The Heaven-Slaying Sword

The day of the competition dawned.

Mok Riwon prepared to step onto the sparring ground with his sword at his side.

There was a specific reason why he was going first.

“Thank you for listening to my stubbornness.”

It was because he had asked to completely overturn their plans the day before.

The other members smiled, recalling yesterday’s events.

—I wish to spar with Great Expert Golden Sword. I want to draw him out onto the training ground and share with him the thrill of exchanging swords.

All the members here knew.

Whenever the usually childlike Mok Riwon spoke with a serious face, something mysterious was bound to happen.

As Tang Hwa-seo said that with a smile, Mok Riwon responded with a bright grin.

“I’ll bring back results worthy of my stubbornness.”

He stepped onto the sparring ground.

* * *

Gwon Pyowol wore a troubled expression as he watched Mok Riwon climb onto the sparring ground.

The conversation from that night flashed through his mind.

—I heard your story. I didn’t know you had a personnel evaluation coming up soon. I’m sorry.

—Ah, no. I should be the one apologizing. For disappointing your expectations.

—Then, may I make one more unreasonable request?

—...What is it?

—Please step onto the sparring ground.

—Haha, I’m afraid that…

—It’s just a sparring match, isn’t it?

Gwon Pyowol couldn’t forget the smile Mok Riwon had shown at that moment, in the middle of the dimly moonlit corridor.

—Upholding chivalry with our swords is of utmost importance, but isn’t it odd to say that we should save our swords for the sake of wielding chivalry?

It was like a child being stubborn, but there was a strange magic to his words.

Gwon Pyowol couldn’t find the right thing to say to refute him right there.

So he could only ruminate what Mok Riwon had said as he left.

—I’m not forcing you. I understand your position. I too know that there are things one must give up for the greater good. So I just came to tell you this.

—...Tell me what?

—I will go first in the competition and not lose even once. If I achieve a perfect victory, it will probably negatively affect the White Sword Unit’s personnel evaluation. So...

The playful smile Mok Riwon had shown at that moment.

—Then you’ll have no choice but to come up and make an example of me, right? You’ll have no choice.

Clench.

Gwon Pyowol’s hands balled into a fist.

Nonetheless, a strange flicker began to appear in his eyes, and a smile unknowingly formed on his lips.

No choice… is it?

No choice but to step onto the sparring ground, no choice but to spar. It was a clever play on words of not forcing him, and Gwon Pyowol couldn’t deny its effectiveness.

If, just if, such a thing were to happen, I might put aside all other thoughts and step onto the sparring ground.

And I might just enjoy crossing swords.

Why was this newfound desire arising now, of all times?

Gwon Pyowol thought that if there was a reason, it must be that man’s eyes.

They’re clear.

Mok Riwon’s eyes were clear. As clear as a transparent lake.

* * *

Boom! Boom!

The drums sounded.

Simultaneously, a martial artist from the Azure Dragon Unit who was acting as referee shouted.

[Both sides to your positions!]

At those words, Mok Riwon stood in the center of the sparring ground.

The man coming up from the opposite side was a martial artist famous for his swift sword in the White Sword Unit.

“It’s an honor to cross swords with the Ink Dragon. I am Wang Il.”

As the swift swordsman Wang Il made a fist-palm salute, Mok Riwon returned the gesture.

“I hope we have a good match.”

Though he said this, Mok Riwon’s attention was far away.

Golden Sword Gwon Pyowol. Seeing him watching strengthened his resolve.

Mok Riwon knew that he was being unreasonable.

But he decided not to care about it anymore.

This is the martial world.

A world of martial artists who uphold chivalry with their swords, a merciless world where the strong dictate what is right or wrong.

What does it matter if it’s the tantrum of a child? What does it matter if it’s a romance ignorant of reality?

He just had to be strong. Mok Riwon decided not to hesitate anymore in proving himself with his sword.

Schwiiing.

The sword was drawn.

Only then did Wang Il’s stance enter his eyes.

