"It's taking too long. If you're not going to help, can't you just stay quiet? It seems like a few swings of the sword would settle it."
"We've decided to call that sort of thing treason, young hero Cheon."
Ah.
I'd been active with the Black Alliance for so long lately that I'd grown too accustomed to Unorthodox ways of thinking.
"It was a joke. No matter what, I can't turn the Imperial Court into an enemy. …I know well enough that killing those who would fight alongside me with my own hands would be a foolish act."
"Your reasoning is a bit… well, whatever the case, I'm relieved you won't commit treason."
Tang So-wol let out a sigh of relief. Setting aside her reaction, it was rather frustrating that even after going to the trouble of forming the Orthodox-Unorthodox Alliance, every move took this much time.
Ah.
So that's why the Heavenly Demon doesn't bother nurturing martial artists of the Demonic Cult and instead takes the lead and wipes everything out himself.
Tang So-wol, Seol Ri-hyang, and Seomun Hwa-rin seem to know about my regression, but they haven't caught on to the Heavenly Demon's secret…
He is also a regressor. Not someone who turned back time just once like me, but someone who has returned to the past over and over again… an infinite regressor trapped in a prison of time with no end in sight.
The Heavenly Demon has probably accumulated far more time and experience than I could even imagine.
The opportunities to learn martial arts other than demonic arts would have been more than abundant.
If he wanted, he could have grown his power anywhere other than the Demonic Cult. The Orthodox Sects or the Unorthodox Sects would have been fine, and the Imperial Court would have been possible too.
But among the countless choices, the fact that he deliberately chose the Demonic Cult might not be simply because of the Heavenly Demon Divine Art.
The Demonic Cult would strip itself bare—liver and gall and all—just to carry out his revenge, without even bothering to keep him in check.
Unlike the current Orthodox-Unorthodox Alliance, there would be no need to quell the noise that arose every time he made the slightest move.
After a brief moment of deliberation, he spoke.
"Tang So-wol. Is there nothing I can do?"
"No, there isn't."
"You seem rather firm about that."
"If I had to say, it would be to stay still."
"…"
"If young hero Cheon steps in, the problem will only get bigger. As it always has been."
"…I won't deny that."
No matter how gentle and compassionate a person I am, that only applies to those who can be reasoned with.
When I meet someone who cannot be reasoned with—someone who cannot be reached through words—my hand moves to my sword before I even realize it.
Say what you will, but I spent a long time in the Black Alliance, and I suppose I've grown accustomed to that way of doing things.
And that sort of approach would only earn me resentment from the Imperial Court, which is even stricter than the old masters of the Orthodox Sects.
It's not as if I can actually put on a sword dance like I joked a moment ago…
"There's no helping it, then."
"Excuse me? What do you mean there's no helping it… Surely not?!"
"We have to do what we can do."
"Oh, you can't, young hero Cheon! No matter who you are, if you touch the Imperial Court, it'll be really hard to protect you…"
"Let's just train our martial arts."
"?"
"?"
Tang So-wol and I looked at each other and tilted our heads.
"…Martial arts?"
"…If it's not martial arts, then what did you think it was?"
"Oh, nothing at all. Yes. Martial arts training. That's good. Of course, of course."
Tang So-wol, her face slightly flushed, hastily moved away and settled into a cross-legged sitting position in a suitable spot.
It was an obvious signal that she was about to circulate her mental cultivation method and didn't want to be disturbed anymore.
As I let out a hollow laugh, a thick poison energy began to swirl around the focused Tang So-wol.
A strange sight of green and purple intermingling in a vortex.
This was the process of absorbing all sorts of poisons and spiritual medicines she had obtained with the help of the Murim Alliance this time.
She had thought she'd gathered every poison there was, having traveled not only to the Black Alliance but also to Nammang and the North Sea…
I hadn't realized there were still this many poisons that Tang So-wol had yet to consume.
Well, that made sense. Poisons whose manufacturing methods had been lost to time, or poisons made from parts of Spirit Beasts that were now rarely seen—those weren't things you could obtain just because you had money and connections.
