The Woo Sword Vies for Supremacy
The old Daoist looked down at his broken sword.
The Blue Steel Sword he had received from his master at the age of twelve was snapped in half, its keen edge lost.
The old Daoist thought the sword looked just like him.
In truth, his own appearance was not much different from that broken blade.
The Daoist crown that had held every last strand of hair in place had vanished somewhere, leaving him wild-haired and disheveled, and the blue Daoist robe—symbol of purity—had been torn to rags.
His long white beard and chest were stained crimson with blood, calling to mind a blood fiend.
Across his lower abdomen and flank, great wounds gaped open like the gills of a fish.
Despite wounds deep enough to have killed an ordinary man long ago, the old Daoist stubbornly held his ground.
There was a man who watched the old Daoist sway precariously like a reed yet refuse to fall, and he could not help but admire him.
"Impressive, Daoist! You're the only one who's ever pushed me this far."
He appeared to be a man in his early fifties.
Beneath brows as thick as caterpillars sat fierce, piercing eyes, a blunt nose, and tightly sealed lips—altogether evoking the tiger, king of the mountains.
His frame, too, was as imposing as a tiger's, brimming with overwhelming presence.
Yet the man's own condition was no better than the old Daoist's. No—it was far worse.
His left arm had been severed near the shoulder, and fatal wounds were visible across his chest, abdomen, and neck.
That he was still alive despite such injuries bordered on the miraculous.
The old Daoist, too, gazed at the middle-aged man in admiration.
"You are the remarkable one. This old Daoist sincerely admires your valor and spirit."
"Spare me the hollow words."
"No. Had we met under circumstances where we were not enemies, I might have followed you with all my heart."
The old Daoist meant every word.
The man before him was a once-in-a-generation genius and a martial artist who possessed the greatest martial prowess under heaven.
The man's name was Jeok Mu-wol.
He was an apostate monk from Shaolin.
A prodigy of the ages, he had mastered no fewer than twenty-two of the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts.
He had entered Shaolin before he could even walk and lived there for thirty years.
Jeok Mu-wol was the only person to have mastered twenty-two of the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts before the age of thirty.
All revered him, firmly believing he would become a great pillar sustaining the martial world.
But one day, Jeok Mu-wol betrayed the expectations of countless people and fled Shaolin. He then established an organization called the Heavenly Mandate Society.
Having founded the Heavenly Mandate Society, Jeok Mu-wol declared war on Shaolin.
Almost no one knew why he had made such a decision. The few who knew the reason kept their mouths firmly shut.
Some called it reckless.
Others cursed him as ungrateful.
Everyone in the martial world became an enemy of the Heavenly Mandate Society.
For regardless of the reason, turning against one's own sect was a taboo of the martial world.
And the target of that hostility was none other than Shaolin Temple.
The Mount Tai and North Star of the martial world, the very origin of martial learning.
Among those who lived in the martial world, it was harder to find someone without even a single thread of connection to Shaolin Temple.
The actions of Jeok Mu-wol and the Heavenly Mandate Society were no different from turning the entire martial world against themselves.
No one could remain unscathed with the whole martial world as their enemy.
Everyone expected the Heavenly Mandate Society to crumble before long. Yet the Heavenly Mandate Society held on tenaciously.
No—they pressed Shaolin with terrifying momentum.
The war grew ever more violent, producing countless casualties.
At this, the other Nine Great Sects could no longer stand by and entered the fray.
All Nine Great Sects, Shaolin included, mobilized to annihilate the Heavenly Mandate Society.
The war between the Nine Great Sects and the Heavenly Mandate Society had dragged on for a full twenty years to reach this day.
This place was the Heavenly Mandate Society's stronghold.
Having discovered the stronghold's location, the Nine Sects Alliance mobilized every available force and launched their assault.
The Alliance was confident they could end the long struggle today.
They acknowledged the Heavenly Mandate Society's resilience but were certain it could not withstand their united might.
But this was a fatal miscalculation by the Nine Sects Alliance.
The Heavenly Mandate Society's stronghold was a deathtrap.
Countless traps and mechanical formations were laid out as densely as a spider's web, and on top of that, every martial artist of the Heavenly Mandate Society fought to the death with resolve to die.
The Heavenly Mandate Society's warriors charged like hungry ghosts with nothing to lose, inflicting devastating losses on the Nine Sects Alliance.
The Heavenly Mandate Society suffered likewise.
It was mutual destruction.
Dozens of corpses lay strewn around Jeok Mu-wol.
