Winter had come. Where the red autumn leaves had fallen, snow flowers piled up and dyed the ground white.
What does it matter? A thing like that.
Grade 4 disciple Yeon Pung was simply out of sorts.
The reason was simple.
Nine matches. Three wins, three draws, three losses.
That was Yeon Pung's record from fighting the puppet of the spider called Black Spider.
One day last autumn.
In a quiet alley on his way back to the dormitory, Yeon Pung had suddenly been challenged to spar by a spider that handled a marionette.
And after that the spider had often come to find Yeon Pung and challenge him again.
Having no suitable sparring partner, Yeon Pung had gladly accepted, and the result was this thoroughly ambiguous record.
It was unpleasant.
He hadn't won, and he hadn't lost. Quite literally, he'd drawn. Even when he barely won once, he'd lose the next time without fail, so at this rate he was only marking time.
With the results the same every time, he couldn't even tell whether he'd grown at all through the sparring.
So today, of all days, it was his turn to win. He meant to add one more mark to the win column somehow and prove that he had grown beyond what he was before.
“Tch, damn spider. Here I come!”
With the shout, Yeon Pung charged at the puppet Black Spider controlled. The puppet responded, setting its stance to meet him.
Punches and kicks.
The most primitive combat a human could unfold played out. Attacking the opponent with one's limbs. Fundamentally, no fist art ever departed from this basic shape.
FWISH, FWISH-FWISH!
The piled snow scattered under the kicks, and the falling snowflakes swirled under the punches.
Each landed a decent clean hit on the other, but nothing decisive. Yeon Pung knew it, and Black Spider knew it too.
The sparring grew fiercer by degrees, until at last Yeon Pung's fist bored properly into the puppet's opening and gouged into its side.
“—!?”
But no.
The side that had surely been an opening a moment ago hardened all at once; his thrusting hand was sealed off, and instead the opponent's kick came flying toward him.
Using the force of his own thrust, Yeon Pung spun his body a half turn. And with a hardened elbow he struck back first, before the opponent's foot could land.
But then — a slip.
The frozen ground failed to bear Yeon Pung's full weight. That was the losing move. Yeon Pung lost his balance and fell in an ungainly heap. The puppet climbed atop the fallen Yeon Pung.
At this point it became a brawl. The one on top pounding away at the one pinned beneath, while the pinned one took the beating with little resistance.
But here the puppet stopped moving. This was sparring, after all. Once victory and defeat were settled, further fighting was meaningless.
CREAK. The puppet stepped back and made a light bow of courtesy this way.
“...Damn it.”
Yeon Pung got up, muttering a curse under his breath.
Had he not slipped at that last moment, he would have won. Even by his own reckoning, that counterattack at the end had been a stroke of wit.
But that was all excuses and pretexts. A loss was a loss. Acknowledging his defeat, Yeon Pung likewise bowed to the puppet.
With the sparring done, Yeon Pung turned his back without lingering. He had been sparring with that spider called Black Spider for more than three months now, yet in all that time they had never once held a conversation.
He knew from rumor that the spider understood human speech, even knew letters, and could hold a natural conversation in writing.
But so what? He wasn't making time to meet like this in order to chatter. If they had to converse, fists would do.
So he returned to the dormitory.
The dormitory was quiet. A strange tension seemed to hang in the air.
That was only natural. Winter had arrived, and in just two days the Grade 3 promotion examination awaited the Grade 4 disciples.
The Grand Heaven Sect's Grade 4 disciples entered each year around spring and underwent the promotion assessment that winter.
Those who failed to be promoted left the mountain, and only those who passed formally became Grade 3 disciples.
The pass rate was said to be no more than about fifty percent, so each year roughly half of the Grade 4 disciples took off their training robes.
And even those were children who had come to the Grand Heaven Sect's home mountain after being judged talented in their own regions, so becoming a Grade 3 disciple of the Grand Heaven Sect was in itself as good as proof of personal talent.
And Yeon Pung wanted to stand out even among such talented people. What he aimed for was the Sword Sect, the strongest force in the Grand Heaven Sect.
