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Translator: Vine
Chapter Title: Overcoming the First Wall
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The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling.
"Ugh…"
As my vision slightly widened, I saw an unfamiliar ceiling, along with a familiar face.
The brain cell killer, staring down at me with an expressionless face—
"H-h-hyaak!"
"...?"
I let out a low, idiotic scream.
What was that?
Was she planning to draw on my face or something?
I stared blankly at Ruri's face, which held more emotion than any expression I'd seen from her before.
Ruri seemed surprised by the sound she had made herself.
She immediately clapped both hands over her mouth and scurried out.
Right… there was a rule that if you completely knocked someone out during sparring class, you were responsible for taking them to the infirmary.
Still, seeing that she stayed by my side until I woke up, instead of abandoning me...
It seemed she had a human heart after all, despite her actions.
I'll choose to believe this wasn't an excuse to legally skip class…
In my mind, I put a praise sticker on Ruri's forehead.
There weren't any other damaged parts on me, so...
I quickly gathered myself and left the infirmary.
Although my concentration had been momentarily broken by that 'Hyaak' sound.
Now, something was constantly swirling and bubbling in my mind.
Clubs or whatever, I wanted to resolve this first.
I immediately headed to my dormitory to grab my sword, then went to the private training hall.
Standing in the center of the training hall.
I drew my sword.
"Hooooh…"
I exhaled deeply and replayed the earlier spar in my mind.
The swordplay I had witnessed, imitated, and wielded myself.
I compared it with the sword forms that Ruri had executed more perfectly and naturally, dissecting and analyzing them.
The same movement.
A different profound meaning.
Similar movements.
Different applications, the same profound meaning.
To the Demonic Sword's techniques, which had been imprinted in my brain when my head was split open the other day.
I added a new interpretation, painting over them with the colors of Ruri.
What if I had swung it like this here?
What if I had mixed in a little more feints to conceal my true attacks?
What if I had stolen her breath with a swift sword instead of a powerful one?
What if I had lowered my stance and cut through her chest in one strike?
What if I had taken another step forward to close the distance instead—
All those possibilities.
I swung my sword, comparing them to Ruri's techniques, vividly replayed before my eyes as if they were real.
There were wrong answers.
No, there were more wrong answers.
She precisely saw through my feints and used them against me, leaving a sword wound near my chest.
A sword, flying faster than my full-powered speed, pierced my glabella.
A sword strike, so clean it would have utterly flustered me if it were me and the young lady, futilely brushed past my clothes and returned to nothing.
The narrowed distance was actually advantageous for the smaller Ruri; as soon as my stance broke, she burrowed into my waist and struck my belly with a palm technique.
Right.
So that's how it would play out.
What about other methods?
Smoothly, diagonally?
Stomp the ground to break her balance?
Expose a weakness to invite an attack, then counter it?
Accelerating my thoughts endlessly to land a hit on that annoying little squirt.
I swung my sword helplessly in the air, chewing over the sensations from back then.
But.
I couldn't overcome it like this.
In my mind, I was repeatedly butchered, to the point where my form couldn't even be found.
No.
This isn't it.
Simply imitating them wouldn't allow me to catch up to the time they had accumulated.
Not just imitating what they showed me.
But making it entirely my own, with my own thoughts, my own will.
Reconstructing my scattered form like a mirage, creating something new.
Again, and again, and again.
My martial arts within me.
I swung and swung.
For the first time, I etched a faint surprise onto that sullen expression.
I made her small lips bite down slightly.
I created wrinkles on her brow, the very spot I wanted to flick.
And then.
I slowly began to integrate each sword strike, which I had broken down into infinitesimal pieces and internalized, into my own knowledge.
Then, a sudden question arose.
Did it necessarily have to be the Blood Wolf Sword Art (presumed)?
What if it were the Soaring Heaven Sword Art (飛天劍訣)?
I dispelled the rising killing intent and calmly observed the empty space.
First Form: Flying Wing Lightning Flash (飛翼電閃).
Breaking it down, and breaking it down again, leaving only the result of a horizontal slash, then adding swiftness to it.
Second Form: Ascending Straight Up (昇天直上).
Breaking it down, and breaking it down again, leaving only the result of an upward horizontal slash, then adding illusionary swordplay to it.
Sky Swimming (天空遊泳).
Circling Flying Wing (回旋飛翼).
Hawk Claw Descent (鷹爪降襲)...
I painstakingly broke down knowledge into tiny pieces and wove it into experience.
Until there was nothing left to scatter.
And then.
I reassembled each of the forms I had broken down.