They were the bodies of the Nine Great Sects' sect leaders and the Heavenly Mandate Society's high command.
After twenty years of bitter warfare, they had died with blades buried in each other's chests.
Of everyone present, only the old Daoist and Jeok Mu-wol remained alive.
Jeok Mu-wol let out a dry laugh.
"Still, I'm glad it's you who survived to the end, Daoist!"
"Had Society Leader Jeok not held back in his strikes, how could this old man still be alive?"
"Excessive courtesy is itself discourtesy. I did my best. And yet I couldn't kill you. That's how strong you are."
"Only because the others helped me."
"Even so, the resilience of a prestigious school that has weathered centuries of storms is remarkable. I thought it had fallen completely, but I never expected Quanzhen to have someone like you."
The old Daoist, whose bearing evoked an immortal, hailed from the Quanzhen Sect—a school long believed to have lost its line of succession.
The Quanzhen Sect was the origin of all Daoist schools.
Many of the Daoist sects currently in the martial world had their roots in Quanzhen.
But as the long years passed, the Quanzhen Sect gradually faded from the world's memory.
It had declined because later generations failed to properly master its vast and profound martial arts.
The old Daoist was the last successor to have properly inherited Quanzhen's teachings.
He had trained alone until now without ever taking a disciple, but he had been compelled to step forward by the earnest plea of Hye-gong, an elder of Shaolin Temple.
Hye-gong, who had drawn him into the martial world, now lay as a corpse near Jeok Mu-wol.
His face was peaceful, as if merely asleep. He had met his death as though freed from a lifetime of anguish.
Countless emotions flickered in Jeok Mu-wol's eyes as he gazed upon Hye-gong's body.
The old Daoist asked.
"Do you have regrets?"
"He was my master. He brought an orphan like me to Shaolin, fed me, sheltered me, taught me martial arts. How could I ever repay that kindness? But before all that, he and Shaolin were my enemies. Their arrogance and their wrong choices killed my entire family."
"Haah......"
"Whether born of guilt or not, my master always treated me with sincerity. I, too, respected and loved him more than anyone. If only I'd never learned the truth......"
One day, an aged family retainer came to Shaolin, revealed the truth to Jeok Mu-wol, and died, his lifespan spent.
When he learned that he—who had believed himself an orphan utterly alone in the world—was in fact the son of a great household, and that his household had been destroyed because of Shaolin, Jeok Mu-wol felt as though the sky had collapsed.
Torn between the bonds of blood and the bond between master and disciple, Jeok Mu-wol ultimately chose blood.
Having descended from Mount Song, Jeok Mu-wol founded the Heavenly Mandate Society and plotted his revenge. Twenty years later, he came face to face with his master, Hye-gong.
Jeok Mu-wol reached out and took Hye-gong's hand.
The hand that had always gently caressed his cheek was cold now.
In that final moment, Hye-gong had not resisted even once, receiving Jeok Mu-wol's attack in full.
A single blow shattered his heart and severed every vessel connected to it.
Even so, Hye-gong did not resent Jeok Mu-wol.
Rather, he apologized, smiled with gentle benevolence, and died.
In that instant, the ice that had sealed Jeok Mu-wol's heart melted away.
Hye-gong had been a man with no connection whatsoever to the massacre of his household. Yet he had carried deep guilt in his heart his entire life.
For him, life had been penance.
Hye-gong had not wanted to fight his disciple, Jeok Mu-wol.
He had wished, rather, to atone with his own life. But a mere elder could not defy the will of all Shaolin.
Shaolin Temple had reigned as the Mount Tai and North Star of the martial world for centuries.
Shaolin believed that the moment it admitted its wrongs, the authority it had built over generations would crumble.
To bury the truth, it drove the Heavenly Mandate Society mercilessly, and the other Nine Great Sects joined in. They believed that if Shaolin fell to the Heavenly Mandate Society, they would be next.
The Heavenly Mandate Society was no different.
At first, it had been the Society's war alone, but those who had been wronged by the Nine Great Sects joined until its strength grew beyond all imagination.
Beyond even Jeok Mu-wol's control.
This was not the outcome Jeok Mu-wol had wanted. But the currents of fate swept him into rapids far beyond what he had imagined.
This was the result.
The Nine Great Sects had suffered damage that would be difficult to recover from, and the Heavenly Mandate Society had likewise suffered losses near total annihilation.
It would take the Nine Great Sects at least fifty years to regain their former prosperity.
Jeok Mu-wol released Hye-gong's hand and spoke.
