The Sparring Match
The grudges of the jianghu run deeper than any can fathom; one must never set foot among them lightly.
It was a saying any child who had learned martial arts would know—that when meddling in another's affairs, one must exercise caution upon caution.
Yet the reckless youth before her, spear raised high, seemed never to have heard those words at all.
Cheongwol let out a thin sigh, rose from her seat, and swept her gaze over the black-clad figures.
Their presence was rough and menacing, yet something else caught her eye.
Black robes without a speck of dust. Bamboo hats that showed not the slightest wear. And longswords of uniform shape and size, as if hastily commissioned from a single forge.
Though she herself was as green to the jianghu as Ak Seo-a, she saw through them easily enough.
"Those black robes you're wearing—you've only borrowed the look."
At Cheongwol's words, the man who appeared to be their leader nodded without protest.
"As you can see, this is hardly an honorable undertaking."
Ak Seo-a, who had been standing a step back, raised her voice.
"You know full well how shameful this is, and still you do it? How brazen!"
It was a rebuke worthy of any martial artist of the righteous path—yet the man remained utterly unperturbed.
"This young lady's chivalrous spirit is admirable, but what good are words alone?"
The thinly veiled taunt, goading her to strike first, made Ak Seo-a bristle as she drew up her inner energy.
"Then from this moment, my spear tip shall answer! I am…!"
Cheongwol hastily clamped a hand over Ak Seo-a's mouth before she could rattle off her entire identity, and turned to the innkeeper.
"Just checking—you haven't done anything wrong by these people, have you?"
The innkeeper glanced between the black-clad men and Cheongwol, reading the room, before finally managing to speak.
"If I must speak of wrongdoing… there is not the slightest bit."
At that, the composed expressions of the black-clad men twisted, while a faint smile touched Cheongwol's lips.
"That's all I needed to hear."
Having gotten the answer she wanted, Cheongwol gave a light nod toward the door.
"Let's take this outside. I don't much care for eating where blood has been spilled."
Once outside the inn, they split into two sides with the turquoise lake at their backs.
On one side stood the black-clad men, radiating a murderous aura; on the other, Cheongwol and Ak Seo-a.
This is a disaster…
The innkeeper had sided with the two young women—he had nothing to lose either way—but the moment he saw them facing off against the black-clad men, crushing regret washed over him.
To drive those young ladies into a death trap out of greed… I've gone completely mad. Even now, if I…
But before the innkeeper could get a word out, Cheongwol stepped forward and addressed the black-clad men.
"If it's a life-or-death duel, all at once. If it's a sparring match, one at a time."
The words were bold enough to make even Ak Seo-a's eyes go wide, and an unreadable satisfaction lingered on Cheongwol's face.
The truth was, Cheongwol herself had long yearned for the tales of chivalrous heroes just as much as the other girl.
"Lady Cheongwol! This humble one as well…!"
Startled, Ak Seo-a rushed to Cheongwol's side to help—then suddenly stopped mid-step.
From among the black-clad men, the one who seemed to be their leader had stepped forward alone.
"Allow me one piece of advice, as a senior who set foot in the jianghu before you."
The refined energy the man drew up from deep within his dantian slowly, yet surely, began to fill the space.
"Don't bother distinguishing between a life-or-death duel and a sparring match. From the day a martial artist enters the jianghu, are we not all standing at the edge of a blade?"
Hearing the man's counsel, Cheongwol's slightly elevated mood sank in an instant.
In the jianghu, a single moment of carelessness leads straight to death.
It was a lesson her grandfather and Soga-yul had drilled into her until it was etched in her ears—one she had believed she always kept close to her heart.
And yet, not only had she let her guard down, she had ended up hearing those very words from an enemy's mouth.
Even Ak Seo-a, for all her reckless chivalry, would never have underestimated an opponent.
Cheongwol felt her ears burn with shame and bowed her head slightly toward the man.
"This junior has shown a disgraceful side. I will not forget your valuable teaching."
"…A quick learner, I see."
Perhaps Cheongwol's response had caught him off guard; a brief smile flickered across the man's lips.
Then, slowly drawing the sword at his waist, he said:
"Having played the senior, I ought to yield the first move. Come when you're ready."
If she unleashed the forms of the Evil-Warding Sword Technique, the principles of the Sunflower Manual would naturally reveal themselves.
And so Cheongwol did not draw her sword.
