Episode 90. A Man’s Resolve Is Enlightenment.
Let me summarize.
The Sword Demon has not yet fought the Alliance Leader. After their duel, it seems he will receive the Alliance Leader’s invitation to join the Martial Alliance — though when that happens, I have no idea.
If we assume that after facing the Alliance Leader he resumed training, then sought out yet another master and vanished afterward, it makes sense why his trail disappeared from history.
After the Sword Demon faded from sight, his disciple — the Left Envoy — must have gone mad, gained the nickname Lust Demon, and later joined the Demonic Cult to kill the Cult Leader. It all fit together now.
Although our “Q&A duel” had ended, the Sword Demon had said I could ask if I still had questions. So I did.
“My junior once found a strange martial scroll that mentioned something called the Thunder Sword Form. What are your thoughts on that, senior?”
The Sword Demon smiled faintly. My blunt question about martial arts seemed to amuse and intrigue him.
“What does the scroll say about it?” he asked.
“It says the sword’s energy transforms into thunder.”
“…That’s it?”
I nodded. So it wasn’t just me who thought that was absurdly vague.
Even the Sword Demon looked mildly perplexed. Who could possibly learn such an incomplete art?
“If the Thunder Sword Form is a stage,” he asked, “what comes before and after it?”
I steadied my breath. Since I was the one seeking guidance, I might as well answer honestly.
“The stages go in order: Long Sword, Short Sword, Ten Thousand Swords, Unsheathing Sword, then Thunder Sword.”
“And after that?”
“Wooden Sword, Qi Sword, and finally the Infinite Sword.”
The Sword Demon nodded thoughtfully. “Systematic. The names describe stages of mastery rather than specific techniques — intriguing. The ‘Infinite Sword Form’ must be the creator’s ultimate art. I’ve never heard of a sect that defines swordsmanship in such pure essence. This art must trace back at least a century.”
“Most likely,” I replied.
The Left Envoy, still nursing the lump on his forehead from earlier, sat quietly again. While the Sword Demon sank into thought, I folded my arms and closed my eyes. All three of us pondered the mystery left behind by the ancient master.
At length, the Sword Demon spoke. “Here’s my view.”
I opened my eyes.
“Take it only as conjecture,” he said. “Don’t cling too literally to the term ‘Thunder Sword.’ If I had to guess, that master cultivated extreme yang energy. When his sword qi reached its explosive peak, it must have burst forth like thunder. Naturally, he’d name his stage after that. Qi often mirrors nature; hence, ‘Thunder Sword.’ But that doesn’t mean one must make sword qi look like lightning. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“And the Wooden Sword Form?”
“From the Long Sword to the Thunder Sword — all these can be performed with a wooden sword.”
The Sword Demon’s expression brightened. “Ah… sounds much like my own state. Then the Qi Sword Form must mean wielding pure energy itself — no blade at all?”
I nodded. He furrowed his brow. “So the Wooden Sword isn’t the end. This sword art… could it have belonged to the greatest master of a bygone era?”
“I’m not sure. It’s said to be Ouyang Muguk’s sword technique, but I’d never heard the name before.”
“Then likely of the righteous path,” the Sword Demon mused. “When I meet the Alliance Leader, I’ll ask him. If I learn more, I’ll tell you.”
That sounded reasonable. The Alliance Leader would surely know — their records were meticulous.
And with that, I realized: the Thunder Sword Form wasn’t a wall, only a matter of internal energy. With enough time and cultivation — especially as I continued refining the Heavenly Jade’s power — I’d reach it naturally.
I’d rarely wielded swords in my past life, so my qi probably wouldn’t resemble thunder at all. But as the Sword Demon had said, that didn’t matter.
I thought suddenly of plum blossoms. If my sword qi scattered like falling blossoms… Plum blossoms and thunder weren’t rivals — merely reflections of one’s character.
Perhaps, in my own interpretation, the “Thunder Sword” would become the Plum Blossom Sword. Combined with the Flame Harmony of Golden Nine Flow, it might yield Fragrance of the Plum Blossom. But its power would have to strike as fiercely as lightning for it to mean anything at all.
Our conversation carried on mostly between the Sword Demon and me, though the Left Envoy clearly pondered our words too — interpreting them through his own Ice Qi.
Then the Sword Demon spoke in a strangely reflective tone. “My real name lost meaning long ago. I no longer use it.”
He wanted me to reveal mine. So I did.
“I am Ijaha, Master of the Hao Sect.”
“You founded the Hao Sect?”
I nodded. He turned to his disciple. “From now on, do not provoke or insult anyone of the Hao Sect. Should conflict arise, it will be troublesome. Especially with the women.”
The Left Envoy nodded sheepishly. “Understood.”
The Sword Demon rested his chin on his hand, smiling faintly. “The Hao Sect Master’s words will keep me awake tonight. I’ll meditate on them. For now, give me some time alone.”
He looked at me. “We’ll meet again, won’t we, Sect Master?”