A stance holding the sword with both hands, preparing for an upward slash.

This was definitely a stance included in one of the sword manuals Mok Riwon had studied intensively.

The Jade Thunder Sword.

A sword art centered on three lightning-fast slashes.

As soon as Mok Riwon recognized this, he changed his stance.

It was the exact same Jade Thunder Sword stance as Wang Il’s.

“…!”

Wang Il’s eyes widened.

What followed was a wry laugh.

So this is the Ink Dragon they’ve been talking about.

Wang Il’s muscles tensed with excitement.

It was because he had heard so much about what Mok Riwon had done at the Dragon Phoenix Tournament to earn the title of Ink Dragon.

The continuous series of moves aimed solely at Namgung Jincheon in the group preliminaries, the ever-changing sword techniques he showed upon entering the main tournament, and finally, the incomprehensible swordsmanship he used to overwhelm Namgung Jincheon.

All of this was enough to make Wang Il realize that Mok Riwon wasn’t doing this as a joke.

Wang Il grinned.

“You’re ready to draw out the commander, aren’t you?”

“I won’t deny it.”

Mok Riwon smiled brightly, and Wang Il felt pleased.

After all, he was certain that Mok Riwon wouldn’t use any half-hearted measures in this sparring match to draw out the commander.

He must be thinking of showing the commander!

That the other members aren’t enough as his opponents, that there’s a gap between the members and him that only the commander can close.

But Wang Il said.

“It won’t be easy!”

Even if he might be discussed as the greatest talent of all time, he’s still just an eighteen-year-old youth.

A rookie whose only experience of the martial world is the Dragon Phoenix Tournament.

Crackling lightning sparked from Wang Il.

The Thunder Lord Technique, the counterpart to the Jade Thunder Sword, was unleashed.

He intended to convey to this young sprout.

The martial world isn’t a place where one can survive on talent alone, you might trip over a nearby stone while looking too far ahead.

[Begin!]

Swish!

Wang Il’s sword shot out, sparking with lightning while aiming for Mok Riwon’s waist.

The path of the sword was indescribably clean. Perhaps due to his tension and resolve, it was the cleanest motion he had shown in recent times.

It hit…!

Wang Il was certain.

It’s a sword excellent enough to enlighten my junior.

Clang—!

...However, his sword was far too slow to lecture Mok Riwon.

Draw last, strike first.

Mok Riwon displayed the full essence of this technique, where the sword is drawn later yet strikes earlier, right before Wang Il’s eyes.

Wang Il froze as the sword, moving faster than his eye could follow, reached his throat.

“…Your sword was good.”

He forced a laugh at those words.

Oh boy.

The first thought that crossed his mind when his defeat was confirmed was this.

I shouldn’t have said it won’t be easy!

* * *

The situation was terrifyingly one-sided.

As if demonstrating the gap in their skill, Mok Riwon overwhelmed the swordsmen of the White Sword Unit with his overwhelming skill.

It was already the fifth martial artist stepping into the sparring ground.

None of them had been able to withstand even a single move from Mok Riwon.

It was a miserable situation.

Or well, it should have been, but smiles bloomed on the faces of the defeated martial artists.

“Wow~ That move was really something! I couldn’t even see Ink Dragon’s sword being drawn!”

“Indeed, I’m going to remember this day and recall it whenever I feel down! It won’t be easy! Phew~ Quote of the year!”

“Hey, you!”

Wang Il, who was defeated first, and Jang Sam, Cheon Guyong, and Ha Jinmok who were defeated after him, were all laughing.

The reason went without saying.

Although they were defeated, they all enjoyed the spar with an opponent they could acknowledge and the tension of that moment.

Gwon Pyowol felt a tingling in his chest at this.

…I as well.

Gwon Pyowol smiled bitterly at the thought that suddenly arose.

On the sparring ground, the fifth contestant, Do Pyeong, was falling.

[Ink Dragon! Victory!]

“It was a good sword.”

