Chapter 433
## Chapter 433. The Wings of the South (3)
—
Lee Mu-won.
This was the identity of the warrior confronting Gang Yu-seong.
Bi-eung-hyeol-geom (Soaring Hawk Blood Sword).
He had earned this fearsome moniker upon entering his thirties. It was a title bestowed because he ruthlessly drew the blood of his adversaries like a predatory raptor. Now, this very warrior unleashed his ultimate technique, his footwork. It was an expansive and lightning-fast displacement across the ground that could truly be deemed a supreme art within the Jianghu.
“Hyaaaah!”
Just as his blade, radiating concentrated sword-qi, tore through the air to sever Gang Yu-seong’s arm.
*Ssssh.*
The form of Gang Yu-seong evaporated like a phantom.
“Wh-what?”
Lee Mu-won, having flawlessly initiated his opening strike, instantly perceived that something had gone awry.
‘He… vanished?’
No resistance or impact registered through the hilt grasped by his fingers. Moreover, though his gaze swept across every direction, Gang Yu-seong’s formidable presence could not be detected anywhere.
In that precise heartbeat.
“Your efforts are appreciated.”
A fresh, youthful tone vibrated from directly behind his skull. Gang Yu-seong had materialized precisely where Lee Mu-won had stood mere moments ago.
Yet, what was the meaning behind those words?
An eerie sensation washed over him. He attempted to pivot his frame, but his limbs completely refused to respond.
“…….”
“…….”
The expressions of the onlookers were similarly bizarre. For what reason were they staring so intently at his torso?
*Splatter.*
Only when he forced his gaze downward did he perceive a crimson stain bleeding rapidly across his chest.
“To think a mere trick like this…….”
The instant he attempted to rally the strength in his grip once more.
*Clang.*
The blade he had been brandishing slid across the dirt before he could comprehend it. Crimson droplets splashed down against the metal. Lacerations began opening across his forearm. Then his opposite arm. Then both of his legs.
Exactly how many strikes had been thrown in that minuscule fraction of time? He was utterly incapable of discerning the profound principles underlying the execution, let alone tracking the sheer velocity.
“Is this…… truly the lineage of the Tae-eul Sect?”
Faced with this incredulous inquiry, Gang Yu-seong provided a blunt reply.
“Indeed. This is the Geuk-cheon-geom, an authentic martial art of the Tae-eul Sect.”
“Heh…… and here I was told it was nothing but a third-rate clan…….”
*Thud.*
Lee Mu-won cast a final, bitter glare toward the dissenters before collapsing flat on his back. A stifling, heavy quiet descended across the entire grounds.
“Giggle, giggle, giggle.”
A distinct, mocking chuckle drifted openly from the area where the Tae-eul Sect had gathered.
“What did I tell you?”
It was a smirk that completely shattered the gravity of the occasion.
“Did that register with you as well?”
Namgung Tae-ha muttered, visibly stunned. No reply came, but he did not press it. Even he, having spent his entire existence as a renowned powerhouse, found his composure thoroughly shaken by the display.
“To blend such intricate variation seamlessly with that kind of velocity.”
“…….”
Receiving nothing but silence, Namgung Tae-ha shifted his gaze to Moyong-gang. The man was scowling fiercely, nervously gnawing on his fingernails.
“Curse it……, curse it all……, I should have absolutely bound him to us when he arrived as an exchange disciple.”
“What nonsense are you uttering? An exchange disciple. You have encountered that youngster previously?”
“I possessed no inkling he harbored this kind of depth back then……. I merely estimated his capabilities to be somewhat above average. Curse it…….”
“Eh?”
“What do you mean ‘Eh?’? Can you honestly stand there offering simple praise after witnessing that?”
“…….”
Moyong-gang clicked his tongue in irritation.
“This is precisely why coddled young masters are utterly useless.”
“…….”
When it came to being coddled, Moyong-gang had no right to talk. Though Namgung Tae-ha strongly desired to seize him by the robes and hurl insults back, he possessed the self-control to maintain his breeding, unlike his companion, and forced the anger down.
“Regardless, your abrasive manner of speaking remains entirely unchanged from the old days.”
Naturally, his response lacked any warmth.
“Does that truly appear to be the standard martial art of the Tae-eul Sect to your eyes?”
“The martial art of the Tae-eul Sect?”
Whether judging by the internal force it manifested or the sophisticated principles it utilized, it undeniably aligned with the heritage of the resurgent Tae-eul Sect. Yet, observing its execution, the structure was altered. It was distinctly separate.
