Sparks of Enlightenment
“Do you think this duel was what the Anhui Mo Clan wanted all along?”
“Looking at the way things played out, how could it be anything else?”
“It’s rather unexpected. I was certain they’d come snooping around about the jiangshi.”
Why else would they venture all the way to the heart of the Namgung Clan’s territory in the first place?
“I never thought so from the start,” Hong Jong replied, shaking his head. “The Namgung Clan wasn’t secretly concocting jiangshi behind closed doors. If anything, they’re the victims here. What could anyone possibly uncover by prodding them? Not a single shred of evidence suggests the Namgung Clan is withholding information about the jiangshi.”
“Then what did you expect their visit was about?”
“The exact same thing the Anhui Mo Clan has been doing all this time.”
What they had been doing all this time. The answer surfaced immediately in the beggar’s mind.
“Keeping the Namgung Clan in check, you mean?”
“Indeed. One can hardly blame the Namgung Clan for grinding their teeth at them.”
Just how relentlessly had they hounded them for the Anhui Branch Manager to catch on the instant the phrase was uttered? Granted, as a member of the Beggars’ Sect, he was well-versed in intelligence, but the Mo Clan’s persistent pressure on the Namgung Clan was an open secret across the province.
“They likely came to dig into rumors surrounding that Little Chivalrous Hero,” Hong Jong continued, stroking his scruffy chin. “And while they were at it, probe the Namgung Clan’s current martial strength.”
“No matter how remarkable this Little Chivalrous Hero may be, he is merely in the First-rate realm at present. Would someone of the Heaven-Collapsing Hegemonic Blade’s stature truly mobilize just to verify a fledgeling like him?”
“It seems their wariness flared up entirely because of the current Patriarch of the Namgung Clan.”
“Ah… that makes sense.”
Though the Namgung Clan and the Anhui Mo Clan stood on roughly equal footing today, surprisingly enough, the Mo Clan’s influence had overshadowed the Namgung Clan’s just several decades ago. At the time, whispers abounded that the Namgung Clan ought to be stripped of their seat among the Five Great Clans and replaced by the Anhui Mo Clan.
The man who had overturned that entire landscape in a single stroke was none other than the reigning Family Head of the Namgung Clan—the Heavenly Lightning Sword God, Namgung Jeongcheon.
A monstrous talent who had etched his name onto the roster of the Ten Great Masters Under Heaven at an extraordinarily young age. Rumors even held that with enough time, he would undoubtedly become the undisputed supreme master of the Orthodox faction, if not the greatest under heaven.
The Mo Clan had poured sweat and blood into surpassing the Namgung Clan, only to watch the board completely flipped upside down by a single supreme grandmaster. It was entirely natural that they would react with acute paranoia to any sign of another prodigy rising from the Namgung bloodline.
“Still, it is a relief,” the Branch Manager muttered. “For the moment, the Anhui Mo Clan shows no desire to plunge into an all-out war with the Namgung Clan.”
“Which means you can indulge in your little hobbies in peace, eh?” Hong Jong chuckled slyly.
“Precisely.”
Watching the old beggar snicker, the Branch Manager let out a weary sigh.
“He truly is a fascinating fellow,” Hong Jong remarked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I took him for a naive youth who merely babbled about righteousness and chivalry, yet he had established his very own philosophy on Respect for the Strong.”
“That surprised me as well.”
Who could have foreseen that a young scion would draw such a stark line between genuine Respect for the Strong and crude survival of the fittest? Even the notoriously foul-tempered Heaven-Collapsing Hegemonic Blade had been rendered entirely speechless. Namgung Yun’s reasoning had been unassailable.
“If the goal is to cultivate true masters, Namgung Yun’s words hit the mark,” Hong Jong mused. “Hearing him say that felt like a breath of fresh air sweeping away the rot.”
“To be frank, I felt the same.”
Though the Beggars’ Sect possessed their share of formidable masters, their martial techniques had historically lagged behind those of the prestigious noble sects. They had always bridged that gap through their peerless intelligence network. Yet ever since the distorted doctrine of Respect for the Strong began poisoning the Jianghu decades ago, their reputation and treatment had deteriorated day by day. More and more martial artists treated them with brazen disdain.
Of course, with masters like Hong Jong in their ranks and information remaining an indispensable weapon, they were never subjected to outright humiliation. Even so, should the prevailing winds of the martial world grow any harsher, no one could guarantee where the Beggars’ Sect would stand in the future.
