70 — Loosening And Tangling (1)

Crowds gathered around each arena.

It was undeniable that the arena Seol So-ha stepped onto drew the biggest crowd.

“White Line, Seol So-ha, eldest daughter of the White Sword Seol Clan. Black Line, Shaanxi’s Tiger-Cleaving Saber, Hong Cheon. Step forward.”

The two faced each other at the wide arena’s center.

The judge looked between them and asked,

“Do both White and Black sides understand the rules?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Falling from the arena or declaring surrender counted as defeat. And as a tournament, killing meant disqualification.

Surprisingly, those were all the rules. Though a grand festival acknowledged by all in Sichuan, in essence it was a fierce exchange meant to shed the humiliation of conquest.

That distinctive tradition had been well preserved, making the Radiant Sword Festival famous. Even if limbs broke or lasting injury was incurred, once on the arena, one had to fight as a warrior of the Kangho.

In practice, very few retired with fatal wounds or disabilities. The mood was festive, and many came to enjoy themselves and build connections.

Besides, the preliminaries used no live blades, and the main rounds were watched by countless people and Kangho notables. It was a setting where anything beyond demonstrating skill was effectively impossible.

“Greet.”

Seol So-ha and Hong Cheon bowed to each other.

“To your positions.”

They retreated to the arena’s edges.

The judge sat on an iron chair below the arena, a full seven feet high.

Beside the chair, the assistant judge struck the drum.

Duu-woong!

With a low, powerful boom, the bout began.

Seol So-ha’s face was unchanged. There was no twitch of brow or cheek. With a look cold enough to freeze ice, her wooden sword naturally lowered, looking utterly free.

By contrast, Hong Cheon’s stance was low, stable yet aggressive. It was a practical, combat-ready posture that allowed him to receive attacks or launch forward in an instant.

“Not bad.”

Arms folded, Han Cheol-sang’s eyes were on Hong Cheon.

“His Qi is well controlled. He’s no half-baked martial artist. He’s seen real combat.”

“So it seems.”

“Interestingly, folks say he isn’t that famous in Shaanxi.”

Jin-hyeon nodded.

“As you know, Brother Han, Sichuan’s fertile land and lively trade mean fewer conflicts. Naturally the power of money grows strong.”

“And its peculiar easy to leave, hard to enter closedness makes martial exchange less fluid than elsewhere.”

“That too, but there’s a decisive reason Sichuan’s average force fell behind.”

“The Eight Wastes Alliance Lord.”

“Right.”

The number of people from Sichuan who were felled by the armies led by the Eight Wastes Alliance numbered nearly fifty thousand. Eight tenths of Murim’s martial sects vanished.

With many peoples coexisting, Sichuan was fiercely intent on guarding its own even in times of peace. That is why it bled several times harsher than other regions.

Thus after the Eight Wastes Alliance Lord fell, what remained in Sichuan was only bitterness.

That bitterness and grit sped recovery, yet compared with regions that kept their strength, the overall level lagged somewhat.

Shaanxi even had traditional powers, the Mount Hua Sect and Jongnam Sect of the Nine Great Sects. By that yardstick, Hong Cheon’s level was competent but not eye-catching.

Of course, so it looked to Jin-hyeon and Han Cheol-sang as well.

“It’s starting.”

Paaak!

Stamping off the ground, Hong Cheon swung his wooden saber fiercely at Seol So-ha.

A simple vertical cleave, but the momentum was considerable. A perfect move for an opening blow.

Seol So-ha’s foot skimmed the ground.

She avoided the simple strike with a simple step. His wooden saber cut empty air.

As she slipped clear and moved to swing, Hong Cheon’s blade struck the floor and arced up sideways.

Saaak!

Dodging with Iron-Plate Bridge, Seol So-ha straightened and lashed her back-gripped wooden sword.

Puk!

Hong Cheon’s torso jolted.

He took a hard shot to the gut, yet showed no hint of pain. Riding the momentum, he stepped in and cut diagonally.

Teo-eong!

A single backward step took her beyond the saber’s reach.

Hong Cheon’s eyes flashed.

“Uah!”

Pabababak!

Stamping forward like mad, he slashed mercilessly.

The diagonal hews left and right, with tight turning thrusts showed that he was a seasoned saber-wiedler.

Seol So-ha calmly slipped every stroke. Power split precisely between her legs; her upper body flowed with the cuts, graceful as dance.

The onlookers burst into admiration.

Hong Cheon’s headlong assault impressed, and Seol So-ha’s evasive skill dazzled.

It was like watching a long practiced bout between partners. And the reason they could praise so was wholly thanks to Seol So-ha.

‘Why you!’

Hong Cheon’s face flushed.

He gave everything his saber techniques had, yet she showed no fluster, letting each stroke slide by with minimal motion, as if she were a weightless leaf.

‘Let’s see you dodge this.’

Teo-eong!

Pursuing to the end, Hong Cheon stepped back a pace.

Seol So-ha’s eyes flashed. She felt his aura compress at once.

