To Hubei.
Nature does not belong to humankind. Though all this vast Central Plains may seem the emperor’s domain, even he will one day die and return to dust. Nature is merely a place where humans briefly sojourn. Rivers, seas, mountains—none of them truly belong to anyone. One may claim rights to a house with deeds, but land is only territory defined by mutual human agreement.
‘So there’s no problem with me climbing Mount Wudang.’
Even if an epidemic has sealed off the passes, it has no bearing on me. A mountain is just a mountain, and no one stands to stop me. In any case, they would not even know whether I enter or depart.
‘Not even a plague can bar my path.’
I am no one who succumbs to smallpox. Having filtered the air through my mask and boosted my yang qi to neutralize pathogens, inhalation poses me no risk.
‘The only troublemaker will be any Daoist who happens by.’
“...Brother, may I ask you something?”
Even if they cannot detect me, caution is never wasted. I melted into the shade of a tree, listening. Wudang guards with torches were patrolling nearby.
“…This is maddening. When will they lift the lockdown?”
“They cannot lift it while smallpox still rages. If we let people descend, the contagion will spread.”
“Master, what if we get infected ourselves?”
“Let us trust the elders. They will surely find a cure. …Who goes there?!”
The guards drew swords, sweeping their gaze through the undergrowth. My heart sank—I had been discovered.
‘My shadow concealment technique is only second-rank—no wonder I was detected.’
The legendary assassin who twice slew Chu Sogwang, the Shadow King’s Dark-Stealth Art melds the body to surrounding shadows. Even masters of the highest order fail to notice it. How did Wudang guards discern it? The answer came soon enough.
“Ahhh!!”
Not far from my hiding spot, a rustic scholar-type peasant burst into view. His silk robes were shredded and bloodied, and he bore no signs of martial training.
“Escapee!”
“After him! He must not descend to spread smallpox!”
The guards gave chase. Hidden in shadow, I relaxed—no doubt only the sect’s senior disciples could spot me.
‘Had I really been exposed by a mere second-rank swordsman, I owe the Shadow King my head in apology.’
I waited until the pursuit passed, then resumed my ascent. Birds chirped overhead, and after some time, the path fell silent once more.
‘Any medicinal herbs nearby?’
Though I came to behold the Wudang blooms, I might as well gather elixirs and tonics while here. Anything beneficial to me I will consume; anything excess I can sell to a pharmacopeia or the sect.
‘Those who later boast of strengthening their inner qi with elixirs will surely find more to consume.’
Nature has no owner. Likewise, no one owns these precious herbs. Even if a lord’s scion once slew a notorious murderer with the aid of Immortal Ginseng, should that ginseng be gone, another soul will claim it and slay the villain in its stead.
“Ugh.”
The medicinal chicken I ate at noon churned in my stomach. Having consumed abundant ginseng, my core felt aflame.
“Ugh, this yang qi…”
I could not quell the heat within. Though I tried to regulate my bloodfire with fire by fire, to no avail.
‘No wonder I cannot suppress my youth’s fiery qi.’
Though above the age of majority, my physique remains a work in progress. Until my frame fully matures, I must settle somewhere to build my body. I am not yet perfect.
Just then, I sensed a gaze upon me.
“….”
A subtle scrutiny from behind, like a wild beast or a murderer eying me from the shadows. Either way, an ambush would be lethal. I spun and slashed.
Shaaak!
The tree before me split in two. With a single step I sprinted to the felled trunk.
‘One.’
A jolt of qi zapped my spine—clear hostility pressed into my skin. The birdsong vanished; only cold stillness filled the forest.
Rustle.
A single leaf drifted before my eyes. I sprang back, widening the distance.
“Bladefiend!”
As expected. A neat sword scar marred the ground where I had stood. The man responsible, a middle-aged Daoist, scowled at the wasted strike.
“Your greeting is rather excessive, isn’t it?”
“Silence! Why have you come to Wudang?!”
“I have come to Mount Wudang, not to the sect.”
“How dare you speak so insolently!”
The Daoist accused me, pointing his blade. A faint blue qi shimmered around his sword, and I sighed inwardly.
“Sad premonitions never fail.”
Trifling misunderstandings between orthodox martial artists inevitably lead to bloodshed. I am merely a botanist on a pilgrimage, yet this man’s hostility toward me is fierce.
“Daoist, do you threaten an innocent civilian with your sword? Is this befitting a Wudang warrior?”
“A practitioner wielding demonic art and evading the Taiji sword form—how can you be a mere civilian? Once more: why are you at Wudang?”
“…You recognized me?”
I tapped the ground with my foot. Though the Shadow King is the master of demonic stealth, he remains hidden from public view. He first appeared during the Righteous-Evil War.
“Who are you, really?”
“Do not answer a question with a question!”
“No—I must ask. How did you know that was demonic art?”
“What?”
The tables had turned. The Daoist sought my identity; now I would probe his. I drew my sword.
