Episode 102: People on the Edge

Pyocheong wasted no time in sharing the conversation he had across the cliff with the others. It was something they all knew would happen eventually, so there was no point in keeping it a secret.

The news made everyone uneasy, but there was nothing they could do.

The decision had been made, and all that was left was for each person to carry out their assigned tasks.

Perhaps the underlying anxiety spurred them on, as the work progressed faster than expected.

Thick, long ropes were sent back and forth across the cliff multiple times.

The first three ropes marked where the platforms would be placed, and the subsequent ropes served as handholds.

The next task was the most dangerous and crucial: setting the platforms.

“Take your time. Even if you only manage one section a day, if it doesn’t feel right, don’t hesitate to step back.”

Relying on the unsteady ropes, people lay flat and carefully placed the platforms.

Once a platform was set on the rope, they tied knots at both ends, securing it with vertical handholds and support ropes.

A single mistake could mean death, and it was a task no one else could assist with.

Watching them, Dang Mujin felt the absence of Dan Seol-young.

‘If only Seol-young were here.’

Dan Seol-young had a knack for finding more effective and safer methods for the same tasks.

But Seol-young wasn’t there, and neither the villagers nor Dang Mujin could think of a better way.

The best Mujin could do was fashion sturdy loops to tie around the workers, ensuring they could survive a fall from the platform.

“When I thought I was done for, my body just stopped mid-air. I dangled there, and below me was just… nothing.”

“You should’ve seen how shocked everyone was watching. It’s a miracle you survived.”

“If it weren’t for Dang, who knows what would’ve happened. Phew.”

It might have seemed like a small thing, but thanks to those loops, three people who fell from the platforms survived, making them invaluable.

The work slowly neared completion, and the feared intruders had yet to appear.

Hope began to blossom that this time, they might finish without any interference.

Then, one day, Namgung Myung, who had been hiding in Nakseong Village, returned.

“They’re coming. Get ready.”

No one asked what was coming.

Nogun Samgeom, Dang Mujin, and Namgung Myung left the cliff and headed to a predetermined path.

Dang Mujin asked Namgung Myung, “How many do you think are coming?”

“More than twenty, less than thirty. It’s hard to tell who’s a villager and who’s with the Taeui Sword Sect, so I can’t be sure.”

“Hmm.”

They were outnumbered by at least four to one, possibly six to one.

“We’ll help too!”

A few quick-witted villagers, eager to join the fight, tagged along. They were young men who hadn’t been involved in building the bridge.

But Danglang and Sanjeo firmly refused.

“Even if you come, you won’t be much help. Those who haven’t trained in martial arts can’t hope to land a lucky hit.”

“We’ll at least add to the numbers!”

“This is Nogun Mountain. Numbers don’t matter here.”

Nogun Mountain had many narrow paths connecting its peaks, meaning only a few could fight at a time, even if many came.

Nogun Samgeom agreed to face the Taeui Sword Sect because they saw this potential advantage.

However, the young villagers were reluctant to back down. Seeing younger men like Dang Mujin and Namgung Myung heading into battle seemed to prick their pride.

“But isn’t it better than nothing?”

“If you really want to help, watch the fight from afar. If it looks like we’re losing, guide the others to safety. That’s the biggest help you can offer. In fact, you could start evacuating them now.”

The Taeui Sword Sect would benefit from keeping the villagers alive, so they wouldn’t kill those who didn’t resist.

But it was impossible to predict how other excited fighters might act. Preparing for the worst by evacuating the villagers was the wise choice.

Reluctantly, the young men withdrew, relieved to have a role assigned to them.

The five of them took positions on the path leading to Nogun Village, waiting for the Taeui Sword Sect’s group to arrive.

The weather on Nogun Mountain was notoriously unpredictable, changing drastically within a day.

Though the morning had been clear, the sky was now filled with thick gray clouds.

