earth. Two disparate arts merged into a new one. Having experienced something similar before, recreating it wasn't hard for me.
What to try? A grin crept onto my face unbidden. Had I found a new toy?
'You're the one!'
That's when a fun idea hit me.
Meanwhile, at arena 50, where the Wudang Faction—Mujikja's sect—was in preliminaries...
He'd been roasted by his long-lost martial brother yesterday. Without the gift box of Hwandan from Namgung Daeso, he'd have been kicked out. Thankfully, his brother had trained his disciples well. One was talented enough to match Sorimsa's I-gwon. As soon as the preliminaries ended, Mujikja bolted somewhere in a hurry. His martial brother Giheo chased after.
"Where are you rushing off to?"
"To watch the youngest young master's match."
Mujikja didn't even glance back. Giheo couldn't fathom it.
"Is this youngest young master that impressive?"
"Just curious."
"About what?"
Then arena 1 came into view. Mujikja sped up. Grumbling about his lone-wolf senior's attitude since ancient times, Giheo followed anyway. He too was curious about Namgung Daeso, the direct Namgung lately making waves.
Mujikja and Giheo arrived at arena 1. They spotted Ilseon Daesa and Jinheo standing aside and joined them. The two didn't even acknowledge them—their eyes fixed on one spot. Mujikja and Giheo looked too.
And in that instant...
"Muryangsubul..."
Giheo had to chant to calm himself, lest curses slip from the Wudang sect leader's mouth.
'Damn it! That's...!'
Mujikja sighed in relief.
"Good. We didn't miss it."
Ripples formed in Namgung Daeso's left hand. And in his right. Giheo, knowing their nature, clicked his tongue.
"Th-that's the Reverse Taeguk, isn't it?"
The left ripple birthed a Reverse Taeguk. Normally, that alone could've led to qi deviation.
"N-no, that's the True Taeguk!"
But the True Taeguk from the right ripple neutralized it.
"Exactly! Good job! Though I don't remember teaching him that..."
What Daeso displayed wasn't Hyegeom, nor Ungeom. Not even what he'd shown at Sorimsa. Only then did Ilseon Daesa glance their way—but his gaze never left Daeso.
How many among the crowd truly grasped what was happening to Namgung Daeso? Not even five, at most. Ilseon Daesa was one. He patted his chest.
"Truly a relief."
Jinheo nodded. Mujikja and Giheo exchanged puzzled looks, not yet understanding. Then the explanation came.
"I realized long ago the world is unfair."
They say people grow more eccentric with age. It rings true at first glance—but it's also wrong. In youth, most believe they can achieve anything. World's greatest. Greatest of all time. But as years pass and limits dawn, goals shrink. Top ten masters. Top hundred. By old age, with white hair, thoughts shift: preserve what you have. Maintain the status quo. Youth's vigor fades, the body wrinkles. Experience fills the void. They accept some things are impossible.
Ilseon Daesa, Jinheo—all the luminaries here had. Yet...
A sting in their hearts. A spark on embers thought long extinguished. Passion, reigniting impossibly.
Jamcheong's sword fell toward Namgung Daeso. He raised his right hand gently, wrapping the blade. Jamcheong spun once in midair and slammed headfirst into the arena.
"That's not how it's done."
New isn't always better. Not when the old is perfection. Master the existing first. Jamcheong's grasp of Cheonun Jeolhageom wasn't deep enough for innovation yet. His flaws showed plainly.
"Weak lower body makes you crumble easy."
Daeso's left hand flowed along Parkga's incoming twin swords from below, twisting his wrist. Parkga tried to shake free but couldn't. It felt like something constantly pulled him inward. Flee outward? True Taeguk yanked him back. Push in? Reverse Taeguk repelled him.
The Middle Way. Perfect balance, neither side biased. The pinnacle of martial philosophy Daeso embodied. Nothing harder in the world.
Draw a line on white paper—how many can make it perfectly straight? Drawing is easy. Detecting crookedness? Hard, without reference. But mark endpoints first? Straight lines become simple.
Daeso didn't fully know the Middle Way yet. Much unexperienced, still young despite regression. But he set references: Reverse Taeguk in left, True Taeguk in right. Finding the center between opposing principles. A clever hack. Neither excess nor deficit—possible only because he truly understood Taeguk.
"Same for you!"
Dissolving one Taeguk sent energy surging one way. Parkga resisted, but his path had skewed. Invisible to him, obvious to Daeso.
Bam!
Unable to counter the sudden shift, Parkga smashed headfirst into the arena.
"Where do you young punks get off thinking it's easy?! Do you know how much hell I went through to get here?! No such thing as luck in this world! Only blood, sweat, and tears protect your damn head—that's the truth!"
My tone came off a bit boomer-ish. The late disciples' faces twisted.
'Says the luckiest bastard...'
Born into the world's top clan, Namgung.
'Says the youngest here...'
No one younger than Daeso.
And 'We worked hard...'
Jamcheong and Parkga had trained till their joints wore out. This was their limit.
"Hey! That look! Making excuses about 'effort'? If effort's lacking, do moooore! If moooore's lacking, do eeeeeven mooooore!!"
"Arrrgh! Damn lucky bastard!"
"Don't wanna hear that from you!"
The late disciples lost it and charged en masse.
"Sheesh! Anyone'd think I learned martial arts by luck!"
From afar, Ilseon Daesa and Mujikja sent identical transmissions:
-You did though... Lucky Heavenly Martial Body.
"No! These old geezers really wanna get their noggins cracked?!"
Moments later, only Namgung Daeso stood on arena 1. The other arenas already had their first-round winners waiting. Now, only the real contenders remained.