"With martial arts like that, you can never touch the Harmony Realm."
Hwangbo Yeongcheon's approach was wrong.
Though I had never personally ascended to the Harmony Realm, of this much I was certain.
Those who reached Harmony were, to a one, people who gazed at the end of their own path.
None would claim to have arrived at that end, but at the very least, they possessed a path that was uniquely theirs and stood upon it.
Yet from Hwangbo Yeongcheon, I felt no sense of a path that was his own.
Of course, he himself would never admit it.
"Nonsense! Even after devoting all that time to training, the reason I failed to reach the Harmony Realm is the lack of talent in the Hwangbo Clan's bloodline, which has thinned with each passing generation!"
"If you've aged that much, isn't it about time you gained enlightenment by observing the affairs of the martial world, great and small? Talent does not guarantee a realm."
"…Yes. The so-called geniuses have always been like that. They never look at their own feet, never knowing how much others flail."
"Are you saying I don't know what it means to flail?"
My entire life has been a series of flailing. From the moment my father died and my mother worked under our enemy, to the moment I died at the Heavenly Demon's hands, to this very moment, having been given a second chance.
I have never once stopped flailing.
To save those I couldn't save before, and to face the Heavenly Demon who will come one day.
A hollow laugh escapes me on its own. But perhaps Hwangbo Yeongcheon took it as a sneer.
"How dare you! I'll tear that mouth of yours apart!!"
As if refusing to hear another word from me, Hwangbo Yeongcheon charges forward with a wild roar.
My internal energy continues to leak out under the influence of the Scattered Energy Poison, yet it shows no sign of running dry—just how many people has he devoured to build up such a reserve?
Still, I suppose it can't be helped that he can't fully control the energy that keeps slipping away.
Thud! Thud!
The ground shakes with every step he takes. Rough, cracked footprints trail behind him like a tail.
It's proof that he's wasting his strength on nothing.
Of course, Hwangbo Yeongcheon's internal energy still overflows, and the youthful body he's temporarily regained is formidable.
But what does that matter?
Power that isn't focused is no different from using a sword as a blunt instrument.
…It's no different from Hwangbo Yeongcheon failing to use his martial art properly.
I curled one corner of my mouth upward and focused my killing intent on Hwangbo Yeongcheon this time.
Not to pressure my opponent as I usually did, but to wrap around his massive frame.
To me, killing intent is Qi Sense.
A single breath, the faint twitch of a muscle. The direction of a moving gaze. Unconscious micro-habits.
Perhaps because he couldn't control his own power, he couldn't even think to hide them. Information about Hwangbo Yeongcheon's current state poured in like a flood.
Whether he knew it or not, Hwangbo Yeongcheon was unleashing his Fist and Leg Art with fists the size of pot lids.
A flashy Fist Strike aimed at my heart. A Leg Technique swung to break my legs. And a Mountain Crush, using his solid shoulder muscles to ram into me, perhaps to overturn the current situation.
Every single movement carried thick killing intent, so I could catch on with just the faintest hint of a precursor.
I deflected the fist aimed at my heart by spinning my sword, twisted the trajectory of the low kick by stabbing his thigh just as it was about to begin, and dodged the Mountain Crush by moving half a beat early, letting it pass by like a brush.
Then, planting my left foot firmly on the ground, I exploded internal energy from the tip of my right foot according to the principles of the Thunder Step.
Thud!
Perhaps because I hadn't used it properly, a sound like striking the ground rang out, but it was as intended.
My body spun roughly from the recoil. Using that momentum, I swung my sword straight at the back of Hwangbo Yeongcheon's neck.
"Kugh!"
No matter how tough Hwangbo Yeongcheon's body was, he couldn't easily give up his neck—he flinched in alarm and kicked off the ground with even greater force.
Pat.
Even so, he couldn't dodge completely, and a thin line of blood beaded up through the gash.
As his stance crumbled and he staggered, this time I charged in.
I swung my sword. The blood-red Qi Flame crushed the ash-gray Qi Flame, and the sharp blade repeatedly carved away small pieces of flesh that had regained its former glory.
Without stopping, we continued to swing our weapons at each other.
