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Chapter 10
Haaah!
Mu-ho let out a long sigh, then another, and another.
He couldn’t help but doubt if the man standing in front of him was really the same older brother he’d known all these years. Not only were his words and actions different, even the look in his eyes had changed. His brother had always carried a silent resentment toward their family’s treatment, pretending he didn’t care, but letting his inferiority show through nonetheless.
Mu-ho had always felt sorry for that version of his brother.
But now, that brother was nowhere to be seen.
It should’ve been a relief. But somehow, it didn’t feel good.
“Still can’t get a feel for it, can you?”
“Honestly, I’m all over the place. What would you feel if you were me?”
“Probably the same.”
For twenty years, he’d known his brother. A brother who used to be so eager to brag that he couldn’t hide anything. And now he was saying he’d been hiding his true abilities all along?
Who could take that at face value?
And it’s not like they’d been apart for years, they had lived side-by-side. Yet, now he felt like a stranger.
Mu-ho wanted to deny it, but the evidence was right in front of him. That made it even harder to get a grip on reality.
“Do you know what the best way is for a martial artist to regain their instincts when they’re thrown off?”
“Let me guess. A spar?”
“Once the punches start flying, clarity follows.”
“I admit you’ve changed. But if you think I’m easy, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“Someone like me can afford to take you lightly. So come on, attack however you like, little brother.”
The sheer confidence in Mujin’s tone left Mu-ho speechless.
Sure, his wood-splitting technique had been impressive, striking perfectly along the grain isn’t easy. But people aren’t wood. And martial artists? They’re on another level entirely. Once they move, their internal rhythm, their “flow,” changes with them.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You’re the one who’ll regret following me here. Better not cry—grown men crying is just sad.”
“Cry? Me? You wish!”
“Then why shout? I’m not deaf, you know.”
Mu-ho kept questioning if this was really his brother, but forced himself to calm down. He couldn’t afford to be careless. In martial arts, even a moment of complacency can lead to fatal mistakes. He wouldn’t be the one making them.
“Complacency breeds disaster. But too much tension can make your body seize up.”
“Yeah, I know that much.”
“Don’t chicken out now.”
“Where the hell did you learn to talk like that?”
“Being too stiff will stunt your growth.”
And just like that, Mu-ho realized he was being dragged around by his brother’s rhythm.
Based on their family’s rankings, Mujin had never been his match. Yet here he was, completely thrown off. It was pathetic.
He couldn’t let this continue.
He cooled his excitement, maintained his guard, and started moving his body. With the help of the advanced internal technique, Evolution Technique flowing through his body, his energy stabilized. Through that internal circulation, he found himself again.
“I’m coming.”
“Come at me all you want.”
But Mujin felt a sting of bitterness at his younger brother’s confident stance.
It spoke volumes about how much burden Mu-ho had carried over the years. Always trying to stay composed, anchoring himself to calm.
He wasn’t like that before the age of ten. But when Mujin started to spiral, his little brother began shouldering the weight of their family’s balance.
‘Still, what can you do? This is your fate.’
It was Mujin’s cold decision to sacrifice his brother’s lightness for the sake of family harmony. No matter what came later, once spoken, a promise had to be kept.
There was no turning back.
Srrrk!
Mujin moved like he was gliding across ice. Not fast—but definitely not slow.
Mu-ho, who had been expecting something more intense, was mildly disappointed.
…Wait.
Martial artists are trained to create and protect their space. But Mu-ho suddenly found his space collapsing.
“Not a good time to space out.”
“Damn it!”
Losing spatial control ruined his next move. He tried to cut in and regain air dominance with a strike, but his path was completely predictable.
“Too obvious.”
Mujin slipped even closer, just half a step, and now the space wasn’t meant for swords, but fists.
His control was complete.
Mujin moved freely.
Mu-ho was restricted.
The battle had already been decided.
Thwack!
A clean strike under the solar plexus.
It didn’t draw blood, but it was enough to leave Mu-ho frozen in place. The impact was immense. It felt like his organs might come spilling out through his throat.
“I’m not done ye—ghk!”
“No need to hold back.”
Mujin slammed his elbow down onto his brother’s lowered head.