He washed himself and prepared for bed. Once he lay down, it struck him that slipping and losing today's spar had not necessarily been a bad thing.
After all, had they fought the match out properly, that merciless spider might well have bloodied his nose again.
Ungainly as the fall was, it had spared him further blows, which meant he wouldn't have to attend the promotion assessment the day after next in a battered state.
‘Damn it. What a pathetic thought.’
Scolding himself, he focused on sleeping soundly. Before long Yeon Pung fell into a deep sleep.
Two days later.
A total of fifty Grade 4 disciples gathered on the sparring ground of Training Peak.
The instructors stood before the disciples, the masters and the sect's elders took their places on the platform above, and in the highest seat the Vice Sect Leader sat impassively, looking down at the sparring ground.
“We shall now begin the Grade 3 promotion examination.”
The format of the examination itself was very simple. Sparring.
Disciples were assigned numbers based on their training results, and adjacent numbers sparred against each other.
The outcome of a match did not directly decide pass or fail, however; if the manner and substance of the bout met the standard, even the loser could be promoted.
In any case, Yeon Pung's number was naturally one, and number two was Seok Cheol.
Seok Cheol, who had lost wretchedly to Yeon Pung in front of everyone last autumn, had not picked a fight with him once since that day.
It was not that he had grown frightened and tucked his tail, though. It was closer to having taken one clean beating and come to his senses.
Just as Yeon Pung had built up his skill sparring with Black Spider's puppet through the autumn, Seok Cheol too had steadily kept up harsh training.
Seok Cheol's gaze turned to Yeon Pung. It was a hot gaze, in which one could keenly feel his resolve to make up for his last defeat.
There was no trace of the old sneering that he was small and had a girl's face.
Well, perhaps that was because his nose had been broken by Black Spider several times over, making his features somewhat more manly.
In any case.
Soon Yeon Pung stepped up onto the sparring ground and faced Seok Cheol.
Fifty Grade 4 disciples in all.
Of them, the two who stood clearly above the rest and held first and second place began their match first.
Yeon Pung's gaze sank low. There was not a single speck of contempt for Seok Cheol in his eyes.
His own number was certainly ahead, of course. But this was a promotion examination.
Even if his opponent had been number fifty rather than the runner-up, he would not have let his guard down. At this moment, in this place, Yeon Pung resolved to show everyone his very best.
And in that sense Seok Cheol was rather a good opponent. Against someone too weak, he could not have shown his full strength.
So the two boys collided. Yeon Pung followed the path of speed, using his small, nimble body, while the large Seok Cheol followed the path of weight, using strength and mass.
The reason two who had learned and trained in the same fist arts differed so greatly was that both Yeon Pung and Seok Cheol properly understood their own strengths and weaknesses and grafted them onto their martial arts.
Yeon Pung's martial arts were swift and quick.
Seok Cheol's, by contrast, were heavy and solid. Holding firm as a great mountain while waiting for his opponent to lunge first, then seizing a momentary chance to deliver a powerful blow like a bull goring upward with its horns — that was Seok Cheol's specialty.
As a result, their strategies differed as well.
Fast and nimble, Yeon Pung never stopped for a moment. He drove his opponent from start to finish, aiming at the instant's opening that appeared when the other could not keep pace, and stabbed at it sharply.
There was no trickery in the process. It was a one-sided tactic, simple to the point of crudeness.
Seok Cheol, by contrast, was steadfast. Beneath that outward appearance he hid a trace of cunning.
When his opponent grew frustrated at his iron-wall defense, he would quietly show an opening on purpose and lure the other into a bad move.
Looking steadfast on the outside did not mean one was crude within.
In the midst of the contest, Seok Cheol's side momentarily emptied and showed an opening.
There was no chance Yeon Pung would miss it. Striking at such openings was Yeon Pung's specialty to begin with.
He bored straight into the opening and struck at Seok Cheol's side. No — he was about to, when a chilling sense of familiarity came over him.
Seok Cheol's eyes were far too calm. As though he had been waiting for exactly this.
