The Great Blade and the Small Blade
Before the ten men of Great Blade could even open their mouths,
Jimin—having confirmed their identities with the leader—drove a straight punch at the man standing in the center.
It was a strike plainly visible, almost slow to the eye.
Yet he failed to evade it.
Failed even to block it.
The fist sank squarely into his nose.
Clutching his face with both hands, he toppled backward.
In this kind of fight, blood had to be drawn before morale broke.
Men might posture loudly, but once blood flowed, resolve faltered first.
Usually, the man in the center was the strongest.
When he went down in a single blow, the remaining nine froze for a split second.
Their eyes flickered.
But pride held them.
Their own men were watching.
Grinding their teeth, they rushed forward together.
Their charge was crude.
Feet tangled.
Fists swung wide through empty air.
There was noise and aggression, but no control.
They were no different from the brawlers who stirred up market fights.
They stood no chance against someone trained in proper martial discipline.
Their punches cut the air, slow and fully exposed.
Strength scattered without focus; their attack lines collided and tangled.
Jimin's kick landed first.
She drove one man down with a strike to the ribs, pivoted, and smashed another across the back of the head.
Her knee rose sharply into a stomach.
Her body never paused.
An elbow dropped.
The edge of her hand brushed a neck.
With short, precise steps, she erased distance and moved instantly to the next target.
It was light and exact—like handling sparring partners.
Alone, she dismantled all ten, efficiently and mercilessly.
She did not hesitate to use unsavory methods.
Stamping on insteps, striking groins, breaking noses, smashing teeth—techniques one was not supposed to use.
The ten representatives of Great Blade collapsed in ruin.
She did not rush.
She handled them one by one, deliberately.
Watching the man beside them fall made the next one's stomach turn cold.
So this was the famed swordswoman of Tianshan?
No—she chose the most humiliating methods on purpose.
She seized a wrist and twisted.
When a scream burst out, she twisted harder.
A shin kicked—"Ah!"—and as he hopped in pain, she struck the other shin.
A nose usually bleeds from one side.
Rarely both.
If only one side ran, she struck until the other did too.
There was no mercy in that place.
The ten men of Great Blade were in shambles.
All bravado had vanished.
Every one of them bled from the nose.
Blood pooled in their mouths; not a single set of teeth remained intact.
Front teeth were gone.
Molars spat onto the ground.
Arms dangled uselessly.
That, at least, counted as fortunate.
Some limped.
Some clutched their waists.
Some crawled backward.
It was hard to tell where each blow had landed—but the only concern was ensuring none were left permanently crippled. She had been careful about that.
It seemed something pent-up within her had found release.
Breathing hard, she kept attacking.
She did not use inner force.
Only her body.
Even those already down were hauled upright and struck again.
If they screamed, she pressed harder.
She targeted shins again and again.
The cemetery filled with cries as dusk deepened.
They shouted surrender early in the fight.
She did not stop.
Whenever one tried to say "We yield," dirt filled his mouth.
Only when the sun had fully set did she finally cease.
No one died.
No one was permanently maimed.
But wrists were twisted out of place.
Arms hung loose from dislocated shoulders.
Jaws were misaligned.
Cheers erupted from Small Blade.
Great Blade bowed their heads.
The contested territory passed hands that very night.
"Is this what you call a relationship?" So-un asked as they descended the cemetery.
"To seize something, and in return beat down dangerous enemies…
Is that what you meant?"
Jimin shrugged.
"That's one kind of relationship. Don't you think they gained more than they lost?"
"The central market now belongs to Small Blade…"
"That's the way of the world."
Great Blade carried their wounded down the slope, two supporting each injured man.
The red glow in the western sky made their retreat seem even lonelier.
As they walked, So-un asked,
"Isn't this unfair?
A martial artist disciplining lowly men—it's like descending from a higher realm to strike those who cannot match you."
"You're no different, Young Master."
"What have I done?"
"A master beyond ordinary level assassinated an emperor, killed a chancellor, and destroyed a sword pavilion.
Have you forgotten?"
"That is different."
"How is it different? It is the same.
That was not merely unfair—it bordered on unlawful.
At least I did not use a single breath of inner force."
So-un fell silent.
There was something subtle there—an elusive truth.
He felt as though the answer should fall cleanly into place if he thought long enough,
yet defining fairness in human relationships was strangely complex.
"Whatever the reason or purpose," Jimin said again, still breathing hard,
"it's the same."
She had not used inner force; she had relied only on the physical training of her youth.
"I acted to reduce greater sacrifice," So-un said.
"So did I.
If Small Blade and Great Blade fought daily in the market, merchants would suffer, and revenge would breed revenge.
I stepped in to stop that."
"You seem intent on instructing me."
"I'm not instructing you.
I just want you to see things as they are.
The world runs on exchange.
I took their money, and when needed, I gave them strength."
Her words made sense—yet So-un could not shake the sense of unease.
Jimin still caught her breath.
Since she had deliberately avoided inner force, it was hard to label her actions as crossing some absolute line.
To judge it strictly by law felt misplaced—yet So-un examined it deeply.
He, on the other hand, had unleashed his true power in three assassinations.
The weight of those acts could not be equated easily with hers.
When questioned, So-un pondered even trivial matters deeply.
He turned over every word.
His silence was thought in motion.
It was also, at times, a way of quieting the chatter at his side.
He remained in the imperial capital to see whether affairs would return to their proper course.
With people, things move forward. Without them, they move forward still.
It took less than ten days for So-un to confirm that there was nothing that required his direct involvement.
The world was already in motion again, as though nothing unusual had ever occurred.
It had righted itself so swiftly that he began to wonder whether his intervention had been necessary at all.
In truth, it had only been a handful of men who were the problem.
There was also a share of responsibility in having allowed their excesses to continue unchecked.
Yet it was difficult to assign blame to any single person.
Those who hold absolute power tend, unless restrained, to lean toward oppression.
The strength of a bureaucratic order lies in its ability to fill a vacuum of power quickly.
He had feared that without the Chancellor the state would falter, yet the empty seat was soon taken by another.
The Emperor was no exception.
The Empress, who had governed as regent, was elevated to the rank of Grand Empress Dowager and assumed authority in her own right.
The Sword Pavilion, which had grown in the shadows, was dismantled in appearance, yet its command structure survived; despite the disgrace of failing to prevent the assassinations, it found its footing again.
What had changed was the balance among the three centers of power.
The domain of the Sword Pavilion had been reduced, and its former influence was nowhere to be seen.
It was lowered to the role of an imperial guard.
The Chancellor's authority over political affairs was also greatly curtailed.
Perhaps, in the end, the structure had returned to what the founding emperor had originally intended.