NOVEL NEXT chapter 94 - The Dokgo of Mount Hua
Tang Hak had always heard more praise than criticism. The position he held made it so, and he knew that was a blessing. Maybe that was why reproach was so hard to endure.
No—Hwangbo Rim, Zhuge Jihwi, even that Namgung Jin were in the same situation, yet they endured the Clan Head’s scolding just fine. Perhaps Father’s rebuke that his will was weak wasn’t wrong after all.
'Why am I so fragile…?'
Tang Hak sighed as he walked through the quiet hall.
Normally, the closer the duel tournament came to its end, the quieter the main headquarters grew. Those who had been eliminated laid down their burdens and went out into the bustling streets to mingle with other martial artists.
Hwangbo Rim had invited him to join, but Tang Hak refused and stayed behind. He wasn’t in the mood to go out and chatter. And besides…
He covered his face with his large hand.
'It’s humiliating.'
Both Hwangbo Rim and Zhuge Jihwi had won the tournament that year.
A future Little Clan Head grows up drinking elixirs since childhood, taught every martial art in depth by the clan’s finest. They are even shown the secret manuals hidden deep in the family’s archives.
So of course the Little Clan Head wins among young martial artists.
Since martial learning develops through personal enlightenment, everyone’s level is similar in youth. It’s the time to memorize basic forms and form the dantian to accumulate inner energy, a stage of building foundation.
The value of a martial artist’s vessel depends on what fills it. But first, one must make the vessel before deciding whether to fill it with water or gold.
Now, when they’re fighting over empty vessels, those shaped by masters naturally start ahead.
That made him feel even more worthless.
Tang Hak covered his eyes.
'I really am pathetic…'
In the clan, he had been called a prodigy. He memorized forms quickly and could execute them precisely. With a patient temperament, he didn’t resort to tricks, enduring long enough to cultivate pure inner strength in his dantian.
Born with strong martial bones fitting for a direct heir and diligent besides, he used to believe he was exceptional.
Now, even that past pride felt shameful.
As time passed, others would surely gain enlightenment and encounters that let them grow, while at this rate, he would inevitably fall behind.
The Little Clan Head’s position exists to learn the duties of the Clan Head. He was supposed to be the one to lead and protect the Tang Clan.
'When I’m like this, whom could I protect? Whom could I lead?'
His thoughts sank endlessly. Tang Hak gloomily began digging himself deeper.
Then—
“The Tang Clan’s mood must be awful. Damn, how could the Little Clan Head not even make the semifinals?”
Tang Hak stopped walking at the voice that floated over the wall.
“The Tang Clan’s never been good at duels anyway. They say they’ve never won even once.”
“Ah, what, they say the Tang Clan’s the best in life-and-death duels? How long are they going to milk that line?”
Tang Hak’s face stiffened at that. Insults toward him were fine, but insulting the Tang Clan made anger flare.
But the tactless voices went on seriously.
“Throwing poison or hidden weapons you can’t see—doesn’t that just mean they lack confidence in their martial skill? And bragging about being the best in life-and-death duels sounds like self-comfort more than anything.”
“Honestly, everyone thinks that, they just don’t say it. The top doesn’t care if they’re criticized, but the lowest get sensitive when called lacking, so people watch their words.”
“By the way, did you see that Wudang swordsman’s duel? Unreal. Guess that’s what it means to be the Sword Sovereign’s disciple.”
“Of course I did! When the Pang Clan fighter swung that huge blade through the air, I couldn’t tell if I was watching a duel or a performance.”
Before Tang Hak could even grow angry, the conversation drifted elsewhere.
The mockery hadn’t even been serious.
The voices of men from who-knows-which sect faded into the distance.
Feeling small and drained, Tang Hak turned and walked off somewhere.
***
“Are you that happy?”
“Didn’t you see it too, Young Lady? Yesterday Jeom-chil—no, Yeon-a! She tossed a blade as big as her body like it was nothing!”
Sohwa smiled faintly. It was rare to see the always-calm physician this elated.
With little left to do in the Medical Division, Sohwa had come with its members to watch the duel.
Because it was the semifinals, the crowd was enormous. The youngest Plum Blossom Swordsman, Myungdan, was facing the direct disciple of the Taeguk Sword Sovereign, so even more people had gathered.
Until now, Sohwa had taken turns with the others watching matches, so this was her first time seeing Yeon-a fight.
Whenever Yeon-a went up, Sohwa and Tang Hae-han stayed behind to guard the Medical Division so the physician could watch comfortably.
Thump.
The drum sounded, signaling the start. Yeon-a and Myungdan stepped onto the stage.
Yeon-a suddenly turned her gaze this way, as if exchanging a silent conversation with the physician.
Sohwa quietly looked aside.
Behind the duel stage, high seats were prepared for the senior members of the headquarters and the Alliance. The sect leaders and family heads sat on the second floor, while branch heads occupied the third.
But there was one seat empty in the center of the second floor.