Wham!
Another hit.
Smashed and driven into the dirt, Mu-ho twitched violently, then passed out cold.
–”You’ve got some twisted hobbies.”
‘Theory doesn’t mean squat.’
It’s not that Mujin didn’t want to teach…
Huff!
When Mu-ho opened his eyes, he was dazed. His neck throbbed with a sharp ache. The sky above was clear, but he couldn’t make sense of anything.
Then it hit him, the last memory.
Bam!
He shot up and frantically looked around.
“You’re up.”
Mujin sat calmly on the stump of an old tree he had cut down, waiting for his brother to awaken.
“How…?”
“Still as rigid as ever. You’ve got no answer to unpredictable attacks.”
“Unpredictable?”
“Air dominance. It can shift at any moment. Getting flustered is one thing, but what was with that honest-to-God sword path?”
Even with Mujin’s teasing, Mu-ho still hadn’t fully recovered. What had just happened felt like a dream. He was confident that aside from their father and the clan elders, there wasn’t anyone in the family who could beat him.
Even they wouldn’t knock him out in just two hits.
“You can’t accept it, can you?”
“Nope.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Come at me again.”
“I won’t fall for the same trick twice.”
“That’s what they all say. Until they get hit again.”
Mujin smirked and drew him in with ease.
But Mu-ho didn’t back down. He swung his sword, realizing defense alone wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to seize the initiative through offense.
He summoned every last drop of his inner energy.
Chak!
His sword never made it forward.
Before the trajectory of his slash could even complete, Mujin slipped inside his range, again. Mu-ho didn’t even catch how or when it happened.
“Too many unnecessary movements.”
“…Damn it…! Ngh!”
Mujin seized his wrist and flowed in like water, landing a brutal strike to his jaw. Every move followed the next with seamless, terrifying precision.
Thwack!
Twist!
Mu-ho struggled to get up, but his legs refused to cooperate. Again and again, he collapsed back to the ground.
Flop.
Eventually, he gave up and lay there, gazing up at his older brother with dazed, empty eyes. Years of training, collapsed in a single instant. What hit him? He still didn’t know. That was the painful part; it meant there was a true gap in skill. He couldn’t win. Not now. Not even if he tried a dozen more times. The result would only be more pain.
And yet, the question came.
This strong... this insanely strong…
“Why’d you give up the position of successor?”
“Because you’re better suited for it than I am.”
“Then take it back. It’s not too late.”
“Tsk. You know what they say—A man’s word is as good as gold. Once spoken, never taken back.”
Only now did Mu-ho understand why his brother had made him swear that oath. It was a way to lock him in, to make sure there was no turning back.
He was so stunned, he couldn’t even speak.
Worse yet, judging by that annoyingly casual expression, it was obvious Mujin had passed the burden off because he simply couldn’t be bothered.
So infuriating.
Mu-ho couldn’t remember a day where he’d wanted to punch his brother this badly. But it wasn’t over yet.
“Can’t have the next clan heir walking around getting his butt kicked like this.”
“…What are you planning?”
“Sorry to say, but I’m terrible at theory classes.”
“…No. You’re not saying…”
“Come on. Time for a good beating.”
As Mujin beamed brightly, Mu-ho’s face turned pale.
He could feel it. That this wasn’t training, it was abuse disguised as guidance. Shaking his head vigorously, he made his resistance known.
“…And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll just get hit more.”
“Are you really my brother?”
“The real deal—100%.”
***
Early in the morning, Mujin stood waiting at the training grounds after being summoned by his father.
A sword was in his father’s hand, and a serious air surrounded him. It was clear, today was not going to be a casual morning. He meant business.
“Pick up a sword.”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t say to bring one. You just said to come.”
“Go get one. Now!”
Mujin left and came back with a random sword. He had no idea whose it was, but figured he’d return it later. That was about the extent of his “ownership” ethics.
“Watch carefully and learn.”
“Learn what?”
“What do you think? The Ten Songho Swords, of course. You may have stepped away from the successor seat, but as the eldest son, you still need to know them properly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Well, this was unexpected. Mujin had assumed his father’s interest in him had long vanished after childhood. He always felt guilty for never living up to expectations. Still, now that Woo-gyeong was demonstrating the Ten Songho Swords, Mujin paid close attention.
