Chapter 671: The New Semester Has Begun (5)

Namgung Sinjae’s priority list was: first, swordsmanship; second, swordsmanship. So his reaction to Jayeo was very plain.

“Oh, so you’re my sword-niece. Hello?”

Sword-niece?

Sure, between schools you get master-uncle, senior-brother, junior-brother, disciple-nephew; a friend’s daughter would be a niece—so a Sword-Friend’s daughter becomes a sword-niece. Looks like that.

“By the way, your wooden sword is truly excellent—it’s like looking at a house’s own training blade. Ah—your father gifted it to you?”

So he doesn’t call the father “sword-father,” apparently.

What is this—no sword-father, sword-mother, sword-elder-brother, sword-younger-brother, sword-son, sword-sister? Sword-elder-brother and sword-younger-brother do sound kind of cool, actually.

Mm, I can’t find the rule.

Then again, would a madman have rules?

“Well then, sword-niece. Have you heard this? The sword is the sovereign of all weapons. ‘Sovereign’ means the Most Exalted—the noblest being. And of all the things a person does with a tool, swordsmanship is the most beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Naturally.”

“Really?”

Jayeo looked to Qing as if to ask, Is that true?

Qing was torn, hard, for a heartbeat.

It was because among the people Qing knew, no one taught the sword as well as Namgung Sinjae.

Frankly, that Sword-Friend’s “peerless”—that shabby, shamefully meager realm—felt as if a large share of his stats had been allocated to the ability to teach others.

And for Qing, who pursues self-study, there wasn’t any particular way to make Jayeo take to swordsmanship—that is, “the act of picking up a sword and swinging it until both body and mind are tired”—as something fun.

So it would be good to ask Namgung Sinjae for, say, an interest-hook into swordsmanship, an introductory lesson... mm.

But Jayeo being influenced by him was a bit...

“It varies by person, but sword-study is like that.”

“Sword-study! Yes, that’s me exactly—sword-study! So, sword-niece, do you like drawing? Drawing with a sword is tremendous fun, but I can’t find a way to explain it.”

“Drawing?”

“Mm. It’s twice as fun with someone to do it with. Anyone who’ll do it together?”

Again Jayeo looked at Qing.

This time the look was asking permission.

When Qing nodded, the two of them went out into the yard and WHISK WHISK swung their swords.

It’s not swordsmanship yet—not anything yet—but from a child’s standpoint, wielding a small, heavy ironwood wooden sword like a game is meaningful in itself.

Is he unexpectedly good at handling kids?

Whether Namgung Sinjae was always like that, or whether it was some desperate sense of mission to drag his sword-niece onto the sword’s path somehow, Qing couldn’t say.

According to the Analects, “If three walk together, there must be my teacher among them.” Perhaps this was a teachable instructor’s stance.

“Everyone, do you like drawing? Today, we’ll draw with a sword.”

Does that sound plausible?

Only—Qing is not a Junior Division instructor.

The subjects here were already grown young adults; that’s a bit of a problem.

Not an age problem. Unlike the Junior Division, these were fiery students already prepared to learn—who had sought out the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy of their own accord for the chance.

Come to think of it, there’s no need to spark interest. Maybe I can grind them a little?

A few days later.

The broad open space in front of the Academy’s test-hall building.

From early morning, crowds packed in to secure spots. Primitive, ancient Central Plains recreation culture being what it is, they would never pass up a grand event like this.

Of course, half of them—

the ones who couldn’t hide tight, tense faces—were the examinees for the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy entrance test.

Street vendors, unexpectedly hitting a boom day, slung soup-pails and noodle-pails and happily sold breakfast; only after a long, leisurely morning did the test-hall doors swing wide.

At last, it’s starting.

The crowd rustled; they rubbed stiff necks from craning and swelled their expectations to the brim.

Then a file of martial men appeared in a line at the test-hall building.

Some took seats on the wooden viewing stand hastily built along the test-yard wall; others controlled the crowd and secured ample space.

In this way a large empty center space was made, and the crowd, compressed that much more densely, all got squeezed—and yet did not leave.

Presently, a martial man stepped out.

In this era’s spectator culture, the more you play know-it-all, the more “erudite” you’re judged.

So, before he even introduced himself, whispers ran through the crowd—Dagger-Sword Lord; Yu Seonyeop; the Martial Alliance’s chief inspector who, being a gentleman who does not harm his enemies and breaks their weapons, was given the epithet Dagger-Sword Lord; and so on.

Ah, so that’s why Dagger-Sword Lord.

From the viewing stand Qing, with human-transcending hearing, eavesdropped and learned the origin of the epithet.

The “lord” in Sword Lord was not “monarch,” but “gentleman.”

Though the two are written with the same character, either way.

“Fellow companions of the martial path, I am Yu Seonyeop, appointed Director of the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy.”

Qing counted in her head. One, two—

“DAGGER-SWORD LORD!” “DAGGER-SWORD LORD!” “DAGGER-SWORD LORD!”

Cultured modern Central Plainers responded in orderly fashion.

Since quick-tongued literati had already whispered his identity, everyone shouted with brimming confidence and sureness.

Yu Seonyeop continued.

“In my heart, I long to throw the academy’s gates wide and gather in all brave young people—but circumstances do not allow it, and it pains me deeply.”

Yu continued.

“What we seek to see in this test is not an individual’s martial might. The Righteous-Proper Martial Academy wishes to aid chivalrous men and women who, in difficult conditions, walk the lonely right path; we aim to cultivate chivalry that benefits the world more than we do masters.”

Yu continued again.