“At any rate,” Hong Jong grinned, dusting off his patched robes, “it’s been an age since I encountered a youngster so thoroughly refreshing. I certainly won’t be bored anytime soon.”
Upon returning to the estate alongside Namgung Yun and the youths, Namgung Uncheon made straight for Namgung Jeongcheon’s quarters.
Whoosh!
A terrifying sound tore through the air. A blade too swift to track carved incomprehensible trajectories through the empty courtyard. Though the wielder was not deliberately pouring out his internal energy, the sheer momentum of each swing exuded an oppressive gravity that seemed capable of crushing anyone nearby.
Clang.
Namgung Jeongcheon sheathed his sword.
Training had always been sacred to him, but these days, every passing hour carried even greater weight. Even so, he showed not the slightest hint of displeasure at the interruption. He knew Namgung Uncheon was not a man to disturb his cultivation over trivial matters.
“A duel…” Jeongcheon murmured.
“Yes, Patriarch.”
Having listened to Uncheon’s concise briefing, Jeongcheon lapsed into thought.
Duels between distinct factions were hardly an everyday occurrence, but neither were they exceedingly rare. The trouble lay in the fact that their opponent was the Anhui Mo Clan—a family with whom they shared generations of bitter enmity.
“So that was their objective all along. To probe our clan’s military capabilities.”
“And while doing so, measure Yun’s mettle, given the renown he has recently gained.”
Both men instantly arrived at the exact same conclusion as Hong Jong.
“Underhanded and venomous. Exactly the sort of scheme those cowards would concoct.”
“How do you wish to proceed?”
If the priority was concealing the clan’s strength, evading the duel was an option. Yet Namgung Uncheon harbored no illusions that his patriarch would ever choose such a path.
“We accept, of course.”
To fabricate an excuse and duck away now would invite the entire Jianghu to brand the Namgung Clan as cowards. It would grant the Anhui Mo Clan the moral high ground to place themselves above the Namgung name.
I will never allow that to happen.
Vivid memories of the Mo Clan from his youth flickered through Jeongcheon’s mind—the humiliation and righteous fury he had swallowed back then. He would never permit his family to slide back into those dark times. The Namgung Clan bore a sacred obligation to reclaim the glorious heights they once occupied before the Demonic Cult’s grand invasion.
Even setting aside old grudges, being stamped as a coward was fatal in this ruthless martial world. In an era where the strong preyed upon the weak, a coward was nothing more than an easy meal for others to devour.
“Inform the Eccentric Outstanding Celestial Beggar and hammer out the terms of the duel.”
“Do you have a specific date in mind, Patriarch?”
“As soon as humanly possible.”
He had no desire to watch the hounds of the Mo Clan strutting through the streets of this city a single day longer than necessary.
“Understood.”
With that, the Namgung Clan’s stance was firmly set. There was no need to convene an assembly of elders or consult anyone else. The decision rested in the hands of the clan’s strongest martial artist—its Family Head.
“…Furthermore,” Jeongcheon spoke, pausing briefly, “recount what Yun said. Every word of it.”
Having witnessed the entire altercation, Namgung Uncheon had already laid out the events in detail, including the verbal confrontation between Namgung Yun and Mo Seok-heon. When he first heard that Yun had stood tall against the Heaven-Collapsing Hegemonic Blade—a man bearing an infuriating sobriquet backed by formidable Peak realm prowess—Jeongcheon had felt a swell of quiet satisfaction. But the words Yun had spoken were another matter entirely.
“‘The current Namgung Clan does not embody Respect for the Strong’…” Jeongcheon repeated slowly.
“They were merely the rambling thoughts of a headstrong child,” Uncheon said softly, attempting to cushion the blow.
Jeongcheon turned his austere gaze upon the General Administrator.
“You seem quite fond of Yun.”
“…He is showing the greatest promise among all the youths in the clan at present,” Uncheon answered evenly. “As General Administrator, it is only natural that I pay close attention to him.”
Yet neither the man speaking nor the man listening believed that administrative duty was the sole reason behind his words.
Jeongcheon looked at Uncheon with renewed contemplation. In their youth, Uncheon’s martial progress had lagged behind the rest. But had it truly been impossible for Namgung Uncheon to become strong? Among their peers, there had been those far more talented than Uncheon who eventually stagnated, and those who seemed utterly devoid of a future who somehow blossomed into formidable warriors. Thinking back, if Uncheon had devoted every ounce of his spirit to training instead of sacrificing his prime to bureaucratic ledgers, might he not have become an exceptional martial artist?
