Defying the Heavens Scholar - Chapter 15

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Yeokcheon Seosaeng, Episode 15

Episode 15. The Martial Tournament

As the tournament drew four days closer, the path below the Gongdong Sect’s mountain gate never fell silent.
Only weeks before, the cliff road had known nothing but the whisper of wind; now footsteps and voices layered upon each other in a steady stream.
Disciples from each sect arrived in succession, followed by spectators and those chasing the way of martial arts, all converging upon the mountain.

“Myojin!”

A familiar voice reached me as I paused to observe the bustle.
I turned, and there was a face I hadn’t seen in a month. Jeong Yeon.
He looked a little more solid than before. His spine was straight, his gaze far clearer.
Whether it was the momentum of the approaching tournament, or whether he had truly gained something…….
Jeong Yeon approached swiftly and came to a halt before me, offering a brief bow.

“I trust you’ve been well?”
“Well enough, thanks to your kindness.”

Jeong Yeon smiled faintly as he heard my reply.

“What brings you out here? Your quarters are so remote…… I was worried they might be causing you some discomfort.”
“No discomfort at all. If anything, that quiet has been a great help to both my father and myself.”

Jeong Yeon nodded. Then he shifted the subject naturally.

“This is likely your first time witnessing a tournament of such scale.”
“It is. And I’ve never seen so many people gathered in one place.”

At my words, Jeong Yeon gazed at the bustling arena and drew a long breath.
I too looked toward the crowded training grounds and asked quietly.

“How are your preparations coming along?”
“Well. To be honest…… there’s hardly time to breathe.”

Jeong Yeon held out his palm. The calluses on his fingertips and hands had grown thicker still.

“This tournament has no weapon restrictions. Sword, spear, unarmed combat—whatever each fighter is comfortable with. Everyone comes as they are.”
“Doesn’t that make it far more dangerous?”
“Which is why the rules are all the stricter.”

Jeong Yeon continued calmly.

“Killing is forbidden, of course. Inflicting serious injury is also forbidden. It’s about submission, nothing more.”

I nodded briefly.
Jeong Yeon hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly.

“Do you remember what you said to me a month ago?”
“We’ve spoken of so many things, I’m afraid…”
“It wasn’t exactly one thing you said.”

Jeong Yeon’s voice grew soft.

“The conversation itself we shared…… it struck me deeply. In the past, even if I practiced all day, I gained nothing. Now, even in brief practice, something remains. It’s thanks to you.”

Enlightenment is something that can come at any moment, and yet it is also something that rarely arrives easily.
To hear that he had gained something from our brief exchange gave me a quiet sense of satisfaction.

“And I heard from my teacher that you suffer from an old injury, Father. And that you require medicine.”
“……Yes, that’s true. Ordinary remedies won’t suffice, so I’ve been searching for another way.”

Jeong Yeon’s brow furrowed slightly, as though his thoughts had grown tangled.

“In fact, there is a way.”
“……A way?”
“The prize for this tournament is the Kongmyeong Pill.”

According to the explanation that followed, the Kongmyeong Pill was one of the spiritual medicines produced by the Gongdong Sect.
While it lacked the dramatic potency of other spiritual elixirs due to its simpler preparation, it was chosen as the tournament prize precisely because of its ability to heal damaged meridians and strengthen them, laying a solid foundation. Jeong Yeon added carefully, as though treading carefully ground.

“However……for an outsider to obtain a spiritual medicine requires taking quite a laborious path.”

One would have to win the Outer Stage — the arena for outsiders — then face and defeat the champion of the Main Stage, where the great sects compete.
It was essentially a formality, a mere procedure.
When practitioners reached similar levels, there was no question that disciples who had endured harsh training in the great sects were stronger than wandering martial artists or disciples of minor schools.
In other words, the true prize for winning the Outer Stage was merely the opportunity to spar with a disciple of a great sect.

“Of course, many martial artists participate in the tournament hoping to gain that very experience.”

Jeong Yeon continued matter-of-factly.

“If I were to win……I would like to give the Kongmyeong Pill to you.”
“You would go so far for me?”
“You have given me enlightenment. And it was I who brought you to this place — so if I do not help you to the end……how could I call myself a disciple?”

