If You Think I'm the Same as Back Then, You're Making a Huge Mistake!
“If you think I’m the same as back then, you’re making a huge mistake!”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing.”
I replied indifferently, my eyes fixed on the iron sword gripped in his hand. The blade was honed to a vicious edge. It made sense—our first meeting had ended in overwhelming defeat for him, so of course he’d spent the time sharpening his fangs. The atmosphere now was the complete opposite of before. Whether it came from a genuine shift in mindset or simply the fact that he held a sword, I couldn’t tell.
But the important thing was this.
I don’t see myself losing at all.
Having faced only Hwayeong until now, this was my first time dealing with the Hainan Sect’s swordsmanship, so it was bound to feel tricky at first. Yet after quietly studying Jonghyeok’s stance, I realized it would be harder to find a gap than to find any part that didn’t have one.
“Haaht! Receive the Southern Sea Thirty-Six Swords!”
Jonghyeok charged with a powerful shout. The few judges watching the match swelled with anticipation, murmuring among themselves.
“Oh… So that’s the Hainan Sect’s Southern Sea Thirty-Six Swords?”
“As expected of a disciple from the Nine Great Schools. He doesn’t disappoint.”
At their words, Jonghyeok’s face flooded with confidence. It wasn’t a comic, yet here he was shouting his technique name while raising his sword. Murim folks cared more about looking flashy than I’d thought.
Clang!
I lightly parried Jonghyeok’s sword. It was well within my ability to dodge or redirect, but I wanted to test the strength of a disciple from one of the so-called Nine Great Schools.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every clash sent sparks flying. The spar had become a pure contest of strength. Yet the longer it continued, the more my disappointment grew.
They said power wasn’t what mattered in the Hainan sword.
During training, Hwayeong had told me that reaching the main bracket would mean facing the Nine Great Schools, so I needed to study their traits carefully. The Hainan Sect’s martial arts, she explained, emphasized “confusion born from linked movements” and “instantly exploding power.” Facing their sword, she said, would feel like performing martial arts on a tiny boat amid raging waves.
But this? This was just an ordinary sword. It didn’t evoke raging waves or a fragile boat in the slightest.
Well… I do feel a little dizzy.
A dizzying sensation. My head throbbed because the opponent I’d anticipated had shown up with such a disappointingly low level.
There’s nothing here worth learning.
I calmly waited for him to prepare his final technique—the raging wave Hwayeong had described exploding at the end of the form.
And then he did exactly that, thrusting the Southern Sea Thirty-Six Swords toward me with his blade at the lead.
Southern Sea Thirty-Six Swords
First Form — Raging Wave Water Sword
“Take this!”
The judges who had been observing Jonghyeok’s sword nodded in approval at the Hainan technique. It was threatening enough. Perhaps he had released his internal energy, because surging waves seemed to fill my vision for a moment.
But that was all.
Having gained superhuman strength after climbing the Tower and carved out every manner of peerless feat while dancing on the edge of death in the tutorial, that wave of energy looked like nothing more than a child splashing in shallow water.
Swoosh.
I lowered my sword. There was no point showing the Cheonwol Divine Art I had trained to the brink of death against an opponent like this. A single strike would suffice to shatter the arrogance of this brat who took pleasure in tormenting the weak and threw his weight around behind the name of the Nine Great Schools.
“Die—!”
Jonghyeok’s sword flew straight for my heart. The judges, seeing the killing intent, panicked and rushed into the arena. But my sword was faster than anything else present.
Shiiiing!
Clatter—!
His sword shattered into fragments and scattered. Behind the spray of metal was only my blade, which had performed a light upward cut.
But it wasn’t over. I had only broken his sword—I hadn’t yet delivered a proper blow.
“T-this…!”
He stared at his destroyed blade in blank despair. Yet by the law of inertia, his body was still flying toward me.
Swoosh.
I slowly raised my empty left hand and clenched it tightly. Without hesitation, I swung with everything I had at the incoming fool.
Craaaaaack!!!
“Ah, I should’ve just slapped him.”
Since a sword had been flying at me, one possibility hadn’t crossed my mind. Jonghyeok, struck squarely by my fist, rolled his eyes back and was sent flying clean out of the arena.
The preliminaries of the sparring tournament were conducted fairly. A fighter with one win faced another with one win. If they achieved two wins, they then faced someone with two wins. After a total of five matches, the two contestants with the most victories would advance to the main bracket.
Well, luck isn’t completely absent, but still.
They say luck is also a form of skill. Winning repeatedly against weak opponents is a skill. Losing despite profound martial arts because luck was against you is also a skill.