“The core essence of the Ssang-cheon-geom-gyeol is rooted in Change (Byeon) and Illusion (Hwan). That lunatic Jin So-un deploys the So-cheon-geom-beop as a rapid blade, but that does not alter the underlying principle of Change inherent within it.”
Moyong-gang fixed his eyes on Gang Yu-seong, who stood prepared for his next opponent.
“Is it not the precise equilibrium between Change and Illusion that elevates the Ssang-cheon-geom-gyeol to a pinnacle art?”
Change embodies deliberate progression, while Illusion embodies weightlessness. The reason the So-cheon-geom-beop cannot achieve perfection on its own is because it requires its counterpart, the Dae-cheon-geom-beop, to be whole. Only when these dual concepts intertwine can it truly be heralded as a supreme martial discipline. This matched the legacy of the Namgung Family’s Blue Sky Boundless Sword Art, which had endured as an esoteric treasure through centuries of heritage.
“But as your own experience dictates, is it a simple matter to fuse two contradicting principles into a unified form?”
Change (Byeon) represents misdirection.
‘Flow’ (Yu) represents deliberation.
‘Weight’ (Jung) represents density.
Fast (Kwae) represents velocity.
Illusion (Hwan) represents ethereal lightness.
Blending forces of such contrasting natures within a singular martial framework is a monumental undertaking. In that regard, the Dae-cheon-geom-beop, brought back to light alongside the Tae-eul-jin-gyeong, served as the missing piece that perfected the Tae-eul Sect’s lineage.
“Yet therein lies the dilemma. If one obsesses over a solitary principle, a vulnerability will inevitably manifest.”
An art that leans too heavily into one concept becomes vulnerable to its opposite. Did not even the Wudang Sect, which preaches ‘Taking the initiative by acting later’ (Hubal-jein) and ‘Softness can overcome hardness’ (Yu-neung-je-gang), occasionally find its defense shattered by the aggressive steel of Mount Hua?
“It is a crucible that every lineage must eventually confront.”
It was for this exact purpose that a discipline of an entirely unique logic, designated the Taiji Thirteen Stances, was birthed into the world by that very same Wudang.
“And the only thing capable of bridging that vulnerability is heritage. A riddle that yields only to the passage of generations.”
*Slash— Slash— Slash—*
“Waaaaaaaa!!!!”
Another roar of acclamation split the air. Before even ten exchanges could pass, Gang Yu-seong’s latest challenger was carried away from the ring, drenched in gore. Moyong-gang ground his teeth together as he took in the sight.
“Unless, of course, a monstrosity of that caliber emerges.”
“…….”
Following Moyong-gang’s line of sight, Namgung Tae-ha turned his attention back to Gang Yu-seong. Yet no matter how intently he scrutinized the youth, he failed to comprehend. The absolute limit of his observation yielded only standard metrics:
The youth’s fundamentals were impeccable. This was evident from the unwavering stability of his stance, which stood in stark contrast to his tense expression and shivering upper body.
The sheer volume of his practice was immense. He adjusted fluidly without any prior knowledge of how his adversary might strike. Such adaptability could only be forged through endless, brutal repetition.
His instinct was exceptional. Even when his reactions lagged slightly, his counterstrikes targeted only the most critical openings. This was a matter of raw perception that no amount of routine training could ever instill.
This comprised the entirety of Namgung Tae-ha’s evaluation of Gang Yu-seong. He remained blind to anything deeper—unable to grasp why this notoriously eccentric man was losing his composure over the boy.
Noticing the blank look on his companion’s face, Moyong-gang scoffed in disbelief.
“Has your advanced age finally rotted your intellect? A greenhorn who has not even crossed his twentieth year has successfully wedded the laws of velocity and variation. Does that strike you as commonplace capability?”
Only then did the realization hit him. He was looking at the tier of individuals who achieve mastery through isolated contemplation and sheer will, independent of prestigious lineages. The kind who birth a Great Family by forging their own unique secret styles.
The raw aptitude of a Founder (Josa).
Namgung Tae-ha’s gaze shifted toward Hyeok Mu-gang. Though both figures ruled over the identical era, their origins were fundamentally opposed. He had spent his life honing refined arts inherited across generations, whereas Hyeok Mu-gang had carved his techniques out of nothing.
A recurring thought drifted through his mind: If Hyeok Mu-gang had been born to the Namgung Family, would he have surpassed him? Alternatively, had he been cast into Hyeok Mu-gang’s circumstances, could he have ever attained such heights?
