Fight To The Death, And You Shall Live

The sunset had blazed once more before slowly sinking. More than a hundred exchanges had already passed, yet no victor emerged. Go Yu-saeng’s face darkened with exhaustion, while Yi Mu-yeong looked fresh, not even sweating.

Mu-yeong wielded the Water Moon Sword she had taken from Jong-yeon at Kang Family Manor. There were two reasons she chose to fight with another’s sword. To gain an advantage against a master like Go Yu-saeng, she had to use the Water Moon Heart Sword. Only Water Moon and Moon Heart could fully manifest that technique. The other reason was Ju-un.

“The Water Moon Sword is supple. Never tense your wrist when using its forms.”

In truth, Mu-yeong was demonstrating each form of the sword one by one as if teaching Ju-un, who sat before her. She wanted her disciple, whose progress had stagnated, to witnesd true martial execution.

Oblivious, Go Yu-saeng had fought in earnest—until after ten forms, when he finally realized she was mocking him.

“Waning Moon, Dawn Star.”

Executing the 12th form of the Water Moon Heart Sword, Mu-yeong fluttered like a butterfly. Her sword curved in from all directions, dazzling as it pierced twelve acupoints in an instant—too swift to guard against. At the twelfth strike, Yu-saeng’s fury erupted. He hurled his Moon-Mountain Sword to the ground.

“I’ve lost—end it here!”

His pride was scarred beyond repair. It wasn’t the skill gap that cut deepest, but her refusal to fight him in earnest. A lifetime with the sword felt denied, belittled. He wanted to collapse and weep.

“You will stop here?”

Mu-yeong’s breathing never wavered. Even if they fought until dawn, Yu-saeng would be the one at a disadvantage.

“Let’s end it.”

In truth, Mu-yeong had no reason to fight him. No grudge, no conflicting aim. Even if he continued after Yun-seon, it had nothing to do with her—unless Ju-un insisted on protecting him.

“Swear you will not trouble my disciple—or that boy—again.”

Her voice was flat, devoid of inflection, yet heavy with pressure. Yielding to a woman ten years his junior stung Yu-saeng’s pride, but he answered nonetheless. Survival came first.

Mu-yeong watched his retreating back intently. That slippery old fox had more greed than skill. Who knew when he might turn spiteful again? Only when she confirmed he had taken a path away from Yun-seon did she sheath Water Moon.

“Ju-un, let’s return to Nine Moons Mountain.”

“But Yun-seon…”

Mu-yeong’s chest chilled at the sight of tears in her disciple’s eyes. Had she known Ju-un’s feelings would grow this way, she never would have kept them close. But regret was useless. She knew well—no one could command another’s heart. Time was the only balm.

“If you mean to clean up after that fool, then being this weak won’t do. His fate is riddled with death. If he’s that precious to you, train until you can bear even that destiny.”

Half empty words, half sincere. If time dulled Ju-un’s feelings, so be it. If longing remained, then it was fate. Ju-un, understanding perfectly, pressed no further.

‘It’s enough that he lives.’

She brushed away her lingering tears with a sleeve.

Whiik!

At the sharp sound, Ju-un twisted her body, and a long needle grazed just above her nose. From behind, Mu-yeong flicked her sleeve to deflect it—only for two more needles to come flying at her back.

Shiik!

Fearing for her disciple, Mu-yeong shoved Ju-un aside with her left hand while swinging Water Moon wide with her right. The two needles aimed at her shoulders shattered against the blade. But the needles were only meant to distract her.

Cheang!

A black figure surged in with a gust of wind. Ju-un drew Moon Heart to guard herself, but the crushing force left no room to escape. With dusk falling, she couldn’t even make out the attacker’s face, and fear seized her.

“Who are you?”

Her panicked question broke her breathing. In that instant, the figure seized her collar. Startled, she tried to break free with Silhouette Beneath the Moon, but the grip was too strong.

Thud!

The next moment, a dull thud sounded as Ju-un went limp, collapsing into her attacker’s arms. It had all happened within the distraction of three needles.

“What are you doing!?”

Mu-yeong’s voice trembled with suppressed fury. She longed to seize the man by the throat, but with Ju-un in his hands, she was powerless.

“As expected, you would appear to save this child.”

The black figure slung Ju-un over one arm and approached Mu-yeong with unhurried steps.

“Jo Yang! If you so much as harm that child, I will never forgive you.”

From the needles alone, Mu-yeong knew who it was. The man who played the gentleman in public, yet never shied from vile deeds when it suited his goals. Who else in the martial world but him?

“It has been long. Forgive me for such discourtesy.”

Though his tone was courteous, disdain dripped from his eyes. Sword Demon, Sword God, Sword Immortal—titles he thought absurdly grand for such mortals. To Jo Yang, those lauded masters were nothing but the scraps of fallen nations. Mu-yeong, of them, was the most pitiful.

“What do you want?”

Mu-yeong steadied herself and asked. For him to attack Ju-un rather than her meant a clear aim. He had lingered near for years without touching them—waiting for her to appear.

“You know well.”

Jo Yang chuckled faintly, laying Ju-un gently on the ground.

“That matter regarding Changhyeon’s child!”

Mu-yeong’s brow furrowed deeply. She had suspected as much, but hearing it spoken outright made her face burn.

