A training ground engraved with countless sword marks.
Any skilled swordsman could roughly infer what kind of swords these were with a single glance.
Clearly, this was a place surrounded by countless swords.
And at its center stood the master of them all.
"Elder Sword King."
"You've come."
Namgung Dowi slowly turned to look at me. After giving me a brief once-over, he nodded with satisfaction.
"Isn't it a strange thing. At an age where you're still nothing but a rising talent, you carry a sword this fierce, and you're a martial artist of the Orthodox Sects, not the Unorthodox or the Demonic Cult."
"What is it you see in me?"
"I didn't see anything in particular. I merely felt a bit of your sincerity."
Namgung Dowi tapped the back of his neck with his fingertips in a slow motion, then continued.
"You. You came with the genuine intention of cutting me down."
"When would I ever get an opportunity like this again? Of course I have to give it my all."
There are many who wield the sword in the martial world.
Because the sword is the easiest weapon to obtain, many use it, and because there are many, the odds of an outstanding master emerging rise, and because of that, more take up the sword to learn the ascendant martial arts they left behind.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that the sword is the most popular weapon in the martial world today.
Perhaps that is why a considerable number of absolute masters have reached the Harmony Realm through the sword… but among even those, there is only one person who bears the alias of Sword King.
Namgung Dowi.
Even the other swordsmen of the Harmony Realm acknowledged that he deserved to be called the Sword King.
Everyone was saying it tacitly—that Namgung Dowi, the Sword King, was the greatest swordsman of the current era.
To be able to receive that man's sword directly, without any danger to my life? And even to be able to swing my own sword at him from my side?
How could I possibly approach this with mere courtesy and half-hearted effort?
Of course, I had to give it my all.
Was it my resolve that reached him? Namgung Dowi let out a soft chuckle.
"Heh. That brat Jong respects me far too much. No, most martial artists are the same. …It's been a long time. Since someone has truly aimed their sword at me."
"If I was being rude, I apologize."
"Rude? A swordsman should act exactly like that."
Saying this, Namgung Dowi drew the sword from his waist.
There was no sound of it being drawn, and the motion was so natural that one couldn't even tell when it had happened.
The Changcheon Sword, famous as the heirloom of the Namgung Clan, caught the lamplight and gleamed a crimson red.
"No need for lengthy words. Shall we begin right away? As long as you don't collapse from exhaustion, I'll keep you company until the morning sun rises."
"Don't worry, I rested well precisely because I was worried about that."
I drew my sword as well, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.
This wasn't the makeshift sword I'd used against Hwangbo Yeongcheon last time.
It was the black sword completed while I was locking up the Hwangbo Clan's martial artists and interrogating them.
Adjusted perfectly to fit me. A sword remade for me alone.
The center of gravity, the length, even the feel of the hilt in my hand—everything felt incredibly comfortable.
The sensation of the sword taking root from my hand without any conscious effort.
I settled into my stance within the sensation of Sword-Mind Unity, which I entered even more easily than before.
I relaxed the tension in my shoulders and raised the sword to a comfortable height. My body, meanwhile, leaned forward as if ready to lunge at any moment, yet my soles remained firmly planted on the ground.
A dark red Sword Qi rippled along the black blade. I flared it wide as I spoke.
"Then I'll begin."
I stamped off the ground before Namgung Dowi even had a chance to respond.
The Thunder Step—refined by Seomun Hwa-rin to suit me before my regression, then refined once more by the post-regression me after seeing the original.
From footsteps that were similar to Seomun Hwa-rin's yet subtly different, thunder roared.
KWA-RUNG!
Internal energy exploded beneath my feet, pushing my body forward with no wasted motion and without harming me in the slightest.
As if someone had pushed me from behind, my frozen body shot forward.
I extended my internal energy through all four limbs and every meridian, sharpened my mind to a razor's edge, and pushed my eye power to its absolute limit.
The world seemed to slow down. I wove through the flickering lamplight and arrived before Namgung Dowi in an instant.
With a step that carried the full momentum of my charge, I planted my foot.
THUD!
The solid training ground trembled, and the recoil of that planted step began to surge back into me.
From my foot to my knee, from my knee to my waist, from my waist to my shoulder, and from my shoulder back down to my elbow and my sword.
Thanks to Sword-Mind Unity, my body could now put ideals into practice without hesitation, and it channeled the speed of the Thunder Step directly into my blade.
My fastest sword, the one I could wield, sliced through the air, aimed at Namgung Dowi's chest.
Swaaak!
Namgung Dowi's arm, which had been tracking this entire process with his eyes, finally moved.
Thud!
The sword was deflected with such simple ease. Its force was so strong that my body was pushed back a step.
Namgung Dowi, who had already settled into a low stance, evaluated my sword with a gaze that even exuded killing intent.
"Fast. But…"
"It's still too early."
I gritted my teeth and twisted my body once more.
As I continued sparring with Namgung Jong, I looked back on the martial arts of the past. Most of them were nothing more than simple breathing techniques, but looking at them now, there were clearly some that appeared in a different light.
The way I had completed the Chamjeok Sword, a blade made to cut falling raindrops, in my own way was one such example.
Rain does not fall as a single drop, but as countless, innumerable droplets.
To cut them all down, I would need not only speed, but a continuous stream of sword strikes.
Just like now.
"Hup!"
The moment Namgung Dowi's sword clashed with mine, I twisted every muscle and joint in my body to disperse the shock—enough to send my body flying along with my sword—and then focused it back into my blade.
Swoosh!
The sword came faster than before. Namgung Dowi's eyes shifted.
"This is… the Taoist way."
I had no room to answer, but he was right.
