Urban Vagabond: Reload

“Weapon disarming? I thought the basic abilities were evaluated with measuring devices.”

A man strode toward Black-White and lodged a protest.

His sharp features made it easy to guess he had a prickly personality.

“Since when do you just change the test like this on the fly? Are you sure the Sect Masters of the Eight Great Sects actually approved this?”

At his tone—like he was saying the entire exam was wrong—some people nodded in agreement.

“He’s right. It is kind of weird.”

“Telling us to fight each other in the basic evaluation phase... What if someone gets hurt?”

The murmuring crowd quickly shifted into open dissatisfaction with the exam format.

The reason was simple.

In a lot of cases, the person standing right next to you was someone you knew, maybe even a senior or junior from the same sect.

Of course people were reluctant to fight each other in that situation; once someone stepped up to complain, more voices joined in.

[My apologies.]

Black-White only rolled the eyes behind the mask, fixing their gaze on the sharp-featured man who was leading the protest.

[I am merely administering the basic evaluation test according to the instructions I received from above. What you’ve brought up will be passed on so it can be reflected in next year’s license exam.]

At the flat, mechanical answer with not a hint of inflection, the sharp-featured man’s eyebrow twitched. He took another step closer.

“Then call your superior here. At minimum, please contact an executive of the Martial Alliance, or an elder from one of the Eight Great Sects.”

[That is not possible. However, I will inform you of one exception clause.]

“Exception?”

[If you defeat me, you will be allowed to skip the entire basic evaluation and pass. Would you like to challenge me?]

The man glared fiercely at Black-White for a moment, then drew his sword with a shiiing and nodded.

“I’ll challenge you. Rather than crossing swords with fellow disciples from my own gate, I’d feel better taking a shot at the examiner even if I can’t win.”

Some of the martial artists clapped at the man’s courageous decision.

From where I stood, it just looked like reckless bravado.

He does seem like someone who has the right to be confident, but...

The man who challenged Black-White had qi at least on the level of a second-rate martial artist.

At that level, he’d definitely be among the top-tier martial artists taking the license exam.

[Very well. You may come at me whenever you’re ready.]

“Haaat!”

The man’s eyebrow twitched in displeasure, and with a sharp shout he swung his sword at Black-White.

The gleam on his blade and the killing intent condensed on it were impressively sharp, but—

Clang!

“Guhh!”

Black-White swatted his sword aside with a single strike, sending the man flying as he lost his grip. His sword ended up in Black-White’s hand.

[This applicant will be considered to have lost in the weapon disarming event. Please wait until everyone else’s test is finished.]

“W-wait a second!”

The man whose weapon had been taken and who lay on the ground went bright red.

He hadn’t expected the examiner to be weak, but he had never imagined he wouldn’t even be able to exchange a single round.

Was he really going to be eliminated from the license exam just like this?

Stunned reason, choked by shame and anger, snapped. The man sprang to his feet and shouted.

“Who the hell changed the exam to this garbage!? I’m a direct-line disciple of Supreme Pole Sword Gate and— Hrk!”

At some point, Black-White had stepped right up to him and was pressing the sword they’d taken against the man’s throat.

[This is your warning. If you interfere with the exam any further, I will respond with strong measures.]

“......”

The man’s face turned pale. He backed away in silence, and that silence spread quickly through the crowd.

That one, Black-White. They’re at the peak level.

From the start, I’d been watching Black-White’s movements closely, and that was the conclusion I came to.

Then I checked the time still floating above Black-White’s head.

[03 : 48]

The exam had started with five minutes. Not even four minutes remained.

[Then please decide a winner within the time limit. I wish all of you the best of luck.]

Black-White hadn’t even finished speaking when applicants all around me were already stepping back from whoever stood closest and raising their weapons.

“...Guess we don’t have a choice. Let’s do this.”

“S-senior! You’re really going to fight me?”

“Sorry, but I have to get my third-rate martial-artist license this time!”

From all over came the clashing, ringing sounds of weapons colliding.

I clicked my tongue lightly as I watched the situation flow.

Whoever designed this has a nasty personality right from the opening.

Martial artists usually don’t like letting unfamiliar people walk into their personal range. This test deliberately forced people to fight those who were closest.

The senior or acquaintance you’d felt reassured to be taking the exam with suddenly turned into a competitor.

“...Muhyuk.”

“Yes.”

Oh Jungmin had also put some distance between us and drawn his sword; a wry smile was on his face.

“For you, this is your first license exam. They’re being a bit much, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to have to fight a familiar face right from the start.”

“Ha ha! Pretty confident, aren’t you? I’d better watch out so I don’t get humiliated.”

But despite his joking, his expression as he took his sword stance was full of confidence.

“I know you’re something else, but I’m not exactly a pushover. Underestimate me and you might really get burned.”

“I’ve never underestimated you. I know you’re strong enough to challenge a first-rate license.”

“...You know that?”

“I can feel it.”

Oh Jungmin went quiet for a moment. Then he tugged one corner of his mouth up and let out a short laugh.

He drew his sword in close to his chest and gave a formal salute before the duel.

“First Direct Disciple of Songwol Gate, Oh Jungmin. It’s an honor to cross swords with Kim Muhyuk, young hero.”

“Martial-artist newcomer Kim Muhyuk. The honor is mine, being able to broaden my horizons with Songwol Gate’s sword.”

“I hope we both show our full strength so we have no regrets, and that there’s no lingering bitterness between us afterward.”

“I feel the same.”

And in that instant, without either one being first or second, we both dashed toward each other and swung our swords.

Clang!