“If we each share what we know, the answer will reveal itself, don’t you think?”

He had even mobilized Hyeongjin, biding his time for half a year. A woman like Yi Mu-yeong could never ignore danger to a disciple she cherished like her own child. All he needed was to create the right crisis at the right moment. Today was that day.

“And if I refuse?”

She knew resistance was meaningless, knew she was cornered. Still, she could not bear to let this scoundrel see her bow easily.

Jo Yang sneered, prodding Ju-un’s neck with his blade. Mu-yeong closed her eyes in bitter resignation.

“I’ve uncovered eight characters. All you need do is correct the one that little rascal misled me on.”

Mu-yeong gave the faintest nod, eyes still closed. She loathed herself for once again falling for his malicious schemes.

Seeing her expression, Jo Yang smirked and lowered his sword. With a sweeping stroke, he wrote eight characters in the dirt.

素那不阿尉九樽水

Mu-yeong opened her eyes and looked down. The moment she read the eight characters, she nearly burst into laughter. Forcing her face into a grimace to hide her mirth, she sighed heavily before replying.

“The characters for ‘Bul’ and ‘Su’ are wrong.”

With her blade, she corrected the two characters—writing them as 佛 (bul, “Buddha”) and 物 (mul, “thing”). Jo Yang had expected a breakthrough, but the correction only deepened the riddle. Mu-yeong wasn’t one to trifle with her disciple’s life. Then what did this mean?

“What does this mean?”

Mu-yeong shrugged, feigning regret.

“Perhaps I was mistaken as well. It seems I’ve lost the path entirely.”

Jo Yang stared at her face for a long while before conceding that nothing could be resolved here. Who in the world could solve this riddle? A suffocating pressure filled his chest, and he pressed a hand against his sternum to calm himself.

“Let us meet again—if fate allows.”

With only that cold farewell, Jo Yang turned and retraced his steps. For half a year of waiting, the result was pitiful.

“That cheeky boy…”

Mu-yeong smirked as she scuffed out the words with her foot. Whether Yun-seon had altered a character or not had nothing to do with the riddle. By redirecting Jo Yang’s focus, she had buried the true meaning beyond reach.

“He could ponder for a lifetime and never find it.”

Mu-yeong leaned against a tree, waiting for Ju-un’s acupoints to be released. Ironically, thanks to Jo Yang, she had finally discovered the riddle’s answer after fourteen long years.

“A cow drinking white river water, and nine wells beneath its horns.”

The deadly struggle dragged on until darkness fell, making it hard to see. Ma Jingun’s stamina had long since reached its limit. Even Hyeong-gwon alone was overwhelming, but with Bong-cheon joining in, every moment was life and death. Worse, Bong-cheon had lost all reason, raging like a mad beast because this bull-like man had blocked him long enough for Seomun’s group to slip away.

“I’ll snap every last bone in your body!”

But Jingun—though covered head to toe in blood—never uttered a groan. With nothing but three movements—thrust, sweep, and block—he had endured more than three hundred exchanges.

‘What a magnificent man!’

Unlike Bong-cheon, Hyeong-gwon found himself utterly captivated by Ma Jingun. Even in Cheonseo Nation, such a warrior was rare. He burned with desire to bring this man back to their homeland.

“Now, I’ll finish this!”

The spin of Jingun’s spear slowed just slightly, and Bong-cheon seized his chance. With a flick of his left wrist, the crimson cloth unfurled and wrapped around Jingun’s face, leaving no room to breathe. One loop, two, and with the third, the blade at its tip would pierce straight through his philtrum.

“Hyeong-gwon! Be ready!”

Hyeong-gwon reluctantly raised his iron mace high overhead. There was no way to convert this man to their side—better to crush his limbs and leave him in agony.

‘What a harsh life mine has been.’

In that brief instant, Jingun reflected on his life. He had no regrets, no lingering attachments—only a heavy sorrow for Euni. His daughter, whom he had never once held in his arms. His breath grew tight, but there was no pain. No fear of death. Enduring day after day had been far more torment than this.

Thud!

“Hoo…”

A violent shock ran through him, and Jingun’s body was hurled into the air. The crimson cloth binding his face shredded apart, fluttering down like petals above his head.

“You bastard!”

Bong-cheon, flung tens of meters back, coughed blood in rage. Hyeong-gwon charged with his mace swinging wide. Watching with disdain, the monstrous stranger traced a circle with his right hand and unleashed a surge of palm force. It was the Taiyi Palm.

Smash!

The mace’s shaft snapped clean in half, and Hyeong-gwon crashed to the ground, sprawled in the shape of a great “大.” Ashamed and humiliated, he couldn’t even rise—just covered his face with both hands.

“Aaaagh!”

Never in his life had Bong-cheon suffered such humiliation. Yes, he was exhausted from battle—but to be swatted aside by a single palm from an old man? Outrageous. His bloodshot eyes bulged, and he shrieked like a madman.

“You cowardly bastard! How dare you ambush me?”

Brushing dust from his sleeves and straightening his robes, Seong Gon clicked his tongue.

“Among villains, what meaning has the word ‘cowardice’?”

필사즉생 (必死卽生),
Fight to the Death, and You Shall Live:

Fighting with the resolve to die is the very path to survival.