#95: The Scent Of People (5) — The Patriarch of Sichuan

Jjeo-eo-eong!

With a final dazzling cut, the opponent’s iron cudgel was sliced in half.

Hollow or not, iron is iron. Severing a heavy cudgel packed with internal energy is hard for anyone.

“Match over!”

At the referee’s cry, the crowd roared.

The man with the iron cudgel protested.

“It’s not over! Only the cudgel was cut. I am still fine!”

The referee asked, face grave.

“Then answer me. Do you know that last strike could have targeted your belly or throat at will?”

The man called Warrior Ham bit his lip.

The referee spoke, calmer still.

“The White Sword’s eldest overwhelmed you at every exchange, yet cut only your cudgel and left you whole. Had Lady Seol not held her hand, you would be dead.”

“…”

“Even so, do you still wish to continue?”

The main-round referee was a master sent by the Sichuan Branch, a man of a keen eye.

Ham Jong, lips working a few times, forced out a voice.

“I can still fight. I have not shown even half of my…”

Then the onlookers shouted.

“The match is over! Get down!”

“Boooo.”

“Even I saw she went easy on you. You crossed blades and still do not know.”

“Down you go! You lost!”

Rebuke, close to jeers, followed.

Ham Jong glared around, which only riled the crowd more.

Then Mun Jung rose and called out.

“Enough!”

His internal energy infused shout silenced the arena.

Mun Jung asked, even-toned.

“You are Ham Jong?”

“…Yes.”

“Will you continue?”

Shaking, Ham soon lowered his head.

“It is my loss.”

Mun Jung nodded to the referee, who extended a hand toward Seol So-ha.

“Black Bracket wins!”

“Waaah!”

A hearty cheer, the opposite of what Ham had received.

“Amazing. I couldn’t even see how her sword moved.”

“And she didn’t even display the Seol Clan’s signature techniques.”

“As expected. They say she is the White Sword Seol Clan’s best talent ever. Truly incredible.”

Admiring voices rose here and there for Seol So-ha.

She didn’t fluster, and only gave Ham Jong a fist-salute and stepped down.

As she walked the corridor toward the waiting rooms.

“Not enough.”

Reviewing the bout, she started and glanced right.

Jin-hyeon stood there, arms folded, back to the wall, casual in posture, serious in face.

So-ha’s face brightened.

“Teacher.”

“This bout wasn’t very good.”

“Huh?”

“If you had pressed in earnest, you could have ended it within five exchanges. Why did you draw it out to nearly fifty?”

“!”

“Were you trying to temper your Seven Purities Sword.”

A faint blush touched her face.

“I am sorry. To be able to face someone who handles an iron cudgel with such variety is rare. I thought it was a good chance.”

Most would blurt an excuse to such a sudden question.

But Seol So-ha did not. She was plain and honest.

Jin-hyeon shook his head.

“Do you think I am blaming you for toying with him?”

“…Huh?”

“This is not a contest that just ends and is done. It is a fight. There will be warriors watching your martial arts, looking to pry out weaknesses.”

“Ah.”

“You should show your strength, yes, but you do not need to show your whole hand.”

“R-right.”

“The Radiant Sword Festival is a step for you. Although winning is good, learning matters more. Still, since you are here, you should at least have the desire to win, shouldn’t you?”

“I will keep it in mind.”

At her earnestness, Jin-hyeon snorted a laugh.

“A foolish match, but the swordwork itself was good. You changed well in those brief moments.”

“!”

“Truly well done. I look forward to seeing how far you’ll climb.”

Color returned to her face.

He was as strict as her father, yet clear about faults and strengths.

Her father praised too, but businesslike. Jin-hyeon’s praise was unvarnished.

“The next bout is tomorrow.”

“Yes. Eight will be picked today, four tomorrow. Depending on the condition, the semifinals may be held tomorrow as well.

“Good.”

He nodded.

“I watched earlier. There are three or four you need to take seriously. From here the real battles begin.“

“Yes!”

“Good. From tomorrow, go in with the intent of winning.”

Seol So-ha liked this about him.

He spoke not just of martial arts, but of a warrior’s attitude and ambition. How to act in the Kangho, what mind to take to a match. He had done so even when telling her to break Lee Yong-dan’s ankle.

And nothing he had advised so far had been wrong.

‘As expected.’

She had felt it many times, and felt it anew.

‘Teacher Jin is someone rich in Kangho experience.’

She didn’t know where he had gained it, and decided not to question it anymore.

What mattered was the person. Like her father, she trusted him.

“If you haven’t eaten, shall we eat together?”

“Good.”

“But Chef Han and Miss Im…”

“They’re on a quick errand.”

“Ah, I see.”

Jin-hyeon looked up.

‘How will he move?’