Still, once this absorption was complete, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say she had made all the poisons of the Central Plains her own, except for those of the Imperial Court and the Demonic Cult.
After the absorption was finished, several absolute masters of the Murim Alliance, including Tang Jincheon, were supposed to take turns guiding her in martial arts, if I recalled correctly.
It was a bit different from a joint training session… or maybe not.
Either way, it was certain to be a great help to Tang So-wol.
It seemed the martial arts of the Poison Lady I'd witnessed in my memories had been quite shocking, since she'd been mulling over them all day.
The Harmony Realm was a level where one couldn't casually speak with certainty, but considering the Tang So-wol I'd seen before the regression, and her current situation, it was well worth aiming for.
She'd handle it well on her own without me having to worry too much.
What mattered now was me.
The new martial art I'd created while taking down the Simma. The enlightenment I hadn't fully internalized yet.
I needed to make it completely my own.
"Hoo…"
I took a deep breath in, then let it out as I settled into my stance.
My feet were spread shoulder-width apart, with my left foot half a step forward. The tip of my sword hung loosely at a diagonal. That said, it was important to keep my shoulders properly tensed so I could swing it in any direction at a moment's notice.
Shifting my center of gravity to create the impression that I might lunge at any second—that was the stance for the Thunder Step.
…This is the basic stance I usually took when using the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art.
A martial art that relies entirely on my own senses and combat logic, swinging the sword where it's needed most.
That's why it has no set techniques to speak of… but as long as I'm human, I'm bound to have preferred postures and habits.
I'd erased a lot of them, but I couldn't erase them completely.
In fact, that's only natural. The Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art was founded on a Second-Rate martial art to begin with, and I'd developed it in a direction that held my own life within it.
How could I stop my traces from showing in a sword that carries the record of my journey?
But now, it was time to see what lay beyond.
Beyond the path I'd walked so far. The place I had yet to go, the road I wanted to walk. The scenery I wanted to reach.
Using the sword as a brush, I paint an ideal.
A small ideal that exists only within my mind.
Following something that still faintly glimmers even after all that has happened, I swing the sword as if possessed.
My stance collapses in an instant.
The rationality of the martial arts I had built up until now loses its meaning, my senses grow confused, and my logic of combat falls apart.
All that remains is an incomplete, unstable flailing of the blade.
Yet, to paint over a well-finished picture, a single careless stroke was more than enough.
The sloppy sword path quickly begins to surpass the imaginary sword path that the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art had been drawing.
It is not simply a matter of being faster, stronger, or more refined.
No matter what Mystery or logic one might bring against it, this simply painted over them all…
To put it a little strongly, it contained something that could be called absolute.
A sword swung with only the arms, lacking the power of the waist, might be swung a little faster, but the force within it is insufficient, making it easy to be deflected.
However, the single sword stroke from a moment ago ignored such common sense.
Though it was swung lightly, it did not feel like it could be blocked by just anyone.
A sword is an object meant to cut something. If so, whatever touches the swung sword must be cut.
It was because such an unreasonable force emanated from the sword.
Thinking about it logically, this was absurd. But when I considered the Intent consumed to swing that single sword, it made sense.
It wasn't a matter of swinging the sword and then pouring Intent into it.
The Intent moved first, and the sword followed behind it.
And Intent was a power that painted over the world's principles, even if only in part. That was why it could make the impossible possible.
If I cut someone down, it wasn't because my sword had pierced their flesh.
It was because I had decided to cut.
…Good. I was starting to get a feel for it.
This time, I swung the sword with a little more focus on my Intent.
My somewhat sloppy stance settled into something more refined. With my body at ease, focusing my Intent became noticeably easier.
A sword that cuts powerfully without strong force, extends swiftly without a fast swing, and splits into dozens of paths without a flick of the wrist.
To wield it, I would need a Sword Art fundamentally different from anything before.
For now, though, the priority is learning to wield my Intent properly.
