Yielding the first move isn't just about letting the other person attack first. It means you'll only defend for the first one or two strikes, without retaliating. It's a courtesy, or magnanimity, that a master shows to a lesser martial artist.
If you block them 멋지게, your fame increases, but if you take a hit or counterattack against your word, you're in for a world of shame. Yu Chan-gyeong, though inwardly annoyed, did not refuse the first move. Watching them fight, it was clear why.
Yu Chan-gyeong's willow blade was swift. He charged forward and thrust straight in with all his momentum. Hwang Kang-ju calmly swung his broadsword, knocking the blade's tip away, and slid into the left blind spot.
His flank suddenly exposed, Yu Chan-gyeong hastily pulled back his willow blade and twisted his body. twak twak twak After yielding three moves, Hwang Kang-ju counterattacked. His saber technique wasn't something learned properly by entering a school. It was a series of instinctive, improvisational moves that relied almost entirely on his senses.
That made him seem quite tricky to deal with. The match didn't even last twenty exchanges. Hwang Kang-ju's broadsword seemed to pulverize Yu Chan-gyeong's fierce saber strikes as it shot upward.
As the blade fell upon his head, Yu Chan-gyeong was terrified. He tried to retreat, but it was too late. Just as the broadsword was about to split his head, Hwang Kang-ju stylishly twisted his wrist, changing the trajectory of his strike.
The broadsword narrowly slid past his forehead, and then the flat of the blade struck Yu Chan-gyeong's shoulder.
Thwack!
Losing his balance, Yu Chan-gyeong was pushed to the corner of the stage. He collapsed to the floor, then got up, coughing. He wasn't seriously injured, but he didn't dare to challenge him further.
He looked at Hwang Kang-ju, who stood poised with his broadsword lowered, then sheathed his willow blade.
"I have lost. Thank you for your mercy."
"I have learned a great deal."
The two men clasped their fists in salute and withdrew.
"Hwang Kang-ju is the winner!"
Among the spectators who had placed bets, fortunes were made and lost. Cheers and curses rained down on the stage simultaneously. Most of the martial artists wearing swords seemed to acknowledge the result.
"As expected of Great Hero Hwang."
It wasn't that Hwang Kang-ju's martial ability was overwhelming or exceptional. Unlike the other participants who fought viciously like pit dogs, covered in blood, Hwang Kang-ju alone conducted a sparring session in the style of the righteous sects.
His composed and dignified demeanor from start to finish was so impressive that it made one wonder if this was what a true righteous hero would be like. Among the martial artists who carried swords, there wasn't one who hadn't dreamed of being a righteous hero at least once, so their feelings were bound to be complex.
The way he remained dignified throughout, as if he couldn't hear the jeers from the gamblers surrounding the stage, was quite satisfying even for me to watch. Before the afterglow had faded, two rough-looking swordsmen engaged in a messy brawl on the stage. It was a vicious dogfight, devoid of forms or technique.
The brawls of lesser fighters are often more entertaining, so the spectators were thrilled, but the martial artists who knew a thing or two about swords shook their heads. Then, out of nowhere, a masked swordsman appeared.
"I was wondering why there weren't any masked men. Looks like they're starting to crawl out one by one," a man with a goatee sneered sarcastically.
"In the old days, some idiot young disciples from the righteous sects would come here to show off their martial arts, wearing masks and acting all high and mighty. But that trend died out after one of them got stabbed to death in a back alley."
Another participant chimed in with a grin.
"These days, the only guys who show up in masks are the ones who know they're going to get their asses kicked and are too embarrassed to show their faces. Either that, or they're so ugly they'd defile the eyes of the audience."
For some reason, I felt unfairly targeted, and my hand unconsciously reached for the mask in my coat. As if to shatter the crowd's prejudice, the masked swordsman blew away the right hand of a saber wielder with a piercing sword form. It was a merciless strike to ensure a decisive victory.
After five or six matches, an employee came looking for me.
"You are the Blue Saber Great Hero, correct? You're next."
Following the employee down the stairs, I took out the mask from my coat and put it on. As I crossed the first floor and climbed onto the stage, the spectators began to murmur.
"What? Another masked guy?"
"Isn't that the same masked swordsman from before?"
"No, it's not. He's carrying a saber, not a sword. The mask looks a bit different too."
"I heard his title is Blue Saber."
"What are the odds?"
Bronze reflecting plates installed throughout the inn illuminated the stage with lamplight, leaving no shadows. The faces packed tightly around the stage were all flushed with excitement and fervor. The gazes and murmurs pouring in from all directions mixed together, pressing down on my whole body.
I felt like a real pit dog thrown into a fighting pit. I came here for the spiritual herb, but this feels disgusting. From the opposite side, a middle-aged man holding a broadsword came up.
"I am Jo Il-tae, the Heavy Saber of Sandong."
"I am Blue Saber."
As soon as the meaningless, brief introductions were over, Jo Il-tae drew his sword. I drew my long blade and lowered it toward the ground. Jo Il-tae stared at me and slowly circled to the left like a wolf.
