There was a pride in Namgoong Mucheon’s eyes—the pride of one who stood above all under heaven.
And Seolhwa knew that this pride was not arrogance. For ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) the man who bore the title of the Sword Emperor and reigned over the world beneath his feet was none other than Namgoong Mucheon.
Where he stood was Namgoong itself—the Namgoong beneath the azure sky.
“Do you know what Namgoong is called?”
“Heaven,” she answered.
“And do you know why it is called that?”
“Hmm...”
Seolhwa recalled the mbers of Namgoong whom she had killed with her own hands in her previous life.
Though they had been defeated, their spirit had never broken.
That had always puzzled her.
Why was it that, even in the mont of death, they never abandoned the na Namgoong?
To those who did not bear the Namgoong surna, the Blood Demon Cult had offered rcy—abandon your clan and join the cult, and you would be spared.
But in truth, only a handful of lower-ranked martial artists had accepted. Even those without the Namgoong na had laid down their lives under it.
Why?
Why had they been so devoted to Namgoong?
“Is it because the color of their inner energy is blue, like the sky?”
When one cultivated Namgoong’s martial arts, their inner energy took on a blue hue—pure and clear beyond comparison.
Among Namgoong’s people, the deeper the blue, the stronger one’s inner energy was said to be.
“That’s not wrong,” Namgoong Mucheon said with a satisfied smile, “but it is not the answer I seek.”
“Then how do you explain those whose inner energy isn’t blue?”
Indeed.
Not everyone within Namgoong, even those who practiced its martial arts, possessed blue-hued inner energy.
There were rare individuals whose energy glowed orange, black, or even gray.
“I don’t know,” Seolhwa answered honestly.
Namgoong Mucheon chuckled.
“You’ve got the order backwards.”
“Order?”
“It’s not that the energy is blue and thus we are called heaven. It is that our martial arts follow heaven, and so our energy becos blue.”
He tapped his chest with his finger.
“Just because one learns the sa martial art does not an they carry the sa aning. Depending on the sky they carry within their heart, their inner energy may take on a different color.”
One who yearns for a sunset sky may have orange-hued energy.
One who gazes upon the night sky may bear black energy.
One who longs for a cloudy sky may wield energy tinged with gray.
He raised his hand toward the heavens.
“But what matters is that all of them are still looking to the sky.”
Every martial art has a starting point, a source of inspiration.
Many styles took after the shapes of beasts. So were born from waves, others from blooming trees swaying in the wind.
Namgoong, in that sense, looked to the sky.
“To live a life as pure and upright as the clear blue heavens gazing down upon the world—that is what Namgoong strives to teach. To follow the will of the heavens and walk the righteous path. That is the chivalry Namgoong imparts.”
Namgoong had never practiced cowardice, nor relied on deceit.
Just like the sky looking down upon the world, they never bowed their heads easily. And their martial arts were overwhelmingly powerful—designed to dominate with sheer force.
“But...”
I acknowledge the ideals of Namgoong’s martial ways, that they follow the will of the heavens. I even recognize that Namgoong Mucheon is a man who embodies the sky. It’s just...
To Seolhwa—who had once brought Namgoong to ruin—Namgoong’s unwavering sense of justice seed a bit too rigid.
“A straight tree is bound to break.”
In her past life, Namgoong had fallen to the Blood Demon Cult’s vile sches. Because they were too righteous, they didn’t doubt others—and never doubted themselves.
There had been poisons and sorcery, isolation, spies, betrayal—countless filthy tactics. In the end, Namgoong broke.
Can one still call that kind of righteousness correct?
“A broken tree can never stand again. Even if new buds sprout and it grows anew, it takes too long to beco the sa tree. Is that truly the right way?”
“It is more important that a tree break than bend.”
“Even if a tree that bends doesn’t break as easily?”
In the end, isn’t survival what matters?
“What matters is the spirit,” Namgoong Mucheon said, lightly tapping his head.
“A tree with roots will eventually grow again. Even if, as you say, it takes a long ti, it will co back to life. But a tree that bends is often uprooted entirely.”
To bend ans the trunk isn’t strong or thick enough.
A tree with a weak trunk usually has weak roots. Even if it lives long, it rarely lasts a hundred years.
“As long as the spirit survives, whether it be a clan or a sect, it will one day sprout again and rise. This isn’t just true for Namgoong—it applies to any righteous sect.”
And to that, Seolhwa agreed.