'I’ve never heard the Alliance Leader was ill…'
She searched her memories—never, in her past life, had the Alliance Leader been too sick to attend an event of this scale. If he truly were that unwell, she would remember such an incident. Strange.
Then Tang Hae-han, standing beside her, asked in a puzzled tone,
“Sohwa, why’s Yeon-a staring at you like she’s about to set you on fire? Weren’t you two on good terms?”
At his odd words, Sohwa looked toward the stage—and locked eyes with Yeon-a.
Sohwa flinched. Yeon-a really was glaring at her with burning eyes.
“What’s with her?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Does she think you kicked her out of the Tang Clan or something?”
“No way.”
Everything had gone so well.
She’d become the Taeguk Sword Sovereign’s direct disciple and the most promising talent everyone expected to win.
If she blamed Sohwa now, she had no conscience.
Sohwa had paved her a road of flowers in the life of a martial artist.
“Young Master, why are you so quiet?”
Tang Hae-han addressed Tang Hak standing behind them.
Though he and Sohwa were close enough to speak casually, in public they kept formality.
Tang Hak didn’t answer, only averted his gloomy eyes.
Sohwa was about to speak when—
“Oh, look. Elder Wu So is coming down?”
The spectators began murmuring.
Sohwa’s eyes were drawn back to the stage.
At each end of the stage stood the masters’ seats. But Wu So suddenly stepped down from the stage and headed straight for the viewing section—specifically, the area where the Tang Clan’s Medical Division physicians were gathered.
Sohwa had a good idea why. She reached into her sleeve and felt the name token in her hand.
Since arriving at headquarters, she’d been trying for days to return it, even requesting meetings with Mount Hua, but Wu So had refused each time, claiming to be too busy.
Understandable—his sick disciple had just recovered and reached the semifinals; he wouldn’t have time for anything else.
It seemed Wu So had spotted her in the stands and come to retrieve it in person.
A Mount Hua disciple standing at the front stepped aside with a respectful salute.
Every martial artist paid respect to Mount Hua’s elders, so Sohwa too withdrew her hand from her sleeve and saluted.
Step.
Wu So stopped right before her and smiled.
“It’s been a while.”
“Have you been well?”
“I have something to tell you after the match. Stay here until then. I came just to say that—don’t leave your seat.”
“If it’s about your name token, I can return it now…”
As Sohwa tried to take it out, Wu So frowned.
“You lack manners.”
“Pardon?”
“You stay still until I ask for it back.”
'Is that really an etiquette of the Central Plains?'
Sohwa frowned slightly at the unfamiliar rule.
If that truly was etiquette, it wasn’t one meant to spread widely. Who would hand their own identity token to someone else—and what reckless person would dare steal the Plum Blossom Swordsman’s token?
'Must be some Daoist courtesy', she thought, and quietly bowed.
“Yes. As you wish.”
Having said his piece, Wu So returned to his seat.
Tang Hae-han muttered awkwardly,
“What was that about?”
“I don’t know.”
“…Why don’t you know anything?”
“My brother doesn’t know either, so what could I possibly know?”
While the two bickered as usual, the drum sounded again.
Thump.
The double beat signaled the duel’s formal start.
The Wudang and # Nоvеlight # Mount Hua disciples stepped forward and faced each other.
They bowed properly, exchanged a few polite words—too softly for Sohwa, standing in the back, to hear.
Thump.
The third drum sounded.
Yeon-a’s body shot forward like lightning.
Cling!
A shivering rasp of steel scraped through the air.
The two martial artists’ power was evenly matched. Their blades locked together, no sound following—their balance perfect, neither slipping.
Myungdan withdrew first.
As if expecting it, the Wudang disciple surged ahead instantly to meet him.
Clang! Kang! Kang! Kaang!
The exchanges were blindingly fast, yet every strike connected cleanly with the other’s sword.
“Wow, they’re going all out from the start. Definitely worthy of the semifinals.”
“Yeon-a must’ve already read his movements. Her footwork shifts almost at the same time as Myungdan’s.”
“I’ve heard Mount Hua’s sword is elegant, but seeing it in person—amazing. It changes so quickly that even predicting the direction is useless.”
People began calling out sword techniques—Swift Sword, Changing Sword, then Nine Palaces Sword, Seven Plum Sword, explaining the styles of each sect.
Listening to their excited chatter, Sohwa’s face slowly hardened.
Not because the fight had turned chaotic.
She felt a tingling warmth brushing her skin and took a few steps forward.
The excited spectators frowned at her for cutting ahead, but since the duel was too enthralling, they soon turned back.
Pushing through the crowd to the very front row, Sohwa finally stopped.
The warmth against her skin was unmistakable now.
The clean spiritual flow of the arena was circulating rapidly, radiating its heat outward—but within that current, there was a discordant pulse.
The crawling heat that tickled her cheek made her tense.
From Myungdan’s inner energy, Sohwa felt the presence of the Blood Cult’s dokgo.