But it was impossible to say for sure if it would rain. On Nogun Mountain, even the darkest clouds could pass without incident, and lightning could strike from a clear sky.

”…”

Namgung Myung seemed unusually tense, his hand constantly fidgeting at his right hip, as if missing the feel of his sword.

Dang Mujin chuckled.

“Nervous?”

Namgung Myung nodded slightly.

“Of course. This is my first time fighting for my life.”

”…What?”

Dang Mujin looked at Namgung Myung, thinking he must have misheard. But Namgung Myung’s expression was serious.

“Really?”

“I’ve never been in a life-or-death duel. I spent my childhood training in the family, and my first foray into the martial world ended awkwardly. After that, I left home and worked as a craftsman. Oh, and I’m not counting the few clumsy bandits I dealt with.”

”…That’s unusual.”

“What’s so unusual? How many life-or-death duels does one face in a lifetime?”

True, that was normal.

Dang Mujin thought back to how many life-or-death situations he’d been in.

Once with the Ja-yang Twins in Jueul Village. Once with the former head of the Zhangshang Sect in Zhongjing.

He’d fought the Green Forest bandits, the Black-clad men, killed Baek Chuseo, and taken down quite a few assassins from the Assassination Hall.

’…I feel like a terrible killer.’

He hadn’t realized it before, but he’d killed more people than he’d thought.

In fact, Dang Mujin had little experience with formal duels. His only experiences were sparring with Hong Geolgae with wooden swords and exchanging moves with Namgung Myung using branches.

Everything else had been real combat. Every time he drew his sword, someone died. So far, it had been his opponents, but it wouldn’t be surprising if one day it was Dang Mujin who fell.

Nogun Samgeom, listening to the conversation, found it intriguing. Especially the mention of “family” in Namgung Myung’s story.

“You’re from a martial family, Myung? If it’s a family worth calling a ‘family,’ it must be quite something.”

“Which families have we visited? We’ve been to a few, but it’s been so long I can’t remember.”

“We visited the Jegal family and the Namgung family, I think.”

Namgung Myung flinched at the mention of the Namgung family. Fortunately, Nogun Samgeom didn’t notice his reaction.

“Visited? We never even got past the gates.”

“Who said we went inside? Just being around counts as visiting.”

“Does it? Anyway, which family are you from, Myung?”

”…You wouldn’t know even if I told you.”

“Ah, trying to keep it a secret, are you?”

Namgung Myung gave an awkward smile, and Nogun Samgeom chuckled.

“Since we’re here, I might as well ask. How skilled are you two?”

Nogun Samgeom had a vague sense that Dang Mujin and Namgung Myung were first-rate martial artists, but he didn’t know more than that.

Dang Mujin shrugged. His achievements varied greatly depending on whether he included his unique skills.

“It’s hard to say. I’ve taken a rather unusual path, and even I don’t know my exact level.”

“And you, Myung?”

“I was recognized as a first-rate martial artist at seventeen.”

”…Really?”

Nogun Samgeom’s expression turned curious.

In major sects or families, being first-rate by twenty was considered a sign of great talent.

Nogun Samgeom himself was a first-rate martial artist now, but when he first ventured into the martial world at twenty, he was a second-rate martial artist on the verge of becoming first-rate.

That was respectable enough not to be looked down upon in the Wudang Sect.

But reaching first-rate at seventeen was beyond talent; it was genius.

Nogun Samgeom suspected Namgung Myung’s story might be exaggerated, but he didn’t press the issue.

“To have mastered the martial arts and become first-rate at seventeen. You must have been among the top of your generation.”

“I wasn’t at the top. There was someone more skilled than me.”

That implied he was the second-best among his generation in the entire martial world.

Namgung Myung’s story was incredibly boastful, yet somehow it came across as humble.

”…Really? Who could be so exceptional?”

“Wudang Sect’s Rising Dragon Sword, Hyun Gong, was a year older than me and surpassed the pinnacle before turning twenty-two.”

