The Sword of the Divine Venerable
Upon returning to Yeomga Manor, Ouyang Qiangang headed straight for the practice chamber.
It was a space Sangguan Wan'er had prepared especially for him — a private sanctum, soundproofed so he could devote himself to meditation and martial training without interruption.
Ouyang Qiangang carefully laid the rusted sword he had brought back from the Imperial Treasury on the table.
'Akasha, I think we should start by removing this rust.'
Yes, Doctor. Let me analyze the composition of the rust first.
A moment later, Akasha's analysis came through.
How fascinating. This rust is not simple iron oxide. It's a complex mixture of special mineral compounds and the accumulated traces of time. Judging by the way it encases the blade, there is a high probability the rust was applied deliberately — and by the looks of it, a very long time ago.
'Deliberately? Then I'll have to be all the more careful removing it.'
Understood. I will disperse nanobots across the hilt and the surface of the scabbard and use ultrasonic molecular vibration to precisely decompose and peel away only the rust molecules. The blade itself will sustain no damage whatsoever.
Invisible nanobots sprayed from Ouyang Qiangang's fingertips and began to cling to the sword's surface. Distinguishing the rust from the original metal with perfect precision, they selectively broke down nothing but the corrosion itself.
As the rust peeled away, a subtle, mysterious aura began to seep out from the scabbard and hilt. Etched with intricate precision across the scabbard's surface were strange patterns of unknown origin — enigmatic designs that might have been ancient script, or perhaps constellations. The hilt was wrought of deep black metal, and upon closer inspection, its surface revealed fine veins of silver thread woven in a tangled, elaborate lattice.
But since he had not yet drawn the blade, the most important part of all — the sword itself — remained a mystery.
Ouyang Qiangang was deep in his rust-removal work when the door to the practice chamber opened carefully and Sangguan Wan'er stepped inside.
"Pardon the intrusion, Young Master. I was worried when you didn't come out for so long..."
Ouyang Qiangang wasn't startled — he had already sensed her approach. But as she entered, Sangguan Wan'er stopped mid-stride. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the sword on the table.
From the half-stripped scabbard and hilt, an extraordinary aura was leaking out in faint whispers. Yet the cleansing was far from complete; patches of rust still clung here and there, and taken as a whole, the thing still looked like a worthless lump of scrap iron. Even so, there was something oddly oppressive about it — an inexplicable weight of presence.
"Could it be... that sword is the one you took from the Imperial Treasury?"
"It is."
Sangguan Wan'er was at a loss for words. Truthfully, when she'd first heard that Ouyang Qiangang had chosen that rusted lump of scrap, she had been puzzled. Of all the countless treasures in the Imperial Treasury, of all things — that?
Reading her thoughts with ease, Ouyang Qiangang burst out laughing. "Hahaha! Its appearance is rather hard on the eyes, isn't it?"
Sangguan Wan'er waved her hands in flustered denial. "N-no, not at all! I apologize. My eye for such things is clearly lacking..."
"Please, don't worry. I didn't take it because it's a divine weapon."
"Then why that sword, of all things...?"
"It caught my heart."
At his calm answer, Sangguan Wan'er nodded. "If it drew your heart, then surely there was a reason."
She gazed at the sword for a while, then a question suddenly occurred to her. "By the way, Young Master — have you learned swordsmanship as well? Until now I've only ever seen you use spear techniques..."
"I have. There's a secret sword art passed down in my family, called the Saintly Vast Great Sword Art."
"Oh!"
"I simply had no sword to use it with. I've been wanting to study that art again lately, so I picked this up while I was in the Imperial Treasury."
Ouyang Qiangang turned his gaze from the sword and looked at her. "But I doubt you came all this way just to talk about this. Is there something else you wished to tell me?"
Strangely enough, a faint flush crept across Sangguan Wan'er's cheeks. 'I've never thought of anything beyond the profits of the trading house and the future of my family... so why does my heart race every time I see the young master?'
Akasha's voice echoed through Ouyang Qiangang's mind.
Doctor, I'm detecting changes in Lady Sangguan's biometric signals. Her heart rate is rising.
'Her heart rate? Why?'
As Ouyang Qiangang pondered inwardly, Sangguan Wan'er spoke up carefully. "Young Master... you said the Empress tried to kill the Crown Prince, did you not?"
"Yes."
When Ouyang Qiangang had returned from the palace, he had told Sangguan Wan'er and Yeom Pung everything that had transpired there, holding nothing back. If they intended to keep doing business in the Imperial Capital, it was something they absolutely had to know.
Of course, this was an absolute secret shared only among the three of them. The royal house itself had merely announced that the Second Prince and Muk Cheol-gang had been executed for treason. Not a single word had been uttered about the Empress, theUndercurrents — the hidden current beneath it all — or the truth of the Crown Prince's illness.
Sangguan Wan'er pressed on. "The Crown Prince... wasn't he the Empress's own son?"
"Her own son, yes."
From somewhere deep in Sangguan Wan'er's chest, an unfathomable tremor rose. 'What is this thing called love, that the Empress could go so far as to attempt something so monstrous...?'
"I can't understand it. How can someone wearing the mask of a human being try to kill their own child?"
A bitter smile touched Ouyang Qiangang's lips. "There's only one plausible hypothesis."
"Which is?"
"That the Empress loved the Second Prince's true father more than she loved the Emperor."
"Even so, surely—"
"That man must have driven the Empress into a state of mind where she was willing to do anything for his sake."
Ouyang Qiangang continued, his brow furrowed. "A vicious form of psychological domination — one that clouds the victim's judgment until even their most abnormal thoughts feel like the exercise of their own free will."
