A Fierce Battle

“Enough!”

Jo Sang-won of the Dragon Gate Sect, who had sat in silence until now, suddenly leapt to his feet. His face had been clouded with worry all this time, but it seemed he could endure no longer.

But Yi Seomun merely glanced at his face and gave no further response.

“The conditions I present are three. First, from this day forward, the Five Great Mountain Swords shall never interfere in the affairs of the Taiyi Divine Sect.”

Yi Seomun began slowly circling the hall. Every gaze followed his steps. Fire boiled within, but none dared move first.

“Second, henceforth the Five Great Mountain Swords shall never again hold martial gatherings.”

His fellow sect disciples looked at him with clear disapproval. It should have sufficed to achieve the goal, yet their eldest always granted chances. Call it humane, but in truth it was a costly flaw.

“Third—never again seek the Commentary on the Saṃdhinirmocana Sūtra!”

At his final condition, chills shot across Yun-seon’s body. Why was that name on their lips? Instinctively, he looked to Juun beside him. She was already staring back—her expression showing she knew the reason all too well.

“Moonlit Sudden Rain!”

Shin Yang-seon of the Eminent Mountain Sect could not bear their arrogant demands. With a shout, his staff shed its wooden casing, revealing its true form.

Clang!

Thud!

Though sudden, Yi Seomun seemed ready, lightly deflecting Shin Yang-seon’s strike. In moments they had traded several exchanges—astonishingly, Shin Yang-seon’s blade shifted through a dozen variations within a single stroke.

Even armed only with a short fan, Yi Seomun deflected every dazzling move. Yet the Full Moon Sword grew more ferocious with each clash—within a few more, his fan would surely shatter.

“An astonishing sword art.”

Though pressed, Seomun praised him with a calm smile. Stranger still, Hyunjin stood near but made no move to aid her senior.

“Moon Halo!”

Then something wondrous occurred. As Shin Yang-seon changed his form, his blade rippled like a wave. A sword barely three feet now appeared twice as long. Even Seomun now looked surprised.

“Ah… that must be…”

Ju-un’s eyes widened as she watched, her chest swelling—she was finally seeing with her own eyes the sword art she had long yearned to witness.

“When it comes to swordsmanship, one cannot omit Master Full Moon. A single move contains forty-two variations. The Waxing Moon Sword perhaps—but the Waning Moon Sword even I cannot endure.”

Ju-un recalled her master’s words as she studied his form closely. Its speed and transformations were indeed worthy of their fame.

“The sword is like a whip… which one is real?”

Yun-seon grew dizzy, entranced by the Full Moon Sword’s motions. He had seen his master and seniors train, but never such brilliance. That a staff became a sword was shocking; now it became a whip binding Yi Seomun’s body.

“That is Sword qi.”

Yi Seomun too realized the change was no illusion but qi infused into the blade. Yet knowing did not grant escape. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“Eldest Sahyung, this will be difficult.”

Hyunjin, who had watched as if unconcerned, finally spoke. At her words, Seomun sheepishly stepped back and folded his fan.

“Ah!”

Yun-seon, watching nervously, jolted at Seomun’s sudden retreat. Sure enough, the Full Moon Sword swept across his chest. The outcome seemed obvious—Yun-seon squeezed his eyes shut.

Thunk!

“Urgh!”

A dying scream rang out, and silence fell. Yun-seon’s heart sank—he must have failed to evade the Sword qi.

“Tsk, tsk… Had you not pressed me so, I would never have drawn it.”

But the one groaning on the ground was not Seomun—but Shin Yang-seon. Dark blood spurted from his chest acupoint; had Jo Yang not sealed it quickly, his life would have been lost.

“You wretch! What hidden weapon did you use?”

Go Geun-dong, disciple of Shin Yang-seon, rushed forward. His sword was already at Seomun’s neck in a flash. Yet Seomun neither dodged nor resisted—he only smiled awkwardly.

“Hidden weapon? To a scholar, is there anything heavier than a brush?”

Only then did all eyes shift to his left hand. At the last moment, he had drawn not a fan, but a palm-sized iron shard, pointed like a brush. In Seomun’s large hands, it seemed like a concealed dart. Shin Yang-seon, trusting only in sword might, had rushed into a trap—and suffered for it.

“To toy with us through such sorcery—I cannot forgive you!”

As Seomun began to speak, Go Geun-dong thrust his blade. His true aim was not revenge, but to silence him—for if Seomun boasted of victory, Eminent Mountain Sect’s reputation would plummet.

Of late, whispers said their sword arts were weakest among the Five Great Mountains. Only Shin Yang-seon’s Full Moon Sword upheld their pride. If it became known he could not last even a hundred moves against a Demonic disciple, they could never raise their heads again.

“Hmph! You think you can even brush my senior brother’s sleeve?”