“I believe we will, senior. There’s still much we’ll have to discuss.”
For the first time, the always-calm Sword Demon smiled. “Until then.”
Though polite, his manner was free of formal stiffness.
He stood, clasped his hands behind his back, and said to his disciple, “You’ve learned enough for today. Go home, before your stench of liquor scares away enlightenment itself.”
It was clear: he guided through insight, not correction. The disciple was strong enough to learn alone.
We three men parted without warmth or ceremony — none of us were the sentimental type.
But as soon as the Left Envoy and I stepped outside, we naturally glared at each other.
He said coldly, “You’re lucky, bumpkin. You even got my master’s guidance.”
“And you’re lucky, crapper. Want to test which of us really is?”
Just then, a deep voice called from inside the house. “I have something to say. Crapper, get back here.”
The Left Envoy froze, then hurried back inside. “Yes, Master.”
Left alone, I clicked my tongue, then turned back toward my lodging. As I walked, I replayed my conversation with the Sword Demon in my mind.
I hadn’t gained Ice Qi — but I’d gained something else: the sword.
I hadn’t practiced swordsmanship much in my previous life. The Sword Demon had been right — I wasn’t exceptional in any single art. If that stung, so be it. My strength lay in my unyielding staff arts — weapons born from sheer will, not grace. Perhaps that was my path.
The Sword Demon’s level seemed slightly above mine, and that irked me. But I’d only recently begun anew — my growth had been unnaturally fast. No need to rush. No need to compare.
I hadn’t asked him about chivalry on purpose. He walked a different path — one unsuited for knights or idealists. His focus was pure martial pursuit. Perhaps that was the oldest, truest form of the demonic way.
After all, the Dao has no fixed boundaries. If a man like him called himself a demon, then he was one.
Yet his words lingered in me — that he’d fought the Cult Leader merely to see who was the truer demon. Only after meeting him did I finally understand what that meant.
If you call yourself a man, you should at least be like that.
That thought thundered through my chest long after I left.
Back inside, the Sword Demon sighed on the bench. “Disciple.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Calling you both in together was my mistake. You’d have fought again, so I recalled you.”
The Left Envoy nodded wearily. “We probably would have, yes.”
“Mong-rang.”
“Yes, Master?”
“I’m a selfish man. Spending time on you doesn’t come easily. You, being sociable, may not understand.”
“I do understand, Master.”
“Have you lost interest in training lately?”
“It feels like hitting a wall, to be honest.”
“Every martial artist faces walls. The question is how you break through — that’s what the martial world calls 悟性, enlightenment. Many mistake it for talent — quick learning, intelligence, memory — but that’s not enlightenment. That’s merely being smart, a gift from your parents. Like you…”
“…”
“I tell you not to drink, not to chase women. Yet look at that Hao Sect Master — he grows stronger without a teacher. You’ve been called a genius since childhood, but tell me, is your enlightenment truly greater than his?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You heard what he said earlier, didn’t you? He’s wandering the world to create a new martial art. Whatever his sect does, his purpose is clear — mastery. When he’s ready, he’ll go kill the Cult Leader. But even he knows it won’t be easy. Remember his words?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat them.”
“He said, ‘What matters is harboring the will to kill the one who must die.’”
“Exactly. You pursue women while he cultivates killing intent. A year passes, two — when you meet again, will you still face him as an equal?”
The Left Envoy fell silent, his expression subdued.
“Think long-term,” said the Sword Demon. “Not as a saying — truly imagine your future. If the man who fed you laxatives surpasses you, how will you live with that disgrace? You were called a genius. Can you endure that humiliation? Consider this a blessing — an equal to sharpen you. The martial world has always been that way.”
“Yes, Master.”
“You become strong easily because you have keen insight.”
“Yes.”
“But if Ijaha surpasses you, what good is that? I watched him hide his energy and measure every word with care. Where did he learn such restraint? Go and think about it. A year from now, how will you defeat him? Two years from now, what method will surpass his killing will? Remember — enlightenment is not speed, but the clarity and resolve of a man’s heart.”
The disciple stepped down and bowed deeply. “I will reflect on it, Master.”
“Good. I’ll be meditating for the next few days to seize the thread of my own realization.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Be cautious. He’s restraining madness within him — call him a bumpkin and he’ll call you a crapper. Call him Sect Master, and he might call you junior. He’s a temperamental beast. Don’t provoke him. A man who seeks to kill the Cult Leader is both ally and rival. Don’t treat him carelessly.”
“Understood. Best not to provoke a mad dog.”
“Right. Because if you call him a mad dog again, he’ll probably call you a horny dog. Now go.”
By the end, the disciple looked like he’d been beaten half to death again. He bowed low. “Your foolish disciple takes his leave.”
The Sword Demon nodded solemnly. “Good enough.”
The disciple staggered to his feet, swaying as he walked toward the gate — a defeated soldier retreating from battle. Behind him, his master’s sigh followed, sharp as a blade, piercing his heart once more.