The sound of the blades colliding was light and crisp. Compared to Shin Kangheon’s saber, which had slammed into mine every day, the sheer power was less than half.

That didn’t mean Oh Jungmin’s sword was weak. Not at all.

He’s fast. And precise.

The trajectory of his blade slipped around to my side with a speed I rarely saw even in Shin Kangheon’s saber. I gave up trying to track it with my eyes and twisted my body using only my senses.

Swish—

My sleeve fluttered, nicked shallowly. Spinning the same way I’d twisted, I dropped my stance and cut for Oh Jungmin’s lower body. He stepped back and blocked with his sword.

Clang, clang!

Songwol Gate’s sword art wasn’t flashy or overwhelmingly powerful.

Instead, just like the sect’s name—Pine-Moon Gate—it aimed for straightness like a pine tree and softness like a full moon.

It was especially renowned, even among the great sects, for its defensive forms.

And it fit Oh Jungmin’s flexible, gentle disposition like a custom-made outfit.

His fundamentals are solid. He feels like a tree with its roots driven deep.

I found myself impressed; Oh Jungmin’s skill was better than I’d expected.

I could feel how relentlessly he’d trained his body and practiced his sword.

A martial artist whose external strength, internal strength, and experience all harmonized—those were rare.

Claaang!

Then Oh Jungmin knocked my sword aside with a heavy blow and opened up some distance, catching his breath as he asked,

“Why are you smiling? Are you looking down on me?”

“It’s the opposite. I’m smiling because I like fighting strong people.”

“...I’ve thought this for a while, but your eyes and your smile are just perfect for getting misunderstood. It’s like you invite pointless trouble.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I grinned lopsidedly and charged first this time.

Shaking his head, Oh Jungmin’s eyes changed in an instant, and he swung his sword.

Clang! Clang, clang-clang!

I unleashed everything I’d learned over the past few months.

The movements my teacher had reshaped into smoother lines put less load on my joints; now I could swing without any strain.

My sword moved freely like a vagabond’s, at times fierce like the black-path, and sometimes carried the measured discipline of a renowned orthodox sect.

The guidance of a swordsman once counted among the top five in Korea had dragged me up to a far higher realm in just a few months.

“Holy—”

“Are we watching first-rate martial artists from the start?”

“How does it make sense for either of them to get eliminated...?”

Applicants who had already finished their weapon disarming stood wide-eyed, watching our duel. Black-White, too, was watching us closely.

[It’s a duel I’d love to keep watching, but unfortunately there isn’t much time left.]

But the person more shocked than anyone was Oh Jungmin, who was actually crossing swords with me.

Is this really the same Kim Muhyuk from a few months ago?

What had started as an even exchange of attacks and defenses was gradually tilting one way.

Oh Jungmin was barely managing to block my attacks with the solid defensive forms of Songwol Sword Art, unable to find a chance to counter.

I, on the other hand, was building momentum, now pouring out a one-sided barrage.

“Kh...!”

Gritting his teeth, Oh Jungmin blocked and blocked again.

He, too, had put himself through bone-grinding effort. He had trained for years without rest to be recognized as a first-rate martial artist.

And yet now, he was being pushed back by a boy who hadn’t even been an adult until last year.

It was an overwhelming difference in talent.

Oh Jungmin bit his lip at that despairing gap.

“Martial artist Oh Jungmin of Songwol Gate.”

I broke off my attacks for a moment and spoke, my breathing not much rougher than at the start. My tone was extremely polite.

“I’d like to keep crossing swords with you, but we’re short on time. Please give up here and hand me your sword.”

“...What?”

“Your palms are already torn open so badly it’s hard to even swing your sword.”

Only then did Oh Jungmin look down at his own hands. The palm gripping his sword was ripped open, blood streaming down.

“......”

[ 00 : 32 ]

[ 00 : 32 ]

There wasn’t even a full minute left.

I layered killing intent onto my gaze, which was cold even when I was standing still, and spoke.

“I won’t be able to make sure you don’t get hurt any further. If you don’t let go on your own, I’ll have to break your fingers or cut you and take it.”

“You... You really got absurdly strong.”

My warning carried genuine concern, but instead of fear, what came out of Oh Jungmin was a hollow laugh.

He was also the First Direct Disciple of Songwol Gate, a sect with history and tradition.

It might not be one of the Eight Great Sects, just a mid-tier sect, but his pride and sense of honor toward his sect ran high.

More than anything—

“If I were the kind of man who nods and lets go just because someone says ‘drop your sword’... I never would’ve picked it up in the first place.”

Rip—

He tore his sleeve and bound it tightly around his blood-slick palm so the sword wouldn’t slip.

“I can’t give up.”

[ 00 : 22 ]

With less than thirty seconds remaining,

Oh Jungmin raised his sword with a stubborn expression and pointed it at me.

“...If you want to win, then cut my hand and take it. That’s better than me quitting the exam with my own will and walking away.”

[ 00 : 17 ]

Just looking into his eyes, I could tell it wasn’t bluffing.

Even if his hand was cut or slashed, he would not let go of his sword.

It wasn’t just about the martial-artist license exam. The pride of the martial artist named Oh Jungmin would not allow him to surrender.

“You’re really sure you won’t regret this?”

“What’s the difference between a martial artist having their weapon taken and dying?”

“......”

“You said there’s no time. Get over here!”

[ 00 : 09 ]

I checked the remaining time, then kicked off the ground and charged.

Eyes wide, Oh Jungmin swung with trembling arms.

Slash!

A silver arc carved the space between us, and the next moment, Oh Jungmin collapsed, scattering blood.