The more she turned Seop Mugwang’s words over in her mind—that Namgoong Mucheon cherished her more than she thought—the stronger the itch in her chest beca.
As Seolhwa frowned and scratched lightly below her throat, Seop Mugwang gave a dry laugh.
“Go on, do that thing from earlier again.”
“From earlier?”
“Let see your sword.”
“Ah.”
Seolhwa nodded, stepped back, and took her stance. After a long, deep breath, she swung her sword.
Shhhk—shwiik—
Traces of qi followed the blade through the air once again. But unlike before, the sword was light, clean—flawlessly composed.
Now Seop Mugwang understood why he had sensed anger in her strikes before.
Once her breathing was evenly paced, Seolhwa stopped and turned to face him.
He had watched the whole thing with a serious expression. Now he grinned and gave her a satisfied nod.
“Well? Makes sense now?”
“Yes. It’s not hard anymore.”
“There’s a big difference between a sword that’s forced out and one that moves freely. Channeling emotions into the blade is good. Sotis emotion can empower your sword more than qi ever could. But—”
He raised a single finger. His gaze sharpened.
“One rule: don’t let emotion swing the sword for you. That only eats away at your body and your mind.”
“....”
“Especially anger. It blinds you. It dulls your judgnt. Sure, sotis it’s the strongest motivation of all, but most of the ti, it’s the thing most likely to get you killed.”
Use your emotions—don’t be used by them.
That was the core of what Seop Mugwang wanted to tell her.
But when he finished speaking, a bitter look crept across his face.
Because when he looked down at the child, eyes lowered to her sword as she nodded in silence—her face looked like soone struggling with a question far too big for her age.
“She learns swordsmanship without being taught... and yet she’s this naïve about emotion.”
He had passed a dozen chattering children laughing in the courtyards on the way here.
But in the whole Namgoong Clan, the only child who didn’t laugh freely was her. And sohow, that stung.
“If you weren’t a child of Namgoong, I would’ve taken you on as my disciple in a heartbeat. Damn sha.”
Seolhwa blinked once.
“Just because I’m from Namgoong... does that an I can only learn Namgoong’s sword?”
“...What?”
“Being able to learn the sword of the Storm Thunder God would be an honor.”
Storm Thunder God—that was the na the martial world had given Seop Mugwang.
By calling him that instead of his formal clan title, she was acknowledging his skill—not his status.
It was a na he had earned through his own blade, his own rit—not one inherited.
He blinked in disbelief, then burst into laughter.
“Damn, you really are sothing! I know it’s flattery, but hell, it sounds good!”
“It’s not flattery.”
Seolhwa ant it. She sincerely wanted to learn from him.
He might be hidden in Mucheon’s shadow, but Seop Mugwang’s martial prowess stood on par with the Ten Great Masters.
And it wasn’t the result of any sect or clan technique—it was power forged from scratch. His own technique. His own path.
Even a three-year-old learning martial arts would recognize how rare and extraordinary that was.
Seop Mugwang’s expression shifted into sothing unintentionally serious.
“...Are you being sincere?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand what that ans?”
For a Namgoong to forsake their clan’s sword... it was no different from giving up the right of succession.
In other words, she was saying she’d abandon the title of clan head.
“You do know that unless you’re the next head, you won’t be allowed to learn the clan’s secret arts, right? Even knowing that—after watching your grandfather—you still want to be my disciple?”
Namgoong Mucheon’s sword was the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
Overwhelming force. A weight and pressure that no one could stop, even when they saw it coming.
Once you witnessed it, you never forgot it. If you pursued the path of the sword, you ended up chasing it—whether you ant to or not.
And she was saying she’d give that up?
“Forget it. I walk the sword’s path too, and honestly, I can’t recomnd it. Sure, I’m no lightweight as a master, but your grandfather... he’s the Sword Emperor.”
“I never said I wouldn’t learn the Namgoong sword.”
“No matter how much of a genius you are, you can’t walk two paths at once.”
“I never said I would.”
“Then... what are you saying?”
Seolhwa paused.
Why did she want to learn from Seop Mugwang?
Why was she asking to beco his disciple?
Was it because she coveted his swordsmanship?
No. She admired his sword—but she didn’t want to copy it.
Then what was it?
After a brief mont of thought, Seolhwa raised her eyes and t his directly.
