Thud.
Yi Gok, his breath extinguished, collapsed face-first onto the floor. The inn fell into a stifling silence.
Clink.
But Bu Eunseol, as if nothing had happened, sheathed his sword and descended the stairs.
—An extraordinary master of swift swordsmanship has appeared.
The martial artists in the inn watched Bu Eunseol’s departing figure, their eyes gleaming with interest. A new talent to watch had emerged for the Jeongmu Tournament.
“Heh heh heh.” The young man who had been watching Bu Eunseol leave nodded to himself. “A peculiar swift sword. It’s unleashed with lightning-fast reflexes…” he murmured.
The young man had instantly discerned that Bu Eunseol’s single strike, unlike typical swift sword techniques, relied on elastic muscles and razor-sharp reflexes.
“But a swift sword alone won’t keep you alive in a place like this.” While others gaped in awe, the young man remained unfazed.
Instead, he gazed at Bu Eunseol’s retreating back with a mischievous smile.
“Still, he’s got a long road ahead…” Picking up his wine cup and downing it in one gulp, he muttered under his breath. “Guess I’ll have to save someone.”
***
At the heart of Dongpyoseorang was a vast plaza.
In this expansive open space, capable of accommodating thousands, a grand structure had been erected: the martial arena and spectator stands. Typically, martial arenas are built high, with spectators—except for dignitaries—looking up at the combatants.
But the Jeongmu Arena, crafted by Dongpyoseorang, had a sunken stage surrounded by tiered stone seating, allowing anyone to easily view the matches.
—You can tell Dongpyoseorang’s meticulousness just by looking at this arena!
Martial artists attending the Jeongmu Tournament for the first time nodded in admiration. Dongpyoseorang, expanding its influence by recruiting unparalleled martial artists and mercenaries, showcased its wealth and power through the arena alone.
“Greetings, fellow martial artists,” a middle-aged man standing at the center of the arena spoke. “I am Cho Mucheon, the chief steward of Dongpyoseorang.” Clasping his hands lightly, he continued.
“This is the fourth Jeongmu Tournament hosted by Dongpyoseorang, made possible by the generous support of our fellow martial artists.” Though not loud, Cho Mucheon’s voice, infused with inner energy, resonated clearly in the ears of everyone filling the plaza. “This tournament is solely to spread the name of Dongpyoseorang across the martial world, with no other ulterior motives.”
Pausing briefly, he went on.
“Thus, anyone—regardless of skill level, age, or origin—may participate. However, all events here are at your own risk!” Cho Mucheon proceeded to explain the tournament’s rules.
First, anyone who declares their name can participate without restrictions, but they are responsible for any consequences.
Second, to pass the preliminaries, one must defeat at least three challengers or wait half an hour without a challenger.
Third, once thirty-six participants pass the preliminaries, a bracket will be drawn, and the tournament will proceed with two matches per day.
Fourth, those who disrupt Dongpyoseorang’s affairs or harm its mercenaries will not receive the prize, even if they win.
“Now, let the Fourth Jeongmu Tournament begin!”
—Waaa!
Ding!
As a gong on one side of the arena rang, a thunderous cheer erupted. But despite the prolonged cheers, no one stepped onto the arena. Perhaps it was only natural. Even for seasoned veterans, stepping onto the arena was a daunting task. In an unripe atmosphere, a single mistake could lead to a cascade of errors.
Whoosh.
Then, a young man in tattered gray robes stepped onto the arena without hesitation.
It was Bu Eunseol.
“I am Bu Eunseol,” he declared.
At his name, Cho Mucheon’s eyes glinted.
‘The swift swordsman who felled Yi Gok in a single strike at the inn.’
The actions of martial artists here were tracked by Dongpyoseorang’s informants. Hearing Bu Eunseol’s name, Cho Mucheon nodded inwardly.
‘He’ll pass the preliminaries with ease.’ Having cut down the Changshan Ghost in one move, his swift sword was at a level that could make a name in the martial world.
Having displayed his skill in an inn full of martial artists, he would likely breeze through the preliminaries.
“Very well, Young Master Bu,” Cho Mucheon called out loudly. “Is there anyone who will challenge Young Master Bu?” After a long wait, as expected, no challenger stepped forward.
“Then I will count to five!”
“Wait.” With a whoosh, a shadow leaped onto the arena.
It was a young man in lavish silk robes, adorned with luxurious accessories. The same young man who had shared Bu Eunseol’s table.
“Will you challenge him?” Cho Mucheon asked.
The young man nodded.
“Yes.”
“State your name.” With squared shoulders, the young man spoke in a low voice.
“Young Jiwi.” At his words, the martial artists gathered in the plaza began to murmur.
—Young Jiwi, the great master of Jeomchang?
The arena buzzed with excitement.
A disciple painstakingly trained by the Martial Alliance, one of the eighteen great masters whose whereabouts were as elusive as a dragon’s—Young Jiwi had appeared at the Jeongmu Tournament?
“You don’t seem surprised,” Young Jiwi remarked, taken aback by Bu Eunseol’s calm expression.
Never before had anyone heard his name without reacting with shock.
“Did you know who I was?” he asked.
Bu Eunseol replied evenly, “Only that you’re from Jeomchang.”
