Jegal-hyeon rushed forward with the intent to finish Hyeon-jin in a single strike—but then something felt wrong.
It was the stance Hyeon-jin had taken.
The tip of his sword pointed toward the ground.
A plain low guard, leveled to the height of his knees.
It looked like a simple beginner's stance, yet there was not a single opening.
'What is this? Is this really the same fellow who was being pushed around just moments ago?'
Jegal-hyeon was shaken by the sudden change. It wasn't just his stance—his entire presence had shifted. The boy who had seemed insignificant now radiated composure.
'What is that calmness?'
Jegal-hyeon faltered in his confusion.
Seeing him hesitate, Hyeon-jin spoke first.
"You've lost your nerve before the match has even begun?"
"What? Lost my nerve? You little bastard!"
Jegal-hyeon could no longer restrain himself. With a burst of qi, he kicked off the ground and surged forward. He scattered three sword shadows through the air as he closed in, spun his body low, and slashed horizontally.
It was the So-cheonseong Sword Art—the Jegal clan's treasured technique. The variation he used was the Sword Spirit Whirling Wind.
Shu shu shu!
The ferocious strike swept toward Hyeon-jin's waist. But Hyeon-jin did not so much as blink. The tip of his lowered sword flicked upward, then snapped sideways.
Chaaeng!
His blade flexed slightly as it knocked Jegal-hyeon's thrust aside.
Jegal-hyeon twisted his wrist, turned his deflected blade back, and immediately stabbed toward Hyeon-jin's leg.
"Hmph."
Hyeon-jin chuckled at the obvious attack and spun his sword lightly across.
Cheng!
The supposedly decisive blow was brushed aside with ridiculous ease.
Jegal-hyeon pressed on, chaining his So-cheonseong Sword Art in rapid succession.
Shu shu shu shu!
The storm-like flurry made the onlookers cry out.
"Dangerous!"
"Stop them! End the duel at once!"
The Wudang disciples raised their voices in alarm. Though Jegal-hyeon's strikes carried no inner force, his relentless barrage was viciously sharp.
Yet some of the Wudang Elders remained calm. Their eyes shone with anticipation. In their view, their disciple showed no panic at all. With minimal motion, Hyeon-jin let Jegal-hyeon's storm wash past him as if he were swatting away flies.
Qing Myeong, overseeing the duel, did not intervene either. Though tense, he allowed the match to continue.
'So this was Hyeon-jin's true skill?'
It was unbelievable even as they watched it unfold.
Then, as though to meet their expectations, Hyeon-jin's sword suddenly changed.
Cha-ja-jang!
He drew upon the So-cheong Sword Art—the technique taught to second-generation disciples of Wudang. Alongside the Taecheong Sword Art, it was one of the sect's most prized sword arts. Some said the Taecheong was a refinement of the So-cheong, others that the So-cheong was simply the foundation before advancing.
But the key was this: in the hands of Hyeon-jin, who had once been Wudang's Sect Leader, the So-cheong Sword Art revealed a depth none had expected.
Cheng! Cha-ja-jang!
The clear, ringing sword cries resounded. Those who had been about to interrupt the duel sat back down with sheepish faces.
The stance that once had been riddled with flaws now flowed sharp and refined.
The eyes of the Wudang Elders widened.
'Is that really the same Hyeon-jin from earlier?'
'Was he concealing his ability all along?'
Steel clashed in dazzling succession. Neither yielded an inch. With each exchange, Hyeon-jin's movements grew more precise, his techniques smoother. The awkward gaps vanished one by one, until his form was immaculate.
By the tenth move, he was batting Jegal-hyeon's attacks aside like a man strolling through a garden, even slipping in occasional counters.
Each counter made Jegal-hyeon flinch in terror. A thrust came straight toward his heart—only for Hyeon-jin to draw it back at the last instant, smiling as though inviting him to try harder.
Jegal-hyeon's face burned.
"You dare mock me!"
Fury blazing, he gripped his sword hilt and slashed furiously.
But no matter how sharp his strikes, he could not seize the advantage.
The Wudang disciples who had feared for Hyeon-jin now exclaimed in awe.
"Excellent!"
"Wuliang Shoufo… yes, lower your stance just like that!"
Yet the duel did not drag on. At one moment, Hyeon-jin slipped aside, letting Jegal-hyeon's blade sweep past, then suddenly surged upward.
Whiiiik!
Jegal-hyeon hastily retreated, slashing in defense.
Cheng! Shu shu shu!
But Hyeon-jin weaved inside his guard. As Jegal-hyeon's sword lunged toward his chest, Hyeon-jin tilted his torso and brushed it up and away.
Cheng!
The blade shot harmlessly upward. Jegal-hyeon tried to twist back into another thrust—but Hyeon-jin was faster.
Smack!
The crisp sound rang through the arena.
Hyeon-jin had darted close, not with his sword, but with his bare left hand. He slapped Jegal-hyeon hard across the cheek.
Jegal-hyeon's head snapped sideways.
Reeling, he snarled. "How dare you!"
The humiliation of being struck by someone he considered beneath him sent his fury spiraling. His qi flared as he unleashed the So-cheonseong Sword Art once more, this time driven by inner force.