“You fiend—clearly a demonic infiltrator!”
“What?! You madman! If you use demonic art, why would I be your spy?!”
“If you know it as demonic art, you must be its ally!”
The Daoist flushed and forced his sword against me.
“Rubbish! Anyone could mistake your movements for demonic! Must I assume every unique art belongs to sects of evil?”
“So narrow-minded—even in your presumption, you fail to transcend secular confines. Now look with your own eyes: is this demonic art?”
It was, but I lunged forward. In three swift steps I reached him, unleashing a long horizontal slash. The Daoist staggered back, startled.
“Three Trials Sword Technique?! You bastard!”
“Do not underestimate the Three Trials! It is a true sect form!”
The Shadow King’s blade art: horizontal slash, vertical slash, then a thrust at their intersection. Simple, yet when performed with extreme speed, it rivals any supreme art. I divided my breath and drove the sword home.
“One—two—three—four—five!”
Slash, slash, thrust. Slash, slash, thrust again—six swings in under a second. As my fervor grew, my swordplay accelerated.
“Ugh?!”
The Daoist tilted his sword-edge to deflect my blade and seized a moment to counterattack. I pressed the assault, leaving him no reprieve.
“One two three four five! One two three four five!”
“Cease this clamor!”
“Do not scold me!”
He bit the trap. At my count ‘five,’ he twisted to thrust his blade at my heart. His intent was clear in his burning gaze.
Kraang!
Yet his strike never landed. I slid my blade inside his guard, weaving circular steps into my attack. He broke his grip, his robe billowed, and I drove the blade in.
The Shadow King’s form: Spirit Rend. Imprint the Three Trials’ arc upon your opponent, then at the slightest opening, morph and thrust. A hidden blade from darkness strikes the vital point.
“Tch!”
A worthy Daoist. He used his robe to obscure my sight, spinning his blade to catch mine. I lunged backward on one foot, arching my torso. His sword brushed my blade away and nicked a few strands of my fringe.
“Hah!”
With a sharp kiai (battle shout), I rolled forward on my leading foot. He lunged, but at the edge of my emitted qi, he hesitated and fell back.
“You…”
He glared at me, wordless. In fewer than ten exchanges he gauged my level.
“Who are you truly? A peerless master of the Spirit Flux?”
“They all call me Spirit Flux,” I mocked. “If I were, you would owe your apologies to your senior. Indeed, Elder Hyeonta.”
I taunted him. His face flushed; he dropped into a deep bow.
“My apologies, Senior.”
“Liar.”
“…You?”
Veins bulged on his forehead. Laughter buzzed at my lips—I struggled to contain it.
“Ah, so you are that fellow. Hahaha. Hyeonta, a pleasure.”
Of all places to meet, never did I expect this one.
Master Daoist Hyeonta, Wudang’s greatest swordsman. He briefly held the title of Wudang First Sword during the Righteous-Evil War, then rose to sect elder after his seniors fell. Known for his fiery temper and harshness, he was mocked as unfit for transcendence.
‘He once praised the demonic sect’s existence.’
He taught that the jianghu’s true mystery lies beyond sectarian divisions. The Righteous-Evil War shook him deeply, and he secluded himself, only to emerge as Wudang’s leader after his seniors were slain by the Blood Cult.
I had faced him once during the Hyeolgwangsi crisis. I did not slay him—not out of mercy, but because both our sights were affixed upon Master Sa Gong-hee. A grizzled old man and a beauty unmatched—naturally, my gaze lingered on the latter.
‘I came to seek flowers, not men.’
I bear no interest in the weak. Even less so in a man weaker than I.
“Let us finish this. Ah, I see now—your level is clear.”
He measured my skill the moment our blades met.
“Why clash swords at the pinnacle? Know your place.”
“…You.”
“Provoked? If so, land a cut, then.”
I taunted him, and as I realized his identity, a mischievous thought struck me. Though rigid and doctrinal, his martial art is unmatched. It serves no one to offend the future sect elder. A misunderstanding at Wudang could cost us both.
‘How to resolve this?’
Hyeonta acts as if I were some demonic lackey. Whether he discovered my arts by sense or intuition, no ordinary words can dispel his error.
‘Nothing beats impersonation.’
I slowly lowered my sword into a low stance, one knee bent, blade poised forward, my other hand drawn back in a martial flourish.
“Come forth. I shall show you the Path Beyond. Even if you paid ten million, you would not witness its like.”
“Such arrogance!”
“Dregs always shout before they fall.”
“…Wait—this stance—is it?”
Hyeonta’s face twisted in shock. I praised him for recognizing my sword art at a glance.
“No need for words.”
Taiji Hui-Sword: the sword of Jang Sambong, born of Sa Gong-hee’s blood and spirit.
“Come, and behold the Beyond Beyond.”
“…!!”
As Hyeonta vanished, I casually shifted my sword.
Kaaang!!
With a clear, resonant chime, our true duel began.