“I want to walk my own path. Not one paved by soone else—but a path that’s mine alone.”
“...!”
Seop Mugwang’s eyes widened.
He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just said.
Any true martial artist would want to forge their own path and chase their own ultimate technique. That was natural.
But children born into prestigious clans with ti-honored martial traditions? They usually chose the easy, already-paved road.
Why go out of your way to suffer on a path filled with hardship and uncertainty?
If you just focused on mastering your clan’s techniques, you could beco clan head—or at worst, one of the elders.
Then power and influence would co easily, simply from the na you carried.
So why...?
“Please. Teach the sword.”
The look in her eyes was earnest.
A child who didn’t even understand her own emotions—so that emotion had to be coming from her unconscious. Which ant it was sincere.
“...Unbelievable,” Seop Mugwang muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
****
On his way back to the clan hall, Seop Mugwang scratched his head in frustration.
A thirteen-year-old who wants to establish her own martial path. What the hell was that?
What was I doing when I was thirteen?
She was rare. Too rare. Which made it all the worse.
So, once again, he’d turned her down.
“I’m sorry, but you really should learn Namgoong’s sword. From what I can see, you’re the future of this clan. Namgoong’s sword isn’t sothing just anyone can learn...”
But the girl had answered boldly,
“If Grandfather gives permission... will you teach ?”
What master wouldn’t be moved by a student asking to inherit their will?
He already wanted to say yes. And when she clung to it so persistently, he couldn’t help but give in with a reluctant nod.
“But don’t whine or beg. That’ll void the deal.”
“Damn it, should’ve just said no. How the hell am I supposed to face the old man now...”
She wasn’t saying she wouldn’t learn Namgoong’s sword—but it was obvious she wouldn’t reach the sa level as if she focused on one path.
“She’ll probably back down soon enough.”
But then he rembered those eyes—bright, unyielding.
He shook his head, trying to drive the thought away.
That was when he heard it.
“She was a courtesan, you know?”
“Gasp—then the young lady...?”
The voices drifted to him faintly.
Seop Mugwang stopped atop the pavilion roof and glanced toward the source of the chatter.
It was along the path leading to the servants’ quarters. Too many people around—he couldn’t tell who had said it.
After a mont of silence, he turned and resud his walk toward the clan hall.
****
By sunset, Seolhwa stepped into the street with Ryeong beside her.
The sun slipped behind the Namgoong estate, veiled by clouds. Even so, it cast a strange, radiant hue across the sky, hidden yet present.
“Young lady.”
Seolhwa turned to see Ryeong at her side. She wore a long black cloak over her Black Dragon Corps uniform, a broad-brimd hat pulled low to conceal her face.
Seolhwa’s appearance was no different.
“Where exactly are we going, dressed like this?” Ryeong asked.
“I made a promise.”
“A promise?”
“To the unit. I told them I’d make things right. I’m going to get back the opportunity that was stolen from them.”
Ryeong let out a quiet sigh.
“Weren’t you going to tell the clan head?”
“Grandfather?”
“Wouldn’t that be the easiest way?”
“Mm.”
It would be.
If she just explained the situation to Namgoong Mucheon and asked for help, the issue could be resolved easily.
But that would only fix what was in front of her. It wouldn’t get to the root.
“I’ll take his help eventually,” she said.
So things would require the clan head to step in.
“But before that, I need to prepare.”
“Prepare what?”
“A weakness.”
“A... weakness.”
She ant to gather evidence before reporting the matter to the Patriarch.
An empty claim was just whining. But a claim backed by proof—that was an accusation.
Still...
“Let’s go. We’re running late.”
Where in the world does she plan to find a weakness?
Ryeong tilted her head in confusion and followed silently behind Seolhwa.
****
Click—
The inn door creaked open, bells jingling to signal the arrival of a custor.
The buzz of conversation died briefly. Diners paused, glancing toward the door.
“Welco—oh! Gasp!”
The young server who had rushed out from the kitchen didn’t finish her greeting.
Not long ago, so Namgoong martial artists had left without paying. The clan had later sent a hefty pouch of silver to make ands.
Those bullies hadn’t returned since—so everyone assud they’d been disciplined.
But now...
“What are you doing? No open seats? Gonna leave a paying guest standing? Huh?”
“N-no! Right this way!”