Sometimes I pressed the attack, sometimes Hwangbo Yeongcheon took the offensive—but after dozens of exchanges, one thing remained unchanged.
Hwangbo Yeongcheon's techniques were read by me time and again, while he failed to read my sword, and small wounds were accumulating on his body.
In the end, Hwangbo Yeongcheon, who had three or four sword scars on each of his limbs, shouted in a voice filled with indignation.
"Why! No matter how unprecedented a genius you are, you're still only at the Transcendent Peak Realm! How many people have I absorbed, and yet I can't land even a single hit…!"
"Didn't I tell you? No matter how great a talent is given to you, Hwangbo Yeongcheon, nothing will change."
"That can't be! No genius can fully display their potential before they've matured! …No, this intense killing intent. Surely not—the Heavenly Killing Star, whose Martial Talent is said to rival the Heavenly Martial Body…"
"How ugly, and dull on top of that. I wonder how you've managed to live this long. It's not because I'm great—it's because you still refuse to admit that something is wrong with you."
Having faced Hwangbo Gwang and his guards, and then consecutively Hwangbo Yeongcheon, I had come to a guess… the martial arts of the Hwangbo Clan must have originally been straightforward and honest.
No matter what stood in the way, a fist that simply thrusts straight ahead.
This was precisely the ultimate principle the Hwangbo Clan had pursued.
There was a part of it that resonated with Seomun Hwa-rin, who had pursued a fist that would surely shatter anything, but this martial art carried a far more orthodox disposition than that.
A martial art that completes itself entirely within oneself.
That was why it was a quintessential Orthodox Sect martial art—one whose true value revealed itself the more one trained.
The reason Hwangbo Gwang had been weak was simply that his training had not gone deep enough, but…
"You've added useless flourishes."
"What did you say?"
The reason Hwangbo Yeongcheon could not fully utilize his own power was that his fist did not thrust straight ahead with unwavering honesty.
"Talent cannot be everything in martial arts. Talent is merely the starting line, only the speed at which one runs. Those who become intoxicated by talent without understanding this are bound to lose their way. Just like you."
He mixed variations into a fist strike that would have sufficed as a simple, straight thrust.
It was a blow with its own spark of ingenuity, but a spark is only a spark. It was not a well-polished, shining strike.
With merely that much, he could not reach me—a martial artist of considerable maturity.
The other techniques were the same.
His leg technique, meant to sweep a wide area ahead, had clumsily wrapped itself in the Mystery of Speed, and in doing so, lost the oppressive pressure that dominates space.
His Golden Capture Technique, unleashed to seize the sword embedded in his own body, relied too heavily on the sensation in his fingertips, and so failed to distinguish my feints.
Hwangbo Yeongcheon was, with his own hands, destroying his perfectly fine martial arts with the paltry talents he had absorbed from here and there.
"No matter how great a genius may be, the history one person can build alone has its limits."
I was confident that my sword would never lose to anyone's, and in an actual fight, I was far stronger than Namgung Jong… but.
If asked whether my Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art was superior to Namgung Jong's Changgung Muae Sword Art, the answer would be an absolute no.
The Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art was, at its core, a martial art that drew its power from killing intent, leveraging my own unique traits.
It was a martial art that suited me better than any other, but that aside, I couldn't deny that its depth was shallow.
The strength of a martial artist and the depth of a martial art were two separate things.
After all, why was it that certain families and sects were called prestigious and praised for so long?
Why was it that even as their power waned, their martial arts alone continued to earn recognition?
The reason was simple. It was because the essence of martial arts had been refined over generations by countless prodigies and the occasional genius who appeared from time to time.
It was true that the Hwangbo Clan had declined. Perhaps, as Hwangbo Yeongcheon said, it was because their blood had gradually thinned, and with it, their talent.
But did failing to reach the Harmony Realm make them all fools?
Of course not. A Transcendent Peak martial artist was still a formidable one.
The martial arts of the Hwangbo Clan, which such people had developed little by little, could only have grown stronger—never weaker.
But Hwangbo Yeongcheon had scorned the weight of that effort and time.
Looking at a martial art that had sprouted useless branches, the frustration weighed on him more than the joy of finding an opening.
