Echoes of Victory

The crowd stood frozen, stunned once more by the sudden, violent shift in the duel's momentum.

Yet, however shocked the onlookers might be, none felt it more acutely than the man standing in the ring.

"Saw it? Just what the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hell did you see?!"

"None of your business."

Namgung Yun raised his sword with effortless calm.

"Let's wrap this up. If you've still got something hidden up your sleeve, you'd better pull it out right now."

"You arrogant bastard! You catch one lucky break and think you're untouchable!"

The sabre in Mo Unseon's grip let out a shrill hum as a torrential flood of internal energy poured into the steel. In response, Namgung Yun smoothly channeled his own qi along the length of his blade.

Every breath in the courtyard caught. Every eye locked onto the impending collision.

"Die!"

Mo Unseon's sabre cleaved downward with horrifying momentum—a crushing blow calculated to shatter any ordinary defense and split his opponent's skull in two.

Yet as Namgung Yun watched the descending blade, his eyes remained as still as unrippled water.

His sword stirred.

The sword shot forth like a beam of pure celestial light, intercepting the crashing sabre head-on.

KWA-AAANG!

A deafening roar ripped through the air as the shockwave erupted.

A single weapon recoiled violently backward.

It was Mo Unseon's sabre.

The savage rebound wrenched his arm back with it, ripping his upper body wide open to the sky.

Doubt, confusion, panic, and sheer terror—a tempest of warring emotions flashed across Mo Unseon's face. Ignoring them all, Namgung Yun followed through with a fluid, sweeping arc.

THWACK!

The blade struck Mo Unseon square across the jaw. But what met his flesh was not razor-sharp steel; it was the blunt, heavy flat of the sword.

He had been spared the gruesome fate of having his skull cleaved in two, but walking off the platform under his own power was out of the question. Even delivered with the flat of the blade, the force packed into the strike was monstrous.

Mo Unseon's body was sent flying helplessly through the air.

"Unseon!"

Mo Seok-heon leapt forward, snatching the youth from midair before he could roll disgracefully across the flagstones. Not that Mo Unseon was in any condition to care.

There was no consciousness left in him to feel humiliation.

Beside Mo Seok-heon, Mo Unseon's sabre clattered pathetically to the ground.

Considering how fiercely contested the duel had seemed just moments before, it was an almost absurdly anticlimactic conclusion. Yet precisely because of that abrupt end, the disparity between the two combatants was laid bare with undeniable clarity.

Namgung Yun casually sheathed his sword. Compared to the limp, unconscious Mo Unseon, he looked utterly untouched. In fact, he hadn't suffered so much as a scratch.

Turning a nonchalant gaze toward Hong Jong, he said, "I believe the match has been decided, Elder?"

"Ha!"

Hong Jong let out a dry, incredulous chuckle.

He had braced himself for a grueling, bloody contest. Both Namgung Yun and Mo Unseon were renowned as prodigies who had stepped into the First-rate realm at an exceptionally young age. And for a brief while, it had seemed his expectation was being met.

Yet the final reality could not have been further from his thoughts.

Namgung Yun stood entirely unruffled, while Mo Unseon had been knocked out cold before he could even mount a proper defense. They had never been equals from the start.

"Aye. It's your victory."

Hong Jong clicked his tongue in wonder as he watched Namgung Yun nod in mild satisfaction and walk down from the platform.

How in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the world can a lad like that exist?

To tell the truth, Hong Jong had privately placed his bets on Mo Unseon. Namgung Yun's growth rate was terrifying, to be sure, but he had crossed into the First-rate realm only very recently. Mo Unseon, by contrast, had established his foothold in the realm quite some time ago. No matter what the future held, Mo Unseon had undeniably possessed the immediate advantage on paper.

Yet every calculation had been utterly shattered. And it hadn't merely been an upset—it was a comprehensive, humiliating slaughter.

Mo Unseon has made an absolute laughingstock of himself.

To fall before someone who had barely stepped foot into the First-rate realm—and a scion of the Namgung Clan, the Anhui Mo Clan's bitterest rival, no less. Worse still, he had played petty, theatrical games, pretending to struggle just to mock Namgung Yun, only to have his teeth knocked down his throat the moment Yun took him seriously.

That shame will dog him for the rest of his days.

