That man was Myeonggwang, nicknamed the Eccentric Plum.

She had heard of him vaguely from her father.

About Mount Hua’s madman who, barehanded, could even smash the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword.

His disciple.

But it seemed he had yet to reach that height.

With merely a second-rate realm, he couldn’t possibly wield iron fists that broke the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword.

“Senior Cheonju may not even need to use the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword.”

Soyak spoke quietly.

But Eunsong shook his head.

“No. Cheonju will very likely use the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword aggressively from the first match.”

“Why is that, Master?”

Cheonjeong looked up at Eunsong and asked.

Eunsong pointed at Cheonjeong’s waist.

“When you receive a new sword to wear, what do you do?”

“I wear it often so it becomes part of me… ah.”

“Soyak, you realized it too, didn’t you?”

At Eunsong’s look, Soyak nodded.

It was true.

A form newly learned, and therefore unfamiliar.

And this was a friendly match, not a fight to the death.

There was no better condition for practice.

“Yes. Certainly, Senior Cheonju will not yet be accustomed to the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword.”

“And there is one more reason.”

“What reason…?”

“You, Soyak.”

Eunsong ruffled Soyak’s hair.

Lowering those black eyes, she thought it through—and understood.

It was to harm her.

If they meant to injure someone who had clearly reached Apex, they would need thorough preparation.

Even supposing she had never learned the Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword…

The Sprouting Flower Sword, when performed by an Apex master, was another tier entirely.

‘…Countermeasures against Sword Light.’

Sword Light.

A state beyond the blade’s cry they called Sword Cry.

A secret of Apex masters alone.

When you pour inner power into the blade until it shines—

Ordinary White Lotus True Steel is made a joke.

Only a treasured blade forged of black iron or meteoric iron and the like can withstand it.

‘Of course they would have prepared.’

Soyak narrowed her eyes and fixed on Cheonju’s sword.

It wasn’t the one he’d worn that other day.

Rougher, but forged more solidly.

Srrrng—

When he drew it, gasps went up all around.

It was not utterly pitch-black, but it gleamed with a dusky luster.

Perhaps not pure black iron, but at least half mixed.

“Is… is that black iron?”

“Such a precious piece!”

“Looks like only half the billet is black iron…”

“Even so, that price is no joke for a Third Generation disciple!”

Unexpectedly, Cheonso’s gaze did not waver even at the sight of that half–black-iron blade.

The end of the pitch-black bandage around his fist fluttered.

They already knew who the other was.

Though Cheonju did not lodge at the Third-Generation Hall, it wasn’t as if faces went unlearned.

Which meant Cheonso also knew how strong Cheonju was.

More than anything, Cheonju and Cheonhwa could be called direct scions of the Sect Leader’s faction.

From Sect Leader Jeongyang to his First Generation disciple and Grand Disciple, the successor-apparent Myungjeok—

And down to the successor-apparent Myungjeok’s disciple, the Second Generation Head Senior, Eun Byeok.

There was a rule that Third Generation disciples who had not yet returned from their first external mission were not given elixirs.

That rule existed…

But if you asked whether it was enforced strictly, the answer was uncertain.

“…I am Cheonso. I learn the Falling Blossom Chasing Shadow Fist, Senior.”

Cheonso first offered the salute of pressing fist to palm.

Cheonju returned it.

“Cheonju. Let’s make it a match without regret.”

“I will.”

A sharp, ringing whistle sounded.

At the same time, Cheonso rushed Cheonju first.

BOOM!!

A thunderclap you couldn’t believe from someone only at second-rate.

Cheonso’s fist shot forward like a comet.

A single move to kill in one blow.

Falling Blossom Chasing Shadow Fist, ultimate technique.

Felled-Tiger, Fallen Star.

A star’s fall that makes even a tiger prostrate.

Just as the name said, Cheonso’s body streaked like a meteor against the sky.

There was even the faintest resonance at the tip of his fist.

As Sword Cry and Sword Light mark the realms of first-rate and Apex in the sword, so Fist Cry and Fist Light do for the fist.

Though he had not yet entered the ranks of first-rate masters, perhaps it was the result of pounding that wall countless times with his fists.

“I hear a Fist Cry.”

Cheon Soyak murmured under her breath.

She had been certain he was second-rate; it was unexpected.

Eunsong quietly added explanation at her side.

“Do you know why the Falling Blossom Chasing Shadow Fist is dangerous—and why it was abandoned?”

“Why is that?”

“It’s dangerous because that ultimate technique produces power above the wielder’s realm.”

Second-rate apes first-rate.

First-rate apes Apex, and Apex apes Transcendent Apex.

Then what of a Transcendent Apex master who handles fist energy?

Soyak flicked a glance at Myeonggwang, the Eccentric Plum.