"You claim to want to make the Hwangbo Clan great again, yet you've lost sight of what your family's martial arts truly pursue."
"You… what do you know to speak so recklessly?!"
"I know that compromise is not an option."
This is not me parroting back what Seomun Hwa-rin told me.
The compromise I speak of is not the kind that settles for the present, saying this is strong enough, this is my limit.
It means not straying onto other paths, but quietly seeing one's own path through to the end.
"Why do you think a martial artist's bearing changes as their realm rises? Because they come to resemble what they pursue."
In that sense, what of the Hwangbo Yeongcheon before me?
I am not speaking of whether he has actually achieved something. I am asking what Hwangbo Yeongcheon pursues.
"Well, of course, reaching the Harmony Realm…!"
"Is reaching the Harmony Realm all you pursue? That is why I say you cannot do it. That a realm is merely a process is something you can easily see by looking back at the walls you have crossed so far."
I did not reach Transcendent Peak for the sake of reaching Transcendent Peak.
Revenge and resentment that had lost their way. As I melted the killing intent seething deep in my chest into my sword, the sword naturally came to speak for me.
That was Sword-Mind Unity, and that was the path toward Transcendent Peak.
It was similar when I reached the Peak Realm.
To cut down the opponent before me, I needed a sharper sword.
Instead of a blade whose edge was already chipped, I ground my internal energy to a fine edge—that was Sword Qi, and that was the moment I became a Peak Realm martial artist.
Surely, the Harmony Realm would be no different.
"Hwangbo Yeongcheon. What is your fist being swung for? Don't tell me it's for your clan. You've thrown Hwangbo Gwang, the future of that clan, out as bait like that."
"I…"
"Yes. You don't know. It's only natural. You're merely being swayed by the brief sense of liberation that another's talent brings."
"…"
Hwangbo Yeongcheon gritted his teeth. But the man could say nothing. There must have been something pricking at his own conscience.
"So let me show you."
"…Show me what?"
"What the Hwangbo Clan has lost."
He steps his left foot forward one pace, and his right hand gripping the sword stretches far back.
His straightened waist served as the bow, and his arm bent to its limit served as the string—a truly extreme stance.
A single thrust. A stance riddled with openings, with no thought for what comes after.
At the same time, it resembled the stance Hwangbo Yeongcheon invariably took between techniques.
"Surely not!"
Hwangbo Yeongcheon's eyes flew wide. Anger began to frost over them, and then he assumed a stance identical to mine… no, even more convincing than mine.
A stance perfect for throwing a fist. And yet, a stance that revealed no openings to speak of.
His eyes, twisted with humiliation, and my calm gaze tangled once in the air. Then, without a word from either of us, our arms began to move at the same time.
A thrust that shot out in a straight line, devoid of any skill.
And a straight punch laced with dazzling technique.
The two collided at the very point where our gazes had met moments before.
KWAANG!
The Qi Flame wrapped around my sword and his fist clashed, letting out a thunderous roar.
But it wasn't long before the balance tipped. Slowly. Yet surely, my sword pierced through Hwangbo Yeongcheon's internal energy.
"Wh-what… how…!"
Hwangbo Yeongcheon's startled voice. But to me, it was barely audible.
What filled my mind now was a familiar yet still inexplicable sense of elation.
It was the same sensation I'd felt when I swung the sword that had once beheaded the Blood Flame Fist Demon, the strike that Seomun Hwa-rin had called my initiation into Intent.
Because I was wrapped in that very feeling.
What had I been thinking back then?
I hadn't been thinking at all.
Only the thought of cutting down the opponent before me remained, and the sword had followed that thought as it surged ahead.
It was the same now.
I thrust. The sword, driven by that single thought alone, surged forward, ignoring every obstacle in its path.
Because I had wanted to thrust. Because I had decided to.
"…Ah."
A voice mixing bewilderment and realization leaked from Hwangbo Yeongcheon's lips. And then—
Thunk!
The sword pierced through his large fist, his arm, and even his shoulder, before plunging into Hwangbo Yeongcheon's neck.
Hwangbo Yeongcheon's massive frame began to shrink.