“Hmm.”

Nogun Samgeom’s expression was complex.

They had committed a shameful act and couldn’t return to the Wudang Sect for decades. Yet, they still identified as Wudang martial artists.

Hearing about a prodigious talent from their sect filled them with pride, but also a tinge of envy for the young genius who surpassed their level.

Fortunately, the pride outweighed the envy, preventing it from turning into self-reproach.

“By the way, how did you end up as a craftsman with such skills?”

“Well, it just happened.”

“I’m really curious how you ended up as a craftsman…”

Namgoong Myung couldn’t tell the truth, so he found himself sweating bullets, spinning tales out of thin air.

“I’ve dreamed of being a master craftsman since I was a child, honing my martial arts to become the best,” he rambled on with such nonsense. Nogun Samgeom played along, feigning exaggerated interest.

It might seem odd to engage in such trivial chatter before a life-or-death battle, but there was a purpose. Through this light-hearted banter, they could gradually ease the suffocating tension that gripped them.

As time passed and Namgoong Myung’s stories reached the limits of his imagination, a group appeared on the path, catching their attention.

The five of them stopped talking and scrutinized the newcomers.

“Let’s see… twenty-three of them.”

“Is the one in front the head of the Taeui Sword Sect?”

“Yes. He’s aged quite a bit.”

The head of the Taeui Sword Sect wore white and seemed well past sixty. Yet, there was no trace of the lethargy or frailty typical of old age on his face.

Though clearly advanced in years, the term “old man” didn’t quite fit, thought Dang Mujin. It must be because he was a master of the highest order.

Reaching the pinnacle of martial arts held a special significance. It was a realm distinct from the lower ranks.

Martial artists used various expressions to describe their prowess: reaching the first rank, achieving second-rank accomplishments, and so on. But phrases like “surpassing the first rank” were never used.

The term “surpassing the wall” was reserved only for those who reached the pinnacle and beyond.

Between the second and first ranks, there might be obstacles, but from the pinnacle onward, there was a wall.

That wall was high and formidable. The path beyond it varied for each person, and there was no guarantee one could ever cross it, no matter how hard they tried.

The pinnacle was a realm that a late bloomer might suddenly reach after a lifetime of effort, while a prodigy who achieved first-rank at eighteen might never attain it, even at seventy.

Whether one had to break through, go around, or climb over the wall to reach beyond it was unknown. Some even doubted the existence of a realm beyond the wall.

The wall was so vast and unyielding that people often spoke of it as the barrier to the pinnacle.

Gwaeui’s story wasn’t much different. He told Dang Mujin that the distinctions between third, second, and first ranks were trivial and not to be obsessed over.

Even a third-rank could kill a first-rank with a well-placed strike. It was something Gwaeui often said.

But the pinnacle was different. Even Gwaeui, who dismissed most things with a casual “it could happen,” never claimed a first-rank could defeat a master of the pinnacle.

At first, Dang Mujin thought Gwaeui was boasting, elevating himself as a master of the pinnacle.

But the monks at Shaolin shared similar views. The path to the pinnacle was different, and there was an insurmountable wall between the pinnacle and the first rank.

Yet, no one could clearly explain what that “something” was.

Even Gwaeui, who viewed the world with clarity, couldn’t definitively explain the gap.

And the five gathered here were among those who didn’t know what that “something” was.

Pyochung broke the silence, murmuring, “Let’s stick to the plan.”

They had devised a simple strategy.

Even if the head of the Taeui Sword Sect was a master of the pinnacle, he was just one man.

Dang Mujin would use his poison techniques to block the narrow path, while the other four would attack the head together.

It was straightforward but the best tactic they could choose.

They steadied their breathing, blocking the path as the twenty-three approached.

The twenty-three climbing the path and the five blocking it exchanged intense glances.

Then, with his keen senses, Dang Mujin noticed something amiss.

“Uh… why are there two masters of the pinnacle?”