“You flatter me! I realized that Ink Dragon’s sword didn’t gain that reputation for no reason! I learned a lot!”

He had a big smile on his face.

“Commander.”

Suddenly, someone called him.

It was Sa Kyungwoon, the vice-commander of the White Sword Unit and his longest-serving comrade.

“Is it your turn?”

“What are you talking about? If I go up there, I’ll just lose. I’m the vice-commander, I don’t want to be embarrassed by fighting such a monster.”

Sa Kyungwoon laughed heartily.

Then, stopping his laughter, he smiled gently and said to Gwon Pyowol.

“You know what? Ink Dragon came to see me yesterday.”

“…Ink Dragon did?”

“He talked about a situation where one has no choice.”

His eyes shifted to Mok Riwon.

At the boyish enthusiasm looking back at him on display, Gwon Pyowol felt his body stir.

“Commander, at this rate, we might not be able to hold our heads up high in the Martial Alliance. Why don’t you go and show them a thing or two?”

At Sa Kyung-woon’s words, Gwon Pyowol bit his lip.

“…You know.”

This spar didn’t make sense. If he were to lose in this sparring, it would be an even greater loss than if the White Sword Unit suffered a complete defeat.

It would be far better to suffer a complete defeat in a friendly competition where the commander didn’t participate.

The harshness of reality was too high to simply enjoy...

…No

That wasn’t it. Gwon Pyowol lowered his head to look at the sword at his waist.

The golden scabbard was a resolve he had added to never forget the weight of the sword, one that was clouding his vision.

That’s not it. Perhaps…

Gwon Pyowol suddenly had such a thought.

I might have become afraid.

I might have been enchanted by this brilliant radiance itself and at some point started chasing after position rather than martial arts.

Gwon Pyowol’s brow furrowed.

To take the safe path in front of Mok Riwon, who was his junior, was not befitting of a martial artist.

I didn’t take up the sword for the sake of status.

What he desired had never changed.

For a long time, the dream that had led him here from being just an instructor at a small town martial arts school and what he had wanted to become, was not his current self.

Sword Star.

It was to be like him. A serious martial artist who could imbue even a single stroke of his sword with righteousness.

Not someone like this who was afraid to even draw his sword, burdened by the weight of it.

Only then did Gwon Pyowol laugh helplessly.

He had concluded after much contemplation.

Just what am I doing?

Why is a martial artist hesitating to draw his sword?

Why am I fearing an evaluation more than the sword?

Gwon Pyowol cursed himself.

And when he raised his head, he saw something.

His unit members were there.

Most of them could have taken better positions elsewhere, but they were grateful comrades who had followed him.

They were people who followed him simply out of admiration for the righteousness he held.

Gwon Pyowol couldn’t help but smile at the expectation in their eyes.

“…You really know how to embarrass me.”

As Vice-Commander Sa Kyung-woon stepped aside, the other members also moved back.

A path to the sparring ground opened up before Gwon Pyowol.

And he looked at it.

It’s a path I should have taken long ago.

Gwon Pyowol’s feet left the ground as he headed towards the sparring ground.

As he walked, his sword was drawn and the golden scabbard was thrown to the ground.

…Only now do I walk this road, freed from the illusion of pretense.

Standing out in the sparring ground, Mok Riwon smiled brightly and said.

“I look forward to our match.”

Gwon Pyowol had to admit it.

He was stubborn and persistent. In the end, he had managed to draw him to this place, so it could be said that this was already his victory.

And yet, he remained pure and sincere.

He was the very model of what a martial artist should be.

So Gwon Pyowol decided to forget.

“Five of my members have been defeated by you.”

The complicated personnel evaluation, the dignity he should maintain as a commander, and the hollow title of Golden Sword.

Forgetting everything and becoming simply the swordsman Gwon Pyowol, he said,

“I’ll give you a five-move handicap.”

It had been a long time coming. For the first time in years, he smiled like a carefree child.

“Come.”

***

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