"A being that once only walked the earth, for the first time breaks its shell and spreads its wings, its speed like a lightning flash. Soaring endlessly towards the heavens, with a single flap of its wings, it gracefully glides as if surveying the earth below, and then, after one full circle, it gazes upon the place of its birth…"
Reciting the oral traditions.
I imbued my sword with intent (意) and swung it.
At first, lightly, without infusing qi.
As the movements gradually became familiar, I drew forth my true qi and made them heavy.
The internal energy that had been coiling in my dantian until now surged out along my meridians and enveloped my sword.
But.
Had I fully imbued it?
The Soaring Heaven Sword Art is a sword of moderation.
A sword that leans neither towards Yin nor Yang.
However, the largest source of my internal energy currently was the Fiery Shadow Heart Art.
Did it deem it incompatible with martial principles?
To this point, the Yang-force qi created by the Fiery Shadow Heart Art had merely remained quietly in my dantian.
The sense of incongruity I had felt until now.
The stifling feeling, like wearing ill-fitting clothes, whenever I used the Soaring Heaven Sword Art.
I found its origin.
Does a bird soaring through the sky truly need to adhere to the principle of moderation?
There's no need to be bound by it.
What reason is there for something that flies not to embrace fire?
Soar, Vermilion Bird…
"Cough."
A random thought, etched into the genes of a modern person, suddenly intruded, almost twisting my qi and blood.
Soon, I regained my clear mind—
I kicked the backside of the Yang-force qi that had been lying stretched out in a corner of my dantian, letting it, too, run wild and free.
For a moment, I felt a warmth so intense it seemed to heat the very air around me.
But now, that warmth felt rather pleasant and refreshing.
Imbuing form (形) with intent (意), I swung it with qi (氣), again and again.
Before I knew it, Ruri had vanished.
Here.
Only I.
And my sword existed.
The final form.
The moment I unleashed the Heavenly Light Flash (天光一閃)—
A firebird, wreathed in a fierce aura capable of tearing space itself, left the tip of my sword and scarred the wall.
***
"Hmm-hmm~ Hmm~"
Mo Yongseol hummed a tune.
Though she was still burdened by heavy workload.
There were moments of joy even in her busy day.
And that was when she gave Geum Sihyeon private sword instruction.
Unlike those rude brats from prestigious factions who seemed to have gorged on elixirs since childhood but received no proper upbringing.
Geum Sihyeon maintained proper etiquette while occasionally cracking sly jokes, possessed an approachable demeanor, had finely toned muscles that were pleasing to the touch, and an appearance quite to her liking.
Even his learning speed was like a sponge, absorbing everything she taught him.
He was a man she found appealing, both as a teacher and as a woman.
Though it didn't seem to be a feeling of romantic affection.
Moreover, today.
[Taek: Breaking News) Geum Sihyeon was beaten unconscious by the Demonic Cult's Young Mistress and taken to the infirmary.]
There was even a piping hot topic that allowed her to legally tease him.
Of course, the martial prowess of the Demonic Cult's Young Mistress—Cheon Ruri—was enough to astonish Mo Yongseol herself.
To already glimpse the late stage of the Peak realm, having surpassed the mid-stage, at that age.
Beyond talent.
Considering her slender physique, she could easily imagine how much effort must have gone into it.
She must have endured incredibly arduous times in the Demonic Cult...
But judging by her appearance, she was just a small, cute creature.
"Pfft…"
Imagining the Demonic Cult's Young Mistress, in the form of a cat, playfully nipping at Geum Sihyeon's arm, Mo Yongseol unconsciously chuckled to herself.
He should be here by now.
—she thought, and then.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
At the sound of the knock, Mo Yongseol broke into a wide smile, but quickly composed herself and spoke in the most nonchalant voice she could manage.
"I'm a little late."
The moment the instructor's office door opened and Geum Sihyeon entered.
"Oh…"
Mo Yongseol was momentarily speechless.
What had happened in the interim?
Or perhaps he had gained some enlightenment?
Geum Sihyeon's aura had subtly changed.
Had the spar with the Young Mistress stimulated him?
"It's fine. Let's get to it today."
Normally, she would have teased and tormented him for a while.
But wanting to confirm her subtle intuition as a martial artist, she immediately headed to the training grounds.
As always, Geum Sihyeon's arm, holding a dummy in front of him, rose quietly.
And then.
"Ohh…?"
Seeing him unleash a single sword strike with a level of perfection she had never witnessed before, imbued with an intent she had never seen him convey.
Mo Yongseol involuntarily let out an exclamation of admiration.
What on earth had happened?
It was incredibly clean.