Even if Mo Unseon grew into an illustrious master of the Central Plains, that black mark would never truly fade. The only way to escape it would be to seal the lips of everyone present so not a whisper escaped the courtyard.

As if the Namgung Clan would ever allow that.

If anything, they would broadcast the tale to every tea house and tavern across Anhui Province. And the Beggars' Sect certainly had no intention of keeping its mouth shut either.

It will be a very long time before Mo Unseon can ever dream of inheriting the title of 'Bungcheon'—the Sky Breaker. If he ever earns it at all.

Roars of exultation erupted from the Namgung Clan members.

In stark contrast, the faces of the Anhui Mo Clan were twisted into hideous masks of mortification. Mo Seok-heon, in particular, flushed crimson and purple by turns, looking as if he were on the verge of tearing apart anything within arm's reach.

Yet he dared not lift a finger.

All he could do was suffer the humiliation as a defeated dog should, swallowing the taunts and scorn of the victors.

A grand feast engulfed the Namgung Clan estate.

Cattle and pigs were slaughtered; rare, exorbitant ingredients were brought in by the cartload; and jars of precious vintage wine, long aged in the clan's cellars, were unsealed without reservation.

The clan members, who spent their days locked in relentless, unforgiving training, ate and drank to their hearts' content, leaving only a bare minimum guard on duty.

It was a resounding, glorious victory.

Though sparked by a petty squabble and fought between youngsters who had not yet even earned their place among the realm's rising dragons, the duel carried immense symbolic weight for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clan.

First, the opponent had been their sworn rival, the Anhui Mo Clan.

Second, the handpicked seeds of the Mo Clan had been utterly routed by the younger generation of the Namgung Clan.

And third, Mo Unseon—the young talent the Mo Clan took the greatest pride in—had been overwhelmingly crushed by Namgung Yun.

"What a blessed day! What an incredible relief!"

"Those Mo dogs won't dare lift their heads in front of our clan ever again!"

"Lift their heads? They'll be lucky if we don't grind their snouts into the mud!"

"The past hundred years were nothing but a passing aberration! All things under heaven inevitably right themselves! The supreme clan of Anhui Province—in the past, in the present, and for all generations to come—is none other than our Namgung Clan!"

Heavily intoxicated clan members threw back their heads and bellowed with laughter.

"By the way, where did the Mo bastards scurry off to?"

"Tucked tail and ran hours ago! Even after we graciously invited them to join the banquet, they flatly refused and fled like beaten curs!"

"Hah! Pitiful in martial skill, and narrower still in heart! That's why petty scoundrels can never amount to anything!"

Raucous laughter shook the hall once more.

Watching the rowdy scene, Namgung Yeon quietly rose from his seat.

"Hm? Where are you going?"

Namgung Geol called out between massive mouthfuls of roasted meat and wine, his voice booming as he loudly recounted his own glorious heroics to anyone within earshot.

"Just getting some fresh air."

"Headed to the privy? Hurry back!"

"..."

Yeon merely shook his head at his cousin's complete lack of tact before slipping away from the table.

"Ah, in that case, I'll go clear my head as well."

"Me too."

"Hey! What kind of martial artists can't even hold their liquor?!"

Despite Geol's drunken jeers, the surrounding members made polite excuses and peeled away one after another.

Well, of course they would.

It wasn't that they were sick of hearing Geol boast about himself. After all, they had gathered around him specifically for that reason. The real problem was that Geol wasn't just bragging about his own match; he was relentlessly singing the praises of Namgung Yun. In fact, most of his tirade was spent lionizing Yun.

How could the very people who had despised and tormented Namgung Yun until recently feel comfortable listening to endless praise heaped upon his head?

They had only endured it because Yun had undeniably carried the lion's share of today's glory, and they wanted to hear the details of Geol's duel. Yet even their patience had its limits. Watching them scatter in disarray struck Yeon as profoundly pathetic.

Still, Namgung Geol has a surprisingly cunning streak in him.

His brazen, relentless praise of Yun had to be deliberate. He was hammering it into the clan's skulls so that no one could ever dispute who the true hero of this victory was.

"Hahaha! Bring more wine! Keep the meat coming!"

...Or is he really just that simple-minded?

Watching Geol happily pouring drink after drink for himself even as his audience fled, Yeon gave a wry shake of his head and continued on his way.

