Chapter 166: The End of Childhood (25)

What was a wall?

It was called a wall because human flesh and strength could not break through it.

Something that yielded easily to fists and kicks was no wall at all.

A wall existed to keep things out.

It prevented those outside from taking what lay within.

Why?

Because what it protected was precious and important.

And so, to someone trying to enter from the outside, a wall became...

Not merely a wall,

but an ordeal.

That was what Cheonjeong felt now.

Soyak had merely raised her sword in one small, slender hand and lowered it into position.

Yet that alone changed the very weight of the space around them.

...She has not put so much as a wisp of internal energy into it.

Something was wrong.

An unmistakable wrongness pressed against him.

This was no longer the Cheon Soyak he knew.

Not the girl with whom he had first crossed swords.

Not the junior sister who always gazed quietly up at him before answering in her slow, measured way.

What stood before him was merciless violence, coldly fused into that slender body.

Every inch the sword tip moved seemed to carve his soul apart.

In those black, lightless eyes fixed upon him, he felt a deep and overwhelming death.

The rustle of leaves in the wind.

The chirping of crickets in the night.

Even the flutter of a single bird’s wings...

He could hear none of it.

In that cold instant before death, Cheonjeong tightened his grip on his sword.

Then...

He took one unbearably heavy step forward.

Cold sweat streamed down his back.

His brow and neck were already drenched.

Only then did Cheonjeong realize that he could no longer see the stars.

“...Ah.”

Soyak’s sword had already reached him.

The descending blade.

Cheonjeong clenched his teeth.

He was going to die.

He truly, truly was going to die.

His soul, driven to its absolute limit, thrashed in desperation.

Before that vast, merciless, unfathomably distant violence, it struck a spark within itself.

To survive.

“...Haaaaah!”

He merely raised his sword to block.

That was all.

Rationally, he knew the truth.

Unless Soyak used internal energy, there was no possible way for her to overpower him in a contest of strength.

He only had to block.

There was no need to deflect it.

The difference in physical strength meant that simply placing his sword in the way would force his junior sister to seek another route.

He knew that.

He knew it, so why...?

Why did the slender sword swung by that frail arm feel like an enormous hammer of divine punishment, hurled down by an enraged god?

As though resistance were impossible.

The entire world screamed at him.

Give up.

Collapse where you stand.

Yet he raised his sword all the same.

Clang—

It was a small, weak sound, almost disappointingly faint.

The sound of a sword swung by a fourteen-year-old girl striking another blade.

Nothing about it seemed remarkable.

Yet in that instant, Cheonjeong saw it.

In the pitch-black night where neither stars nor moon could be seen...

His sword had become light.

Sword Light.

He had kindled light upon his blade.

“...Honestly, I cannot recommend choosing to be crushed to death rather than kneeling.”

Soyak spoke quietly.

The cold, shadowed presence from moments ago, one that might have made even King Yama recoil, had vanished without a trace.

She merely stared at the radiant sword in Cheonjeong’s hand.

“I want you to live a long life, Eldest Brother.”

“...Is that so?”

“But if this is the path you have chosen, then never kneel again.”

Soyak drew her gaze away from the shining blade and looked up at Cheonjeong.

The light flowing from his sword reflected in her black eyes.

They sparkled beautifully.

“...Very well. I will not.”

“Then I will head inside first.”

Soyak smiled lightly and returned her sword to its scabbard.

Cheonjeong did the same.

He had undeniably broken through the wall of the Apex Realm.

He was no longer a man lingering at the very edge of First-Rate.

Yet what filled his chest was neither overwhelming emotion nor a sense of accomplishment.

It was relief.

Cheonjeong let out a soft sigh and quietly stroked the hilt of his sword.

He had broken through the wall.

Now it was time to run until the next one appeared.

Martial artists were people who forever threw themselves against the walls blocking their path.

For some reason, Soyak looked smaller than ever as she walked back into Flower-Haze Hall.

Perhaps because he knew that the wall she faced was far greater than his own.