But the movements, which had previously felt awkward despite their precision, were now imbued with complete naturalness.
It was as if.
He had completely internalized the forms, making them his own.
"Geum Sihyeon Gwando? Did you…?"
"Ah. Well… it's a bit embarrassing."
Geum Sihyeon blushed slightly.
He then haphazardly recounted his feelings after clashing with the Demonic Cult's Young Mistress, along with the enlightenment he had gained on his own in the training hall afterward.
Watching him, Mo Yongseol felt a subtle mix of emotions welling up.
Admiration...
And a very faint hint of jealousy.
She had intuited it when they first met.
Geum Sihyeon possessed martial talent (武才) superior to anyone Mo Yongseol had ever seen in her life.
Though he hadn't fully grasped it yet.
Given a little more time, he would soon reach the realm of Body-Sword Unification (身劍合一)—the Peak realm—in short order.
The enlightenment she herself had only managed to grasp in the middle of her second year, after arduous training at the Baekhwa Academy.
And Geum Sihyeon, who hadn't properly learned martial arts for even two years yet.
And who had been admitted to Baekhwa Academy for less than a month, had touched the very edge of it.
While she thought that her own efforts must have played a part in that enlightenment, Mo Yongseol was inexplicably seized by a strange feeling.
Now that I think about it, I'm getting annoyed?
I'm taking time out of my personal schedule to teach him.
And I was even wondering if it was my fault that his progress was so slow.
"So, to summarize, you were able to grow by getting beaten like a dog by Gwando Cheon Ruri, right?"
"...Is that how it comes across?"
A chill spread from Mo Yongseol's body.
"Then, starting today, I'll change the lesson plan a bit. To sparring."
"Huh?"
"Naturally, to improve your skills, you should use a real sword instead of a wooden one, right? Feel free to use your internal energy as much as you like. Oh, and you know the infirmary's standards are practically the best in the Central Plains, right? As long as your injuries aren't fatal, they can be treated quickly enough, so you don't have to worry."
"Huh?!"
Come to think of it, there were indeed people who only grew by getting beaten senseless.
Like her younger brother, Mo Yongtaek.
Mo Yongseol smiled very brightly.
"Oh, come on, you won't die, will you?"
Feeling Mo Yongseol's sincerity, the color drained slightly from Geum Sihyeon's face.
***
This was already the second time.
Dang Mok wore a complicated expression as he looked at Geum Sihyeon, who had come to the infirmary twice in one day.
What on earth was he doing inside the academy?
If left alone, would he just naturally die?
Of course, it would be even better if his own natural assistance could be involved in that natural death process.
Even if he had obtained permission from the main family and the council.
He couldn't openly commit acts that would tarnish the honor he had built as a physician.
Being the first suspect was something he wanted to avoid.
If Geum Sihyeon had visited alone, it might have been a different story.
But this time, too, he had a companion.
"Hmm. No scars will be left, right?"
"You're the one who sliced me… Ow!"
"Your wounds might worsen, so please be quiet, Geum Sihyeon Gwando."
Mo Yongseol, who normally didn't show personal interest in any of the gwando or other instructors.
Yet here she was, acting so affectionately towards Geum Sihyeon, as if he were a close friend.
Dang Mok slightly raised one eyebrow, desperately trying to compose himself.
What on earth did she see in this brat?
His face? Is it his face? Is it that damned face?
Feeling his mood rapidly sour.
"...The treatment is done for now. Since you'll likely get injured often in the future, I'll go prepare some medicine."
Turning around, Dang Mok slowly made his way to the pharmacy.
Originally, he had planned to just toss him a pre-made ointment for external wounds.
'No, this is an opportunity.'
Judging by what that brat had shown in the herbology and toxicology classes.
There was no way he properly understood medicine and poisons.
He couldn't mix in a poison that was too strong.
But something that would slowly stiffen muscles and twist the surrounding qi and blood wouldn't likely arouse much suspicion.
Immediately after deciding.
He took out an ointment from a drawer, mixed in a little White Aconite powder and a very small amount of Black Serpent Venom, then kneaded it again until it solidified.
If he kept getting injured like this often.
His body would slowly twist every time he applied the ointment.
After wrapping the finished ointment in paper, Dang Mok re-entered the infirmary with the most nonchalant expression he could muster and handed it to Geum Sihyeon.
"I've packed plenty, so apply it whenever you get injured in the future."
And then he naturally left.
Dang Mok didn't see it.
Geum Sihyeon secretly pinching off a bit of the ointment, out of Mo Yongseol's sight, and putting it into his mouth.
And immediately afterward, his eyes flashed as he gave a very faint, knowing smile.