Even if the Grandmaster had boldly stepped forward, it didn’t mean he should swing his sword without thought. Hyun Gong, with a serious expression, carefully observed the reactions of Cheonpa Gwak Jidal.
There was a reason Hyun Gong introduced himself as Hyun Gong of Mount Wudang. He assumed that while Cheonpa might not recognize the titles of “Dragon Slayer” or “Justice,” he would certainly know of the Wudang Sect, being a martial artist.
Declaring “I am Hyun Gong of Mount Wudang” was also a warning: “Harm me, and you’ll incur the wrath of the Wudang Sect.” However, Hyun Gong didn’t place much hope in this tactic. Martial artists often stopped thinking about consequences once they drew their swords, especially someone with a notorious reputation like Cheonpa.
Yet, to Hyun Gong’s surprise, Cheonpa Gwak Jidal hesitated for a moment.
“What?”
A subtle tension hung between Hyun Gong and Gwak Jidal. The latter was deep in thought.
“Wudang? That must mean he’s from the Wudang Sect in Hubei.”
“Is he pretending to be a Taoist from Wudang? His attire suggests he might be genuine.”
“No, he’s not pretending. If he were, he’d claim to be from a more prominent sect like Qingcheng or Zhongnan. There’s no reason to impersonate someone from the relatively obscure Wudang Sect.”
“Then again, Wudang is the closest sect around here, so maybe he mentioned it for that reason.”
“No, with skills like his, there’s no need to impersonate anyone. It’s best to assume he’s truly from Wudang.”
It took Gwak Jidal three breaths to sort through his thoughts. He scrutinized Hyun Gong once more.
Though they hadn’t yet crossed swords, the atmosphere was telling. This Hyun Gong was likely a key disciple of the Wudang Sect, perhaps even the chief disciple of the sect leader. Even if the Wudang leader, Young Bo Jin, was rumored to be unable to walk, they wouldn’t let the death of such a disciple go unavenged.
“This is a mess.”
Even if Gwak Jidal backed down now, it wouldn’t end well. He had targeted Tuhee, only for a foreign woman to intervene, and then Hyun Gong appeared. It was clear the three were allies. If he retreated, they would surely find an excuse to invade the southern martial world. His subordinates would question his decision.
After a brief deliberation, Cheonpa reached a conclusion opposite to what Hyun Gong had hoped.
“Killing this brat is the cleanest solution. Without witnesses, who would know who did it?”
It wasn’t just a matter of practical calculation. His lingering desire for Tuhee was a significant factor.
“After killing him, I’ll have my way with Tuhee and the foreign woman, then finish Tuhee off when I’m done.”
Without warning, Gwak Jidal kicked a sharp stone from the cave floor. It flew faster than an arrow, aimed at Hyun Gong’s head.
Hyun Gong wasn’t caught off guard. He deflected the stone with his sword, having anticipated that Cheonpa wouldn’t act as he had hoped.
Hyun Gong couldn’t help but admire him.
“To launch a surprise attack without hesitation, even against a lesser opponent… He’s no ordinary foe. There’s something to learn from him.”
The stone was just the beginning, a distraction to create an opening. Now, the real attack followed. Gwak Jidal charged, swinging his sword fiercely, intending to finish Hyun Gong before he could regain his stance.
The clash of swords echoed between them. Contrary to Gwak Jidal’s expectations, Hyun Gong managed to parry and deflect the attacks, albeit barely. He had no opportunity to counterattack.
“This is troublesome.”
Hyun Gong felt uneasy. The overwhelming internal energy of Cheonpa made his insides churn. If the fight dragged on, it would likely lead to internal injuries.
No matter how solid Hyun Gong’s defense was, he couldn’t withstand Gwak Jidal’s onslaught if he sustained internal injuries.
It wasn’t just the internal injuries that were a concern. Hyun Gong’s defense was like a rock in a river, steadfast against the current but unable to move upstream or shield others from the flow.
Hyun Gong couldn’t just protect himself. He had to find a way to prevent Cheonpa from turning his attention to Tuhee and Seolhwa.
In the end, Hyun Gong shouted loudly.
“Cheonpa! Retreat while you can! If Namgung Myung and Gyu Chogae show up, you’re finished!”
Hyun Gong hoped Gwak Jidal would abandon the fight and flee. But Gwak Jidal made the opposite decision.
