Please, Just Be Normal (2)
I-gwon stepped forward.
The three great disciples knew it all too well. They were no longer a match for Namgung Daeso. Of course! It stung their pride. Yet at the same time, they wanted to see it. What would happen if those two went all out against each other...?
The three great disciples exchanged glances and silently agreed. For now, they'd set aside their pride and let anticipation take over. That massive bear over there was their pride too—the pride of Shaolin.
The three great disciples stepped back in unison.
Those kids made a tough call, Jingak thought, swallowing a groan as he glanced at Jinheo. Jinheo nodded, and Jingak spoke.
"I permit the duel between the youngest young master and I-gwon."
With permission granted, I-gwon grinned broadly. He lumbered forward with his massive frame and stood before Namgung Daeso.
And I...
"Hey, anyone got a sword I can borrow?"
To avoid repeating past mistakes, I asked for a sword first thing.
Namgung Je-cheon had grasped the situation the moment he arrived. He found a spot with the best view of the sparring.
A match between that brute bear and the youngest young master...
They'd sparred often before. But never with this big a crowd.
Namgung Je-cheon spotted a few people passed out on the ground. In the old days, he might've sneered, Tsk tsk. What a pathetic sight. Bunch of idiots. But now, he could see exactly why they'd collapsed.
Traces of internal energy!
This was one perk of learning martial arts. Before, he'd have to pry details from others. Now, he didn't need to.
I see. That's why so many gathered. Even those damn old coots are here—confirms it.
A real-combat spar where internal energy was allowed. Namgung Je-cheon smirked.
How dull the fights had been lately. For all his looks, Namgung Je-cheon had an eye for martial arts rivaling the best in Murim. He'd watched Namgung warriors stake their lives in battle nearly every day since childhood.
To him, a proper duel meant blood spraying and bones cracking. In that sense, these two sparked real excitement—something rare even in the Namgung Clan.
I-gwon, with a body tougher than iron. Namgung Daeso, who always exceeded expectations.
"Hee hee hee hee hee hee."
Suddenly, Namgung Je-cheon burst into mad laughter. People around him backed away, muttering about the lunatic. By now, everyone at Shaolin knew Namgung Je-cheon was off his rocker.
Whether used to the reactions, indifferent to his reputation, or just plain not caring, Namgung Je-cheon half-closed his eyes and focused solely on the pair.
I'll analyze every detail! Who do you think I am? Number one in the universe! Greatest strategist ancient and modern!
A master of both civil wen and martial wu, the ultimate tactician cracking the skulls of unruly Murim folk! That was Namgung Je-cheon's new goal during his Shaolin stay.
But no showdown was complete without a wager.
Namgung Je-cheon slipped through the crowd like a weasel. Curses flew his way, but he took them as praise and burrowed deeper.
Finally, he reached his target. Jinheo eyed him with rotten-fish disgust.
Namgung Je-cheon grinned. "Defrocked monk, wanna make a bet?"
Jinheo shot back instantly. "No."
"Aw, c'mon, don't be stingy. Simple wager. If I lose, I'll return that thing."
Jinheo's eyes flashed. He knew exactly what that meant.
Namgung Je-cheon deepened his smile. "Six hundred thousand nyang of silver. How's that?"
Jinheo's pupils quivered at the reveal. It was the burden that had plagued him—the debt he planned to repay through lifelong service to Shaolin.
He gripped his broom tighter. Sweeping the courtyard forever wouldn't even scratch the surface of what he owed.
If you lose the bet? Jinheo transmitted privately, wary of onlookers.
Namgung Je-cheon marveled again at martial arts' wonders. Secret transmissions were his favorite chatter mode. He'd been watching Mujikja and Ilseon Dosa from afar just moments ago.
One Great Reversion Pill! They say the Shaolin abbot gets three in total, right?
Jinheo gaped at him. That detail was known only to the abbot.
Heh, no need to freak. Forgot? I'm the Namgung Clan's vice strategist, looks or not.
Jinheo just found that grin irritating, everything else be damned.
No intel in Murim escapes my grasp. Even now, every scrap on Henan flows to me. Don't believe it? Believe it. This is Namgung Je-cheon.
Jinheo inwardly admired. I thought he was just a lunatic. Turns out he's a lunatic with guts spilling out his belly.
Should he just smash the back of his head and call it quits? Jinheo seriously pondered.
But everything Namgung Je-cheon said rang true. Jinheo still had one unused Great Reversion Pill. He'd fed one to I-gwon, and offered another to the Namgung Clan—probably in Daeso's gut right now.
Then came the clincher transmission: Don't want to? Go demand it from him over there.
