The Supreme Leader of the Murim Alliance let out a small exclamation of admiration.
The insight of an elder swordsman was unique. He could discern the intent behind a swordsman’s stance.
From the way a sword was gripped, to the balance of the body, the positioning of the feet, and the nature of the energy radiating from the entire frame—each detail revealed the skill of an opponent.
For unparalleled swordsmen, seeing through their adversary required no connection to a particular school of martial arts.
Before crossing swords, they could even infer a person's character.
"Intriguing."
Hyeon So-baek carefully examined the stance of his young junior.
The high guard was anything but ordinary. The black robe he wore continuously billowed as though it were stitched from threads of wind.
To the one called the Sword Saint, Ma Gwang-ik’s appearance spoke of a subconscious defense against mortality itself.
To Hyeon So-baek, the art of swordsmanship, crafted by an extraordinary prodigy, was not unlike a melody composed by a skilled musician.
They shared a commonality: the creator’s emotions were deeply embedded within the work.
Where the young swordsman’s art might lead was uncertain.
The Ipwang Fortress Lord was said to wield a sword like a force of nature itself. Was Ma Gwang-ik imitating his master by embedding the essence of wind into his swordsmanship?
Though outwardly it conjured tempests, his muscles and energy flowed like relentless lightning.
Beneath the shell of a genius swordsman lay a young man curled up with anxiety.
As a person, Hyeon So-baek pitied the boy.
As the Sword Saint, however, he admired his junior’s talent.
"A swordsman who uses his entire body with such precision."
Indeed, his swift swordplay was both refined and relentless.
Every motion conveyed an intent to strike first, no matter the circumstance. The distinctive freedom of Ma Gwang-ik’s energy filled the air around him.
It was a wind reminiscent of an elite lineage’s legacy—a force that bolstered swordsmanship no matter where it was directed. At his feet, the crimson leaves were swept away in disorderly spirals.
"It’s unsettling how seamless it feels."
Heavenly Fist Master Hahoe Wi-jin, sitting behind Seomye, propped one knee up and rested an elbow on it, exhaling audibly. As a peerless master from a noble lineage, he seemed genuinely moved.
"Simgeuk Kirin," Zhuge Cheong-ah muttered as she stared intently at Ma Gwang-ik.
Nearby, Ak Ye-rim flinched.
Her gaze toward Seomye was filled with complex emotions.
The recent turmoil, the matters involving Ma Gwang-ik and the Zhuge family, had culminated in this moment.
It felt as if the heavens themselves were crumbling.
In both martial strength and spirit, the young prodigy of Ipwang Fortress had utterly overwhelmed her.
The world of the Murim Alliance’s righteous sects, which had firmly taken root in her mind, was now shattered.
As the rightful heir of Shandong’s Ak Clan, she no longer knew how to conduct herself.
"Seomye..."
Meanwhile, the duel between elder and junior continued, unaffected by the audience’s thoughts.
"Take your time and approach," the Sword Saint urged.
He did not rush to draw his sword. He waited patiently, allowing his junior to display his full skill.
A prodigy who could control his body as if it were an extension of his will. The more time he took to refine his stance, the more his potential would manifest.
Wooong―!
Indeed, it did.
A pressure similar to the Imperial Sword Form radiated from Seomye.
Yet Hyeon So-baek intuitively recognized it as something entirely different.
There was a profound distinction in the nature of the martial aura.
The energy emanated not to suppress an opponent but to enhance his own movements.
It was an unyielding yet self-contained force.
"He has tailored his swordsmanship perfectly to his own body."
As he ran his left hand along the blade of his beloved sword, the Sword Saint recalled a famous verse once recited by a young man known as the Ipwang Hero.
Among swordsmen, the words "Every fleeting moment of youth is worth its weight in gold" resonated more deeply than "Eternal bonds forged with a worthy rival."
This was a sword style only Ma Gwang-ik could wield. No ordinary sense could even begin to comprehend how to integrate such an aura into swordplay.
It seemed that his preparations were complete.
As the elder swordsman was lost in fleeting thoughts, Ma Gwang-ik’s figure suddenly grew larger in his field of vision.
With a leap, he brought his sword down. The sunlight gleaming off the blade struck like lightning.
Zzeooong―!
The blade clashed violently with Hyeon So-baek’s, sending shockwaves radiating outward.
A whirlwind of crimson leaves surged upward, obscuring the figures of the elder and junior swordsmen.
The sunlight caught on the red leaves, making them shimmer like scattered embers. Amid the chaos, the skill of the new Ma Gwang-ik was revealed.
"Hm?"
Within the dispersing light and leaves, the Sword Saint’s eyes widened slightly.
The stance was no longer the same.
