69 - Goodwill (4) - The Heaven-Slaying Sword

It was a tale from quite some time ago. At the age of 18, Kwon Pyo-Wol was an instructor at a modest martial arts hall in the northern regions. Being an instructor at 18 might have had something to do with Kwon Pyo-Wol's innate talents or his rural background, but when you got right down to it, that was the truth of it. Kwon Pyo-Wol had simply become an instructor because he was the hall master's son, naturally ascending to the position. He had no complaints about it. Swinging a sword was his greatest joy, and teaching the children, hearing them call him "instructor," filled him with pride. Kwon Pyo-Wol was someone who could find contentment in the smallest of things, believing his life would always be this serene. It was during this time he met Mok Seon-O, the Sword Saint. "Your form is excellent." It was before the outbreak of the bloody conflict. Wandering the martial world, Kwon Pyo-Wol encountered Mok Seon-O, who had stopped by his village. The meeting was a shock as if the world itself was collapsing, especially since Mok Seon-O had defeated Pyo-Wol's father, the strongest man he knew, in mere seconds. Though it was just a friendly sparring match, satisfying for both his father and Mok Seon-O, Kwon Pyo-Wol felt otherwise. "How can one be so powerful?" Young and full of vigor, his ambition knew no bounds. The moment he realized there was a higher sky above, he was consumed by an insatiable desire. Then Mok Seon-O said something that would shake Kwon Pyo-Wol's very existence. "What you imbue your sword with makes the difference. A landscape beyond your desires." "Desire?" "With every draw of your blade... rather, at every moment you unsheathe it, wrap it with conviction. There is no weapon mightier than unyielding belief." Frankly, Mok Seon-O was rather unattractive. Protruding cheekbones, a bulbous nose, and eyebrows that drooped, twice as long as his tiny eyes. Yet, when Mok Seon-O smiled, Kwon Pyo-Wol felt as if he was in the presence of an unparalleled beauty. Such was the charm of a romantic swordsman. From that day on, Kwon Pyo-Wol dreamed of becoming a wanderer of the martial world. "Father! I will learn the ways of the martial world!" "Go on, I will always support you." At the age of 19, Kwon Pyo-Wol ventured into the martial world. By 21, he had joined the Martial Alliance. And at 23, he went to war against the Blood Sect, the Celestial Church of Martial Arts. Looking back, those moments were nothing but horrifying, yet there was one thing everyone who lived through that era could agree on. It was the age of the wanderer. The martial world at that time was more righteous than ever. The fragmented martial world united under the banner of the Martial Alliance. The absolute beings of the transcendental realms, always at odds, came together as four Saints and six Kings to face a common foe. During such times, Kwon Pyo-Wol was reunited with Mok Seon-O. The swordsman of his memories had become a star of the sword, and the young instructor from a rural martial hall had become a warrior of the Alliance, but that was not what mattered. "Your form is still excellent." To Kwon Pyo-Wol that day, what mattered was that the man of his dreams still remembered him. "I followed the great hero. To become a wanderer." As Mok Seon-O aged, his ugliness was tempered by a certain grace. His face was lined with age. Yet, some things remained unchanged. Mok Seon-O was still a charming swordsman. "That’s flattering, and I'm proud. That I appeared as a wanderer to you." That was enough. The era of the Blood Sect was over. But Kwon Pyo-Wol's journey in the martial world was far from finished. He wanted to shout out. That one must hold conviction with every draw of their sword, that a sword is far too heavy to be wielded lightly. The title of Golden Sword was bestowed upon him at the age of 35. The golden scabbard came at 38 when he became the leader of the White Sword Clan. Constantly pushing forward, relentlessly pursuing, another three years passed. Today, Kwon Pyo-Wol finally realized. He had been oppressed by the weight of his sword. He had become a man who, forgetting the art of wielding conviction, only cared about the heaviness of his sword. No, his conviction itself had been wavering. "Offensive Needle Sword." Only now did he manage to cast aside such faults. "A