"Master, wait just a little longer. I'll be joining you soon."
He rose and approached the old Daoist.
The old Daoist spoke with a pained expression.
"Must it come to this?"
"People prefer a decisive ending. So do I. Daoist, let's settle this once and for all."
"This old Daoist's true name is Baek Ho-yang."
"Baek Ho-yang?"
"I wanted to give you my true name, not my Daoist name."
"A good name. Baek Ho-yang! I'll give it everything I have. I, too, will hold nothing back."
RUMBLE—!
The moment Jeok Mu-wol's words left his mouth, the atmosphere across the entire area convulsed violently.
He was burning even his source qi to prepare a final strike.
"Hoo......"
Baek Ho-yang exhaled and raised the broken Blue Steel Sword.
The Blue Steel Sword, its keen edge lost, pointed at Jeok Mu-wol.
Just as Jeok Mu-wol had done, Baek Ho-yang drew up every last drop of his remaining martial power.
"Here I come."
"Come."
The instant Baek Ho-yang's words left his mouth, Jeok Mu-wol charged forward with terrifying speed.
The old Daoist's broken sword and Jeok Mu-wol's one remaining arm collided.
BOOM—!
A tremendous impact, as if a volcano had erupted, shook the entire mountain.
***
Creak! Creak!
An old boatman rowed with practiced ease.
His small vessel carried a single passenger—an old Daoist who looked clearly ill.
The old Daoist, his complexion pale as a corpse, was none other than Baek Ho-yang.
His fight with Jeok Mu-wol had ended in his victory. But Baek Ho-yang did not consider it a win.
Just as Hye-gong had done, Jeok Mu-wol had scattered his martial power in that final moment.
Baek Ho-yang's sword pierced Jeok Mu-wol's chest without mercy.
Jeok Mu-wol closed his eyes with an expression of relief, but Baek Ho-yang, the victor, could find no such peace.
His heart in turmoil, he left the mountain without so much as glancing at the Nine Great Sects' survivors.
After walking for some time, he found a boat, and without thinking, climbed aboard.
Having moved recklessly without proper treatment, his internal injuries had deepened further. Yet Baek Ho-yang paid no heed to his condition.
A feeling that nothing mattered anymore dominated his heart.
He had no will left to go on living.
The war against the Heavenly Mandate Society and Jeok Mu-wol had left him not only with physical wounds but deep scars on his spirit.
He had spent his entire life cultivating alone, refining the Dao—and then he had killed countless people.
Even killing a single person left a shock that lasted a lifetime, yet the number who had died by his hand exceeded dozens.
If the Heavenly Mandate Society's martial artists had come at him halfheartedly, Baek Ho-yang would have merely wounded them and let them go. But they had thrown themselves at him with the desperation of men prepared to die, and Baek Ho-yang had no choice but to use lethal force.
The eyes of all those who had died by his hand still haunted him, and the torment would not fade.
"Hm?"
Just then, Baek Ho-yang spotted the wreckage of a boat and bodies drifting down the river. They were utterly still, already dead by all appearances.
It seemed a boat had sunk somewhere upstream.
"Hmm......"
Baek Ho-yang murmured low as he watched the bodies.
Then, among them, a young boy of about fourteen or fifteen caught his eye.
Though the boy was unconscious, Baek Ho-yang could see his chest rising and falling ever so faintly.
He was still breathing, however faintly.
Without a second thought, Baek Ho-yang kicked off the boat and launched himself toward the boy.
"Goodness!"
The old boatman yelped and collapsed onto his backside, but Baek Ho-yang paid him no mind and flew across the water's surface.
Using Water-Skimming Flight, he reached the boy in an instant, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and returned to the boat.
Baek Ho-yang laid the boy on the deck and hurriedly examined his condition.
The boy's complexion was deathly pale, without a trace of color.
His right hand was crushed as if struck by a great hammer—so mangled that even with treatment, a full recovery could not be guaranteed. Horrific wounds also marked his chest and lower abdomen.
From the nature of the wounds, it was clear someone had used lethal force with deliberate intent.
The kind of intent to ensure that even if the boy survived by some miracle, he would never live a normal life again.
"Who could have done something so vile to a child?"
Baek Ho-yang closed his eyes tightly.
The war between the Heavenly Mandate Society and the Nine Great Sects was over, but the age of chaos had not yet ended.
This boy was a victim of that chaos.
Baek Ho-yang sensed a powerful destiny in the boy.
"Perhaps you will become the reason I go on living."