Why So Surprised? (3)

Thud. Thud. Thud. Kooong!

Jwa Go-Hak, rocked by the raucous clamor, collapsed in a posture that perfectly embodied the word “thud.”

Everyone blinked, staring in stunned silence at Jwa Go-Hak, sprawled on the ground and trembling.

“Uh…”

“Th-that…”

It wasn’t particularly unusual. When you dedicate your life to martial arts, you witness countless duels; seeing one side fall apart spectacularly becomes something people grow used to.

That applied to both the Mount Hua disciples and the scholars arrayed opposite them.

Yet everyone—regardless of camp—was left speechless because the one who’d just been sent sprawling was Jwa Go-Hak, who only moments ago had been overwhelmingly pressing his opponent.

“Ugh… cough! cough! gahh…”

Jwa Go-Hak clattered to his feet like a puppet with half its strings cut.

“W-wait… wai… cough! cough! aagh! my nose…”

Blood streamed from his nose; seeing it run down his face, he flinched and trembled.

“Oh dear.”

Baek Cheon chuckled—yes, chuckled—in the same tone Chung Myung used when he seized the initiative. He laughed despite the cuts across his body; he didn’t look particularly well.

“I meant to hit lightly but my control slipped. Well then. My apologies.”

“Y-you damn bastard…”

Veins stood out in Jwa Go-Hak’s eyes.

But unlike before, he couldn’t rush Baek Cheon as easily. If that strike had been packed with inner strength, it wouldn’t have ended with just a nosebleed.

“What kind of trick is this! In a sacred duel!”

That wasn’t Jwa Go-Hak’s main point. What mattered was that this sniveling, shameless fellow was pulling stunts in a duel.

“What?”

“I’m saying—why aren’t you fighting properly and instead doing these pointless stunts!”

Jwa Go-Hak shouted, truly enraged.

Baek Cheon hesitated only a moment. He had plenty of answers—sincere, savage, mocking—but his response was already decided.

“I did it properly.”

“What nonsense…”

“Oh? So you want to say you were pummeled into a roll like that by someone you didn’t even properly engage with? Huh?”

Jwa Go-Hak’s eyes trembled at Baek Cheon’s brazen teasing.

“Gah. I didn’t know that. I should’ve gone gentler! Say so next time. I’m getting old; my force control isn’t what it used to be.”

Facing a humiliation he’d never experienced, Jwa Go-Hak began trembling all over as if struck by lightning.

The Mount Hua disciples watching uttered appreciative murmurs.

“That’s Chung Myung.”

“Yeah. It’s Chung Myung.”

“He brought the most infuriating tone he could think of. Remarkable malice.”

“Amitabha… You’ve lost all compassion, Baek Cheon, the leader.”

Baek Cheon himself seemed quite satisfied; he laughed and, despite his battered appearance, walked toward Jwa Go-Hak with serene confidence.

“That face says you don’t understand. Why not just experience it with your body?”

“Th-this…”

Jwa Go-Hak ground his teeth.

‘Coincidence?’

No way. Jwa Go-Hak wasn’t stupid—among the scholars gathered he was reputed the best. His sharp mind quickly produced an interpretation: the opponent had found a way to counter his Ten Thousand Swords.

But his misfortune was that, even with that keen understanding, he couldn’t deduce what method the man had discovered.

‘This is absurd. It can’t be.’

A flaw in the Ten Thousand Swords could exist. Nothing’s perfect. Someone might devise a secret to counter it.

Though that bruised his pride, Jwa Go-Hak wasn’t foolish enough to blindly trust himself into a trap.

‘But if that’s the case, did that rascal figure out my Ten Thousand Swords’ weakness just by watching a few times?’

Was the author unbelievably gifted, or was the Ten Thousand Swords so flawed? Was the swordsmanship garbage, or was that trash of a man an extraordinary talent?

Forced to choose between two impossible options, Jwa Go-Hak gave up deciding and simply charged.

“Aaaaargh!”

Though reckless, his swordwork did not waver. The Ten Thousand Swords could not be shaken like that.

Countless afterimages of sword strikes embroidered the blue sky—flashy, yes, but more than gorgeous they conveyed stern precision, a grandeur like soldiers moving without an inch of error.

‘My sword is perfect.’

Jwa Go-Hak was certain. This swordsmanship was utterly perfect—the finest blade he could unleash now.

Wham!

His head snapped back.

“…Huh.”

A puzzled look crossed his face. What had just happened?

Thud.

Whatever had struck his head fell to the ground.

“A-a rock?”

Jwa Go-Hak’s eyes widened. Had he really been hit by a rock thrown by that man?

Baek Cheon smiled faintly and, as if to show them, repeatedly tossed and caught a few pebbles he’d picked up and tucked into his sleeve.

“Why so surprised?”

“How could this…”

Jwa Go-Hak’s hands trembled. He couldn’t understand: the man who could intercept strikes that pierced vital points couldn’t stop an obvious rock throw?

“He threw a rock? A swordsman?”

“Yeah, he threw a rock. A swordsman.”

