Chapter 137: Ragtag Rabble (1)

The New Year had passed.

In the end, as everyone had expected, it was decided the Alliance of the Martial World would be founded. They said it was a decision reached after sufficient discussion, but those who knew understood that it had been carried by a simple majority.

Once the founding of the Alliance was decided, the organizational chart under the Alliance was drawn up at a terrifying speed.

There were precedents from the forefathers, and the review and adjustment of the blueprints each faction head had sketched out before the announcement proceeded so quickly.

Thus the White Path Alliance of the Martial World was formed. The heads of the Nine Sects and One Union and the Six Great Clans raised the title of Grand Public Officer for service to the Alliance, while the Alliance Leader’s seat remained vacant.

The rumor slammed across the Central Plains in an instant.

The revival of the Alliance of the Martial World. It was the start of a vast change that would shake a martial world grown tame in peace.

BOOOOOM!

“Kh!”

“Don’t fall back!”

WHAP!

Yeon Hojeong closed the distance in a breath and shot out a straight punch.

Okcheong’s eyes bulged.

Again!

It was an ordinary straight.

A straight punch coming in without any change of form. The speed wasn’t even that fast, and the force wasn’t something he couldn’t block.

Yet he’d been caught by that straight again and again. Strictly speaking, he’d been caught by the attack beyond imagination that hid behind that straight.

Not this time!

He couldn’t get caught again. Primordial Unity Qi flashed in Okcheong’s eyes burning with will.

HUUUUUM.

A strange light flickered in Yeon Hojeong’s eyes.

He tossed aside the iron practice sword and wrapped his fists with both hands. Okcheong’s hands, filled with Primordial Unity Qi, traced a peculiar rotation.

Hm.

BUUUUUM!

Yeon Hojeong’s body wheeled with the spin of that true energy.

Joy rose in Okcheong’s eyes. At last he had broken the stance of the tiger-general who came in like a battering ram.

That was when—

With his posture seemingly broken, Yeon Hojeong drove a knee strike straight into Okcheong’s shoulder.

CRACK!

“Ghk!”

Okcheong dropped to one knee. The inner power of Supreme Polarity Scattered Hands packed into his two hands lost its path and dispersed.

No!

WHAP!

The instant his knee hit the ground, he retreated back. Yeon Hojeong was a master of real combat. From any time, any posture, he would unfold a method that toppled his foe. He had to back off and find a counter first.

FWOOOOSH!

Even so—though he had grown used to fighting through these brutal training bouts—Okcheong still hadn’t grasped Yeon Hojeong’s limits.

HUUUUM!

Urk?!

Shock flashed in Okcheong’s eyes.

Yeon Hojeong did not move from that spot. He merely thrust out a hand and poured a pure white tiger-king’s true energy into his own body, and its strength was such that it felt as if his entire body had been bound.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He unraveled the White Tiger Qi that had shackled his whole body with Primordial Unity Qi, but the time that took was more than enough for ten of Yeon Hojeong’s attacks to land.

WHUM! THUD!

“Gah!”

Okcheong went sprawling.

Yeon Hojeong grinned.

“Eighty-seven bouts, eighty-seven wins—and no losses.”

“Hack, hack!”

“You okay?”

“I-I’m f-fine. Hurk!”

He finally coughed blood. Even though Yeon Hojeong had pulled the force on the last strike, his single palm still carried an extraordinary brute strength.

Okcheong staggered to his feet.

“Not bad.”

“Sir?”

“This bout—wasn’t bad. You finally know a thing or two.”

Surprise flickered over Okcheong’s face.

In all their matches so far, Yeon Hojeong had not praised him even as an empty courtesy.

On the contrary, he had cursed him and mocked him until his pride was torn to shreds. It had been such a thorough condemnation that it seemed to deny entirely the cultivation of sword-will he had built thus far.

For the first time, Yeon Hojeong praised him.

...Ah.

What to call it—

A little electric thrill, perhaps. Even when his master praised him, it hadn’t felt quite like this.

“Th-thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for? It’s that your own vicious grit carried you this far.”

In truth, there was one thing about Okcheong that Yeon Hojeong acknowledged: his grit. A middling temperament could never endure Yeon’s merciless tongue.

His pride must have taken a beating. His confidence must have crumbled. Was it around the seventieth bout? He’d even shown signs of getting worse.

But Okcheong endured that vicious schedule and made it here.

“Whether you polish martial # Nоvеlight # arts alone or trade blows with an opponent, the important thing in training isn’t time. It’s efficient effort.”

“Efficient...”

“You dropped your sword just now, didn’t you?”

“Huh? Ah—yes!”

“Why’d you drop it? You were clutching it tight to the very instant you fell.”

Flustered, Okcheong looked at the sword he’d dropped.

I let go of my sword?

Only now did he realize it: that he had released his sword and twisted away Yeon Hojeong’s attack with Supreme Polarity Scattered Hands.

Impossible.

For a swordsman, the sword is not something you let go. A swordsman who drops his sword in a moment of crisis is no swordsman.

THUMP.

Okcheong sank to his knees with a hollow expression.

Yeon Hojeong, who’d meant to praise him, furrowed his brow.

“What are you doing?”

“I—I dropped my sword.”

“Eh?”

“A swordsman lost his sword. What disgrace—!”

THWACK!

“Urk!”

Okcheong rolled across the floor. Clods of dirt stuck thick across the white training robe.

“You idiot—now is when you praise yourself for finally letting go of the sword; what are you shocked about?”

“...Sir?”

Okcheong blinked with a guileless face.

For some reason, his eyes looked like those of a mournful cow. Yeon Hojeong continued.

“All your martial arts are just like that. Every last one of them is stuck in a mold.”