He thought of Yeom Hang.

From Yeom Hang, the Young Fort Master of the Black Bamboo Fort, Jin-hyeon did not feel much of anything. His disposition did not seem particularly good, but he did not give the impression of being a villain either.

He was just a youth swept up by the times, the sort you find anywhere. That was all he could feel from him from the single meeting.

‘The saying that whether a man is fine or foul cannot be known at a glance… true enough.’

His eyes sank.

‘My apologies. I have no reason, no leisure, to look twice.’

That evening.

“This won’t do.”

Yeom Hang lost in the final match of the top sixteen.

His opponent was stronger, but it was more that he couldn’t focus with his uncle, Gu Hee, and the people from the Divine Spear House vanishing without a word.

Surprisingly he felt no regret over losing. He was that uneasy.

“It will take some time, but I should go to Ha Jun.”

His father had said the Cheongyang Association led the Eight Martial Houses not only in force but in information.

Ha Jun had brought many subordinates. To find the missing, Yeom needed him.

‘If that fails, contact the Investigation and Defense Court, or go straight to the Branch Leader…’

It was then.

“Where are you headed to?”

Startled, Yeom Hang swung a back-fist on instinct.

Teok!

Flesh met flesh, and his fist was caught.

Yeom’s eyes flew wide.

“You are?!”

Strength tightened in Han Cheol-sang’s grip.

Kwa-deuk!

“Grrk!”

Yeom Hang dropped to his knees before he knew it.

Agony surged from his fist. With the fear his bones would be crushed, his legs gave out.

“W-why are you…”

Instead of answering, Han Cheol-sang punched his temple.

Puk!

With that blow, Yeom Hang lost consciousness.

Han Cheol-sang sealed his dantian and paralysis points and hauled him away.

Thus, save for the Seol Clan and the Cheongyang Association, all the warriors from the Eight Martial Houses were gone from the Radiant Sword Festival.

Hwaaak!

Wind whipped his face.

Jin-hyeon loved moments like this. With a single kick off the ground, his movement art easily closed a distance of twenty-one odd meters, and he loved the feeling of racing forward through the cold wind like this.

Freedom, and more freedom.

Like a winged heavenly steed flying in the sky.

‘I’ve gotten faster.’

He had crossed blades with many masters of late. Due to that, he had been using the Heavenly Evasion Steps often.

The Heavenly Evasion Steps and the Calling Wind, Flying Horse Art were of the same line. Using the Heavenly Evasion Steps raised the Calling Wind, Flying Horse Art in turn, so moving farther and faster with less internal energy was only natural.

In a short amount of time, Jin-hyeon covered fifteen kilometers, and at last the Black Bamboo Fort came into view.

It was larger than the White Sword Seol Clan, but smaller than the Black Tiger Fist Sect.

But in terms of atmosphere, it was overwhelmingly good. Within the great walls, small bamboo groves were scattered here and there, giving the Black Bamboo Fort an air of mystique.

‘These are not just bamboo groves.’

A faint light rose in his eyes.

‘Pretty at a glance, but those groves form one great formation.’

It was below Han Cheol-sang’s spell array, but spanning such breadth deserved respect.

‘Tight.’

The guards’ eyes and auras were sharp.

The Fort Master had likely ordered it himself. After all, a threat had come from no one knows where.

‘It’s said the Fort Master is in his quarters.’

The Black Society’s intelligence grew better by the day, and fast.

Perched on a great bough, he took the Fort in at a glance. Using Yeom Hang’s words and his own sense, he pinpointed the Master’s spot and cinched his internal energy tight.

‘There you are.’

Huk!

He slipped to an unguarded point and vaulted the wall.

Clad in fitted black, white hair hidden by a mask, he was the very image of an assassin.

‘Good.’

No footfall. No split of air.

From battles with masters and insight from Han Cheol-sang’s spell array, he used a method to reduce his presence. His fierce Heavenly Wolf True Qi crouched like a tame deer.

‘Sixty meters east. Seventy-five to the northwest.’

Even in motion, he picked out where the Qi currents ran oddly.

Step into those and the formation would take him. He slipped past them at uncanny speed. After avoiding six of such arrays, the Master’s quarters showed.

More than twenty warriors stood post around it, each with restrained breath.

‘On par with the Seol clan’s White Lotus Unit.’

Reaching here without a fight was a success. There was no need to hide any longer.

He scanned them and found the strongest.

Huk!

“Hm?”

The leader of the Black Bamboo Fort’s elite Purple Bamboo Sword Unit turned his head.

At that instant his eyes shut.

Peulseuk!

He dropped from where he stood. The warriors startled, then more so at the masked man beside him.

“Who goes there!”

“It is not midnight yet, but the moon is fine. Let us overlook such small formalities.”