He didn’t know Young Jiwi was one of the great masters, but he had guessed he was a skilled warrior from Jeomchang, given the distinct narrow blade and short sword typical of their sect.
‘Ma Yun. He was from Jeomchang, too.’
Ma Yun, an enemy who had sacrificed himself without hesitation, leaving Bu Eunseol with a debt of gratitude. That was why, despite Young Jiwi’s talkativeness and rude demeanor, Bu Eunseol had remained silent.
“I see. You’ve got sharp eyes,” Young Jiwi said, waving his hand. “Oh, don’t misunderstand. I’m not here to harm you—I’m here to protect you.” His words were absurd.
Bu Eunseol furrowed his brow, and Young Jiwi scratched his head.
“As you know, this tournament is brutal, with no guarantee of survival. Your swift sword is impressive, but it won’t be enough to endure.” Pausing, Young Jiwi gave a sly smile. “I’m repaying the kindness of sharing your table by keeping you alive. You’ve got plenty of opportunities ahead, so gain experience elsewhere instead.”
Shing. As Young Jiwi drew his sword, a chilling aura spread in all directions.
Young Jiwi, the great master of Jeomchang.
He had joined the sect late, at fourteen, but his dazzling talent quickly set him apart. Three years later, he became one of Jeomchang’s ten representative disciples and competed in the great masters’ tournament.
After becoming a great master, he trained for just a year before leaving the Martial Alliance, driven not by a desire to deepen his martial arts but to roam the martial world freely.
“Let’s begin!” Cho Mucheon’s shout rang out.
Flash!
Young Jiwi struck like lightning. But his sword didn’t aim for Bu Eunseol’s throat—it grazed past it.
“Our sect’s swordsmanship also relies on speed,” Young Jiwi said with a faint smile, assuming Bu Eunseol was stunned by his swift strike. “You’d do well to withdraw. Why taste defeat needlessly?”
No matter how skilled Bu Eunseol’s swift swordsmanship was, to Young Jiwi, he was just a novice fresh to the martial world, no match for a rising star of the righteous sects. He meant his words sincerely, but to Bu Eunseol, they were laughable.
“You talk too much,” Bu Eunseol said.
“Shall we begin, then?” Young Jiwi, a genius swordsman who rose to great master despite starting late, flashed a confident smile and extended his sword.
“Be careful!”
Swish.
With the sound of slicing wind, a radiant sword strike shot toward Bu Eunseol’s chest.
It was Jeomchang’s ultimate sword technique, the Sun-Shooting Sword Art, not only blindingly fast but capable of striking foes regardless of distance.
Whoosh.
But Bu Eunseol lightly shifted his body, dodging the strike. As if anticipating this, Young Jiwi moved his sword in a flurry.
Buzz.
His trembling blade turned into a mist, instantly blocking Bu Eunseol’s retreat. It was the flawless Sun-Shooting Certain Death technique.
“Hm.” Bu Eunseol, facing the onslaught of sword tips, stepped forward as casually as if strolling through a market.
Whoosh!
Each time, the sharp sword strikes narrowly grazed past him.
What? Young Jiwi’s eyes widened as he watched. ‘How does he know the paths of the Sun-Shooting Sword Art?’
Bu Eunseol’s evasion wasn’t instinctive or based on footwork. He had fully grasped the forms and paths of the Sun-Shooting Sword Art, dodging each strike preemptively.
‘There’s only one possibility.’ Young Jiwi’s mind raced as he briefly slowed his assault. ‘He’s survived hundreds of exchanges with a master using the Sun-Shooting Sword Art.’
The Sun-Shooting Sword Art had never been leaked to outsiders. Yet, for Bu Eunseol to see through every move meant he had faced a master of this technique in prolonged combat.
“Have you fought someone using the Sun-Shooting Sword Art?” Young Jiwi asked.
Bu Eunseol, effortlessly dodging the whirlwind of strikes, nodded.
“Yes. He used an unorthodox weapon, not a sword.”
“An unorthodox weapon?”
“Even so, his variations and speed were far more refined than yours.”
Flash!
Finally drawing his sword, Bu Eunseol pierced through a flaw in Young Jiwi’s Sun-Shooting Sword Art.
Clang!
With a sharp metallic clash, Young Jiwi’s technique was abruptly halted. To exploit a flaw in real combat like this was near impossible. It required not only understanding the opponent’s every move but also striking twice as fast.
‘He’s far more skilled than I thought.’ In truth, Young Jiwi, having entered the martial world late and relying on his talent, hadn’t deeply honed his skills. But that was only in comparison to the great masters who dominated the martial world. Against most other warriors, his skill was untouchable.
“I underestimated you,” Young Jiwi said, his ever-present smile fading. “Shall we get serious?”
Swish!
Suddenly, Young Jiwi’s swordsmanship changed. It was a technique as sharp as the Sun-Shooting Sword Art but with countless hidden follow-up moves.
‘A profound sword technique.’ For the first time, Bu Eunseol employed footwork to evade the strikes.
Swish, swish, swish!
But the strikes he thought he’d dodged shifted in midair, raining down on him again.
“It’s the Seven Severing Sword Form!” someone watching the arena shouted.
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