At the moment his blade neared Seomun’s neck, it suddenly bent away in a great arc. Blocking him was Hyunjin’s twin swords, Ganggang¹. Their form was strange, with a hollow center—and Geun-dong’s sword snapped in half, caught in the gap.

“You wretched woman!”

But before he finished speaking, a sharp burst of Sword qi struck his chest. He bent back desperately to dodge, but half his front robe was torn away.

“Come now, let us all calm ourselves.”

Yi Seomun seized Hyunjin’s arm to restrain her, then gazed around the hall. Seeing two Eminent Mountain masters wounded so swiftly, no one dared step forward, only panting shallowly.

“If you refuse our demands, your bodies and spirits will suffer all the more. Best end this here—spare yourselves needless harm.”

Though smiling, his tone grew harsher. He had wished to end things without more blood. Had it been Jeok-woo or Yu I-jeong leading, the hall would already be a sea of corpses. But with variables piling up, irritation gnawed at him.

“Then—how about this?”

Jo Yang, quietly tending Shin Yang-seon’s wounds, slowly raised his head. The kindness in his eyes was gone.

“To surround us and impose terms unilaterally is the work of petty men. Let us instead lay equal terms and adjust demands fairly.”

Jeok-woo, who had long held back, finally exploded. He had restrained his temper, trusting his senior’s plan. But being called petty? Unbearable. With a short shout, he dashed before Jo Yang.

“You old fool, what trickery are you plotting beyond your station?”

“Hmph!”

Jo Yang didn’t even look his way—he struck with a palm. It was the third verse of Emptiness Dhuta Sect’s Fifteen Silent Poems. His palm flushed red, releasing force so chilling that the mere air-rend made bodies shiver.

Whoosh!

The straight strike veered left under Seomun’s desperate fan gust. The diverted force tore into the courtyard, gouging a massive pit.

Boom!

“Jo Yang!”

Yi Seomun’s gentle face twisted grotesquely. The thought of his sect-brother nearly dying crushed him. Had he not diverted it, Jeok-woo’s belly would have been pierced like a melon.

Yet Jo Yang’s expression never shifted—he calmly continued.

“We have already crossed blades with Eminent Mountain Sect. Let one from each of the remaining four sects step forth against you. Should the majority of us lose, we will concede your terms.”

Though no prior pact, every sect leader knew it best. Trapped in the Hall of Shame and Aversion, they had no other choice.

“So be it.”

Yi Seomun restrained the fuming Jeok-woo and agreed. Jo Yang had struck his deepest concern. In truth, it was not a bad offer—force could win, but at heavy cost. Jeok-woo’s plight was proof enough.

They parted briefly for counsel. Jo Yang gathered elders within the inner hall. Seomun took his disciples outside.

“What a cunning fox.”

Hyunjin sheathed her twin blades, whispering only for Seomun. He nodded with a sigh. He had meant to beguile them with words, quickly down one or two, and force acceptance. But on Jo Yang, such tricks failed.

“You must temper that temper. You nearly died just now.”

Jeok-woo looked aggrieved but knew his senior was furious—so he held his tongue.

“We’ll decide the order once we see their fighters. But Hyunjin—you should face the Zen Cloud Sword Sect.”

“Because of Lady So?”

Hyunjin spoke casually, but her unsettled face betrayed her. Seomun, feeling the same, added quietly:

“If Lady So appears, do not harm her.”

Half a stick of incense² later, they reconvened. This time, the disciples of the Five Great Mountains circled the dueling ground. Their faces brimmed with tension—a mix of confidence as Orthodox elites, and fear after seeing Seomun’s skill.

“Well then, who will take the first strike?”

Seomun, his composure regained, asked brightly. He expected they would send a mid-level master first, just to test the waters. But,

“Hmph! You worms—I’ll show you my true fangs!”

Bu Neungpa leapt onto the stage, brandishing the Soaring Sword. He was no longer the man frozen by Seomun’s whisper—his eyes promised death to anyone who stood before him.

The disciples of Yellow Stone Sect sighed in relief. The Soaring Sword could rival Yi Seomun’s skill. Lesser disciples could not compare.

“Say it again!”

Yu I-jeong, who had watched silently, suddenly shouted toward the stage. There was a faint tremor in his voice—disciples thought he feared Bu Neungpa.

“Hmph! I’ll say it ten times more, you worms!”

Seomun tried to stop him, but it was too late. I-jeong’s trembling hand reached to grasp his senior’s arm.

“Is Bu Neungpa… here?”

“Brother…”

Seomun could not bring himself to deny it. He only squeezed I-jeong’s hand tightly.

“I will go.”

“I-jeong…”

“I will fight.”

I-jeong’s hand slipped free. The next moment, the blind archer stood upon the stage, long black hair fluttering, facing Bu Neungpa.

“At last—we meet.”

He slowly removed the blindfold he had never taken off since losing his sight. Beneath the black cloth—empty sockets, void of eyes.

격전 (激戰):
A fierce and violent battle.