A white 荒 character seemed to cut through the falling leaves.
Immediately after releasing a burst of energy, Ma Gwang-ik had spun his entire body.
The rotational movement, amplified by his energy, created a small whirlwind. The sound of his robe fluttering was sharp and fierce.
With incredible precision, he launched a second swift strike.
"He’s not relying on brute force. Smart move."
The diagonal arc of Bukmyeong’s trajectory came slicing down again. The tearing air was as sharp as the blade itself.
Though it was a repetition of the same initial move, the shape of the technique was entirely different.
To Seomye, forms and stances were merely starting points.
By focusing solely on the principles and intent behind a technique, he could deliver dozens of variations of a single strike.
In just two exchanges, the Sword Saint’s expression softened into a smile.
Talent. This is true talent.
Hyeon So-baek found himself grinning with satisfaction, even as he intercepted the strike with a diagonal slash of his wooden sword.
The simplicity of his trajectory carried the profound essence of the Tongcheon Muragum technique’s seventh form: Indomitable Strike.
In an instant, the invisible energy burst forth from his arm to the tip of his blade. It was an unshakable and decisive sword technique.
Bang! Keeeeiiing―!
The colliding blades ground against each other, sparking bright orange embers that scattered like flowers.
Despite the ferocious impact, Ma Gwang-ik’s grip remained firm, though his hand trembled violently.
Hyeon So-baek, who had held back to expand his junior’s horizons, was genuinely astonished.
He now understood the Fortress Lord’s feelings.
Even she could not have ignored such a talent.
Clang! Zzeong! Sssaaak!
Sparks flew and faded like petals. Black and white robes fluttered amidst the scattering autumn leaves.
The sunlight rippled over the blades, the rhythmic breaths of internal energy intertwining, and the resonant sound of footwork echoed through the ground.
Some of the audience’s eyes widened gradually.
Ma Gwang-ik was holding his own against the Sword Saint’s guidance.
Within the fleeting exchanges, too brief for larger techniques, he had created thirty-five variations of a single move.
Each had a unique trajectory. His relentless strikes pressed forward from every angle.
To the untrained eye, this single move could have been mistaken for an entire sword style.
"He substitutes intuition for form. That’s a technique no amount of training can replicate."
Hwasan Sword Master Cheon Ju-jin thought to himself, worried about the influence this might have on Yu Hyeon, who stood dumbfounded beside him.
Ordinarily, one would need to swing a sword tens of thousands of times to lay the foundation of swordsmanship.
Yet Seomye’s techniques seemed to bypass that process entirely.
He instinctively knew when and where to strike.
Only such intuition could explain how his swift movements flowed so naturally.
His innate talent had transcended time.
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It was an astonishing display of swordsmanship.
The Sword Saint’s own stance was equally remarkable. With a smile etched across his face, he continued to meet and parry Seomye’s relentless strikes.
The demeanor of the elder swordsman, unusual for one of his supreme caliber, defied expectations. His peculiar disposition stood in stark contrast to the reserved attitude typical of masters who would rarely appear at the Gepa Daetjeon.
Streams of sword energy intertwined gracefully, as though he found nothing more enjoyable than this duel with his young junior. He was wholly absorbed in their exchange, his delight evident.
The Murim Alliance’s intention to disgrace the high-ranking members of Ipwang Fortress was shattered.
Cheon Ju-jin, the Hwasan Sword Master, spoke without blinking.
“Shouldn't the Alliance Leader take on a disciple as well? It’s said that the younger generation from the prominent families are likely candidates. The Sword Saint’s legacy would become a symbol of the Alliance, but will there be a suitable successor?”
“Who would dare step forward after witnessing this?” replied the Tang Clan Leader, his short arms clasped behind his back.
At that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin realized the duel was approaching its conclusion. Turning his body and sword in a wide arc, he could feel the strain on his body reaching its limit.
The accumulated impact of the shockwaves throughout the fight had constricted the vessels in his right arm.
The Sword Saint was no ordinary opponent; he was a peerless master. Even the defensive energy enveloping his body was superior, leaving Jeong Yeon-shin unable to rely solely on his physical durability.
“One final exchange.”
The tendons on his forearm stood out sharply. Energy pulsed visibly from the elegant line running from his shoulder down to his triceps.
A clear wave of energy surged, flowing down to his flexor muscles just beneath his thumb.
This was the energy he had endured and accumulated throughout the duel, fused with the sword energy of the Sword Saint.
Hyeon So-baek’s brows furrowed slightly.
“He’s harvested it all like a farmer reaping his crops.”
Unbothered by the elder’s expression, Jeong Yeon-shin pressed forward. The energy wrapped around his blade burned intensely, white-hot.