“Namgung Myung is the heir of the Namgung family, and Gyu Chogae is the newly emerged master of the Beggars’ Sect.”
“Is he bluffing? It must be a bluff. But I can’t completely ignore it.”
Gwak Jidal interpreted Hyun Gong’s words as a time limit.
“If I’m going to kill him, I should do it quickly. That’s the safest option.”
As a result, Gwak Jidal launched into an even more aggressive assault with his Heavenly Crimson Sword Technique. Hyun Gong’s vision darkened.
“Why isn’t he backing down? Does he think the Wudang Sect will retaliate?”
“I can’t promise they won’t. He wouldn’t believe me anyway, and it might just ease his conscience.”
“When are Namgung Myung and Hong Geolgae coming back?”
Suddenly, Hyun Gong recalled that Namgung Myung and Hong Geolgae hadn’t been particularly reliable since Tang Mujin left. They had been caught napping under the guise of searching for herbs and poisons more than once. There was no guarantee they weren’t doing the same today.
“I have to handle this myself.”
Unbeknownst to him, Hyun Gong’s sword betrayed his anxiety and impatience.
Gwak Jidal didn’t miss this hesitation. His sword was swift, and Hyun Gong’s response was slow.
Eventually, Gwak Jidal’s sword broke through Hyun Gong’s defense, slicing toward his shoulder. If he didn’t move, he’d end up like Namgung Myung, with one arm. Hyun Gong twisted his upper body just in time.
Gwak Jidal’s sword cut nearly three inches into Hyun Gong’s left shoulder.
“Ugh!”
The searing pain made Hyun Gong stifle a groan.
Blood streamed from his shoulder. The situation had worsened.
Hyun Gong’s instincts whispered to him.
“Maybe this is for the best. The outcome is clear now. I could retreat with some dignity.”
“My shoulder’s cut, and there’s the risk of internal injuries. If I cough up some blood dramatically and retreat, no one would call me a coward. Maybe I should bite my tongue a little.”
As always, his assessment was swift. There wasn’t much to debate.
The problem was, Hyun Gong’s legs weren’t ready to retreat.
He didn’t have the courage to fight to the death, but he had enough resolve to hold on a bit longer.
Hyun Gong changed his mind and repeated to himself.
“Just a little longer. Namgung Myung or Hong Geolgae might show up just as I’m about to flee.”
It was a desperate hope. Those two were more likely to be hiding and wasting time than conveniently returning to the village.
Hyun Gong held his sword with his right hand, enduring. Of course, enduring wouldn’t solve the problem.
But it was all he could do. Hyun Gong’s defense was commendable, but his attacks weren’t sharp enough to reach Cheonpa.
As Hyun Gong swung his sword, searching for a way out, a voice reached his ears. A low voice for a woman.
“First, look into the eyes of the one you face. Gauge your breath and theirs, and match your breath to theirs.”
The voice was familiar, and there weren’t many who could send a message to Hyun Gong like this.
He glanced at Tuhee. Her limbs were still limp, likely due to sealed pressure points, but her eyes were clear. It seemed her madness had subsided amidst the chaos.
“Once you’ve read their breath, imprint their movements in your mind. The start of movement is at the toes, so gauge the path their feet take.”
Tuhee’s words weren’t mere advice.
They were a formula, a carefully considered distillation of a complex martial art.
Hyun Gong sensed a deep longing in Tuhee’s voice.
That longing told him this wasn’t a martial art passed down from the Weiji family.
What kind of martial art would Tuhee long for?
The answer came quickly.
The martial art Weiji Nanhyang once attempted and failed to master. The art that consumed a lifetime without success.
The martial art that turned the most beautiful martial artist in the world into a madman in the dark.
The art that took everything away.
Daejongyeoha (The Great Ancestral Art).
“Next, imprint the trajectory of the advancing knee in your mind. Imprint the movement of the retreating upper leg. Draw the waist, shoulders, and arms in your mind.”
It was a dangerous martial art. But at the same time, it was the only possibility left for Hyun Gong.
Hyungong cleared his mind and absorbed the incantations, though it seemed that even Weijinanhyang didn’t believe he could master the Daejongyeoha. The complexity of the martial art was one thing, but martial arts weren’t something you could perfect just by hearing a few incantations.