The server cast nervous glances at the three n in Namgoong uniforms as she guided them to an empty table.
The other custors stole glances too, whispering anxiously behind their hands.
“Nine orders of dumplings! Six bowls of wheat noodles!”
“Y-yes, right away...!”
At that mont—slam!—a loud thud echoed through the tavern as the table rattled.
“Eek!”
The young server flinched, convinced that the three n were back for revenge. She instinctively raised her arms to shield herself.
But the blow she expected never ca.
Instead—
“That’s for the food!”
The shout was so unexpected it took her a second to lower her arms and glance at the table.
There—stacked right on top—was silver.
Real silver, glinting under the tavern lights.
Startled, she quickly gathered the silver and bowed deeply.
“I-I’ll bring it out right away!”
She disappeared into the kitchen like the wind, leaving the n at the table behind.
Ilryong snorted.
Across from him, diagonally seated, Sambong shook his head.
“You really should’ve picked a different place. If she panics like that again and starts another rumor, what then?”
“What do you want to do? The dumplings and noodles here are the best in town!”
“What if we run into him again?”
“What do I care? We paid for our food this ti! That damn curse or whatever—you think I’ve ever lived this honestly before in my life?”
Sambong jolted, hissing a whisper.
“It’s called Lonely Death, and don’t say that out loud! That’s our weak spot!”
Ilryong glanced around, alard. Across from him, Imoe nodded gravely in agreent.
“Tch. That damn thing—look at us now. Would it kill us to just run off? Nothing’s happened since then, maybe we’re in the clear?”
“Yeah? Try it and die. Go ahead. People like you are brave because you’re too dumb to know better! If you understood what it was, you’d be scared shitless like the rest of us!”
“What was that, you punk...?”
And then it hit.
Tatat, tat, tak!
The three of them froze where they sat. A familiar chill ran up their spines.
Their bodies stiffened, locked in place—while still seated at the table.
“It’s been a while.”
Sambong looked up to find soone seated across from him.
No—a child in a wide-brimd bamboo hat.
What... who the hell is this kid?
The hat tilted ever so slightly, revealing a pair of eyes that locked onto his. A gentle smile spread across her lips.
And in that mont, it hit him.
The realization was instant, bone-deep. This girl—this child—was that expert. The one who’d held their lives in her hand that night.
“Order’s ready—!”
The server returned, arms full of dishes, happily laying food across the table.
“Oh! Looks like you have another friend now?”
Seolhwa lifted her bamboo hat and spoke sweetly, her voice light and innocent.
“They said they’d buy sothing yummy.”
“Wow, such nice uncles!”
The server glanced at the three n in surprise.
The n, however, sat completely still—silently screaming please spare us inside, while their eyes darted around in sheer panic.
“Well then, enjoy your al!”
The server skipped off.
Ilryong, Imoe, and Sambong felt like crying.
Seolhwa grabbed one of the steaming trays of dumplings and set it in front of her. Cheerfully, she popped one into her mouth.
“Mmm, this place really does have the best dumplings. Right?”
The three of them could only sit there helplessly and watch her clear the entire tray.
After finishing every last dumpling, Seolhwa washed it down with a cup of water and gently clasped her hands, resting her chin atop them as she stared at Sambong.
—If you promise not to make a scene, I’ll let you go.
Sambong’s eyes widened.
—Blink once for yes.
He blinked. Rapidly. Desperately.
She passed the sa ssage to Ilryong and Imoe, then calmly released their pressure points.
Only then could the three n breathe again, slowly easing out their stiff limbs.
Seolhwa reached across the table and laid out a tray of dumplings in front of each of them.
“Co on, eat. It’ll get cold.”
Sambong carefully opened his tray, sneaking glances at her face.
Clack.
As he lifted the lid, for a fleeting mont, the thought crossed his mind—should I just throw this tray in her face and make a run for it?
But in that instant, sothing slithered up his back.
A sensation—heavy, suffocating—like a massive serpent coiling around his neck.
His breath hitched. His body trembled ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) uncontrollably. He couldn’t move. Ilryong and Imoe were the sa.
Even without her sealing their pressure points again, their bodies were locked in place.
Then, in that awful silence, ca the clear, lilting voice of a child—chilling in its purity.
“I already hit your Ah-hyeol and Ma-hyeol. You really think I can’t hit your Sa-hyeol too?”
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