Jinheo glared. Namgung Je-cheon smirked smugly at interim abbot Jingak. Temporary or not, Jingak was currently Shaolin's abbot.
Jinheo's hand twitched. He held back and transmitted: Fine. But not one Great Reversion Pill—five Reversion Pills instead. Even as abbot, I can't just use a Great Reversion Pill freely.
Namgung Je-cheon grinned. Great Reversion Pills were beyond even his authority anyway. One pill equaled sixty years of cultivation; a Reversion Pill, ten. Five made fifty—ten years short, but...
Considering Shaolin elders got only five Reversion Pills lifetime, it was no bad deal.
Deal sealed. I bet on the youngest young master winning. You, defrocked monk?
My I-gwon wins.
A man's word?
Midheaven oath!
Break it and...?
Head gets smashed.
Now that's the spirit!
I faced I-gwon, oblivious to Namgung Je-cheon's scheming. I eyed the sword in my hand.
"This is a real blade. You good with that?"
I-gwon nodded curtly. "Of course."
The crowd seemed fine with me using a live blade too. Proof they all knew his monstrous physique.
"Alright! Let's do this!"
Truth be told, I was curious too. Would a sword even pierce that body?
I poured every ounce of internal energy into the blade. It hummed, resonating everywhere.
I launched forward. First strike: a light overhead chop.
I-gwon raised his arm, utterly defenseless. Just like with the three great disciples, his movements looked sluggish.
Everyone watched, swallowing hard.
Fear of sharp steel was human nature—even for Murim folk. They just got used to the pain of flesh parting and bones cleaving.
My sword arced precisely at I-gwon's wrist.
Some squeezed their eyes shut. Others forced them open.
Scraaaape-scraaaape-scraaaape.
The sound of metal grinding metal—not flesh—echoed.
Murmurs rose from the three great disciples. "Whoa... it actually works."
"Expected it, but damn... it really does."
"Should we be shocked? Or impressed?"
If their sect elders weren't here, they'd be clapping.
The first- and second-generation disciples felt the same.
"What star level?"
They knew I-gwon deeper than the three greats, so their shock hit harder.
The art only I-gwon practiced at Shaolin: Geumgang Bulgoe Singong.
They pieced it together from lore.
"Withstands rock collision: 1st star."
"Endures log from waterfall: 2nd star."
"Blunt steel unscathed: 3rd star."
"Sharp steel withstood: 4th star."
"Infused sharp steel: 5th star."
Theoretically, I-gwon's Geumgang Bulgoe Singong was at 5th star. Legends said its perfect masters were impervious to all attacks.
As expected!
I didn't gawk like the others. I charged again.
"Yeah, no way it'd fall to this!"
Clang! Once.
Clang-clang! Twice.
Clang-clang-clang! Thrice.
Clang-clang-clang-clang! Four times.
I hammered relentlessly. All over his body!
Various angles: low to high, high to low. Using Samjae Simbeop's benefits for optimal footing and minimal air resistance. Sword first, then sheath smack.
I-gwon blocked each with his usual slow arm raise.
"Light."
That was his verdict after weathering my barrage.
"That's not how you attack."
Until now, he'd stood stock-still, absorbing. Now he moved.
His bulk bore down like a house-sized boulder. The pressure was insane.
I-gwon twisted his waist slowly again.
Zing. Like electricity jolting through me, I flinched.
Dodge that no matter what.
As I shifted to evade—
"I don't dodge."
His whisper, just for me.
My foot froze instinctively. Then I saw his massive fist plummeting.
Ah, shit...
Why did my battle lust surge now?
I crossed sword and sheath, channeling full power.
BOOM!
Dust exploded skyward.
"What happened?"
"Can't see!"
Grumbles everywhere. Some eyed Jinheo.
These bastards! Dust cloud means it's on me now?
Jinheo coughed indignantly and waved. A breeze swept in from nowhere, clearing the dust.
The scene revealed: I-gwon frozen mid-punch.
"Amitabha."
"Amitabha."
"Amitabha."
Chants filled the courtyard.
Before him, an eleven-foot gouge scarred the ground.
"Reaaaally?!"
A thick shout from the dust's end.
"Wanna go?!"
My upper garments were shredded. I brandished my chipped sword high.
A thread of light beaded along the blade.
What followed next...
"What the hell is that? You know?"
"Hm... First I've seen it too."
Mujikja and Ilseon Dosa wondered.
"The world has stuff like that?"
"Namgung Clan."
"Ah~~ Got it."
"Makes sense."
Others puzzled too—but quickly settled on their own simple answers.
Seven-colored sword qi clung to my blade. And I, the wielder, stared blankly at it for some reason.
What's with this guy now?