technique to govern the essence of the sword. A secret martial art, indeed." It was an enlightenment gained through the vigor of a younger soul. "What is your sword?" The conceded five seconds had come to an end. Mok Riwon was painfully aware of what constituted a supreme barrier. It wasn't about flashy moves or a spirited stance. It was pristine. Golden Sword Kwon Pyo-Wol was a man whose swordplay was as restrained and weighty as the ideals he sought. A deep smile appeared on Mok Riwon's lips. His eyes shone brighter than ever with excitement. "Ten Thousand Linked Reason Sword." Mok Riwon spoke. "A sword that unifies myriad sword moves into one purpose." For the first time during the duel, Mok Riwon took his stance. "A martial art I developed myself." A spark shone in Kwon Pyo-Wol's eyes. A smile, akin to Mok Riwon's, formed on his lips. "To have a duel with the Grandmaster, what an honor." "The honor is mine as well." The five seconds of concession had ended. Two men stood, ready to cross swords with each other. Here was the Martial Alliance, the heart of the righteous martial world. And above the dueling platform. No more words were needed. Both men moved simultaneously. Kwon Pyo-Wol's Offensive Needle Sword launched in a controlled motion, targeting the solar plexus with a thrust. Mok Riwon's response was an upward slash. However, it wasn't just a simple upward cut. It had the fluidity characteristic of the Black Dragon, endlessly searching for its place even in the moment, wavering ceaselessly. Clang! The upward slash morphed into a downward strike. Kwon Pyo-Wol's thrust, curving away from its intended path, missed Mok Riwon. In that moment, Mok Riwon's blade, flipped in angle, targeted Kwon Pyo-Wol's neck. Kwon Pyo-Wol countered by hitting Mok Riwon's blade with the pommel of his sword, grasped in reverse. A resonant clang dominated the dueling platform, the aftermath of power-laden moves making the very stage tremble. The exchange of sword moves continued. Mok Riwon's sword was like a raging storm. Kwon Pyo-Wol's, even amidst this tempest, was like a deeply-rooted tree that refused to fall. To the onlookers of this duel, it might have seemed like Mok Riwon was overwhelmingly dominant, yet among those watching, none were so untrained as to be deceived by appearances. Namgung Jincheon frowned. "A difference in weight class." A scenario reminiscent of the championship at the Dragon Phoenix Gathering. Yet, Kwon Pyo-Wol did not fall as Namgung Jincheon had that day, and there was one reason for it. Transcending the barrier of the supreme realm, the difference in their weight class was so overwhelming that it represented a significant shift in dynamics. Namgung Jincheon watched intently, arms crossed, eyes wide, not wanting to miss a single moment. His keen gaze held a sharp intensity, seeking through this duel the method to bring Mok Riwon to his knees and the direction in which he must advance. "Overwhelming power." Even in the face of a sword driven by such a vast difference in weight class, one must remain calm and composed. It wasn't just Namgung Jincheon. The duel between the two men, aptly named a friendly match, inspired all who witnessed it, offering them the spark they needed to break through their own barriers. For the spectators, that was the extent of it. But what about the participants themselves? Clang! Sword moves were exchanged. The intention behind each sword, the belief sustaining it, and their ideals were exchanged. Neither Mok Riwon nor Kwon Pyo-Wol could wipe the smiles off their faces. Dancing on a tightrope where a single moment of lost concentration could mean a fall, the exhilarating thrill of it coursed through their bodies. Amidst the threat and tension, concentrating their minds to a single point, both harbored a startlingly similar thought. 'It's exhilarating!' They reveled in the duel. The swords they exchanged taught them so much about each other. The form of a sword mirrors the heart, revealing the essence of its wielder. Mok Riwon felt Kwon Pyo-Wol's straightforward character, his disciplined formality, and his passion, smoldering like embers, in his rigid and restrained swordplay. Kwon Pyo-Wol sensed Mok Riwon's capriciousness, his lively temperament, and his passion, blazing like wildfire, in his aggressive sword moves. Once again, sword moves were exchanged. From swift to strong, then fluid to heavy. With a twist of his wrist, Kwon Pyo-Wol parried Mok Riwon's strike, embellished with four changes in a single movement. What followed was Kwon Pyo-Wol's largest motion of the day. Kwon Pyo-Wol stepped forward. With a thud, his energy swept across the dueling platform. Mok Riwon knew. 