At the same time, the final moment of his last spar with Black Spider two days earlier came back to him. Then, too, Black Spider had feigned an opening at his side exactly as Seok Cheol was doing now, luring the attack in.
How had he responded then?
It was not that he recalled it in his head. His body simply reacted. Yeon Pung's body seemed to totter for an instant as it spun a half turn, and with the opposite elbow he struck Seok Cheol.
THUD! Struck in the chest, Seok Cheol flinched hard and staggered back several steps.
“Haha....”
Yeon Pung laughed weakly. It was not his usual laugh of mockery. It was more — how to put it. He had felt something.
His head was clearer now than it had ever been. Something like grains seemed to be bursting inside it, pop after pop.
How to extend his fist, how to send out his foot, how to move his whole body — it all seemed to rise clearly in his mind.
The world looked distinct. No — rather, it felt as though he himself had grown clearer. Yeon Pung suddenly realized. Ah, I really do have talent for martial arts!
He realized where his talent lay. So there was no hesitation in the steps he took or the fists he threw.
Seok Cheol, meanwhile, could do nothing but retreat again and again. He too felt that Yeon Pung's momentum had shifted once more since that counterattack.
After barely managing defense from start to finish, at last even that defense was broken and he took a blow.
THWACK!
Yeon Pung's fist struck up at the point of Seok Cheol's chin. Seok Cheol's pupils shook for an instant, and he fell backward, landing hard on his backside.
“Number one, Yeon Pung, victory!”
And so it was settled. It was a result without any upset. First place had beaten second place. Yet it was not as though second place had done poorly.
“Prodigies, these two.”
The old men looking down on it from above murmured and whispered among themselves. These aged men were all great masters who had devoted their entire lives to nothing but martial arts training.
Those below did not know of the reaction above. Yeon Pung merely turned his head and glanced up that way.
“Ngh.”
The fallen Seok Cheol groaned as he pushed himself up. That he could rise so doggedly, so soon after taking a clean hit to the chin, was almost absurd.
“Tch.”
Yeon Pung clicked his tongue sullenly. He strode over, grabbed one of Seok Cheol's hands, and yanked him up.
“Get up, you moron. How long are you going to lie there?”
They had entered in the same year, after all. They'd spent nearly a year together like that. Humans came to feel closeness toward humans who were near them. And a bad bond was still a bond, if a bond it was.
“You son of a bitch....”
For the first time in a while, Seok Cheol let his feelings show. Well, after all that teeth-grinding, he had been thrashed handsomely again — and at this crucial promotion assessment, no less.
Even so, he did not push away Yeon Pung's support. His head was still swimming a little, in truth. If he put on airs and toppled over, Seok Cheol's pride would be torn to shreds that very day.
The disciples' matches went on after that. But no bout was as fierce as the earlier clash between first and second place.
Not only the elders passing judgment but the disciples awaiting it vaguely guessed that if any disciples received the Exceptional grade in this assessment, it would probably be Yeon Pung and Seok Cheol.
And so, once all the matches ended, the results were announced.
“Exceptional. Number one, Yeon Pung. Number two, Seok Cheol. Second. Number three, Eun Ji-ryeong. Pass. Number seven, Jong-su....”
It was as good as a foregone conclusion. Even so, Yeon Pung's heart pounded. Exceptional! It was the highest evaluation obtainable in the promotion assessment, and it meant he now had the qualification to enter any martial sect he wished.
All that remained was to choose the Sword Sect.
But something felt subtly off. It was not the feeling he had expected. He was happy, of course. Happy, and yet....
Yeon Pung's gaze swept his surroundings. He seemed to be searching for something. But there was nothing to see. Still, inwardly Yeon Pung was certain.
Surely.
Even now, a spider must be hidden in some dim corner of this place, watching him.
And having seen the counterattack he had pulled off so splendidly a moment ago, it would already have swallowed the technique down and learned it.
“Tsk.”
Yeon Pung clicked his tongue sullenly. Thinking of the spider suddenly soured his mood. The clear reason for it, though, was something even Yeon Pung himself did not know.