“T-this madman. If he did that in actual combat…”

“What would happen?”

“…What?”

“I’m asking what would happen.”

Jwa Go-Hak gaped helplessly, and Baek Cheon clicked his tongue with utter disdain.

“This is why desk scholars are like this.”

“…”

“Do you even know what real combat is? Is there some law that says swordsmen only use swords and spearmen only use spears? I know one lunatic swordsman who’d tear people apart. He was basically a dog—an actual dog.”

From behind, Chung Myung, who’d been listening, ground his teeth.

“You could even say tiger or wolf, couldn’t you?”

“Come off it. Honestly, just not calling him a mad dog shows some affection for sajil.”

“Agreed.”

Baek Cheon flicked a pebble from his hand and hurled it at Jwa Go-Hak.

Jwa Go-Hak reflexively swung his sword and knocked the pebble away.

“See? You’re fine.”

“What?”

“I’m not even of the Sichuan Tang Family, and what great thing is a pebble thrown by my hand? It should be impossible for you to be hit by a rock I toss. So why did you just get hit?”

Jwa Go-Hak couldn’t find words and stared blankly at Baek Cheon. Baek Cheon smirked and continued.

“The reason your sword—the Ten Thousand Swords—is strong is because I can predict all your actions and responses. As long as I’m inside your predictions, no matter how I move I can’t slip from your grasp. But… what if you can’t predict my actions?”

He tossed the pebble lightly and caught it again.

Jwa Go-Hak clenched his teeth as if they’d break.

“What a load of rubbish. We analyzed all martial arts techniques and calculated every possible variable for a response. There’s no such thing as a way we can’t respond to…”

“Uh, there’s blood on your forehead.”

Silenced, Jwa Go-Hak stared at the smear of blood.

Baek Cheon snickered.

“So that’s why Chung Myung shudders when he calls desk scholars that. Hey, is that something for a guy who got smacked in the head with a rock and is bleeding to say? What kind of mind denies actual events with theory?”

The Mount Hua disciples murmured again.

“What’s this? Sasuk, you speak so well, don’t you?”

“Original momentum is what makes him a smooth talker once he gets the upper hand.”

“Then why isn’t he like that usually?”

“Because he’s never had the momentum.”

“Ah…”

The Mount Hua disciples could watch this with composure, but Jwa Go-Hak was on the verge of losing his mind.

‘The Ten Thousand Swords is imperfect?’

He could understand it, but he could not accept it.

“Once swords meet, you should do your utmost to win, shouldn’t you!”

“More foolish nonsense.”

Baek Cheon sighed and clicked his tongue again.

“Best? This is my best. The sword is a means to win; it can’t be an end in itself. If I must put down the sword to win, I put it down. If I can’t do that, then I’m not a true swordsman but someone who depends on the sword.”

His argument flowed like water, and Jwa Go-Hak’s mouth fell open.

“What right does someone who can be flustered like this have to discuss swords? In real combat there are far stranger things. No matter how much you study and train, you can’t predict every counter. Fight some Evil Sect bastards who suddenly spit poison needles from their mouths and you’ll come to your senses.”

When something you’ve steadfastly believed suddenly collapses, the shock is hard to bear. Most people deny reality—it’s far easier than facing a world-ending revelation.

Unfortunately for him, Jwa Go-Hak couldn’t. He was too sharp to avert his eyes from reality. In an instant he was forced to see what they’d missed and the limit that trapped his sword.

“Aaaaargh!”

Still, he raised his sword. Paradoxically, the act itself proved the mistake he and the scholars had made.

Knowing there was no chance of victory, knowing his swordsmanship was imperfect, Jwa Go-Hak lunged at Baek Cheon—an irrational act he’d once ruled out.

Baek Cheon lifted his sword and said, “When faith wavers, the sword wavers too.”

Vrrrr.

The tip of Baek Cheon’s sword vibrated fiercely. But even if the tip trembled, the sword-idea within it did not budge—its will was like the roots of an ancient tree, and from that will countless petals blossomed.

“Th-this…!”

Kaaang!

Jwa Go-Hak’s sword tried to beat back the flying petals, knocking some aside, but there was a difference: though his blade pierced Baek Cheon’s sword qi repeatedly, it was strangely less steadfast, less perfect than before.

Clang!

Baek Cheon’s Plum Blossom sword qi—seemingly frail—slid between Jwa Go-Hak’s afterimages and produced a tiny crack in what had been impenetrably solid.

A sword is, after all, wielded by a human. No matter how much one pursues perfection, a sword the wielder does not trust cannot be truly perfect.

Screech!

The sword afterimages Jwa Go-Hak had created crumbled, those tower-like sword qi absurdly shattering and breaking.

Amid the scattering debris, Baek Cheon’s Plum Blossom sword qi fluttered and swept over Jwa Go-Hak.

Whoooosh.

Unable even to cry out, Jwa Go-Hak trembled and slumped to the ground.

Thud.

Baek Cheon sheathed his sword, smiled as before, and bowed politely.

“Thank you for the lesson.”