The wall called the world.

Both he and Soyak resented the world.

But the burden she carried was heavier than his...

And the place she sought to reach was higher.

The Sword Sovereign.

Soyak had always wished to cut him down.

She would hang his severed head high above the marketplace.

Martial artists did not proclaim righteousness with °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° their mouths.

They demonstrated it with their swords.

They did not debate who was justified.

They proved it by cutting down their opponent.

The martial world divided itself into righteous factions, unorthodox factions, and the Demonic Cult, but at its heart, it revered strength.

People gathered around the strong, and in doing so created mighty powers.

Then, however dissatisfied they might be, they obeyed someone stronger still.

There were no exceptions to that principle.

That was why Soyak followed it as well.

If no one could stop the Sword Sovereign because he was stronger than everyone under heaven,

then she merely had to become stronger than the Sword Sovereign.

*****

All the fasting pellets had been moved.

There was no issue with drinking water.

Soyak had no intention of delaying the beginning of her closed-door training any further.

Not many people came to see her off.

Everyone had been uneasy because she was entering closed-door training at such a young age, but for a disciple of Mount Hua—for any martial artist—to choose seclusion in order to train was nothing extraordinary.

Much like the Roaming Pillar Journey, it was only natural for someone who cultivated both martial arts and the Dao to undertake such a trial for their own sake.

There was one exception.

Eun Jeong followed behind Eunsong and Cheonjeong.

Cheongu, Cheongak, Cheonhwa, and Cheonju followed as well.

Ahead of Soyak walked Myeonggon and Jeonggang.

Jeonggang was now an old man who relied upon a walking stick.

Because of him, their pace toward the closed-door training cave was indescribably slow.

Yet no one complained.

It was not merely because he was a senior elder of the Jeong generation, one qualified to stand among Sect Leaders.

No one present wanted this farewell to end.

After this moment, they would not see her face again.

If the retreat was short, she would emerge in three years.

But seventeen-year-old Soyak would undoubtedly be different from the Soyak who was fourteen.

And the longer she remained inside...

The more the girl before them would exist only in this moment.

Children sometimes grew far too quickly.

After roughly four hours of walking,

the group finally stopped upon the bridge spanning the precipice.

Far below, within a narrow crack in the rock,

lay Eun Jeong’s training cave, the one he had passed on to Soyak.

“I would like to see you all the way to the end, but I am afraid that will be difficult.”

Jeonggang chuckled as he made the joke.

It hardly sounded like one, yet everyone smiled faintly.

They knew he was not apologizing for something that could be blamed upon him.

And Soyak knew the one way she could repay him.

“...I will accomplish it.”

The declaration lacked an object.

Yet Jeonggang understood what she meant.

“Yes. I will be cheering for you.”

Though he would not be cheering from the mortal world.

Only a month or two remained to him now.

Soyak knew that as well.

By the time she broke through that rock and emerged, Jeonggang would already be gone from the world.

Even so...

She would go to his grave.

“...Thank you for everything, Master.”

“You speak as though you will never return. Just go. And then... come back as you always do.”

“...Yes. I will return.”

Lastly, Soyak looked at Cheonjeong.

She remembered the moment he had blocked her sword the previous night.

She remembered him taking an assassin’s blade in her place.

She remembered the first time they had crossed swords.

“Eldest Brother... I have always owed you so much.”

“You must not think of it as a debt.”

“...Must I not?”

“No. Neither of us has burdened the other. We merely did what needed to be done.”

Was it a debt for fellow disciples to help one another advance in the sword?

It was only what they ought to do.

Was it a debt for fellow disciples to value one another’s lives above their own?

It was only what they ought to do.

But Soyak knew.

There were few people in this world who upheld what they ought to do.

If everyone observed such obligations, every person would be a sage or a virtuous ruler.

But sages and virtuous rulers were rare.

That was precisely why the righteous were praised.

“...I will see you again someday.”

With those final words, Soyak stepped down beneath the bridge.

Toward the lonely, arduous years awaiting her.