I had not expected Jeong Yeon to hold me in such deep regard.
Perhaps this was what righteousness and integrity truly meant among the righteous sects.

“Jeong Yeon, I am truly grateful. However……there is one thing I must tell you.”

Yet even as I said this, a new resolve had taken shape in my mind.

“Yes, please speak.”
“I will also participate in the tournament.”
“……Pardon?”

I could not leave Kang No’s life in the hands of another’s goodwill.

* * *

Tournament day arrived.
The practice grounds thrummed with an intensity unlike any before — the clash of sword hilts, the scrape of spear tips against earth, the sharp breathing of warriors flexing their fists.
The martial tournament held by the Gongdong Sect was divided into two arenas.

The Main Stage.
Where the third-generation disciples of the Nine Great Sects would compete.

The Outer Stage.
Where disciples of lesser or nameless schools — or those with no sect at all — would fight.
My ultimate goal was to win the Outer Stage, face the champion of the Main Stage, and ultimately emerge victorious.
Though I could have hoped for Jeong Yeon’s victory, with Kang No’s life hanging in the balance, I could not simply sit idle.

“Outer Stage participants, take your positions!”

On the tablet I had been given, only three characters were inscribed, with no sect name.

Kang Myojin.

I had deliberately changed my surname.
Since I was calling Kang No my father, I needed to change my name at least — otherwise suspicion would fall on me.

The spectators’ gazes swept past me once and moved on.
Most of them lost interest the moment they saw the wooden sword in my hand.
The examiner called out loudly from the platform.

“If you kill your opponent or inflict serious injury, you are disqualified! Remember, you are only to subdue them!”

My first opponent was a middle-aged warrior wielding a spear, a man with impressively bushy whiskers.

“Gwak Jin, from Gansuk.”
“Myojin, a wanderer by birth.”

He looked at the weapon in my hand, curled his lips into a sneer, and drove the tip of his spear against the ground with a sharp thud.

“A wooden sword? You came here to play games?”
“This is my first time actually wielding a blade myself.”
“What…… are you mocking me?!”

With those words, Gwak Jin lunged forward immediately.
A crude technique — all pressure and brute force, the kind you’d see in street brawls.
And yet……
The moment the spear tip moved, his form unfolded in my mind like a picture.

Two consecutive thrusts flowing one after the other.
A sequence that bent at the knees and lowered the waist, ending with a strike aimed at the throat.

‘……This is the Iron Spear Triple Strike lineage. The names may differ, but the roots are the same.’

What was remarkable was that I saw all of this in a single instant.
The martial pathways I had deconstructed hundreds of times in the Reverse Accumulation resonated in my body, aligning perfectly with his movements.
I sidestepped half a pace.
As the spear tip cut through empty air, all his strength concentrated into his arm.

‘When strength concentrates, it locks up.’

The wooden sword brushed lightly against the shaft of his spear.
Though I applied no real force, the tip of his thrust visibly wavered.

“Sneaky…… aren’t you!”

Gwak Jin forced his spear into another attack. Faster now, stronger.
In that moment, my heart raced again.

‘……This is exhilarating.’

The sensation of touching those flows directly, bending them, breaking them — all with my own hands.
I deliberately held back, waiting to see his next move.
How would he come at me?

But as the spear grew longer, his body would inevitably lurch forward.

At the same instant, I drove my foot forward another inch.

Snap.

The tip of the wooden sword stopped just before his throat.
Half a step more forward and his neck would have shattered against my blade.
Gwak Jin swallowed hard, and his spear tip dropped limply to the ground.

“What—how—”
“Victory goes to Myojin!”

The referee’s cry announced the end of the first match.
It had been almost embarrassingly simple.

‘Is this the level of street-level martial artists?’

Perhaps it was from having watched that clash between the Huashan Sect and the imperial masters not long ago.
The man before me seemed so trivial that I nearly laughed.

‘If I’d still been the person who once fought at Xiangshi, I wouldn’t have dared to challenge him at all.’

Now there was nothing to fear.

* * *

The matches that followed were no different.
The moment my opponent drew his weapon, the flow of the battle already unfolded in my mind.
And I did not block it—I twisted it, severed it, turned it back, and subdued them.
Thus the final match of the Outer Stage arrived swiftly.
My last opponent on the Outer Stage was a swordsman whose eyes gleamed with a light, casual laugh.