At the bottom of my mental image lies my purest desire. Following that faint light to swing the sword is fine, but the problem is my current state—so focused on chasing the trajectory that I'm missing the point.
The Intent must cut first, and the sword should follow after.
No—the two must become one and move simultaneously.
I have a guess at the solution. Enlightenment doesn't spring out of nowhere; it's built upon the path I've already walked.
White Sword, Thunder Sword, Mount Tai Sword—I've already used similar swords many times over.
If I develop them step by step and grow familiar with them, I'm bound to achieve something of my own.
Establishing a new sword art can wait until after that.
…But still, is the Crazy Wolf Life-Stealing Art really only this far?
Perhaps because I've invested so much effort and spent so long with it, it feels a bit disappointing.
Even if someone were watching, I doubt they'd think I was mastering it properly… but I should at least scribble down a secret manual.
So this is why people raise successors and leave behind secret manuals.
I curled the corner of my mouth with a snort and kept swinging my sword without pause.
Was it because each swing consumed a chunk of my Intent? My body, which had never known fatigue, began to soak through with sweat…
But the tangible sense of improvement made me forget the exhaustion.
***
I trained until the sky darkened, then washed and changed clothes with my internal energy and Intent both completely drained.
How long had it been since I last poured out every ounce of my strength like this?
A pleasant feeling of depletion. I returned to my room in a fatigue that made me feel I could fall asleep the moment I closed my eyes.
And then I saw it.
In the darkness, a figure with white hair, two eyes glinting.
"Senior Seomun Hwa-rin, what are you doing sitting in the dark without even lighting a lamp? I almost thought you were a ghost."
"Hm? I must have forgotten. I was doing my own mental cultivation training while waiting for you to arrive… I didn't expect you to come this late. But then, if it really had been a ghost, what would you have done?"
I tapped the sword scabbard in response to Seomun Hwa-rin's playful question.
"I'd have cut it down, of course. You know the saying—kill the Buddha if you meet the Buddha, kill the Patriarch if you meet the Patriarch. If I meet a ghost, I cut the ghost."
"That's not a saying meant to be taken as 'when in doubt, just cut first and ask questions later'…"
Seomun Hwa-rin shook her head as if at a loss for words, then suddenly reached out a hand.
It looked like she was asking for something. But I had no idea what she wanted.
"…"
"…"
We just stared at each other in silence, then, on a whim, I placed what I was holding into Seomun Hwa-rin's hand.
It was the martial robe I had been wearing until just now, soaked with sweat.
"…Why are you giving this to me?"
"I heard you had a deep interest in my undergarments, so I thought you might like this too. Was I wrong?"
"Certainly not!"
Seomun Hwa-rin stomped her feet. And yet, she neatly folded the martial robe I had given her and tucked it away in the corner—a sight just a little unsettling.
It couldn't be… right?
Seomun Hwa-rin extended her hand toward me once more as I broke out in a cold sweat.
I cautiously took hold of it, and she pulled me along, seating me on the bed.
With a sulky expression, she continued speaking.
"You there. I know you've been busy sorting out your new enlightenment, but how is the training of the Thunder Step coming along?"
"Huh?"
"Didn't you say you would restore and succeed the Seomun Clan's martial arts? I trusted only you and handed over everything—the Oral Formula and all…"
"Ah."
After a brief moment of deliberation over how to respond, I simply decided to be honest.
"I completely forgot about it."
"Wh-what!"
"Well. It's a good martial art, but compared to the martial art that will be completed in the future, it's a bit lacking, isn't it?"
"Lacking…"
"Instead, if I create a new sword art this time, would you like me to organize that one and give it to you? The Thunder Sword's share is about one-tenth, so it wouldn't be wrong to call this one the Thunder Sword either."
"…"
Seomun Hwa-rin staggered as if something had snapped, then, with tears welling up in her eyes, grabbed me by the collar and shook me back and forth.
"That's enough—just quietly carry on the Seomun Clan's line! Kyaaaaah!"
It was the kind of remark that could easily be misunderstood if anyone overheard it.