“You may take your leave.”
Uncheon bowed deeply and departed the training grounds.
Standing alone once more in the quiet courtyard, Namgung Jeongcheon drew his sword. He had dismissed Uncheon because their business was concluded, yet that was not the sole reason.
He swung his blade. The majestic, thunderous qi of the Heavenly Lightning Sovereign Divine Art—an art reserved exclusively for the reigning Patriarch—began saturating the surrounding air. Yet the sensation lingering in his grip was subtly different from usual. It was slightly softer, slightly more natural, and exponentially more devastating.
Epiphany. The gossamer thread of enlightenment flickered just beyond the horizon of his comprehension.
Jeongcheon lowered his blade and let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle.
To think an epiphany would come from such an unexpected source…
Namgung Yun’s unorthodox interpretation of Respect for the Strong was nudging him toward an entirely new realm of mastery. Did that mean the boy’s words had been right all along?
…No, not necessarily.
It had provided a fresh spark of inspiration, nothing more; it was far from an absolute universal truth. As Family Head, Jeongcheon had no intention of upending the clan’s established order on a whim. Yet he found himself harboring a faint, almost imperceptible curiosity about what the Namgung Clan might become should Namgung Yun ever rise to lead it.
While Namgung Uncheon went to deliver his report, Namgung Yun and the two youths made their way back to their quarters.
“We part ways here,” Yun said, coming to a halt.
Unlike Namgung Geol and Namgung Yeon, who resided near the heart of the Inner Court, Yun still occupied an outbuilding perched on its outermost perimeter. Naturally, his path split from theirs first.
“Are you truly going to keep living out there, Hyung-nim?” Geol asked, looking genuinely perturbed. “With your standing, you could move into the central quarters whenever you wish.”
“What would be the point? Does sleeping closer to the center make one’s martial cultivation advance any faster?”
“Well, no, but… for a direct descendant of the main bloodline—the Patriarch’s own son, no less—to live on the fringes of the Inner Court looks unseemly, doesn't it?”
“If you all cared so much about appearances, you shouldn’t have driven me out here in the first place.”
“Ah… well, that is true,” Geol admitted, coughing awkwardly.
“Stop babbling nonsense and make sure you prepare properly for the duel.”
“Are we really the ones stepping into the ring?”
“If not us, who else? We were the ones standing at the center of the mess.”
“Strictly speaking, Hyung-nim, you were the only one at the center of it. We were merely standing beside you.”
“So you’re saying you want to sit this out?”
“As if!” Geol broke into a fierce grin. “My hands have been itching to test what I’ve gained lately. If the whetstones happen to be bastards from the Mo Clan, I couldn't ask for better.”
“Among the ones I knocked down earlier, there were a few around your age. You’ll likely be pitted against them.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Don’t let your guard down,” Yun warned coolly. “They brought those youths along anticipating this exact scenario. They brought the absolute strongest their age bracket has to offer.”
“That only makes it sweeter. What satisfaction is there in beating down weaklings? Thrashing the strong is where the real joy lies.”
“Well, if it’s you, you should manage.”
Geol possessed natural talent and a solidly forged foundation. Add to that the brutal conditioning he had endured under Yun’s supervision, and there were vanishingly few youths his age across the Central Plains capable of besting him.
Yun’s gaze then drifted toward Namgung Yeon. The quiet youth had remained uncharacteristically subdued for quite some time.
“As for you… I’m slightly concerned.”
“Are you?” Yeon asked, blinking.
“A martial artist of your caliber at your age isn't particularly rare.”
To a young man who harbored his own share of martial pride, such an assessment might have sounded harsh. Yet surprisingly, not a flicker of resentment crossed Yeon’s face.
“Then what should I do? Is doing my best enough?”
“Doing your best is a given. Well, perhaps we can employ a few practical tricks. You don’t intend to lose to those scoundrels either, do you?”
Lose? Of course he had no desire to lose. What martial artist in their right mind took pleasure in defeat? But today, the thought was utterly unbearable.
Yeon recalled the sneers on the faces of Mo Seok-heon and his disciples as they looked down upon his father, Namgung Uncheon. Even the dullest fool would have felt the suffocating contempt and mockery radiating from their eyes.
“I will not lose,” Yeon said, his voice quiet but hardened with resolve.
“Good,” Yun replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Then until the day of the duel, we’re tweaking your training regimen.”
Namgung Yeon nodded firmly.