Understanding the meaning behind the incantations and preparing oneself thoroughly was just the beginning of mastering martial arts. Given the urgency of the situation, it seemed impossible to absorb the incantations and execute the martial art in one go.
Busy fending off attacks, Hyungong couldn’t even comprehend what was being said, let alone learn the incantations. Weijinanhyang whispered them as if clutching at straws, or perhaps to ease a burden on his heart.
What Weijinanhyang didn’t know was that Hyungong possessed a peculiar talent. Even while urgently analyzing his opponent’s sword path and blocking attacks, Hyungong could calmly absorb the incantations being whispered by Tuhee, as if he were two people—one focused on the fight, the other on the incantations.
This was possible because of an insight he had gained during a meeting at Wudang Mountain, where he felt his consciousness split into two.
The voice continued in his mind.
Hyungong listened intently to Tuhee’s voice. Daejongyeoha was a unique martial art with no set sword paths or techniques. It required calculating all environmental factors and variables to deliver a single, perfect strike.
As Hyungong absorbed the incantations, he understood why Tuhee had been driven to madness. Martial arts were challenging enough when focused solely on one’s own sword and inner self, but Daejongyeoha demanded awareness of everything around you.
The opponent’s weapon, physique, martial art characteristics, gait, habits, the wind’s flow, temperature, the sun’s position, the ground’s condition—every variable that changed moment by moment had to be perfectly understood to deliver a flawless, lethal strike.
Tuhee’s failure to master Daejongyeoha wasn’t due to a lack of talent. It was a martial art beyond the reach of ordinary people. Yet, Hyungong felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if he had been preparing to execute Daejongyeoha all along, effortlessly understanding the incantations.
Hyungong realized why. Daejongyeoha required awareness of everything around you, but Hyungong was already accustomed to observing his surroundings. Since being abandoned at Wudang Mountain at the age of four, he had always been more comfortable observing others than understanding himself.
Even the Wudang Sect’s Taiji Sword seemed designed for Daejongyeoha. Unlike other martial arts focused on swift, perfect strikes, the Taiji Sword emphasized defense, which meant reading the opponent’s sword path and habits.
In this way, the Taiji Sword shared a commonality with Daejongyeoha—both required understanding the opponent. The difference was that the Taiji Sword used this information for defense, while Daejongyeoha used it for attack.
Hyungong thought that perhaps his life had been orchestrated to learn Daejongyeoha.
There was no need to close his eyes. Half of Hyungong’s consciousness visualized Cheonpae’s form, while the other half analyzed Cheonpae’s actual movements. Having exchanged swords for quite some time, Hyungong’s imagined movements of Cheonpae were nearly identical to the real ones. The slight discrepancies gradually diminished until the two images overlapped perfectly.
Before he could even execute Daejongyeoha, blood trickled from his nose. Hyungong, who considered himself quite intelligent, felt as if his mind was burning from the complexity.
Even without Tuhee, nine out of ten who attempted to learn Daejongyeoha would have gone mad.
Hyungong’s left arm hung limp, his fingers moving erratically. Following Daejongyeoha’s teachings, he began using his left hand to find the optimal strike and sword path.
‘It’s done.’
He was ready. Only one thing weighed on his mind. Executing Daejongyeoha meant abandoning defense and committing entirely to offense. Though Hyungong seemed born for Daejongyeoha, this aspect didn’t suit his nature.
Hyungong chuckled to himself.
‘It’s fitting for my skills, but not for my nature.’
But he steeled himself. There was no other choice. He had to overcome his fears and entrust himself entirely to the sword, to throw himself into Daejongyeoha.
Until now, he had hidden his weaknesses and leveraged his strengths to overcome challenges. This time, he had to conquer his weaknesses.
Oddly, he felt at peace.
‘It’s a stroke of luck that the first martial art I learn doesn’t feel unfamiliar, and another stroke of luck that it helps me overcome my weaknesses.’
Hyungong took a deep breath.
Now, only one final step remained.
He immersed himself in his mind. A long path stretched out in the pitch-black darkness.
Though others might not realize it, Hyungong instinctively knew. One couldn’t visit this mental space many times. Whether the next time would be the last, or this time, he couldn’t tell.
Exhaling the breath he had held, he stepped onto the path.
‘There’s no turning back now.’
Thorns sprang up, trying to ensnare him, but Hyungong had no intention of being caught. He recalled a story Manryeokseung had once told him.
