Namgung Seong rolled on the floor and went down.

Blood dribbled from his mouth, and it soaked the ground.

The air around the duel platform was the same. Everyone was silent—so quiet it was absolute.

A brief moment passed.

“What...?”

“What just happened?”

“Is... is the one who fell Little Azure Sword?”

“Little Azure Sword... actually lost? To Young Master Bang?”

All eyes went back and forth between the fallen Namgung Seong and Bang Sungyeon.

Sungyeon was standing; Namgung Seong lay bleeding. That much was certain. Little Azure Sword had lost, and Bang Sungyeon had won. That was the visible fact.

Except—

“No... how in the world did this happen?”

No one understood that victory.

“What happened at the end?”

“Little Azure Sword clearly drew sword force and... launched an attack...”

Right before the last exchange, Little Azure Sword had exuded sword force. For someone that age to draw sword force at all was absurd.

It proved the name of Little Azure Sword beyond doubt. And yet—

“Why did Little Azure Sword suddenly go down? I could have sworn Young Master Bang’s blade was slower.”

For some reason, the one who collapsed was Namgung Seong. By contrast, while Bang Sungyeon was breathing hard from fatigue, he didn’t fall.

What had happened?

While everyone stood dumbstruck, unable to trace the cause—

Only one person.

“...That is...”

Among the spectators, the strikingly handsome Cheon Eujin alone knew the reason.

‘Blue Moon Sword Dance...’

The sword Bang Sungyeon used was unmistakably that.

The Blue Moon Sect’s exclusive art, handed down within the sect. Among those, it was a special form said to be usable only after opening the Moon Eyes. Also—

‘...Something’s different.’

To call it the Blue Moon Sword Dance as Eujin knew it felt subtly off.

He knew the sword his father and sister wielded. The refined paths of the blade were beautifully disciplined—so graceful they inspired awe, and their sheer difficulty, just to behold, made one quail.

But what Bang Sungyeon used was different.

‘How can it be expressed so lightly and simply?’

The grip and stance were rough. Far too slow to be packing strength into the blade.

There was no delicacy at all; he simply swung.

‘Even so, that was a moon.’

A moon rose from the tip of Bang Sungyeon’s sword.

Different from the beautiful blades his father and sister unfolded—coarse and rough, yet vast and grand, a Blue Moon.

It resembled the sword he had once seen as a child from that person.

“As expected... in Young Master Bang there is—”

That person’s intent dwells. Cheon Eujin held that certainty once again.

At the very start of the duel, he’d wavered for a moment.

Namgung Seong’s sword lines had been too sharp, and Bang Sungyeon had seemed barely able to block.

But that had been his mistake.

“To think... Little Azure Sword, Namgung Seong, would be defeated.”

“Then it must be true—Young Master Bang really is the Sword Saint’s successor...”

“So he truly lived hiding his strength all this time.”

“This is... unbelievable...”

Those who had harbored quiet doubts finally felt the reality of what had happened.

The World’s Greatest, the Sword Saint Yoo Cheongil, once praised as a hero. That youth up there was his inheritor.

Behold—he proved it openly.

He crushed, before this many witnesses, the genius said to shoulder the Central Plains in the years ahead.

That alone changed the way they looked at Bang Sungyeon.

“Y-Young Master Bang!”

“Waaah...!!”

The clogged mood broke, and a belated cheer erupted.

“We believed in you!”

“Amazing!”

No, they hadn’t believed him at all. They’d been busy watching him with suspicious eyes.

It wasn’t amazing, either. He spent all day blocking and landed one blow at the end.

What curious reactions. Cheon Eujin let out a quiet sigh at what, in a way, was a frank response.

This is the Central Plains: they remember only the winner, and they exalt the winner.

He felt that truth again. It was a terrifying place, no matter when you looked.

‘Just watching is this exhausting—how can Young Master be that strong?’

He felt nothing but fatigue, yet even amid this racket, Bang Sungyeon was unchanged.

He alone regulated his breathing inside the noisy cheers. As if the surrounding noise didn’t reach him at all.

Were others’ reactions of no importance to him?

He focused only straight ahead—on the fallen Namgung Seong.

“Ggh... hff... kuh.”

Namgung Seong, who had been down, twitched. He hadn’t lost consciousness, it seemed.

Hack—! He spat a mouthful of blood.

“...You... bastard...”