As if reading the reflections passing through Namgung Tae-ha’s mind, Moyong-gang pressed on.
“Preserving what is passed down while pioneering what does not yet exist. One cannot easily deem one path superior to the other, but an absolute truth remains. A clan requires both to truly thrive.”
“…….”
“The Tae-eul-jin-gyeong of the Tae-eul Sect holds precisely that type of evolutionary promise. Moreover, within their ranks, they already possess a successor perfectly suited to maintain the ancestral lineage.”
Moyong-gang looked over at Jin So-un and Gang Yu-seong. His eyes then scanned across Geum-pyo, Eun-ho, Dong-ryong, and Sa-ryeon, before settling on the rejoicing congregants of the Tae-eul Sect.
The underlying meaning required no further elaboration. Upon reaching their twilight years, men ceased to fret over their personal destinies. Having climbed as high as humanly possible, no further horizons remained for them. Instead, their anxieties shifted entirely to those who would inherit their legacy and the longevity of their bloodline. They spent their remaining days weighed down by the desire for their house to endure and flourish long after their own bones had turned to dust.
“Is that how it stands…….”
In that specific regard, a profound envy for the current leader of the Tae-eul Sect consumed him. Though his own house boasted numerous heirs capable of maintaining tradition, it lacked a single soul capable of breaking new ground.
“I am deeply envious…….”
Simultaneously, a sense of kinship toward Moyong-gang bloomed within him. He recognized that this man, rather than being an unthinking dotard wasting his remaining days, genuinely carried the weight of the Jianghu’s future and his family’s fate.
“Are you merely envious? I have reached the point where I am contemplating abducting him if the opportunity arises. Hold on…… that youngster isn’t the primary heir, so what prevents me from claiming him as a son-in-law?”
“…….”
“As far as I am aware, the matrimonial laws of the Tae-eul Sect are quite permissive. Within my own household, there is a maiden of ideal age…….”
Naturally, his respect would have run deeper had the conversation not derailed into such calculations.
“G-Gang Yu-seong of the Tae-eul Sect claims victory!”
The announcement marked the exact moment Gang Yu-seong secured his fourth consecutive triumph.
“Gang Yu-seong of the Tae-eul Sect wiiiins!!!!”
The young warrior’s streak showed no signs of faltering. The trembling in his lower limbs subsided completely, and his blade moved without a hint of hesitation. His unblemished gaze locked directly onto his opponents, and though the challengers threw themselves forward in states of fury, it was their own skin that tasted steel.
A win.
Another win!
A third consecutive win!!!
The unrelenting success of a youth whose skeletal structure had not even fully hardened was a spectacle that drew roars of approval not just from the Tae-eul Sect, but from the neutral observers as well.
Right as he was cementing his eighth straight triumph.
A figure arose from the ranks of the demoralized dissenters. It was the very man who had obstructed their passage on the day they first set foot within the Tae-eul Sect.
‘I suppose he has gathered all the data he required.’
Despite witnessing nearly four score of his comrades fall, this individual had maintained absolute composure, and now he deliberately made his way onto the elevated arena.
“I have observed a fine display. The level you have reached at your age is indeed commendable, young friend.”
Jang Bu-yong, known as the Cheon-in-il-do (One Blade of a Thousand Men). He deliberately unsheathed his weapon. The mere presence of Jang Bu-yong cast a visible tension over even the common spectators who possessed no knowledge of martial mechanics. Every soul present recognized intuitively: the decades of experience layered meticulously over time. The unyielding path he had walked.
“Nonetheless, I cannot concede that it suffices to permit the established order of the Jianghu to be discarded at your whim.”
Not a single vulnerability presented itself in Jang Bu-yong as he settled into a poised middle guard. Gang Yu-seong, who had relied entirely on seizing the initiative through counter-offensives until this moment, found his focus wavering, utterly blind to any viable point of entry.
“Would you prefer that I initiate?”
“…….”
The instant Jang Bu-yong closed the distance and brought his saber down, Gang Yu-seong unleashed his Geuk-cheon-geom. Simultaneously, Jang Bu-yong, mid-thrust, executed a measured withdrawal.
*Clang, clang-clang-clang, clang-clang-clang.*
Gang Yu-seong, who had consistently dominated his foes by slipping into their blind spots, could not conceal his panic against the overwhelming presence of Jang Bu-yong, whose blade remained unshakeably positioned right before his vision.