Sangguan Wan'er held her breath and listened intently.
"Think of it as being much like a cult leader grooming a follower. Over long years, you erase everything from that person's world except yourself, until they believe you are the only answer, the only salvation."
"Ah..."
Letting out a soft gasp, Sangguan Wan'er asked, "Does His Majesty know, as well?"
"He must. He's hardly so foolish as to miss it."
"Then his inner suffering must be immense."
"I imagine so. Accepting that the woman you love cherished another man more than you is hard enough for any ordinary man to bear — and he is the Emperor, no less."
Sangguan Wan'er's heart grew only more tangled. In the way Ouyang Qiangang dissected a bewildering political situation with crystal clarity — and in the depth of understanding he showed even for the Emperor's pain — she found herself drawn to something she couldn't quite name.
Studying her expression, Ouyang Qiangang asked, "Was this really something you were so curious about?"
"Ah... yes... it's just that it's not the sort of thing one hears every day."
Stammering, Sangguan Wan'er sprang to her feet and gave a light bow. "I'll take my leave, then."
She was strangely reluctant to show her face any longer.
Doctor, Lady Sangguan's heart rate is now even higher than before.
Outside the practice chamber, Sangguan Wan'er fanned at her face with her hand. It had flushed a burning red.
'Why is my face so hot, why is my heart pounding so hard...? And why do I keep wanting to see the Young Master...? Could it be... that I...? Me — five years his senior — falling for him...?'
She was twenty-three, five years older than Ouyang Qiangang. But Sangguan Wan'er was no naive woman too dull to know her own heart. Even so, admitting it was anything but easy. No — she was afraid to admit it.
Once he was alone again, Ouyang Qiangang set the rusted longsword he had brought back on the table.
'Akasha, let's get back to what we were doing.'
Understood.
Vreeeee—
With a faint high-frequency hum that only Ouyang Qiangang could hear, the centuries-old rust began to slough off in a fine dark-brown dust. After another half shichen, the rust on the hilt and scabbard was gone entirely, and the scabbard's venerable form lay fully revealed at last.
It seemed the hilt had originally borne four engraved characters, but two had been worn away, leaving only two behind: Divine Venerable.
'So it's the Divine Venerable Sword...'
Ouyang Qiangang slowly took hold of the hilt and drew the blade.
Screeeech—
Even the blade he forced out was blanketed in a thick crust of rust, its true form impossible to see. Akasha set about stripping it away once more.
One shichen later, the Divine Venerable Sword's blade emerged, clear as the boundless sky.
Carved with a deep, razor-sharp blood channel, the blade was — uncannily — a jet-black luster that seemed to devour every trace of light around it. And like stardust scattered across a night sky, fine particles glimmered faintly along the whole of the edge, conjuring an air of profound mystery.
Analysis complete. The sword's material matches no metal known to exist on Earth. It is an unknown alloy which, by theory, should be sharper than any substance currently known to science. It is a material absent even from my database, Doctor.
A satisfied smile spread across Ouyang Qiangang's lips.
That evening, in the imperial dungeon where the Second Prince was held.
From out of the darkness, a figure wearing a grotesque mask quietly approached the cell bars. The Second Prince, sitting numbly on the cold floor with a hollow, vacant expression, slowly lifted his head.
Without a trace of hesitation, the masked man unlocked the dungeon door with a key and spoke in a courteous voice. "Your Highness. It is time for you to leave."
"Who... who are you?"
The Second Prince's voice, hoarse and cracked, trembled.
"I am one who served Her Majesty the Empress."
The voice flowing out from behind the mask remained polite, yet utterly devoid of feeling. "If you have no intention of dying in this place having accomplished nothing, then stand up. You have a vengeance to take, do you not?"
"Vengeance... against my mother and the Crown Prince, you mean?"
The Second Prince laughed bitterly. "I do not wish for that. Everything is already over."
"I speak not of vengeance against them."
For the first time, emotion bled into the masked man's voice — a hatred so ferocious it chilled the blood. "I speak of the one who orchestrated all of this... the true mastermind."
A flame kindled in the Second Prince's ash-gray eyes. "Hahu Gang..."
"Precisely. That man ruined everything. If only he had never existed..."
The masked man's voice turned cold. Woven into it was a bone-deep, festering grudge against Ouyang Qiangang. "Your Highness — if only for the sake of killing that man, you must leave this place."
The Second Prince eyed him with suspicion. "Why should I trust you? A man whose face is hidden behind a devil's mask?"
A silence followed. Then, as though resolving himself, the masked man slowly removed his mask. At the sight of the face beneath it, the Second Prince's eyes widened until they seemed ready to tear.
Having replaced the mask, the lord of the man asked, "Do you believe me now?"
The Second Prince asked no further questions and rose to his feet. He could feel it — all of this was unfolding inside someone's vast, deliberate design.
He spoke. "Whoever stands behind you, I care nothing for them. But Hahu Gang — that man I must kill with my own two hands. Swear it."
"It shall be so, Your Highness."
That very night, the Imperial Palace was thrown into an uproar once again by the Second Prince's escape.
Sang On rushed headlong to the Emperor's residence, gasping. "Your Majesty! The Second Prince has escaped from the dungeon!"
"What did you say?! Was the dungeon not guarded like an iron fortress!"
The Emperor's eyes flared. "They say not a single one of the guards watching the dungeon survived, Your Majesty."
Panic was written all over Sang On's face. The Emperor's gaze hardened.
He understood now: the battle was not yet over, and the true enemy still lurked in the darkness.