“Your name is Jin Sang-mun, I hear.”

He spun his sword once before speaking.

“They say you have no sect. Did you, like me, train in a family martial art?”
“Something like that.”
“…A unique one, aren’t you? Then let me see what you’re made of.”

Jin Sang-mun’s blade swept low, a light cut aimed at my ankles.

‘The Yeopsoe Sword.’

The name spoke of shattering leaves, but the technique was primarily a stubborn assault on an opponent’s lower body.
Then, when the opponent grew careless defending their lower half, it would strike for the throat in one swift motion.
I had seen it in the martial text at Musim Cave. If his family martial art had not been discarded by the imperial court, it was likely a technique known throughout the realm.

There was no reason to block.
The moment I blocked, he would surge forward with momentum.
Breaking that momentum was simple.

‘One step back.’

The instant his blade cut through empty air, Jin Sang-mun’s eyes flickered—barely perceptibly.

‘His stance has collapsed. Next he’ll strike high.’

Click.

‘Then a thrust.’

Tap.

‘What comes next…’

Each move departed not one inch from what I’d anticipated.
And yet, unmistakably…

‘Just as before, just as now.’

This was exhilarating.
Neither in Musim Cave nor after escaping it had I ever felt such a sense of accomplishment.
Every move my opponent made lived in my mind’s eye; the logic of their actions shone bright and transparent before me.

‘…Next, the upper strike.’

As expected, the blade shot upward like lightning. But I had already positioned my wooden sword in its path.

Click.

The flat of the blade pressed lightly against the wooden sword and lost its force. Jin Sang-mun’s eyes went wide.

“You’ve read my every move?”

Instead of answering, I pressed forward another step.
If a spear is a weapon that works with lines, then swords and sabers work primarily with planes.
So what happens if I deny them the space to swing in the first place?

“Ugh!”

Caught off guard by the sudden pressure, Jin Sang-mun was forced to thrust his blade upward.

‘As I thought. There it comes.’

I retreated again, using the wooden sword to sever the flow of his technique.
The tip of his blade hesitated. And in that instant, his breathing wavered.
I did not miss that opening.
The wooden sword flowed down the length of his blade and stopped just before his face.

“Will you continue?”

Jin Sang-mun said nothing for a moment. Then he lowered his head in submission.

“…I am defeated.”
“Victory: Myojin!”

Six matches in total. At last, the championship of the Outer Stage was mine.
As the Outer Stage concluded and I caught my breath, someone called out to me hesitantly.
It was Jin Sang-mun, who had faced me in the Martial Tournament. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, his tone had become markedly gentler.

“Sir…or rather, Master. Might I ask you one thing?”
“What is it?”
“My skill is the Yeopsoe Sword. It is a Family Martial Art passed down through my house. Though my ancestors sold our arts far and wide to build wealth, I have pride in my own technique.”

Now I understood why family martial arts had existed within Musim Cave.

“Could you perhaps advise me on how to improve this art further? I beg you, though it may seem presumptuous.”

As he moved to kneel, I stopped him.

“I’m not someone so remarkable. Fortune has simply favored me…”

As I began to demur, Jin Sang-mun waved his hand and spoke.

“Though my skills may be crude, I too am a martial artist who has honed the sword for many years. Do not think that a lack of strength clouds my judgment as well. During my match with you, I felt it clearly—every path lay open before me.”

I had to pause at the sincerity in his words.

‘To speak so freely of one’s own shortcomings…’

I could not coldly refuse someone who genuinely sought instruction.
After all, I myself had gained knowledge from Master Hwang’s generosity.

“The Yeopsoe Sword hunts the lower gate with persistence. It’s sound strategy to break your opponent’s balance, but the method is too obvious—against anyone of sufficient skill, it wouldn’t land.”
“That is so…!”

His eyes widened at my words.

“Leaves are not merely fallen ones. If you applied some of the sword forms you’ve shown me to the upper gate as well, the patterns would become far harder to read.”

I traced a partial variation of his swordwork in the empty air with my hand.
Jin Sang-mun’s mouth fell open.

“Ah… thank you… truly, I am grateful! Now I see the thread!”