“Your pace is swift, and the variance is indeed startling. Yet did you truly believe the Jianghu was devoid of such concepts?”
Gang Yu-seong lunged with his sword. A blade operating at maximum velocity, shifting through endless permutations.
*Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang-clang.*
Yet Jang Bu-yong turned every single strike aside.
“Do you harbor the illusion that you alone wield a novel style, or that you represent a fresh manifestation of righteousness?”
Following his words, his own saber flashed.
*Ssssh, ssssh.*
Moving with identical speed and shifting patterns.
*Slash, slash, slash, slash.*
The steel bit into Gang Yu-seong’s upper and lower limbs.
*Clang.*
To Gang Yu-seong, who barely managed to deflect the blade aiming directly for his vitals at the absolute final instant, Jang Bu-yong spoke.
“True justice and the Orthodox path have long governed the Jianghu. An unyielding righteousness that has preserved the peace across centuries.”
*Gulp.*
Gang Yu-seong’s throat constricted. His complexion drained into a sickly hue—a definitive symptom of severe internal trauma.
*Clang.*
Jang Bu-yong delivered another heavy strike. Gang Yu-seong was forced backward by several paces from the sheer kinetic force of the impact.
*Bleh.*
Spitting a dark clot of blood from his lips as his stomach heaved, Gang Yu-seong fixed Jang Bu-yong with a gaze bordering on pure desperation. However, Jang Bu-yong’s attention had already drifted away, locking onto the Grand Master of the Tae-eul Sect, Hong Mun-gi.
“Aaaaaah!”
Refusing to accept defeat, Gang Yu-seong lunged at Jang Bu-yong with everything he had left. Jang Bu-yong, without breaking his gaze from Hong Mun-gi, flicked his weapon with absolute indifference.
*Whooooosh—*
A concentrated arc of saber-qi (Do-gang) erupted from the steel, blasting Gang Yu-seong backward instantly.
*Boom.*
Though he managed a frantic parry against the energy itself, he was entirely helpless against the concussive shockwave of the impact. Gang Yu-seong was thrown across the arena like a discharged projectile, prompting Geum-pyo and Eun-ho to leap forward to break his fall.
“Yu-seong!”
“Yu-seong!”
Sama-jeong, waiting at the perimeter, immediately moved to administer medical aid.
“His life is not in danger. A period of absolute rest for several days will see him restored. Put your minds at ease.”
The junior disciples of the Tae-eul Sect, letting out a collective breath of relief, turned glares of absolute fury upon Jang Bu-yong. Yet the older master kept his eyes trained solely on Hong Mun-gi.
“How much longer do you intend to cower behind the youth of your sect, offering them up as shields?”
“…….”
“If the righteousness you preach holds any validity, validate it through an equal display of martial power!”
The roar stripped away any illusion that this gathering was a mere exhibition, openly laying bare the perceived hypocrisy of the Tae-eul Sect. The previously vibrant air turned oppressive and somber, reducing the crowd to absolute silence under the gravity of his words.
The Grand Master looked as though he were on the verge of leaping into the fray himself, but remembering the explicit counsel of the Hall Masters and my own warnings, he restricted his fury to digging his fingers deep into the wood of his seat.
‘Validate your righteousness, he demands…….’
A sentiment I had encountered far too frequently in my life. I rose to my feet.
“Seeing as there remains one more disciple to account for.”
Jang Bu-yong shifted his gaze toward my position.
“Ah. You were present as well.”
Feigning ignorance at this stage felt rather petty, considering he had been glaring holes through me since the inception of the trials. I slowly walked out onto the dirt of the ring and unsheathed the Red Light Sword (Jeok-gwang-geom).
“Does a mere display of superiority automatically constitute righteousness?”
“It establishes the absolute baseline of authority required to speak on it.”
“A demanding concept, this ‘righteousness’ favored by your Righteous Path Society.”
“……I am referencing the fundamental dictates of the martial world.”
I remained unconvinced. Never in my existence had I equated physical dominance with moral clarity. Still, I suppose words are irrelevant when a demonstration can suffice.
*Woooooom.*
The blade of the Red Light Sword assumed a radiant golden luminescence. A profound, inexplicable warmth radiated outward, enveloping the entirety of the Tae-eul Sect grounds.
“Judge for yourself whether the authority rests here.”
In stark contrast to the rising fervor of the surrounding crowd, my internal state settled into the absolute stillness of a glassy pond.