In any case, the Vice Sect Leader's congratulatory address to those who had passed soon followed. The two Exceptional-grade passers came forward as representatives to hear it.
“...In particular, Yeon Pung, the top disciple, being a Grade 4 disciple, has mastered the Whirling Strike on his own, though he cannot yet have been taught it; for this, I, the Vice Sect Leader, feel that the pillars of our sect could not be more dependable.”
As he stood quietly listening to the praise directed at him, Yeon Pung's expression crumpled slightly. Why? Why was it? This was the recognition from a superior he had wanted so badly. And yet one phrase the Vice Sect Leader had let fall caught, and stuck, in Yeon Pung's heart.
“……!?”
Beside him, Seok Cheol caught the change in Yeon Pung. It had always been like this. No — it had been like this since the very first day they entered.
Whenever that punk Yeon Pung made that sour face, some dog-shit outburst was sure to come flying out of his mouth.
On that very first day, when the new disciples gathered to introduce themselves, Yeon Pung had worn exactly that face as he ran his mouth.
‘The place in the Sword Sect is mine. Don't any of you think of coveting it.’
How offended the other newcomers had been by that arrogant attitude hardly needs explaining.
In the end, there had been a reason after all why Yeon Pung was beaten as a group by his peers in a corner of an alley in his early days.
And now that lunatic was twitching those vicious lips of his, in front of whom of all people.
Seok Cheol felt as though he might lose his mind. Of all times, of all moments! There was no telling what that crazy bastard was about to spout to wreck the atmosphere.
But before Seok Cheol could act, Yeon Pung's lips were already parting. A thing utterly beyond common sense.
In all the decades of history since the Grand Heaven Sect settled here, this was the first time a mere Grade 4 disciple had dared to cut off the Vice Sect Leader's address and speak his own piece.
“...This disciple believes the Vice Sect Leader is under a misapprehension on one point, and must therefore correct it.”
‘F*ck.’
“The Vice Sect Leader has commended this disciple for having learned the Whirling Strike on his own, but that is not the truth. This disciple learned it in the course of sparring, and without that opponent he could never have learned it by himself.”
The gathering sank into silence. The instructors' faces darkened and the masters fretted. Some of the elders laughed heartily, while others frowned in displeasure.
The Vice Sect Leader was unruffled. He merely gave an “Oho” and put a question to the impudent brat.
“Then who was this sparring opponent? Was it perhaps Seok Cheol, the runner-up standing beside you?”
“No, it was not.”
“Then?”
Yeon Pung did not answer even the Vice Sect Leader's question. That was only natural: Yeon Pung had spoken as the momentary impulse took him and had not expected the Vice Sect Leader to press for such detail.
And to confess in response that some spider living in the annex handled a puppet remarkably well, and that he had learned it while sparring with the creature these past months, would feel like making a joke of the Vice Sect Leader, or mocking him.
Only now did Yeon Pung's face go pale. Belatedly, he realized what he had done.
Just then.
“Heh heh, as this old man sees it, that disciple Yeon Pung must have some peculiar friend he cannot even name to the Vice Sect Leader.”
An old man who had been watching the affair with an amused smile stepped forward and salvaged the mood.
He wore a long sword at his waist, and he was none other than the Grand Heaven Sect's Sword Sect Leader.
With the Sword Sect Leader stepping in, the mood changed. The frozen air quietly thawed, and several other elders laughed along to match him.
The Vice Sect Leader showed no particular displeasure either. He had found his own younger self in that young disciple.
Insolent, but straight. Not that he was righteous. It meant he stood his ground regardless of time or place.
So long as they were not bent or broken, it was precisely such children who became the ridgepole of a sect.
And so the commotion barely subsided. Seok Cheol, his face gone white, still had not collected himself, while Yeon Pung was merely replaying what the Sword Sect Leader had just said.
‘Black Spider, that spider bastard... is my... friend?’
Absurd. Yeon Pung had no friends. Yeon Pung himself knew that better than anyone in the world.
Yeon Pung had no friends.