He seemed to have achieved some profound realization, bowing repeatedly in thanks.
Then he pressed a pouch from his pocket into my hands.

“All I possess at this moment. It is not much, but please accept it!”

Though he called it modest, the pouch was surprisingly heavy—heavy enough that I suspected he’d included his own travel expenses.
I’d offered only a brief suggestion, yet here he was, expressing such gratitude. It was almost embarrassing.
But as he kept bowing and holding out the pouch, refusing it felt awkward.

“I’m glad it was useful. At least keep some for your journey.”
“Truly… I have received a great favor!”

After this brief exchange, I made my way slowly toward the Main Stage.

‘Now the real test begins.’

* * *

The Main Stage felt different from the start—the sound of it was different.
Many people stood watching, yet spoke little; instead, only the sound of held breath filled the air.
On the platform stood two figures.

Jeong Yeon, third-generation disciple of the Gongdong Sect.
Jin Ho, third-generation disciple of the Mudang Sect.

Several exchanges had already passed between them. Both breathed heavily, sweat beading on their foreheads.
Jeong Yeon established the Gongdong Sect’s absolute stance, while Jin Ho flowed and redirected with the Mudang’s flowing method.

Crack—
Tap.

Brief sounds exchanged, and the air above the platform grew thin.
Jeong Yeon clenched his teeth.

‘If I fall back now… the Gongdong Sect’s sword falls with me.’

He changed his blade. Not the cutting kind, but the infiltrating kind.
Not the path of breaking, but the path of slipping past.
A thin attempt—layering the Yunhyeong Sword Method’s grain onto his own technique.

‘Just once…… if only it could settle properly, just once.’

But the blade would not change by will alone. In the moment he tried to slip through, his body hesitated.
And that instant became a gap, and that gap became a weakness.

Jin Ho’s eyes went cold.
The blade he had been flowing loosely now began to extend in earnest.
Not fast—but fluid, precise thrusts.
He was clearly exploiting the gap where his opponent had faltered.

Jeong Yeon tried desperately to sever the attack, but he was too late.
In the moment his breath wavered, his stance crumbled with it.
The Mudang Sect’s current pressed against him.
And Jeong Yeon could neither overcome it nor escape it.

Whoosh—

Jin Ho’s blade-point stopped just before Jeong Yeon’s throat.
The world held its breath. Jeong Yeon tried to draw air and instead swallowed it down.
And he understood.

‘Fool. I…… made a pointless choice.’

The arbiter’s voice split the air.

“Victory! Jin Ho of the Mudang Sect!”

Jeong Yeon sheathed his sword. His fingers trembled as he slid it home.
He did not let it show, not wanting the tremor to be seen.
But his descent from the stage was leaden, each step weighing a thousand pounds.
The crowd’s gaze scraped across his skin like claws. If he loosened his grip even slightly, everything he had held together would spill out.

The Yunhyeong Sword Method. And the words he had exchanged with Myojin.
Those thin threads of conversation had continued to take root within him.
He believed it was possible—to have something remain even from a short, sharp stroke.
Or rather, he wanted to believe it. But that belief was only hunger for the Gongdong Sect.
He wanted the Gongdong Sect’s finality to no longer be dismissed as crude or brittle.
He wanted to show, just once—only once—that he could layer the subtlety of Yunhyeong onto his art, to glimpse a path forward.
But standing before the enormous mountain that was the Mudang Sect, his blade felt pitiful.
The understanding was in his mind, and the path was visible. But his body would not follow.
In that instant of hesitation as he tried to slip through, a moment of doubt had become defeat.

‘Ah……’

His breath escaped. No—it had already fled.
Only now did the Yunhyeong Sword Method shimmer before his eyes. That current he wanted to seize. That grain he wanted to layer.

‘…… A pointless choice.’

In the time spent studying and wrestling with the Yunhyeong Sword Method, he should have been more faithful to his own blade.
He should have carved the Gongdong Sect’s finality deeper, sharper.
And now, only in defeat, did that regret shake him.

‘I wanted the Gongdong Sect’s blade to be respected…… and now I have nothing to say to Myojin.’

When Myojin had said he would enter the tournament, Jeong Yeon had felt the weight of his desperation.
Even if I’d only learned simple swordplay, I would have grasped at straws if my father’s life hung in the balance.
For that reason, I wanted to win the tournament for certain, to face both the sect and Myojin with a smile.