With bloodshot eyes, Namgung Seong glared at Bang Sungyeon. The face that had looked sculpted was a wreck. The carefully styled hair was wild.

Just one blow. That was the change it wrought.

His lips were soaked with his own spilled blood.

“I... I am...”

Namgung Seong forced out words, his rough breathing swelling.

“Li... Little Azure... I am Little Azure Sword, Namgung Seong...”

Using his sword as a cane to stand was a pitiful sight. In one sense, a sign of strong will.

But the way he forced it didn’t look all that upright.

“I... do... not... ac-... cept. I... do not accept...”

As if he had not yet lost. Namgung Seong leveled his sword at Bang Sungyeon.

“I... I am... the Namgung Clan’s Little Azure Sword... There is no way I lose to such sorcery...”

He wobbled as he spoke, then barely recovered his stance.

He looked like he could drop at any moment.

“Kh...h.”

His defeat was obvious to the eye, yet Namgung Seong could not accept it.

Was he trying, somehow, to extend the match?

By any measure, it was past his limit.

And then—

Perhaps Bang Sungyeon knew it, because he began to walk toward Namgung Seong, slowly.

He wasn’t holding a sword. Was he going to help him up?

People gave a shallow murmur of admiration at the sight.

The Sword Saint’s inheritor is upright even in character—eyes toward Bang Sungyeon shifted yet again, just at that instant.

Sungyeon reached Namgung Seong, and in that moment—

Crunch—

“Hm?”

“Huh?”

“...Hii—?!”

Bang Sungyeon’s knee slammed into Namgung Seong’s groin.

The men in the crowd flinched and drew their legs in.

It landed clean. Something even seemed to break.

“...Gg... ugh...”

In pain, Namgung Seong’s eyes rolled back as he crumpled.

Clinging to the ground, he was even foaming at the mouth.

“Ptui!”

Watching that, Bang Sungyeon spat on the floor and said:

“Too damn loud. If you can’t accept it, so what.”

His voice was thick with annoyance.

“Stop flapping your mouth and just stay like that. That’s exactly what suits you.”

He spat the words with contempt, turned his back, and walked off the duel platform.

The thudding of his steps carried his feelings plainly, and after seeing what they just saw, not one person moved to stop him.

That was how the duel ended.

****

Little Azure Sword lost to the Sword Saint’s inheritor.

That was the story that spread through the Alliance right after the duel. It was truly in an instant.

—No, listen, Young Master Bang...

—Little Azure Sword used sword force, and... and then...

—The duel ended with just one blow...

Rumor piled on rumor, and it kept swelling in size.

The funny part was, most of them had watched the duel themselves, yet even with their own eyes on it, they repeated it differently.

Barely two double-hours.

At most, that much time had passed, yet already the rumor had drifted somewhat from the truth.

“Unbelievable...”

Rumors are always like that; they’re worthless. Even if dozens see it with their own eyes, pass it through a person or two and the essence blurs.

[Even so, it isn’t bad, is it? One way or another, there’s nothing in it that harms you.]

I clicked my tongue at the old man’s words.

“Nothing to harm me? You can heap gold into both hands—if you don’t have the strength to keep it, it’s meaningless.”

All the more when the whole world now knows my hands are full of gold.

To their eyes, it must look like I have a heavenly host at my back.

‘In reality, I’m just holding one scythe.’

“Hollow puff pastry” fits times like this exactly.

“...Nnghh...”

I moved, and a scream slipped out on its own.

“Wow... holy hell.”

An involuntary exclamation. It hurt so much the filler came out by itself.

My muscles screamed. From head to toe, there wasn’t a spot that didn’t ache.

So human muscles can hurt like this. The new sensation was almost refreshing.

I shot a glare at the old man beside me through the dizziness.

“...What did you... do to my body... nngh...”

I loaded my voice with blame, and laughter sounded from nowhere.

[I used that sorry sack as sparingly as possible, and you’re sore about it?]

“...This... is sparing... it...?”

[What, did you think beating the Namgung brat with your paltry carcass would be easy?]

“...Hff...”

I didn’t argue. I was surprised too.

With a body barely worthy of second-rate, I beat ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) Little Azure Sword. I still couldn’t believe it.

Did my body have some kind of talent? I didn’t indulge that silly thought.

I lifted my head and looked at the damned vile spirit in front of me.