Instead, she gradually sent yin and yang energy flowing through the meridians of her left and right sides, refining her stance.
…I shouldn't have yielded the first move.
Sensing the extraordinary energy, the man slowly shook his head.
They had not even crossed blades once, yet Cheongwol's energy was already thrashing as if it would tear his entire body to shreds.
The air hung heavy. A tingling ran through his fingertips.
And in the very moment every sense in his body screamed a warning—
Cheongwol suddenly appeared right before his nose.
He had been watching with his own eyes, yet there was no room to dodge the surprise attack.
BAM!!
He hastily raised his sword to block, but his body was driven five full paces back from where he had stood.
Looking down at his blade, still trembling from the residual shock, the man frowned.
If it was this severe even after he had redirected the force, a prolonged frontal exchange would snap his sword before long.
With the instinct that he must not drag this out, energy began to seep into his blade once more.
The trembling sword quieted, and soon a sharp energy like a well-honed wind began to radiate from it.
"I can tell from a single exchange how profound your martial arts are. However…"
The man extended his sword tip straight toward Cheongwol.
"I wonder whether your study of martial theory runs as deep as your skill."
With those words, a current of wind that sliced through the empty air grazed her shoulder. She barely twisted her body aside—only for a gale bursting from the sword tip to come crashing head-on.
One form.
Two forms.
Three forms.
Under the man's relentless assault, leaving no room even to catch her breath, Cheongwol seemed wholly occupied with dodging.
Swish!
Even that was incomplete; shallow cuts scored her arm and side in succession, and Ak Seo-a's expression grew steadily more tense.
Yet even trapped within the man's wind, Cheongwol's face showed not a flicker of disturbance.
However fierce a wind might be, so long as it was wind, there would inevitably come a moment when its flow broke.
His sword technique, steeped in the principle of speed, narrowed those gaps—but her eyes had already pierced through them.
Sliding her toes forward as if gliding, she let the wind slip past, then drove a fist charged with yin-yang energy down onto the man's shoulder.
Thud!
"…!"
The moment the man took the blow, the black-clad men's faces tensed just as his had.
And on the man's face, no less than theirs, bewilderment settled.
For an instant, the flow of my true qi was clearly severed. This isn't merely a martial art of raw power?
He hastily tried to reconnect the broken energy, but the flow had already shifted from him to Cheongwol.
Damn!
As Cheongwol's fist brushed past his sword, the man's flank collapsed in an instant.
The moment he raised his blade to block, the next fist was already driving into his abdomen.
"Gah…!"
His ordered breathing broke roughly; his upright posture lost its balance and crumbled.
The more he swung his sword, the wider the gaps grew, and through those openings Cheongwol's assault drove in.
Only as much as her opponent allowed.
The moment he realized she was matching the flow to just that degree, humiliation swept through his entire body.
"You wretch! You dare mock me?!"
A fierce light flashed in the man's eyes as his rage exploded.
Energy erupted from his sword tip like a storm, and blade-winds from every direction closed in around Cheongwol.
A merciless wind that sliced through empty air and skimmed flesh, leaving no room even to plant a foot.
Even those watching the spar had to shut their eyes against the ferocity of the blade-winds—yet the man alone saw the scene clearly.
With an indifferent expression, the face of Cheongwol standing right before him.
Unlike the first surprise attack, this was no longer a matter of being too slow or too fast.
As if she had been there from the start, Cheongwol stood before him as a matter of course.
"What…"
His eyes filled with shock at a situation he could not comprehend.
But only for a moment—his eyelids began to slowly descend.
"…"
Sensing the wrongness seeping into his chest, he dropped his gaze—and realized the strength had already drained from his entire body.
Letting out a hollow laugh, he forced his mouth open one last time before his eyes fully closed.
"…The very notion that the wind had reached me… was an illusion…"
As the man's body crumpled forward, the blade-winds that had filled every direction slowly dispersed.
Once both their auras settled, only the sound of breathing remained before the inn.
"A bone or two may be broken, but otherwise he'll be fine. Take him with you."
Cheongwol brushed the blood and dust from her martial robes and spoke to the black-clad men, who still had not processed what had happened.
Then she slowly turned and began to walk away—only to stop and glance back at them.
"Ah, and don't come back. I absolutely hate being interrupted mid-meal."
Leaving behind a smile worthy of any chivalrous hero, Cheongwol walked on as if nothing had happened.