Then, Grand Elder, would he use Fist Gang?

“And as for why it was abandoned—watch. You’ll see.”

“Yes, Master.”

Cheonju leveled his sword at the cometlike fist driving in.

His half–black-iron blade began to hum.

A proper Sword Cry.

And in the next instant—

Plum petals scattered.

Ninefold Heaven Plum Sword, First Form.

Spring-Entering, Blossoms-Open.

It rose like a bloom welcoming spring.

The lowered edge spiraled up and wrapped Cheonso’s fist as it climbed.

Normally the cold-blue blade would have lopped the wrist clean.

But Cheonju kept mercy in his hand.

He struck with the flat, not the edge.

Even so, it was no small impact.

Proof: Cheonso was already airborne…

And then he slammed into the ground with a boom.

“—Kuhk, kehk.”

Soyak saw the problem in the Falling Blossom Chasing Shadow Fist at a glance.

Strictly speaking, it was Cheonso’s problem…

That ultimate technique drained all of one’s inner power in a single burst.

It was the price of a skill that flaunted might beyond one’s realm.

“…Senior Cheonso will find it hard to stand.”

“You can tell?”

“Yes. He’s completely spent.”

It wasn’t that she could literally see the inner power flowing in his body.

But his pallor, and the lips that had flushed purple in an instant, told the tale.

His vital energy had collapsed.

“Master. He didn’t use his innate true energy on top of it, did he?”

“Don’t worry, Cheonjeong. Cheonso isn’t that foolish.”

Eunsong was right.

Cheonso didn’t even try to rise; he untied the knot binding his sleeve and shook his arm.

A white sleeve fluttered.

A white flag that signaled surrender.

“It was over—over in an instant!”

The voice of the hired master of ceremonies rose at once.

Cheonso sat cross-legged where he was, lightly took a breath to regulate, then stood.

“There’s no beating Senior Cheonju.”

“He was far fiercer than usual.”

“You flatter me.”

The pallor returned to normal.

The two once more saluted each other with fist-and-palm.

And then…

Cheonju found Soyak at a glance and looked straight at her.

“…Ah.”

Soyak could read it.

Those eyes tangled with bitter sorrow, resentment, fixation, and rancor.

But Cheonju, too, had to face it.

Soyak’s eyes—an abyss of nothing.

Endlessly black and hollow without a single thread of light.

‘…I must take at least an arm or a leg.’

A razor of killing intent.

Yet perfectly controlled, aimed like an awl solely at Soyak.

Soyak neither parried it nor showed the slightest reaction.

That sight scraped Cheonju’s pride.

He ground his teeth.

He flared a fiercer killing intent and fixed it on Soyak.

Yet, again, Soyak let it pass as if it were nothing.

“Soyak, are you all right?”

Eunsong asked in a low voice.

Because he stood right beside her, he had sensed the aftertaste of killing intent.

“Yes, Master. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing at all…”

Eunsong knew why.

From childhood she had lived under killing intent thick enough to behead both her parents.

Even if she had lived several years as a maid far from martial arts…

Cheon Soyak had experience none of the Third Generation disciples here possessed.

A killer.

One who had taken a human life.

One who had swung the blade with her own hand and cut a fate.

Even those who had killed by accident end up different from those who have not.

But Cheon Soyak had killed by her own will.

She had fastened the first button of revenge with her own fingers.

“The first match goes to Young Hero Cheonju, disciple of the Second Generation Head Senior, Great Hero Eun Byeok!”

Applause burst out instead of cheers.

On the outermost, highest tier of tents, the outside dignitaries busied themselves talking to one another.

In the end, what matters to martial artists are weapons and martial arts.

They provide treasured blades and elixirs to the ones they mark with their eyes—and purchase the future.

If the one they chose truly becomes a pillar of this great sect—

If he rises to the successor-apparent’s seat—

Or even if not, if he becomes a chivalrous hero renowned under heaven—

That fame rebounds to them as well.

Between rivals of the same realm, the gap widens further.

A war of attrition where the one with the better weapon and greater inner power wins.

It’s why the demonic lot rob treasured swords and elixirs by any means necessary.

“Then the next match—!”

The applause died.

All eyes and ears waited in the hush for the announcement.

“Third Generation Young Hero Cheongyu, disciple of Second Generation Great Hero Eun Jong!”

Unfortunately, the One-Branch Gathering did not, as a rule, publish a bracket.

You do not grow by targeting each other’s weaknesses.

For that reason, no one knew the next matchup.

Not even the fighters themselves.

“Disciple of Second Generation Great Hero Eunsong, the White Plum Scholar!!!”

Cheonjeong—or Cheon Soyak.

Two faces of the same coin.

“Young Hero Cheon Soyak!!”

Heads.

Chapter 18

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