So the old man is truly a staggering existence. I felt it in this fight.

[What’s this? I’m almost pleased with those eyes. Are you... respecting me, perhaps?]

“Respect... my ass. I’m staring because it’s absurd.”

[Heh-heh-heh. Fine, let’s call it that.]

Infuriating as ever.

“Hoo...”

I staggered into the least painful posture.

While I groaned and fumbled about, the old man asked with an odd look:

[So—why did you do that?]

“...Do what?”

[The last bit.]

“...”

[You’re the sort to have a reason, even for that, aren’t you?]

At Yoo Cheongil’s question about the final moment, I recalled it.

Why did I do that? I don’t quite understand it myself.

I could have ignored him and walked away, but I couldn’t hold back and did it. At least, if it hadn’t been the groin, it would have been better.

I had aimed there, precisely.

Thanks to that, beyond the duel result, the matter would likely grow.

That worried me a little. But there was no helping it.

“...Old man. Honestly.”

[Go on.]

“Just because he’s a piece of shit—shouldn’t I at least do that much?”

The old man said nothing to that.

He only looked at me with a slightly surprised face.

“What’s that look for?”

[Nothing. I thought you wouldn’t care at all, so the odd remark threw me off.]

“Yeah, I don’t care. I just got irritated, that’s all.”

[People call that ‘caring.’]

“Yeah, enough.”

I waved a hand; I didn’t want to hear more.

“You’re not going to do anything for me, and you can’t do anything for me. I just vented.”

If you start assigning meaning, there’s no end. It’s easier to file it under I was pissed.

[Hah.]

At my half ‘come what may’ attitude, Yoo Cheongil chuckled.

[Can you handle the aftermath?]

At the loaded words, this time I laughed.

“The aftermath, huh...”

Aftermath? The word alone is frightening. The “aftermath” here means just one thing.

If it had been only a duel, fine. Hitting Namgung Seong in the groin—that was the problem.

Handled poorly, the Namgung Clan might seize on it.

If that happens, my safety gets a bit precarious.

“Why would I handle it.”

I spoke curtly and kneaded my stiff shoulder.

Handle it? There was no need for me to.

And the old man already knew that.

“You know everything there is to know. Stop fishing.”

This was nothing but useless back-and-forth.

[Heh-heh...]

The old man laughed.

Just from that, I knew he’d asked already knowing.

[Cunning brat.]

Who was he calling who? Ridiculous.

I was about to scowl and look out the window when—

[Then.]

I turned my head back to the old man.

I stared, swallowing dry.

‘What is this?’

This time felt different. Gooseflesh rose on its own.

My already aching body froze as-is.

[Let me ask you something else.]

Vast.

Yoo Cheongil, who posed the question, seemed enormous.

He had always been large, but this was on another level from the first time.

Taesan.

It was like a great mountain loomed right before my eyes.

‘...My breath—’

I clutched my chest lightly. Breathing felt laborious. How could a spirit’s pressure be this strong?

“Why... are you like this... all of a sudden?”

I barely forced the words out.

While I stared in alarm, Yoo Cheongil wore a face I’d never seen—utterly expressionless—and asked me:

[How did you raise the moon?]

“Sorry...?”

Raise what? The moon? The question came out of nowhere. I couldn’t parse it and looked at him.

[The sword you swung at the end—that was the Blue Moon Sword Dance. And it was exactly the blade I use.]

“Ah.”

Only then did I understand what he was asking.

[It should be impossible. What did you do?]

There was none of his usual heh-heh grin, none of that infuriating look he wore when toying with people.

Just a blank face. Seeing his true face, my hands trembled without my knowing.

‘This... old man. His face is terrifying.’

I knew it, but with the expressions erased, it was worse. The pressure rolling off him was immense.

But letting myself cower like this would hurt my pride.

“...Oh, that. I didn’t do much.”

I forced a show of strength into my voice.

“I just copied it.”

[What?]

This time, he didn’t seem to understand.

[Copied it?]

“Yes.”

[Explain in detail.]

“...There’s nothing to detail.”

How else could I say it? That was truly all.

As I said before, memorizing is my knack—and it was the same this time.

“When you swung, I copied the movement. The breath you let out then. The energy moving through my body. I just followed it.”

I memorized the conditions that arose in me then and stitched them together.

“And it worked.”

[...]

The old man was at a loss for words.