Taang!

The sound like that of a leather strap striking stone sounded. Hong Cheon’s stomp had that spring.

After the single retreating step, he lunged at a speed not yet shown, cleaving mid-line. To put into words, it was an ultimate move. It looked like she would be struck and sent flying.

At the instant the judge almost raised his hand,

Peobeok!

With a crisp sound, Hong Cheon’s body turned and toppled.

“Ghk!”

His right hand swelled red, and his right shoulder hung limp.

It didn’t seem broken, but he could not hold a blade. Her wooden sword had struck his hand and chopped the shoulder, leaving him unable to fight.

Seureuk!

Her wooden sword touched his throat.

“Will you continue?”

Gritting his teeth, he then sighed.

“I lost.”

Duu-woong!

With a drumbeat, the judge cried,

“White Line wins!”

“Waaah!”

With thunderous cheers, Seol So-ha’s first preliminary ended.

She bowed silently to the fallen Hong Cheon and came down.

“Clean.”

Jin-hyeon spoke with a smile.

“You won without even drawing the Snow Shadow Sword, not to mention the Seven Purities Sword. Impressive.”

Seol So-ha dipped her head, bashful.

“It would have taken longer without your instruction, Teacher.”

“Teaching was my share, but learning was yours. It feels like you’ve not only set the new martial arts to your body, your fighting ability itself has grown. You’ve worked hard.”

For her temporary teacher to give unstinting praise, there was no higher compliment.

“Come on, let’s eat. I haven’t even had any hangover soup, how does broth sound?”

“Ah, I’d like that.”

Just then.

Tuu-woong!

The drum sounded at the neighboring arena, and two fighters rushed each other.

At that moment.

Peo-eok!

The White Line fighter snapped back hard and fell from the arena.

“Black Line wins!”

“Incredible!”

“Strong, Divine Spear!”

The group looked to the Black Line youth.

Wielding a wooden pole, he shed a commanding presence. His manly features and stalwart build were like a young general.

Jin-hyeon’s eyes flashed.

‘So it’s him.’

One of Song Cheol-gwang’s sons from the mountain lodge. It was the mouthy one.

“That’s Song Geon, the elder young master of the Divine Spear House.”

“You know him?”

“No acquaintance.”

Jin-hyeon looked up at the banner stuck by the arena; each preliminary ring had a numbered pennant.

“Then you’ll face him next?”

Seol So-ha was at Arena One, and Song Geon at Arena Two. His guess was reasonable.

“Possibly, possibly not. They keep shuffling winners’ numbers for fairness.”

“I see.”

Then Song Geon looked at Seol So-ha.

He knew of her too, but how could he not? The White Sword Seol Clan’s eldest daughter, famed across Sichuan for beauty enough to vie for first.

After a few coughs to assume gravity, he took a few steps, and then spotted Jin-hyeon.

His face changed at once.

“?”

At his ghost-struck reaction, Seol So-ha arched a brow.

He froze, glaring holes at Jin-hyeon, then spun and left the arena on the opposite side.

Seol So-ha and Han Cheol-sang looked at Jin-hyeon.

Jin-hyeon was indifferent.

“Is there something on my face?”

Han Cheol-sang tilted his head.

“Did you perhaps line that youth up and give him a beating once?”

“Beat what? Nothing like that ever happened.”

‘I did beat him with a look. Just one hit.’

“I see.”

Han Cheol-sang’s gaze thinned to a needle’s edge.

“Hey now, what’s with that look? You’ll make me sad, Brother Han.”

“My eyes are naturally small.”

“Small my foot, they’re big as my fist. I want the old guileless eyes back.”

But he kept the doubtful gaze. In the end, Jin-hyeon answered by turning away.

Seol So-ha asked carefully,

“The Divine Spear House was involved in that affair too, was it not?”

“Right.”

“It seems he recognized you.”

‘Of course he did. I overturned their drinking table last night.’

Jin-hyeon waved it off.

“Enough of that, let’s go. By the way, where’s Yeo-wol? Off to empty her bowels?”

“Keep such talk down.”

“Brother Han, why so harsh to me?”

“Never mind. Let’s move.”

“Geez.”

The three bickered their way across the rings.

Then another victory call rang out.

“White Line wins!”

“Oh, nice. Clean.”

“What was the name?”

Jin-hyeon’s eyes drifted to Arena Six.

The winner came down, adjusting his bamboo hat.

Han Cheol-sang’s eyes lit.

“That man is…?”

“Wait a moment.”

Leaving the two, Jin-hyeon strode toward the man.

The bamboo-hat man, walking with head lowered to avoid eyes, flinched and looked up.

“Uh…?”

“How nice it is to see you. Do you remember me?”

“Ah, yes. Good to see you.”

“Not good yet.”

“Eh?”

Jin-hyeon held out his hand.

The man hesitated.

“What…?”

“Money.”

“?!”

“If you’ve got a conscience, pay up. Quickly. We need to go eat.”