As he walked, his gaze drifted toward the highest tier of the pavilion.

There sat Clan Head Namgung Jeongcheon and Elder Hong Jong, exchanging drinks in deep, harmonious conversation. Beside them sat Namgung Myeongcheon. Though Myeongcheon tried valiantly to maintain a composed expression, the gloomy, sour pallor clinging to his face laid bare his inner misery.

With his son defeated so disgracefully, his stomach must be churning.

Yet Yeon couldn't summon a shred of sympathy. Namgung Myeongcheon was among those who had treated his father with the most blatant contempt. And while Namgung In had never put it into words, the son had mirrored his father's arrogant disdain to the letter. Yeon felt no pity whatsoever for the pair's misfortune.

Father isn't there.

The man who held the title of Chief Administrator of the Namgung Clan was nowhere to be seen at the table of honor. In the past, that glaring absence would have filled Yeon's chest with shame and burning indignation. Yet tonight, he felt strangely untroubled.

Stepping out of the raucous banquet grounds, Yeon allowed his feet to carry him along the quiet stone paths.

Before long, he arrived before the administrative compound where the clan's clerical affairs were handled.

Where his father resided.

Though the entire clan was in the midst of drunken revelry, lanterns glowed brightly through the paper lattice of the main office. Even on a night like this, his father was buried in official duties.

Almost unconsciously, Yeon stepped across the threshold.

"Who is... Ah, Yeon-ah? What brings you here?"

Namgung Uncheon blinked in surprise at the unexpected appearance of his son, who should have been celebrating among his peers.

"Working tonight as well, I see."

"It is my duty as the Chief Administrator of the Namgung Clan. Besides, I partook in my fair share of the festivities earlier."

It didn't seem to be an empty excuse; a faint trace of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠alcohol lingered on Uncheon's breath. Moreover, on a small low table beside his desk sat a plate of banquet dishes and an unsealed bottle of wine.

A sudden thought struck Yeon.

"Would you care to share a cup with me, Father?"

Uncheon stared at his son in wide-eyed astonishment for several heartbeats.

"...Very well. Let us share a drink."

Setting aside his paperwork, Uncheon rose to his feet.

Though the office was designed strictly for administrative labor, there was a small reception parlor meant for receiving guests. After bidding a servant bring a few light appetizers and an extra jar of wine, father and son sat across from each other.

"..."

"..."

An excruciating silence settled over the room. For a long while, neither said a word, quietly draining their cups one after another.

The silence only broke after several rounds had passed.

"I watched your duel. You have grown strong."

Yeon's hand paused just as he was lifting his cup. He turned the porcelain between his fingers for a quiet moment before setting it down.

"Thank you, Father."

"You fought splendidly against an opponent who stood a cut above you. The rest of the clan will certainly view you in a new light from this day forward."

"It was all thanks to Yun-hyungnim."

"...I see."

Uncheon had expected as much.

As a father, he was hopelessly buried under a mountain of administrative ledgers, and there was no one else in the clan willing to offer Yeon private instruction. The only person left was Namgung Yun, with whom Yeon had been spending so much time lately.

"He is an extraordinary youth. Not only does he possess the martial prowess to fell Mo Unseon, but his talent for teaching is just as remarkable."

"He truly is, Father!"

And with that, Yeon began to speak of Namgung Yun.

No, it was closer to reverent praise.

Had Namgung Geol witnessed the sight, he surely would have protested: You always scowl at me whenever I open my mouth, yet look at you! You're no different!

Yet Uncheon merely listened in quiet patience as his son poured out his admiration.

"You have encountered a fine guide and brother."

When Yeon finally finished speaking, Uncheon smiled warmly.

"Yes, Father."

"Sending you to Yun back then was truly the right decision."

What had begun merely as a tentative move to see how the newly prominent Namgung Yun had changed had returned in such an unexpected, miraculous way.

"I must convey my gratitude to Yun in person later. When a son is indebted to another, it is the least a father can do."

In truth, he was willing to do far more than that. He was, after all, a father.

"...To tell the truth, Father, I resented you."

And it was precisely because he was a father.

Though he had anticipated the sentiment, though he had long braced himself for the day it would come, hearing that confession spoken aloud by his own son left a bitter, aching weight in Uncheon's chest that he could not entirely conceal.