'I cannot confront this head-on!' To face such a disparity in weight class directly was to assure defeat with absolute certainty. Mok Riwon tried to retreat, but Kwon Pyo-Wol did not cease his movement. "You're unfamiliar with the transcendent realm." A smile formed on Kwon Pyo-Wol's lips. With his illusion dispelled, he had no reason to hesitate. He was ready to show this young and talented wanderer a world he had yet to experience. "Qi flow is ultimately an expression of one's state of mind. Remember this well." Qi burst forth from Kwon Pyo-Wol. His Qi was like the light of a rock—smooth without the slightest hint of coarseness. It was shapeless, yet it was a perfect reflection of his life's journey with the Offensive Needle Sword, a seemingly insignificant secret martial art that led him to the pinnacle of the martial world. Kwon Pyo-Wol swung his sword downward. The precision of that single motion, honed over countless hours, resembled a sword-shaped Qi. A lifetime of dedication and refinement manifested in a visible form, a technique akin to the proof of those who stand at the threshold of transcendence. A perfect form of Qi Gong materialized before them. That filled Mok Riwon's entire field of vision. '...Ah.' In that moment, Mok Riwon's intuition screamed that even if he fled anywhere on this dueling platform immediately, he wouldn't escape that sword. There was no murderous intent. But his survival instincts roared. It was defeat. Mok Riwon smiled in response. 'Incredible.' This was how he would be defeated. However, that didn't mean he shouldn't struggle. Mok Riwon released a dark-colored Qi. He started to perform an incomplete Qi Gong that he couldn’t fully control. The third move of the Meteor Seven Swords, the Twelve Branch Swords. Transparent stars emerged within the dark mist, illuminating Mok Riwon's path with light as he launched his counterattack. Before an insurmountable giant, he became a small person flailing desperately, drawing on everything he had to swing his sword. And then. Thud! He managed to slice Kwon Pyo-Wol's garment. That day, Mok Riwon faced the wall of the supreme realm. * Silence fell upon the dueling platform. The young warriors, confronted by the profound exchange, found themselves too absorbed in recounting the last moves to utter a word. Kwon Pyo-Wol stood in the center, looking down at Mok Riwon, who knelt before him. Then, he felt the front of his clothing with his hand. A chuckle escaped his lips. 'Impossible.' It was an imitation. The Qi Gong he demonstrated was a crude imitation that could barely be mimicked by someone at the very pinnacle of the supreme realm, let alone aiming for the transcendent realm. Yet, Mok Riwon was not even at the fringes of the supreme realm. He was firmly in the middle stages. In other words, Mok Riwon had forcibly grasped a technique that should have been beyond his reach, relying solely on his inherent martial talents and adaptability. Kwon Pyo-Wol was astounded by such extraordinary talent. A realization dawned upon him with certainty. 'I will be surpassed.' Sooner rather than later, this young wanderer would race to realms he dared not even dream of. Lost in these thoughts, Kwon Pyo-Wol allowed himself a slight smile before shaking them off. 'But not yet.' If a new master were to arise in the martial world, it would simply be a welcome development. Besides, he was still the stronger one for now. "That was an excellent duel." He offered nothing but proper respect to his opponent. Mok Riwon, with a dazed expression as he chewed over the recent events, finally smiled contentedly and said, "I have learned much from you!" Mok Riwon's duel had ended. But the duels of the Dragon Phoenix Clan were far from over. Looking toward the Dragon Phoenix Clan, Kwon Pyo-Wol asked, "Who's next?" Thus, five more victories followed. Kwon Pyo-Wol demonstrated what it meant to be the Grand Master of the Martial Alliance and the significance of being a transcendent martial artist, making it abundantly clear to them all.