CRD 26

Chapter 26

 The Family’s Secret Place (1)

Inspector Jong-Hwon (鐘煊) looked at Jin-Gwang with a flustered expression.

But Jin-Gwang wasn’t looking at him—he was watching Mo-Yong-Bi. His eyes were unreadable, as always, and Jong-Hwon couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Cautiously, Jong-Hwon spoke.

“Um… Chief.”

He was asking, silently, what they should do in this situation. More precisely, he was hoping Jin-Gwang would restrain this troublesome young master. No matter how angry or annoyed he was, Mo-Yong-Bi was still the eldest son of the Mo-Yong family. And his martial skill was mediocre at best.

A duel, especially with real swords, could be dangerous. Even among members of the Hwa-Gum faction, sparring with real swords was generally avoided.

Jin-Gwang, staring quietly at Mo-Yong-Bi, unexpectedly nodded.

“Arrange the space for the duel.”

It was a permission.

At a gesture from Kwan-Hyun, the inspectors quickly cleared a space just for the two of them.

Jong-Hwon’s expression stiffened.

‘Is this really okay?’

Even duels between Hwa-Gum members had predetermined limits. One wrong move could leave someone permanently injured. And now he was supposed to duel Mo-Yong-Bi in such a dangerous way?

‘If this goes wrong…’

Mo-Yong-Bi, clearly irritated, spoke.

“Are you overthinking this?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I wanted to duel, and the chief gave permission. So why are you so scared? Afraid I’ll stab you with my sword?”

Jong-Hwon cleared his throat awkwardly. No way could he admit the truth.

Mo-Yong-Bi frowned and picked at his ear with his fingers.

Blowing the small bits of earwax away, he said,

“Even if by some miracle your sword was anywhere near mine, it wouldn’t matter. So come at me as you wish.”

“Y-your sword is… like a toothpick?”

“If you don’t like ‘toothpick,’ let’s call it horsehair.”

Even the most patient man would lose his temper at that kind of remark.

Jong-Hwon gritted his teeth and lifted his sword.

“Then I will learn from you.”

“Learn five or six moves and then go. You think one move will be enough?”

Gritting his teeth even harder, Jong-Hwon’s anger flared. Nothing else, but that mouth of his could rival the slap of a Grand Demon Head trained in Great Shaolin Martial Arts.

“Hah-ap!”

His booming shout reverberated through the training hall.

He crouched low and angled his sword—a standard stance of the Mo-Yong family’s fundamental technique, the Jong-Hweng-Ji-Sword (縱橫智劍).

It was a stance filled with strength. And with a real sword in hand, it radiated a natural intimidation.

But not to Mo-Yong-Bi.

“What’s with that weak-ass stance?”

“Eek!”

“What are you waiting for? If you made a sound, then attack!”

Jong-Hwon stomped hard on the ground.

Thud!

His advance was surprisingly fast, even without using internal energy, showing well-trained legs.

‘Let’s see how good he really is!’

Jong-Hwon swung his sword diagonally, aiming for the scabbard. He was careful not to aim at Mo-Yong-Bi’s body directly, but he thought this would be enough to scare him once the sword’s sharp power hit.

But his plan failed immediately.

Clang!

‘Huh?’

He blinked, realizing his gaze was on the ground.

“Did this fool not listen?”

When Jong-Hwon raised his head, he met Mo-Yong-Bi’s piercing gaze.

Jong-Hwon flinched.

The sunlight behind Mo-Yong-Bi highlighted his eyes, which looked almost like those of a ghost.

“I told you to attack properly! Even in a duel, a martial artist should not swing lazily like that!”

At him?

“Again!”

Perhaps distracted by trying to maintain his Na-Moon-Shim-Gong focus, the air around him vibrated.

Mo-Yong-Bi’s voice carried a terrifying anger. Not that he was truly furious, but the intensity of his voice could wither a field of flowers.

And that wasn’t all.

‘What the hell?!’

All the inspectors watched in shock.

‘Why did Jong-Hwon just fall?’

Jong-Hwon’s diagonal strike had been blocked by the sword’s scabbard.

Even with a real sword, that one strike knocked him off balance completely. The situation seemed almost pre-arranged, like a choreographed act.

“I don’t get it.”

Some inspectors looked at Kwan-Hyun.

He muttered just barely audibly,

“It seems like he hit the scabbard, not the blade… can that really do this?”

Curiosity and astonishment filled the room.

All eyes returned to Mo-Yong-Bi and Jong-Hwon.

Panting, Jong-Hwon’s breathing became heavier. He had only swung once and nearly fallen, then retreated—but still couldn’t catch his breath.

‘What’s happening to my body?’

Another stray thought appeared. But meeting Mo-Yong-Bi’s gaze, his mind went blank again.