His father’s sword, forged through mastery, was shaped perfectly to execute the Ten Songho Swords. It was rooted in fundamentals and tradition—no flashy variations, no excess. Just the basics, precisely as they were meant to be shown.
It was… perfect, sure.
But that’s all it was.
It didn’t feel strong.
Out of respect, Mujin kept a straight face and quietly waited until the demonstration ended.
Hoo!
With the final form—Songho Invincible—Woo-gyeong returned his sword to its sheath. That motion alone, honed through tireless practice, was executed flawlessly, without even a scratch. Honestly, it looked even more impressive than the actual techniques.
There was something undeniably cool about sheathing a sword.
“Your turn.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Mujin readied himself to demonstrate, Woo-gyeong prepared to observe, determined to see just how far his son could go.
He had always thought his son was obsessed with appearances. Who he’d picked that up from, he wasn’t sure. But form without essence was meaningless. Today, he planned to drill that into him, at least, that was the plan. If the kid could even copy three of the forms, it’d be a miracle.
Whish. Shwing!
Mujin’s sword painted a dot in the air, then drew a clean line. From that line, a trajectory was born, and from that, a form began to take shape.
“…Hm?”
Woo-gyeong rubbed his eyes and looked again.
He’d expected a flashy, shallow display.
But his son’s sword? It faithfully mirrored the foundations of the Ten Songho Swords. In terms of shape, it was flawless.
‘…No way.’
Woo-gyeong loved his son, but could he say he trusted him? Not really.
Mujin had always betrayed expectations. To the point that Woo-gyeong eventually stopped expecting anything at all.
But now… this sword, it conveyed strength. He could feel it.
That meant Mujin had not only memorized the forms, but understood their essence.
Woo-gyeong shook his head. Sure, his son had been acting more focused lately, but skill like this doesn’t appear overnight.
Mujin finished.
“I’m done.”
“…What?”
Crap.
Woo-gyeong realized he had spaced out, but he quickly fixed his posture and kept up the stern act.
“Is there anything I should fix?”
“A flashy sword isn’t a good sword.”
With nothing to criticize, Woo-gyeong changed tactics. Letting this slide would only feed his son’s arrogance. Might as well not have taught him at all.
“Come here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Why’s he being so obedient today?
No time to be impressed.
Woo-gyeong steadied himself and squared off against his son. At a glance, everything about the sword looked perfect. But if strength, internal energy, rhythm, trajectory, and speed weren’t properly aligned, then the forms were nothing but hollow shells.
‘If I thrust here…’
When it came to the Ten Songho Swords, no one in the clan knew them better than he did.
Tak! Tiiing!
Woo-gyeong’s thrust was easily deflected, the blade pushed aside.
His son’s sword, however, didn’t budge an inch.
“Why?” Mujin asked innocently.
“…It’s nothing.”
Woo-gyeong struck again, then slashed. Basic forms, sure, but the force behind them wasn’t quite right anymore. Less of a father’s guidance, more of a man trying to salvage his pride.
Ting. Tang!
His strikes were smoothly blocked.
That only made Woo-gyeong more frustrated. This shouldn’t be happening. Why were his attacks being blocked? Again. And again. His expression twisted, but he couldn’t hold it together.
His stamina and energy were wearing thin.
Srrrk.
At that moment, Mujin took a step back.
“…Why are you stopping?”
“I’m tired. Can we stop here?”
“Of course, of course.”
“Should I come again tomorrow?”
“…That won’t be necessary.”
As his son stepped back, Woo-gyeong let out a sigh of relief. Any longer, and he would’ve ended up thoroughly embarrassed.
“You’re as strong as ever, Father.”
“Arrogance will only block your path to higher realms.”
“Wise words, truly.”
“Go on now.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Mujin walked away without a scratch, Woo-gyeong tasted bitterness in his mouth. This wasn’t why he’d called him out here. Had his pride just taken a hit? He found himself seriously wondering.
“Not bad… not bad at all.”
---The End Of The Chapter---
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