‘In the end, I achieved neither.’

My grip on the sword hilt tightened. My knuckles went white.

“The Mudang Sect, as expected.”
“That’s the Way’s sword. The flow is different, I’m telling you.”
“The Gongdong Sect performed well enough, but…… the gap was too wide.”
“The Mudang Sect’s third disciple has talent on top of everything else.”

Admiration. Inevitability. The natural praise that clings to victory.
Each word of that praise tightened around Jeong Yeon’s throat.
Veins stood out on the back of Jeong Yeon’s hands. His grip on the scabbard grew so fierce it creaked.

“……Damn.”

It was barely more than a whisper that escaped.
But knowing even that much could become another defeat if overheard, Jeong Yeon clamped his mouth shut at once.
In silence, he pressed down his resentment. The more he compressed it, the heavier his chest grew.
As Jeong Yeon descended from the platform, the judge called out loudly.

“The champions of the Inner Stage and Outer Stage—step forward!”

* * *

Every eye in the training ground shifted at once.
I walked slowly toward the platform. In my path stood Jeong Yeon, his head bowed low. I spoke quietly.

“That was a narrow loss, but you fought with great honor.”

It was a brief, measured greeting. Yet the words carried weight.

“Myojin? You couldn’t possibly…… have won the Outer Stage?”

Watching him stumble over his words in shock, I simply nodded.
Jeong Yeon’s face flushed. Embarrassment, shame, bewilderment, sorrow.
Every emotion converged in a storm across his features.
I made no attempt to comfort him.
Sometimes, instead of clumsy reassurance, it was enough simply to know that someone was watching—that you were seen.

‘That’s what it was like for me in Musim Cave.’

If Kang No had not been there, I might have lost myself entirely in that darkness.
But there was someone who saw me, who watched over me, who acknowledged me.
Because of that, I did not flee. I was able to forge a path, to find an answer.
Jeong Yeon will be the same. Defeat leaves something behind if it does not break you.
Today’s humiliation, today’s shame—it will become the whetstone that hones his blade ever deeper.

I drew a quiet breath and climbed onto the platform.
The stage was undeniably different.
More people watched, yet fewer spoke. Instead, the sound of held breath was all that filled the air.

Jin Ho, the Mudang Sect’s third disciple, gazed at me.
The victor’s composure emanated from him without effort.
I stopped before the platform and bowed slowly.

“I am Myojin, champion of the Outer Stage.”

Courtesy without compromise—that was my opening move in this match.
Jin Ho’s gaze swept across my wooden sword once.

“I am Jin Ho, third disciple of the Mudang Sect. Yet I see you’ve chosen a wooden sword rather than a steel blade.”
“The rules permit it, and the wooden sword is most familiar to my hand.”

A low murmur rippled through the arena somewhere in the crowd.

“A wooden sword.”
“As if the Outer Stage has anything to prove—”
“What does he think he’ll accomplish against the Mudang Sect?”

At their muttering, I let my gaze dip downward for just a moment.
Jeong Yeon still had his head bowed.
Behind him, the crowd’s praise for the Mudang Sect continued to cut through the air like blades.
After a brief hesitation, I sent him a silent transmission.

—Jeong Yeon. Master.

Jeong Yeon’s fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.

—That was a splendid match. Had we more time, there might have been more to show.

I steadied my breath and continued.

—I simply haven’t grasped the full subtlety of the Yunhyeong Sword Method. That I’ve come this far in a single month—that itself is proof. So the path wasn’t wrong.

Jeong Yeon finally lifted his head. Shock flickered across his gaze as it met mine.
I held that look steadily. And there on the stage, I slowly bowed.
This bow was not for Jin Ho. It was for Jeong Yeon.
I sent one last transmission.

—Watch closely, Master Jeong Yeon. I will show you that your faith was not misplaced. I will reveal to you the true form of the Yunhyeong Sword Method.

Jeong Yeon’s eyes widened sharply. I straightened, gripping the wooden sword anew.
The air in the arena had changed. Now it was not words that would speak, but the wooden sword in my hand.
And this was my chance to repay, however small, the debt I owed to Jeong Yeon for all he had done for me and Kang No.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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