Just from the fact that he didn't charge in recklessly, I could tell he had spent many years living by the sword. To avoid exposing my flank, I matched his speed, circling to the right and keeping him in front of me. After a brief moment of sizing each other up, Jo Il-tae suddenly rushed forward with great strides.
He closed the distance quickly, then gallantly kicked off the ground and leaped into the air. He swung his broadsword over his head, bringing it down. It was a powerful blow, as if to split a boulder.
I used my footwork to evade to the side and slashed a long cut across my opponent's abdomen. As if he had been waiting for it, Jo Il-tae threw himself sideways to dodge and swung his broadsword up vertically.
Twak!!
The moment our blades met, I smoothly deflected it along the blade's body and aimed for the chest of my opponent as he fell from the air.
Twak! Twak!
Jo Il-tae blocked the tip of my blade by turning his own blade vertically, then kicked off the ground again and unleashed a fierce form. I matched him, combining basic defensive techniques, vertical slashes, horizontal slashes, and thrusts with my footwork. I didn't use any of the secret arts of the Heavenly Steel Saber Technique.
I didn't hone this saber technique just to show it off to some gamblers. I had learned all eighteen forms of the Heavenly Steel Saber Technique, both the first and latter sets. I had also mastered the inner cultivation method and even engaged in a deadly battle using inner energy with a master like Pyo Hol-deuk.
My eye for martial arts had sharpened and deepened considerably since then. Saber techniques, at a glance, seem simpler than sword techniques, making them easier for beginners to learn, but it's not easy to become a master. If one cannot move beyond simple cuts that rely on brute force, the flow of their attacks becomes predictable.
That was a big reason why swordsmen often looked down on saber wielders. Jo Il-tae's fundamentals in saber technique were solid, but he was not a saber wielder who could truly bring out the subtleties of the art.
His wrist movements for deflecting or coiling were weak, and his combined movements of slashing and thrusting were always half a beat too slow. After deflecting his saber strike and discerning the feints and real attacks in his form, I pushed my long blade into the opening that had loosened.
The blade of the broadsword was entangled by my long blade that had slipped past it. I pulled it as if I were uprooting a plant. A form whose flow is broken loses its power.
The broadsword flew from Jo Il-tae's hand, over the heads of the spectators, and embedded itself in the wall of the inn. The blade of my long blade touched the neck of Jo Il-tae, whose wrist was twisted and had dropped his weapon. His face pale, Jo Il-tae shivered and swallowed dryly.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, scraping against the blade. A drop of blood trickled down the blade.
"Do you wish to continue?"
"... I... I lost."
I lowered my long blade and stepped back.
"Blue Saber is the winner!"
Jo Il-tae turned away, staring at his empty hands with a look of despair. I too sheathed my long blade and stepped down from the stage. * The waiting contestants, including the man with the goatee and the gloomy swordsman, all took their turns on the stage and received their respective results.
Some were injured, some were victorious. As expected of martial artists who had grown tough in this world, they all managed to avoid death. Hwang Kang-ju, who had gotten a bye due to good luck in the pairings, came out to the stage again.
As fate would have it, his opponent was the dual-wielding swordsman who had been cynical about his righteous path.
"Heh heh, your luck has run out. Still, Great Hero Hwang is merciful, so he probably won't kill you."
When someone jeered, the dual-wielder grinned.
"You fools. Just watch carefully how to hunt a sable."
"You mean by spraying filth on the road?"
At my remark, the dual-wielder's eyes glinted.
"You've got some nerve, my friend."
Standing face to face with Hwang Kang-ju, the dual-wielder held a Goose Feather blade in each hand. Martial artists who used two sabers were rare. It required a great deal of training to use both hands freely.
The dual-wielder skillfully swung his two sabers, calmly blocking Hwang Kang-ju's broadsword. But it seemed difficult to withstand the full force of blows from both hands. Pushed back by the barrage of attacks, the dual-wielder absurdly fell backward.
It was a golden opportunity. A single stab to the leg or body could have inflicted a fatal wound. Nine out of ten martial artists would not hesitate in such a situation.
If it were me, I would have stabbed him in the thigh. Hwang Kang-ju, respected as a righteous hero, was the one in ten, not the nine in ten. His broadsword moved instinctively, then faltered.
There were too many eyes watching for him to attack a fallen opponent. In that moment, the dual-wielder quickly rolled back and got to his feet.
"What are you doing? Just stab him!"
"What is this, some kind of formal tournament?"
Jeers poured from the spectators, but Hwang Kang-ju bit his lip and shook his head. From then on, the dual-wielder attacked relentlessly. Hwang Kang-ju countered with a straightforward approach, meeting the saber strikes head-on or deflecting them.
As befitting a renowned righteous hero, he did not want to win in a petty or cowardly manner. Against an opponent of a lower caliber like Yu Chan-gyeong, he could afford to show mercy and still win stylishly. But when the dual-wielder displayed his true skill, he was a formidable opponent.
Realizing this worked, the dual-wielder would make a gamble, and if it didn't pay off, he would keep his distance and then boldly feign a stumble and roll on the ground. Each time, Hwang Kang-ju would flinch. Even from a distance, I could feel him fall into a dilemma, conflicted.