With a push from his toes, he launched forward, unleashing the Bukmyeong Sword in a sweeping horizontal slash.
The luminous trail of the sword cleaved through the falling autumn leaves.
The sword’s path carried the essence of autumn itself.
KWA-AAH―!
Hyeon So-baek faced this earnest technique head-on. The supreme swordsman’s eyes lowered slightly.
“What a thought...”
The strike was one of pure perseverance, enduring and enduring until it erupted in brilliant light.
It wasn’t the kind of technique to be executed with such an impassive expression, yet it appeared as if it had been forged without much deliberation.
This saddened the Sword Saint.
The strike was a testament to a life of endurance and struggle, a reflection of the will to see things through to the bitter end.
The weight of that will was palpable in the swing.
In a single stroke, the essence of his life’s resolve was conveyed.
The Sword Saint did not counter it.
Instead, he shifted to avoid it entirely, lowering his sword as he executed a sidestep. Like a phantom using Shrinking Earth Technique, he brushed past a pile of fallen leaves and stood to the side.
Simultaneously, the devastating sword energy swept past his flank.
KWA-AAAH!
An invisible storm of sword energy tore through the air, ripping apart foliage and carving a path through the garden.
The destructive wave extended to the lakeside, drawing a long ripple across the water’s surface before dissipating.
“......”
Silence fell.
Ma Gwang-ik lowered his sword, a frown etched onto his face. His stance suggested he was ready to confront the elder swordsman about his evasion, but Hyeon So-baek preempted him with a calm smile.
“You maintained a single technique throughout, only to alter the flow at the very end. What is the name of that first technique?”
“...Simgeuk Kirin.”
“You observe seniority well,” the Sword Saint mused, clasping his hands behind his back.
“And the second?”
“I haven’t named it yet.”
“Perfect timing, then.”
Hyeon So-baek chuckled warmly.
“A refined swordplay like that deserves a fitting name. I hope that your autumn remains long, unyielding, and vibrantly green. Would you allow me to gift it a name? Ku Byeok Seong-ha (Nine Emerald Rivers).”
The Absolute Sword offered his words with solemnity.
The number nine (구, ku) was cherished across the continent, sharing its pronunciation with the word for longevity (구, 久).
A sword technique that promised a boundless green river, flowing endlessly like the great Yangtze. The name resonated with the principles of the technique.
Jeong Yeon-shin nodded slowly.
“...I’ll accept it.”
Hyeon So-baek’s expression brightened. His middle-aged face seemed to blend both the vitality of youth and the wisdom of age.
It was said that no supreme master was without their peculiarities, and the Sword Saint was no exception.
Thus concluded the final sequence of the Gepa Daetjeon.
The duel between the Sword Saint and Ma Gwang-ik had been the pinnacle of attention, but those present were individuals from the upper echelons of the martial world.
Today’s events would not spread as rumors. However, Jeong Yeon-shin had solidified his reputation within the Murim Alliance. He had also refined his swordsmanship to new heights.
Sreung.
With a quiet motion, the radiant light of the sword was drawn back into its scabbard.
His waist trembled faintly as Jeong Yeon-shin sheathed the Bukmyeong Sword, lost in thought.
The techniques born in Hanzhong unfurled in his mind:
The first form: Simgeuk Kirin (審克麒麟).
The second form: Ku Byeok Seong-ha (九碧成河).
The third form: Cheong Yeom Il-sik (靑炎一式).
These three techniques now formed the foundation of Ma Gwang-ik’s ultimate swordsmanship. How many more trajectories would be added was yet unknown.
It was a sword style brimming with infinite possibilities.
“Your swordplay seems completely transformed,” Yu Hyeon remarked casually as he approached. The developing friendship between the Hwasan Dragon and Ma Gwang-ik was already known.
Unlike other younger generation talents, who hesitated to approach, Yu Hyeon stepped forward without reservation.
“This sword art—is it your own creation?”
“It is.”
“What’s it called? I feel like it’s going to become famous. It definitely will.”
His question drew the attention of not only the younger generation but also the supreme masters who had begun to leave the arena.
After a moment of quiet reflection, Ma Gwang-ik murmured,
“It’s... the Sword Thunder Annihilation Style (劍雷殲陵劍).”
A short, decisive answer.
Suddenly, the crisp autumn wind that had swept through the garden seemed to fade. Fallen leaves, like aged cotton, blanketed the ground.
A few yellow and red leaves landed lightly on Jeong Yeon-shin’s feet, as though signaling the end of the long mission with the Murim Alliance.
At the edge of autumn, before the eyes of countless masters,
Ma Gwang-ik’s swordsmanship was given a name.