The continuous, uninterrupted flow I had learned at the Zhongnan Sect was certainly excellent, but it was also a method I could not fully accept.
A martial art that begins with me and ends with me. That was common among the Orthodox Sects, but to me, it was something I could never quite understand.
After all, a swordfight wasn't a solo affair—at least two people were needed.
If a flow was to be created, it had to be a flow that swallowed not just me, but my opponent as well.
That was a sword containing my own answer to that question.
Clang! Clang-clang! Clang!
The unceasing ring of metal. Namgung Dowi had wrapped himself in Sword Qi at exactly the same level as mine, so what reached my ears was the sound of blades colliding, not internal energy exploding.
Namgung Dowi kept deflecting the sword strikes pouring from me for a long while.
Amid the sword cries that sounded, in a way, like falling rain, Namgung Dowi finally swung his sword for the first time.
From left to right. A single, simple stroke. But perhaps it was because of the Mystery of Absorption contained within it.
The relentless chain of my attacks clung to Namgung Dowi's blade, then was hurled away, its movement coming to a halt.
Having swept aside the fierce downpour with a single stroke, Namgung Dowi nodded.
"Not bad. Fast, precise, and with few openings. An ordinary opponent might withstand the first few strikes, but they'd collapse under the relentless chain of sword strikes. …However, it's also a sword that tires easily."
"Hoo. You've seen it accurately."
It's a sword that begins with the fastest blade I can wield, and the more it clashes with the opponent's, the more it absorbs their strength and grows faster.
In other words, the burden on my body gradually increases with each exchange.
It tires easily, of course, and in severe cases, muscles could tear or even melt away.
"A sword like this must be used with a set end in mind. Otherwise, you'll be the one to collapse. Hmm. If it were me, once the sword had ripened to a certain degree, I'd try mixing in the Mystery of Explosion."
"Explosion, you say?"
"Indeed. I don't know its name, but that footwork of yours—you explode your internal energy to gain speed, don't you? You just need to do the same with your sword. With a sword like that, it's more than possible."
"Thank you for the advice. I'll take it into consideration.
I had thought of something similar, but what I had in mind was the Mystery of the Exchange. A sword that maximizes power by making internal energy swirl within it.
It was meant to grind down an opponent too busy blocking to do anything else, along with their weapon…
But with this sword, forged from a single piece of Black Iron and unmatched in hardness, simply exploding the internal energy would be the more reliable method.
As I bowed my head, Namgung Dowi's sword tip twitched, and he spoke.
"It's a fine sword, but you didn't show it to me just for this, did you? Let's see the other swords as well."
"…Of course, that was my intention."
I sent internal energy through my weary body, drawing up vitality, and raised my sword once more.
The sword's body is centered. The tip of the sword is at the edge of my vision. My legs are spread shoulder-width apart, and my center of gravity is fixed firmly at a somewhat lower position.
Unlike before, it is a plain and basic stance. But Namgung Dowi did not urge me on with words—he simply watched me calmly.
Before swinging the sword again, I spoke.
"Just in case, I'll say this: I hold no grudge against the Sword King. This is simply the nature of this martial art."
"Just how remarkable a thing are you planning to show me, to build up my expectations like that?"
"The Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art."
Strictly speaking, the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art is not a sword method but a Mental Cultivation Method. But to me, who had never properly learned martial arts, the difference between the two was faint.
The rapid sword strikes from earlier were swords containing the enlightenment I had recently gained—I simply wanted to show them off and have them evaluated.
The sword I was about to wield now, however, was not for show.
Hwaaah!
Killing intent spread outward from me like a wildfire, blanketing the entire training ground.
Even Namgung Dowi seemed startled by that dense killing intent, his eyes widening slightly.
"This is my true martial art."
"Is that so. I knew you wished to strike me down in earnest, but I did not expect it to be to this degree."
Namgung Dowi let out a pleased chuckle as he adjusted his stance.
"If you're coming at me with that, then it's only right that I bring out my true martial art as well. After all, this is what you wanted to see when you asked for this sparring bout, isn't it?"
With those words, Namgung Dowi naturally let his sword droop toward the ground.
At a glance, it was a posture that betrayed no intention of swinging the blade at all. But having experienced it once through Namgung Jong, I knew.
No matter how it looked, this was a stance from which any sword could be wielded with ease.
The moment I realized this, a sensation like my breath being cut off crashed over me.
A contest of wits that any martial artist who had reached a certain level would engage in unconsciously. The only difference was how far and how precisely one could see—but this sense, which had never once stopped, now ground to a halt.
No matter how I swung my sword, it would never reach the opponent before me.
On top of that helplessness, Namgung Dowi's Aura began to push back against my killing intent.
The Aura that had forced the killing intent I had released back to where it came from became a crushing weight, pressing down on my shoulders.
This was not the case when Namgung Jong executed it. Its power was formidable, but it was closer to a heavy sword that crushed the opponent with sheer Aura, a sword of dominance.
But now. Only after experiencing what Namgung Dowi had unleashed did I understand.
It made the opponent bind their own hands and feet through sheer helplessness, leaving them only able to look up.
This was the true Jewang Geomhyeong.
…But I am too stubborn to yield to this.
I burn the killing intent I was forced to swallow from within. Fiercely. Ever more fiercely.
Even knowing that nothing would work, I sacrifice everything just to cut down the opponent before my eyes.
Smelling the scent of burning flesh that brushed past my nose, I gripped my sword anew.
Namgung Dowi nodded with a satisfied expression.
"Is that so. So this is the fierce sword you carry within you."
"…"
Instead of answering, I swung my sword.
For men like us, the sword was a more certain means of expressing intent than words ever could be.
Clang!
To the question thrown with the sword, an answer came back with the sword.