The desperate desire to win at all costs, claim the prize, and return home. The conviction to fight honorably. It seemed as if two hearts were fiercely clashing within him.
As his mind grew complicated, Hwang Kang-ju began to lose ground in the strategic battle. The rhythm of the fight shifted in the dual-wielder's favor. A hair's breadth of a difference, and Hwang Kang-ju's shoulder was cut.
The dual-wielder's saber was now at his chest.
"I have lost."
Hwang Kang-ju admitted defeat with a desolate expression. The dual-wielder clasped his fists and spoke words that were hard to distinguish between sincerity and mockery.
"They say one should not walk a path that is not true. Indeed, Great Hero Hwang's reputation is not unearned. I, Bak, am truly impressed."
Hwang Kang-ju composed himself, rose, exchanged farewells, and left the premises. A cacophony of sighs and encouragement, curses and cheers, swept through the place. The dual-wielder, who had cleverly overcome Hwang Kang-ju, was ironically knocked out in his match against the masked swordsman.
The masked swordsman advanced directly to the finals. There was still time until the next match, so I ate some dry rations with tea water to appease my hunger and went out the back door for some air. Escaping the stifling heat and breathing in the late autumn night air felt life-giving.
I exhaled a white puff of breath and took a step, then stopped at the sense of a presence. I noticed someone sitting slumped on the stairs leading to the alley. Under the fairly bright half-moon, a tall face with strong features was faintly revealed.
It was Hwang Kang-ju. It is necessary for a defeated martial artist to have time alone. A time to calmly review the fight, replaying the exchanges, and using it as nourishment for a stronger tomorrow.
I had experienced it countless times myself. But Hwang Kang-ju was neither dwelling on his defeat nor reviewing the fight. His face was as dark as if it had fallen into a mud pit.
His lifeless eyes were staring into deep despair. He looked so shabby and destitute that it was hard to believe he was the same Great Hero Hwang I had seen inside. He no longer wore the face of a righteous hero.
Not even the face of a martial artist. The time of the respected righteous hero on the splendid stage was over. Now, it was time for him to become a wife's husband and a father to several children, and walk down a shabby alley.
To the home where his starving family was waiting. Back then, when the dual-wielder fell, if Hwang Kang-ju had just squeezed his eyes shut and stabbed him in the leg, he might have made it to the finals. Hwang Kang-ju couldn't do it.
The dual-wielder had seen through Hwang Kang-ju's obsession with his reputation as an honorable righteous hero and had thoroughly exploited it. That was why he had mentioned hunting sables. Sable fur is famous for being fine and beautiful, and it trades for a high price in the market.
Sables know very well how beautiful they are. That's why they extremely dislike getting their fur dirty. Except when eating and sleeping, they always spend their time licking and grooming their fur to keep it clean.
When hunting sables, hunters exploit this habit of cherishing their fur. They sprinkle a lot of well-fermented excrement on the path the animal frequents. Then, the beaters drive the sable towards that spot.
Even as death approaches from all sides, the sable, faced with the foul-smelling filth, hesitates due to its obsession with its fur, is captured, and skinned. For Hwang Kang-ju, the title of 'righteous hero' must have been his sable's fur. It probably started with an accidental, minor act of kindness.
After punishing some thugs who were harassing the villagers, people likely started seeking him out one by one. Praised as a man of justice, his shoulders would have squared, and he would have developed a sense of pride and responsibility.
He might have savored the joy of being acknowledged by someone for the first time in his life, escaping his arduous daily grind. From then on, whenever there were people in need, he would have set aside his own livelihood and rushed to help.
If they offered him rice or coins as thanks, he would have steadfastly refused, saying he didn't do it for a reward. To value justice heavily and disregard profit is the basic virtue of a righteous hero. Doing something for money is not an act of righteousness.
That is just a hired problem-solver. Sometimes, obtaining something beyond one's means can become an unbearable disaster. His name might continue to be synonymous with a righteous hero in the area, but his family's situation will not improve.
I was reminded of the drunken rambling of a middle-aged wandering swordsman who, with a look of disgust, once recounted his time as a righteous hero in his youth. Something useful to have one of in your village, but you wouldn't want one in your family. That is a righteous hero.
Hwang Kang-ju covered his face with both hands. After watching for a moment longer, I returned to the inn without a word. The inn, which had been deafeningly loud just moments before, was now strangely subdued.
The brightly lit stage was also empty.
"What's going on? Why is it so chaotic?"
"I hear the Blood Snake Gang has been ambushed."
Bok Ha-gyu's face flashed through my mind. Did the Black Night Gang move this quickly?
"What does the Blood Snake Gang have to do with the martial arts tournament..."
"There he comes."
The man, as if he hadn't heard me, quickly turned his head towards the entrance. The gazes of the murmuring spectators and martial artists all focused on one spot. I too turned in that direction.
A white-haired old man with a sword at his waist appeared, flanked by a group of martial artists. His wrinkled face was covered in age spots, but he strode forward with vigorous steps, without a cane. One look was enough to tell he was no ordinary old man, but one who had properly mastered martial arts.
The old man went up onto the stage alone.