“So before the test, there is something I wish to say to you examinees and to the crowd who will watch. What is a chivalrous person? What is chivalry?”

Yet again, Yu continued.

“It is not something that can be defined in a single phrase. If you ask what, exactly, is chivalry, there are few who can answer at once, and all will give different answers. It is that difficult a question. Yet chivalry is already in everyone’s heart—because all people know, in some way, what is right and what is wrong.”

Yu continued yet again.

“What is right is difficult, troublesome, and yields little profit. What is wrong is easy, convenient, and brings much gain. Thus many choose the wrong path for the sake of their personal wealth, safety, and advantage. Nevertheless, choosing the right path—that is chivalry. Chivalry is in the heart...”

Yu’s speech went on without end.

Good thing I’m seated in the gallery, Qing thought. Mm. Director, I didn’t take you for this type.

It felt like this might be the first test in its own right.

To listen to endless nagging and endure without walking out—

a trial of patience and iron resolve.

Mm, but that red-bean porridge pail there—mm, how would it taste? Red-bean porridge. I want red-bean porridge. The Central Plains are a bit short on sugar, but still—that taste of home, the taste I miss. Well, red beans are boiled until they crawl; how different can it be, really?

“...And thus this is chivalry—the spirit of chivalry. I ask that our academy’s cadets—and also those who will part ways in disappointment after failing the test—engrave it in your hearts and act by it.”

Oh, looks like it’s over.

Life returned to Qing’s eyes—and to the eyes of everyone here.

At that very moment—

“And next is righteousness!”

The life drained from Qing’s eyes.

Ah—of “chivalry and righteousness,” he has covered the “chivalry.”

The light also faded from the people’s eyes.

“We often say we are righteous, or that someone is righteous, but few have thought deeply on what true righteousness is. It is...”

What’s in that pail?

Mala soup? Beef broth? Steam means a broth for sure. Maybe offal soup.

Unable to overcome the boredom, Qing imagined the snacks in the pails the street vendors carried and swallowed her saliva alone.

—WAAAAAA!!

Suddenly a great roar swept the grounds.

At last the announcement came: the test would begin.

In the shout of those freed from the long lecture were packed the joy of FINALLY! AT LAST!

And the roar rose higher still when the man who took position after Yu Seonyeop—Namgung Sinjae—came into view.

Even a first-round test is nothing special.

Spar with a proctor, and that’s it.

From the gallery, if anyone merited notice, the judges wrote an opinion and handed it in, and that was that.

In truth, they said, the result was already somewhat decided in the document screening.

The judges seated in the gallery, strictly speaking, had the right to submit “special pass, admit this one” and “special fail, reject this one.”

“My name is Namgung Sinjae—a swordsman!”

“LITTLE SWORD KING!” “Elder Young Master Namgung!” “SWORD FANG!”

“Now, no need to overthink this! I too will be training at the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy as one cadet among you, and I simply wish to take an advance measure of the sword-intent of comrades who will study side by side!”

The examinees’ eyes flashed.

Rumor had already spread that young orthodox experts would serve as squad leaders at this Academy.

But the Little Sword King?

A chance to train with the elder young master of the Namgung House! A chance to get close! A chance to be an acquaintance!

You might even become friends; even just getting your face stamped—where else would you get that? In the Central Plains, you cannot overstate the importance of connections.

And would the squad leaders be only the Little Sword King?

Surely several like him existed!

A truly unrepeatable chance!

I must pass!

It was a moment that added a layer of motivation for the examinees.

It was also the Martial Alliance’s calculated play—putting Namgung Sinjae up first as proctor.

“Now, who will come clash joyously in a bout with me! Ah—must be blades; other weapons are refused!”

With words worthy of Sword Fang, a young man shot forward and took his place before Namgung Sinjae.

“Oho, the first! Such zeal! Good!”

“Uh—well, um...”

Unlike his dashing entrance, the youth’s manner faltered.

He seemed burdened by the crowd’s gaze, awkward, not knowing where to set his eyes.

From above, Qing could tell why.

He hadn’t sprung out—he’d been pushed out.

The man behind him had shoved him—both hands, all his strength.

What—eliminating a rival? A check?

Someone like that shouldn’t get into the Academy—remember the face, write him down for rejection, Qing thought, fixing the face—

“Kid brother! Vigor! Be bold! Loudly!”

“Kid brother! You can do it!”

It was the man who’d pushed him and the men around him, clenching fists and shouting encouragement.

Ah—so not eliminating a rival; they were together.

They’d shoved him to be first out.

But somehow—mm—what is this? Someone among them looked oddly familiar?

“I am—Matasa from Yukryang! Uh, I—I’m the youngest of the Blue River Six Chivalrous! I don’t have much experience in the rivers and lakes yet! But I’ll emulate my elder brothers and become a great chivalrous man!”

“YOU CAN DO IT!” “HANDSOME! OUR BABY BROTHER!”

Blue River Six Chivalrous? Qing tilted her head, and a few storytellers played know-it-all for the crowd.

They said Blue River Four Chivalrous—a sworn brotherhood led by the chivalrous man called Blue River Gale Chivalrous, Jogeaksan—wandered the jianghu and cut down wanted criminals. Their martial might wasn’t anything special and they often lost and fled; even so, their one thing—their chivalrous resolve to put down evildoers—was worthy of the name.

Blue River Four Chivalrous? It’s Six, isn’t it? Well, it seems they’ve gained two brothers since then. Six is a bit many, no? Still, they do the work of chivalry; more is good, isn’t it. They’re sworn brothers—numbers can grow. And so on, murmur murmur.

“I humbly ask for a bout!”

“Good! Come!”

And in that interval, the real spar began.