Shiiing! Shiiing!
The air shrieked as sharp currents lashed out.
'He's lost his temper.'
Jegal-hyeon's face flushed crimson as he pressed his assault, as if to kill.
But Hyeon-jin merely swayed lightly, sidestepping, letting the blade slice through empty air.
Was this really the same Jegal-hyeon who, in his former life, had dealt him unforgettable humiliation? At this age, his skill was laughably crude. The thought brought Hyeon-jin a strange mix of shame and release.
'But today… it will be different.'
He withdrew his sword and brought his hands together before his chest. Then, lowering his stance, he traced a simple sweeping motion downward.
The watching Wudang disciples gasped in unison.
"What—what is that?"
"Th-Tai Chi Fist?"
"Hyeon-jin! Pick your sword back up! You cannot face him with Tai Chi Fist!"
The stance was unmistakable. It was the basic posture of Wudang's most well-known art—Tai Chi Fist. A form often taught to commoners for health, more ornament than battlefield skill.
And yet, Hyeon-jin stood firm, unhesitating.
'Wuliang Shoufo. Let me give you a memory you will never forget.'
Jegal-hyeon's sword darted for his chest.
Hyeon-jin slid aside, body moving like water, flowing in the Tai Chi form. The sword stabbed through where he had been, then twisted to chase him.
But with a gentle turn and a half-step, Hyeon-jin's body flowed once more, letting the blade graze past.
The spectators gasped, holding their breath.
Then his hands moved. Lightly, almost playfully, they brushed against Jegal-hyeon's blade, scattering its path.
Tung! Sreuk, Tung!
The less skilled disciples were beside themselves.
"Stop this! Stop him!"
"Pick up your sword, you fool!"
Even senior disciples cried out in alarm.
But the duel pressed on.
Jegal-hyeon's face burned red. He knew he was being mocked. The fact that it was Tai Chi Fist—something he himself knew—made it worse. He tried to predict the next form and thrust with all his might.
Shuk!
Yet in that instant, Hyeon-jin's body slid along the sword's path, closing the distance. His hand rested lightly on Jegal-hyeon's grip, tugging it just so.
Jegal-hyeon panicked, trying to pull away—but Hyeon-jin pressed inward, as though embracing him.
"Ahh!"
The audience roared.
"A marvelous White Crane Spreads Its Wings flowing into Seizing the Peacock's Tail! Magnificent!"
The Wudang Elders recognized the chaining Tai Chi movements and watched with awe.
Then came the strike.
Pahng!
Hyeon-jin's hand lashed out like a whip, slamming Jegal-hyeon squarely in the chest. It was the Tai Chi attack form, Single Whip.
Jegal-hyeon's body flew back, tumbling across the ground before crashing in a heap.
The Wudang Elders nodded in satisfaction, pride gleaming on their faces. In contrast, the Jegal clan's expressions soured. To be defeated not by Wudang's famed sword art, but by Tai Chi Fist—what a disgrace.
Jegal-hyeon staggered back to his feet, disbelief in his eyes. He raised his sword again, but Hyeon-jin had already turned his back, unwilling to bother further.
'Wuliang Shoufo. This is enough.'
It wasn't complete revenge, but it was release. Even in a dream, to beat Jegal-hyeon so thoroughly—he felt gratitude to both his ancestors and the heavens.
Jegal-tan, leading the Jegal clan, rose and offered formal words.
"Impressive skill. It is heartening to see such a promising talent who may one day support the martial world."
"Wuliang Shoufo, I thank you."
Hyeon-jin bowed respectfully, hands pressed together, then stepped down from the stage under Jegal-hyeon's blazing glare.
He withdrew to one side, receiving his brothers' praise, watching the rest of the duels in silence, waiting for death to claim him.
But unlike before, Wudang did not suffer total defeat. This time, because of Hyeon-jin's single victory, the elders did not look so grim.
"Wuliang Shoufo, that was a fine match."
"As expected of the Jegal clan, their youths are indeed formidable."
The Wudang elders offered generous words as befitted their dignity.
The Jegal clan, however, could not hide their displeasure, despite technically winning the duels. Their pride had been struck hard by Jegal-hyeon's humiliation.
Hyeon-jin ignored them all, gazing up at the sky.
'When I wake from this dream, surely the messengers of the afterlife will come. Strange—they are late. Perhaps the heavens grant me one last glimpse of my sect before I depart.'
The philosopher Zhuangzi once wrote of the Butterfly Dream: Am I Zhuangzi who dreamed of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming of being Zhuangzi? A parable for confusion, or the ultimate unity of all things.
And now, such a mystery had come upon Hyeon-jin.
At dawn, when the morning bell tolled, he awoke as if by habit, his body rising to move with instinct. With the other disciples, he stepped into the training yard to practice the basic arts.
'What strangeness is this?'
Though he went through the motions, his mind was in turmoil.
Last night, he had closed his eyes with a light heart, expecting to see his long-lost master and brothers in the afterlife. He had accepted that he could not kick his senior's backside one last time, but at least he had beaten Jegal-hyeon senseless.
Yet now… this felt too vivid to be a dream.
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End of Chapter 2
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