His hands gripped the sword tighter, his waist and legs stiffened.

‘Attack!’

Jong-Hwon stepped forward with renewed determination, now fully committed.

Whoosh!

The air felt heavier than usual as he swung his sword from top to bottom—a simple, downward strike of the Jong-Hweng-Ji style.

Simple but fast, and easy to add force.

Much faster and fiercer than before.

“Ugh!”

The inspectors were startled.

Mo-Yong-Bi, with a casual expression, swung the scabbard from the top-left to bottom-right.

Clang!

Jong-Hwon’s upper body twisted along with the blade.

“Gah!”

“Again.”

Jong-Hwon gritted his teeth and swung upward to the right, a variation of the Jong-Hweng-Ji technique.

But

Clang!

“Ugh!”

Once again, his weight shifted to the right, forcing him into an unstable stance. Had he misstepped, he might have fallen to his knees. It was as if a giant’s club had swept through his upper body.

‘W-what is this?’

Thwack!

“Ugh!”

Jong-Hwon held his head and staggered backward.

Mo-Yong-Bi clicked his tongue and flicked the scabbard.

“Why are you just sitting there? If this weren’t a scabbard, I’d have split your head open with that strike.”

“…!”

“You still can’t focus. Fine, then try to block this.”

Mo-Yong-Bi stomped.

Without using internal energy, he seemed slower than Jong-Hwon’s attack. But the scabbard’s movement was different.

Clang!

“Haah!”

The strike, though not fast, carried a tremendous weight. Jong-Hwon couldn’t avoid it; the residual shock of the previous strike lingered.

He had to raise his sword to block the scabbard.

Clang!

“Argh!”

His wrist felt as if it might snap. The single, simple strike pushed him sideways by several steps.

Jong-Hwon couldn’t believe it.

‘H-how can this be?!’

Even a frail-looking person like Mo-Yong-Bi seemed stronger than a well-fed man. Yet his strength was overwhelming, as if each strike had the full power of a lifetime of training.

“You can’t just block blindly.”

A heavy voice and an even heavier scabbard descended vertically.

“Watch carefully and block.”

Slash!

The descending scabbard looked like a boulder swept down by an avalanche.

Jong-Hwon’s eyes widened.

Clang! Thud!

His right knee struck the ground, but that wasn’t the point.

The vertical strike looked simple, yet it felt stunningly beautiful.

‘Why is that?’

The scabbard moved again. After vertical strikes came horizontal strikes. Mo-Yong-Bi followed the order strictly.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

It was the fiercest sound yet.

The inspectors were shocked.

‘Impossible!’

Jong-Hwon’s blade had taken significant damage from merely blocking.

Their swords were training swords, designed to be slightly blunt, making cutting difficult. This made them safe but still threatening, and the extra weight made strong strikes easier.

Yet each time the scabbard struck, the swords sustained damage.

Regardless, Mo-Yong-Bi continued—vertical, then horizontal strikes.

The scabbard traced a perfect cross, with no deviation—an almost terrifyingly precise form.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Jong-Hwon’s body wavered like a candle flame in the wind. He began to struggle with each block, sweat soaking his body.

Just over ten moves in, and he was exhausted.

Clang!

“Ugh!”

He finally screamed.

Mo-Yong-Bi thrust the scabbard forward.

Bang!

Jong-Hwon’s sternum was hit squarely; he rolled across the floor.

“Ku-heh…!”

He could barely breathe, grimacing, unable to rise immediately.

“How pathetic.”

Mo-Yong-Bi withdrew his sword and tossed it to Kwan-Hyun.

Kwan-Hyun’s expression was complicated.

“You’re lifting your hips too much, so your downward strikes don’t hit properly. Your upper and lower body aren’t connected.”

Of course, that wasn’t all.

“A straight strike wobbles when your shoulders are tense, which reduces wrist flexibility. Forcing strength in that state injures joints. This is basic.”

Though he spoke to Jong-Hwon, it applied to all.

“The sword’s purpose is more for thrusting than cutting. A strike must be precise, requiring flexible muscles. Speed alone is useless without accuracy. If building stamina alone made someone the best, wouldn’t the strongest always be the one with the most internal energy?”

Mo-Yong-Bi looked at Kwan-Hyun.

“Right?”

“…Yes, that seems correct.”

Kwan-Hyun’s expression showed astonishment.

Even if the other inspectors didn’t see it, he had realized the brilliance of Mo-Yong-Bi’s technique.

Sighing, Mo-Yong-Bi looked at Jin-Gwang.

Jin-Gwang still looked indifferent, but his eyes twitched slightly.

Mo-Yong-Bi asked with a sulky expression,

“At this level, we couldn’t even stop a wild boar. Chief, what do you think of the result?”