Namsan Sect – The Founding Ceremony (開派式)
Jimin's training continued without pause.
Her unforgiving severity was reinforced by Sowoon's quiet and steady conviction.
Their methods pushed against one another and grew firmer together.
Sowoon accepted Supreme General Jin Mugwang's proposal.
He led a considerable number of people up Mount Namsan.
He accepted all levels of martial ability, without distinction of sect, clan, or rank.
Those who had already studied martial arts stepped forward first.
Sowoon handed each of them a single sheet of paper and seated them to memorize it.
After confirming memorization, he had them continue both silent recitation and contemplative focus.
Breath, qi-sense, and oral formula were to interlock as a single current.
It was the same method he had used to train the White Dragon Unit.
Previous martial arts were set aside, and everything rebuilt upon a new frame.
He did not "teach" in the usual sense.
He trained them like soldiers.
During training, they recited the mental method and were pushed to the limits their bodies could endure.
When the papers moved up and down before their eyes, the gaze of those half-heartedly maintaining focus abruptly sharpened.
In a martial training ground, a sheet of paper is rarely ordinary.
More often, it is a secret manual.
"A secret text."
"A sword formula."
"How can he hand that out so freely?"
"Could it be fake?"
Whispers spread like a tide.
All eyes fixed upon the paper.
Those who had not received one felt their breath grow tight.
This was precisely what Sowoon intended.
He made use of the competitive instinct of those who studied.
When a few at the front received the paper and began training in a completely different manner, those behind grew visibly anxious.
Their movements faltered.
Their breathing fell out of rhythm.
The slower they were, the more urgency showed upon their faces.
At last, they straightened their posture.
They inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, again and again.
Their eyes carried the unmistakable desire to pass the trial.
Those who failed to memorize were ordered to circle the uneven training ground in tiger-step (虎步).
One lap.
Then two.
Then three.
Whether they wished to memorize or not, they could not help but do so.
Each successive round brought harsher punishment.
Leg muscles trembled.
Breath turned ragged.
Yet none stopped.
They all understood that refusal meant descending the mountain.
The chance to learn from a master of the Transformation Realm (化境) would not come twice.
That knowledge forced their feet forward.
Groups in strange stances muttered incantations across the morning mountain.
Waists lowered, arms half raised, lips moving ceaselessly.
To an outsider it would have resembled a secret religious rite.
The morning sun spread like a fan of blades over the opposite ridge.
Light washed over shoulders and backs.
Murmur.
Step.
Breath and footfall merged into rhythm.
Recitation and weight formed a single cadence.
It was a spectacle.
On one side, men held horse stance with clenched teeth.
Thighs shook.
Faces flushed red.
One failure away from collapse.
Elsewhere, others sat upon rough earth, heedless of form.
Knees dirtied, robes soiled.
They clutched their papers like mad examinees, lips nearly splitting from repetition.
In another area, over a hundred and fifty trainees circled on all fours.
Bodies low in tiger-step, breathing harshly, lap after lap.
Arms and legs smeared with soil.
Backs soaked with sweat.
The entire mountain became a twisted ground of ascetic discipline.
Absurd.
Desperate.
Relentless.
It was the scene Sowoon desired.
The difficulty lay with the faster ones.
Those already possessing solid inner power, those advanced in sword and fist.
He instructed them to create forms based on the memorized text.
Though they recited the same passage, their movements differed.
Interpretation divided them.
One pressed with force.
Another flowed softly.
Another grafted familiar techniques onto it.
Prior learning became an obstacle.
Breathing differed.
Centers shifted differently.
From the same words, entirely different forms emerged.
"Value the breath.
Construct the form from the seat of breath."
At his words, one struck his knee and began anew.
Sowoon ordered them to move very slowly.
No haste.
Establish the formula in the mind first.
Letters and words possess a shaping power.
Within them lies the order that gives birth to form.
He wished qi to move according to the grain of the text.
Movement served only to assist.
When one fixated on motion, breath was lost.
When breath broke, even the faint qi-sense just gained would vanish.
He assigned tasks stage by stage.
When one believed he had attained it, he stepped forward for inspection.
Only those who passed advanced.
Progress was faster than with the White Dragon Unit.
These were trained martial artists, already equipped with strength and perception.
Yet Sowoon did not measure by speed.
He focused only on aligned breath and unbroken qi-sense.
Swift yet unscattered—that alone advanced.
Morning passed swiftly.
No one sought food.
No one descended.
None left formation.
To fall behind was unthinkable.
Heat rose across the mountain—an intensity bordering on frenzy.
No one dared suggest rest.
They feared that if they said, "I will return shortly,"
the reply might be, "Go. And do not return."
No such words had ever been spoken.
Yet the atmosphere itself carried that warning.