That all righteous sects carried such unwavering beliefs.
Which is why they all eventually collapsed.
Still, if one were to ask whether those fallen righteous sects had truly perished—Seolhwa couldn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know what had happened after her own death.
Maybe...
Perhaps sprouts she failed to sever had grown and destroyed the Blood Demon Cult. Perhaps they had revived the orthodox martial world.
If so...
Then his words are true.
If the spirit lives on, it will one day rise again. A tree not uprooted is not truly dead.
In my past life, I didn’t destroy Namgoong.
She may have snapped the towering tree nad Namgoong—but she had not broken its spirit.
Even as they died, they protected the clan’s secret arts, protected Namgoong’s children, protected their pride. Even in death, they remained Namgoong.
Seolhwa nodded.
“I think I understand... a little.”
A cool smile spread across Namgoong Mucheon’s lips.
Just from the look on her face, he could tell. He could see what his granddaughter thought of the spirit of Namgoong.
“It may still be hard for you to accept right now. But as you spend more ti here in Namgoong, you’ll co to understand it naturally.”
Seolhwa gave a small nod.
“We’ve spoken at length. Let’s return to the main question.”
Namgoong Mucheon’s gaze deepened.
His sharp eyes felt as though they were reading straight into her soul.
“Will you live as a child of Namgoong? If you wish, we can continue to hide your existence as we have.”
An unexpected offer.
To not live as a child of Namgoong, if she did not wish to.
If she chose not to, it would be easier to carry out the resolve she had made in secret. She would move more freely without the burden of attention that ca with a na—like a shadow in the dark.
Like an assassin.
But Seolhwa didn’t hesitate even for a mont as she shook her head.
“No. I am a child of Namgoong.”
She had already resolved herself.
In this life, she would beco Namgoong’s shield—taking arrows ant for them—and Namgoong’s sword, cutting down their enemies at the front line.
Her sins from her previous life were too great. In this one, she would pay for them.
“I’ve already chosen to live that way.”
At her answer, a satisfied smile curved Namgoong Mucheon’s lips.
“Good.”
He nodded, still smiling.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the Celestial Tiger Pavilion.”
Now, everything was in place.
The child’s identity had been confird, and all preparations had been made.
All that remained was the announcent.
That a child of Namgoong had returned.
That after eight years, Namgoong had reclaid the child it had lost.
****
“Gah...! Haaah!”
“I–I’m gonna die... I’m seriously gonna die like this...!”
At the training ground of the Celestial Guest Courtyard—
Four martial artists held horse-riding stances with heavy weights strapped to their arms and legs.
Their uniforms were already soaked with sweat, clinging to their bodies, and their limbs trembled violently, long past their limits.
I... I can’t anymore...
“Arm.”
A wooden sword appeared out of nowhere and smack! struck one mber right on the elbow just as he was about to collapse.
Startled, the martial artist instinctively corrected his posture.
“There’s not much left. Hold out a little longer.”
That was the real problem.
Whenever soone looked ready to give up, that child would appear from nowhere and strike exactly where their posture was beginning to fall apart.
The hits weren’t hard—but sohow, being struck by that wooden sword made sothing jolt, made their body flinch, and their posture snap straight again like magic.
Wh–why the hell am I listening to a kid like this...?!
And so, ti passed. Before they knew it, it had been nearly two full hours.
Damn it...! I shouldn’t have listened to our squad leader...!
They had given up precious sleep to co here, just for the chance to be trained by a master at the peak of martial arts!
As a guest of the Celestial Guest Courtyard, surely this master would offer them incredible instruction!
This isn't training—it's torture!
Forget a master, that little brat isn’t even human!
Curse the squad leader! Stupid squad leader!
The mbers of the Eleventh Red Dragon Formation glared daggers at their squad leader, Namgoong Jipyeong, with eyes full of betrayal.
“Nine hundred ninety... five...! Nine hundred ninety... six...!”
Face flushed to the point of bursting, Namgoong Jipyeong was in front of them, doing push-ups like a man possessed.
“Nine hundred ninety-nine...! One thousand!”
With a loud thud, he collapsed face-down as he finished the thousandth rep.
At that exact mont—thud! thud! thud! thud!—the others dropped from their stances and fell to the ground.
Only the sounds of ragged breathing echoed through the Celestial Guest Training Ground.
As Namgoong Jipyeong lay sprawled flat on his back, small, dainty feet approached him in light steps.
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