“A mold?”

“Why shouldn’t you let go of the sword? If this were a real fight, you’d be dead. Because you’re a swordsman, you’ll cling to your sword to the end and die?”

“......!”

“See? ‘A swordsman must be like this.’ ‘This heart-method must be operated like that.’ ‘That footwork is soft, so I’ll run it softly.’ Isn’t it all like that?”

“T-that’s...!”

“What amazes me is that you got this far while staying inside the mold. How did you reach the realm of the consummate while doing that? You climbed on sheer talent, with not a shred of real reflection.”

“......”

“In a sense, it’s a monstrous talent. If a common talent trained as rigidly as you, he wouldn’t even sniff first-rate—he’d spend his life bouncing around third-rate.”

Okcheong’s eyes bulged like marbles.

Yeon Hojeong’s face turned earnest.

“Up to now, fighting me, you’ve only been looking back at your own martial arts. Right?”

“...Y-yes.”

“Why didn’t you try imitating my methods?”

“W-what?!”

“I haven’t been attacking you with some great martial art. I’ve just been adding strength and speed to simple motions street thugs in the back alleys could use.”

“Ah...”

“When you read the opponent’s movement and answer it, even ordinary martial arts turn into the martial arts of the consummate. Your sense for real combat is abysmal. Why? Because you refuse to break out.”

Shock washed over Okcheong’s face.

Yeon Hojeong smiled thinly.

“To be honest, this is something I could’ve made you realize just with words. But you were too far gone. Say a few lines and you’d get snagged on them and agonize for days, right?”

“......”

“Better to get beaten and learn the pain and the attack patterns with your body.”

It was a realm talent could never catch, not even in death.

That was real combat—experience. In your first real fight, yes, the survival rate of the talented is higher than the common, but the difference is smaller than you think.

In the end it’s concentration. It’s will. People who can throw themselves wholly into one thing can break the mold, sooner or later.

Okcheong lacked that.

And in this very moment, Okcheong could feel exactly what Yeon Hojeong had been trying to teach him.

“I’ve walked you to the gate. Opening it and stepping through is your job. You’ve worked hard.”

“Ha! S-so the instruction is over now?”

Yeon Hojeong frowned.

“What more do you want? I’ve done enough.”

“B-but I’m still lacking a lot! I want to see more of your dirty ways of attacking!”

The bastard stabbed with a dagger from that innocent face.

“Shut it. Any more matches and it’s pointless.”

Okcheong drooped, hanging his head.

As the disciple of a former grandmaster, in terms of lineage he stood above Yeon Hojeong. For such a man to be that deflated—well, it was a rare sight in its way.

By the way, what’s that Sword Immortal been doing?

It was a question that had come to him again and again fighting Okcheong.

He let his disciple become such a blockhead and never taught him this? Is he even a master?

Looking at Okcheong with pity, Yeon Hojeong shrugged.

“Anyway, it’s not my problem.”

“Sir?”

“Nothing. Head back to your quarters. Starting tomorrow, no need to come.”

“...Y-yes.”

Listlessly, Okcheong raised a cupped-fists salute.

“Thanks to you, I learned a great deal. I owe you a great favor.”

“No. I learned a great deal thanks to you. I’m the one who should be grateful.”

Okcheong smiled.

He’s a good man.

When they fought, he scraped his nerves raw with every creative curse he could muster, but when the fight ended, he personally cooled him down and thumped his shoulder.

A big man. Could I become someone like this?

A man with martial arts like that would have nothing to learn from him. Even so, he said he’d learned much.

He had a generous heart.

Then Yeon Hojeong barked:

“If you’re done with your bows, get going already!”

“Eek! Yes! I’ll see you later!”

Okcheong scurried out of Army-Breaking Pavilion.

Clicking his tongue as he watched Okcheong’s retreating back, a shadowy smile drew over Yeon Hojeong’s face.

“Hmmm. Hmmmm. Uh-hmm.”

THUNK!

Stamping down with force, Yeon Hojeong lowered his stance.

It felt something like this, right?

WHUM.

His two fists sliced softly through the air.

Amazingly, it was Wudang’s Supreme Polarity Fist—not the calisthenic form that circulates in the world, but the true Taiji which only Wudang’s disciples are allowed to learn.

And from here...

PAPAPANG!

A fist art that stabbed seven points in a flash, surging with exhilaration.

Yet it was soft. Though the fist art was swift as lightning, within it the long-flowing waves of true energy moved in violent currents.

Good. I copied it perfectly.

Okcheong had not made the forms he had learned truly his own. In other words, he wielded every martial art he’d learned close to its original template. You could call it the source-edition of Wudang’s martial arts.

And teaching Okcheong, Yeon Hojeong had been able to copy most of his methods. Of course, it was only the form of an external school’s art—

“Mm, as expected of Wudang. Even just copying the form, it stirs the air this much? A rare gem, a rare gem.”

Just then, a voice drifted in.

“Filthy and cheap.”

“Gah!”

Yeon Hojeong started. He’d been so focused he hadn’t noticed someone approach.

Mookbi was frowning.

“Feel good, stealing someone else’s martial arts?”

“Stealing? I just naturally picked it up while teaching the brat. What, it’s fine, right? Helped each other, didn’t we?”

“Ugh, ugh!”

“Tch, don’t look at me with eyes full of contempt.”

Yeon Hojeong chuckled, anything but dignified.

“Ugh—stop grinning and come with me.”

“Mm? Where?”

“Father’s calling.”

“Me? Why?”

“How would I know. I heard something about a ‘Force.’”

The mischief vanished from Yeon Hojeong’s face in an instant.

“It’s begun.”