Once you’re ready, there’s no need to hesitate. Just charge forward with all your might.
Hyungong sprinted toward the path’s end, shaking off the thorns that tried to entangle him, running as far as he could.
The thorns didn’t stay put, pursuing him like wild beasts, trying to ensnare him. Unable to completely shake them off, he felt as if his body was being torn apart by the thorns.
But he couldn’t stop.
At some point, Hyungong realized he had outpaced the thorns. His vision turned white, and infinite possibilities unfolded before him.
And then came the moment of exhilaration, joy, and enlightenment.
Hyungong’s left hand, which had been endlessly searching for something, finally stopped.
Simultaneously, Hyungong’s previously unyielding defense crumbled.
Gwakjidal was taken aback by the massive opening Hyungong had exposed.
It seemed he could decapitate him at any moment.
But something felt off. There was no reason for such a sudden vulnerability. Gwakjidal’s martial prowess was too keen to overlook the oddity of the situation.
‘I must advance and strike.’
Hesitating here would be the worst decision.
In the end, victory goes to the one who can extend their sword to the very last.
Gwakjidal unleashed his ultimate technique, Amhyangryu. His sword, like a willow swaying in the wind, transformed endlessly as it descended upon Hyungong. Dozens had perished unable to find a way out before this Amhyangryu.
Yet Hyungong’s sword navigated Gwakjidal’s complex sword path precariously. It seemed as if it would be blocked at any moment, but it found a slender path forward.
In contrast, Gwakjidal realized he couldn’t block Hyungong’s sword. There was no way to stop it.
No, he couldn’t even follow its strange trajectory to meet it with his blade.
A perfect technique that could only be executed after completely understanding the opponent.
A single strike that placed everything on a precarious tightrope.
Daehongyeoha was fully unleashed.
Thud—
Gwakjidal’s chest was pierced by the strike of a timid child who had poured his entire being into it.
Hot blood spurted out, soaking Gwakjidal’s clothes and splattering Hyungong’s face.
Gwakjidal had two choices.
In the fleeting moment he could still move his limbs, he could attempt a mutual destruction or accept defeat.
As a warrior, nine out of ten would choose mutual destruction. Hyungong instinctively tried to retreat.
Clang— But Gwakjidal opened his right hand and dropped his sword. He accepted defeat.
Hyungong asked Gwakjidal.
”…Why?”
“If there’s nothing to gain, there’s no reason to kill the opponent. Isn’t that right?”
Having answered one question, it was now Gwakjidal’s turn to ask.
“That last move, it wasn’t the Wudang Sect’s sword, was it?”
“It wasn’t.”
Gwakjidal seemed pleased to have guessed correctly, smiling contentedly.
“I thought so…”
That was the end of Gwakjidal’s words.
When Hyungong withdrew his sword, Gwakjidal slumped to the ground.
Steam rose from the warm blood seeping out beneath his body.
Hyungong lifted his gaze to look at Seolhwa and Tuhee.
Seolhwa stared at Hyungong with wide eyes.
Her expression was full of belief, as if she had expected this outcome all along. Yet, she didn’t seem to fully grasp the power of Daehongyeoha.
In stark contrast, Tuhee was in utter disbelief, as if she couldn’t trust her own eyes.
The martial arts technique that had once plunged her into despair was now being executed flawlessly by Hyeongong, who had only just learned its secrets.
The shock was so overwhelming that it felt as if her inner demons were stirring once more. Even to Hyeongong, Tuhee’s condition seemed precarious.
Feeling uneasy himself, Hyeongong decided to first release the pressure points on Seolhwa. Tuhee, despite her own turmoil, did not voice any objections.
As Seolhwa stood up and stretched her limbs, Hyeongong glanced outside. Snow had quietly blanketed the ground beyond the cave. It was the first snowfall of the year.
Stepping out into the open, Hyeongong looked up at the sky. A soft, white cloak of snow descended, enveloping him in its gentle warmth.
Reaching the pinnacle of martial arts mastery held a deeper significance for Hyeongong.
It meant he could finally stand firm and unshaken, all on his own.
He remembered the four-year-old boy who had entered Mount Wudang, holding his mother’s hand. The child who had counted twenty endless nights, waiting for her return.
With a heart unburdened, Hyeongong welcomed the dawn of the twenty-first day.