And most of the people who met me left while lamenting their misfortune.
“A nameless nobody like you beat Jonghyeok of the Hainan Sect? I only acknowledge what I experience myself! I am Jang Geon of the Hyungsan Sect! Behold the Bi Pa Sword Technique!”
Thud thud thud!
Knocked out.
“Hehe… You defeated Jonghyeok of the Hainan Sect and Jang Geon of the Hyungsan Sect? I am Moyong Jin of the Moyong Clan! I shall personally instruct you—”
Thwack thwack!
Knocked out.
“You claim to have beaten Jonghyeok of the Hainan Sect, Jang Geon of the Hyungsan Sect, and Moyong Jin of the Moyong Clan? I am of the Jongnam Sect—”
“Hey! I’m sick of the same damn script. Come up with a new line!”
Crack!
Nine Great Schools or not, the opponents were simply too weak. At first I had felt a quiet thrill at the chance to witness new sects and new martial arts. But that excitement lasted only until I saw the techniques they displayed. My expectations turned to disappointment, and—just as I had done with Jonghyeok—I delivered the bitter taste of reality with a clean punch to the face.
“Whew…”
Only one match remained. With four straight wins already, advancing was all but guaranteed, but I found myself wanting to meet Hwayeong with a perfect record.
— Contestant #20, Kim Siin!
“Yes.”
The judge called my name with familiarity. In the first match I had been a so-called “nobody,” an extra martial artist no one bothered to notice. But after four consecutive victories—although I had accepted their techniques moderately, so the wins weren’t completely overwhelming—my name had drawn the crowd’s attention.
Whispers spread through the stands.
“Is that the guy they call One Fist Sword? The one who finishes every opponent with his fists?”
“One Fist Sword? His nickname is Face-Breaking Fist. Just look at the shattered faces of everyone who fought him.”
Participants who had already lost three matches and were now mere spectators whispered among themselves while watching me.
But couldn’t they see the sword at my waist? Why did the nickname contain the word “fist”?
“Still, for a swordsman’s nickname, shouldn’t it include ‘Sword’?”
“Every single match ended with a punch. What sword…”
“Anyway, what does it matter? Just be grateful you didn’t have to face him.”
I tuned out their chatter and turned my gaze to my opponent as he slowly climbed onto the stage.
…Shaolin?
His head was shaved so cleanly it looked like he used a razor. The monk, dressed in harmonious yellow and red robes, carried no weapon at all—unlike every other martial artist.
— Contestant #1, Jin Hwi!
“Amitabha.”
Instead of answering the judge, the monk naturally recited a Buddhist prayer while fingering his prayer beads. His expression was serene. Yet beneath that humble appearance, an indescribable pressure radiated outward.
This monk is the real thing.
The aura was on an entirely different level from every opponent I had faced so far. It felt similar to standing before Hwayeong. Unlike Jonghyeok and the other weaklings, even before the match began, I could find no obvious openings in his stance.
“I look forward to your guidance, Benefactor Siin.”
Empty carts make the most noise. Just as the saying went, those who were truly skilled rarely ran their mouths while watching others fight.
“I’ll be in your care as well.”
Following the judge’s instruction, I retreated three steps. A strange tension and an unidentifiable heat pulsed in my chest, making my heart race.
The judge glanced between Jin Hwi and me. His hand rose. The moment it fell, I realized the pounding that stirred me was the heartbeat of excitement.
— Spar begin!
Bang!
The instant the match started, the monk—who had wrapped the prayer beads around his hand—leaped toward me. First move wins. Whether in sparring, sports, or games, the one who seizes the flow of battle moves one step closer to victory.
But—
Bang!
I didn’t retreat. Instead I leaped forward and drew my sword. If the opponent had an aim, I had to steer the flow in a direction he didn’t desire. That was the path of striking first while appearing to act second.
The monk must have expected me to raise my sword defensively, because a flash of panic crossed his face.
Crash!
My swung blade collided with his prayer beads, producing a clear resonant ring.
“Haaht!”
With my sword path naturally blocked, the monk didn’t miss the chance. He lashed out with a kick aimed at my solar plexus.
Thud!
Jin Hwi’s strike landed cleanly on my abdomen. But the monk sensed something was wrong and looked up at me. Ignoring the tingling in the hand that had blocked his attack, I simply smiled at him.
“Huh…? Huuuuuh???”
The face of Jin Hwi—who had believed he had just landed a decisive blow—filled with shock. The Shaolin warrior monk who thought no sect could match him in body techniques. My body, further strengthened through training with Hwayeong, had grown powerful enough that I now welcomed hand-to-hand combat with open arms.