Seeds of Change
“…Yes, you must have felt that way. As your father, I failed you.”
Because he was saddled with the responsibilities of General Administrator, Namgung Uncheon had been unable to dedicate himself fully to martial cultivation, and his son had suffered the clan's contempt as a result. Swamped with endless household logistics, he had rarely found the time to show paternal warmth, let alone oversee the boy’s training.
Yet even under those meager circumstances, his son had grown far faster than his peers. Uncheon felt immense pride in the boy's progress, but that pride only sharpened the ache in his chest. If only he had been born to a proper martial master, Uncheon had thought a thousand times, perhaps the hope of the clan would have been my boy, not Namgung In or Namgung Geol.
It was a father’s lingering debt of guilt. Every parent bore it to some degree, but for Namgung Uncheon, the burden had weighed upon his heart like a millstone.
“Not anymore, Father.”
Those words made Uncheon’s breath catch in his throat.
“When I was young, I looked down on you,” Namgung Yeon confessed, his voice steady. “I thought you were weak, that you were shoved into the administrator’s post because you lacked talent, and that I was suffering for your inadequacy.”
“And now you think differently?”
“Father, you made a noble sacrifice for the sake of our clan.”
“Yun told you that, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
It would have been a lie to say those words hadn’t shaken Yeon to the core when he first heard them. Had Namgung Yun tried to preach about empty righteousness and chivalry to explain his respect for Uncheon, Yeon would never have understood. If anything, he would have scoffed with bitter resentment.
Yet Yun’s reinterpretation of Respect for the Strong—a philosophy entirely distinct from the vulgar dogma of the martial world—had struck Yeon like a thunderbolt.
Perhaps I only accepted it subconsciously to rationalize my own circumstances, Yeon had reflected. Even if that were true, Yun’s logic was flawless. All that remained was whether the listener possessed the heart to embrace it.
“I want to follow Hyung-nim Yun and see what this righteousness and chivalry is all about.”
What had captured Yeon was Yun’s vision of true strength. He still knew little of grand ideals like righteousness or chivalry.
And yet…
“If it is a path he walks, surely there must be something extraordinary to it.”
Besides, in a world where righteousness and chivalry were prized, no one would ever look down upon the General Administrator.
“If that is your resolve,” Uncheon murmured, his eyes moist, “then follow it.”
For the first time in their lives, father and son laid bare their hearts, sharing honest words over cups of warm wine late into the night.
After making a brief appearance at the victory banquet, Namgung Jeongcheon had intended to retire immediately. Balancing clan administration with solitary training left the Clan Head with hardly a moment to rest. Had the person knocking on his door asking for a drink been anyone other than Namgung Uncheon, Jeongcheon would have turned them away without hesitation.
“Thank you for receiving me, Hyung-nim.”
The man who had excused himself from the banquet under the pretext of urgent paperwork was now pleasantly tipsy. It was the sort of breach of decorum that might have displeased Jeongcheon under normal circumstances, but he poured the liquor without a word of complaint.
“Something pleasant must have happened.”
Much like Jeongcheon—no, even more like an unfeeling machine—Uncheon had spent his life shackled to duty. To see him so relaxed and unguarded was a rare sight indeed.
“It’s about Yeon.”
“Mm.”
A father’s heart was always soft where his children were concerned. Jeongcheon listened in quiet patience as Uncheon rambled on, recounting the day’s events from start to finish.
“All of this is thanks to Yun. I owe you my deepest gratitude as well, Hyung-nim.”
“I did nothing.”
It was not modesty; it was the simple, painful truth. Jeongcheon had never done anything worthy of praise for his own son.
“Still, I offer you my heartfelt congratulations on bridging the distance with your boy.”
Jeongcheon raised his cup, and Uncheon touched his rim against it with a soft clink. Both men drained their drinks in a single draught.
“I have always felt sorry toward you.”
The sudden words caught Uncheon off guard.
“For what, Hyung-nim?”
“For appointing you General Administrator, fully aware of the contempt that position invites in this clan.”
“I accepted the role of my own free will.”
Indeed, Uncheon’s martial achievements had visibly lagged behind his peers at the time.
“Even so, neither of us could have foreseen the future.”
“You sound just like Yun, Hyung-nim.”
Jeongcheon did not answer. He merely tipped another cup into his throat.
“There is no need for apologies,” Uncheon continued softly. “As I said, I took up the post with open eyes.”
His failure to properly care for his son broke his heart, but—
“Did we not swear an oath back then? We swore that the next generation would never suffer the humiliation we endured.”
The noble Namgung Clan of the righteous path. Once the paramount house among the Five Great Clans, acting as their tacit sovereign. A pillar of the Orthodox faction that had commanded the same reverence as grand sects like Shaolin, Mount Hua, and Wudang.
Yet that glory belonged to the past.
They belonged to the generation that had tasted firsthand the bitter, humiliating reality of a clan whose present power failed to match its illustrious history.
“Thanks to you, Hyung-nim, we have finally approached our old standing once more. Yet our foundation remains precarious.”
A grotesque imbalance, sustained solely by a single Absolute Master: Namgung Jeongcheon. A fortress built on sand that would crumble into ruin the moment Jeongcheon fell.
That was the harsh truth of the Namgung Clan today.
“If not for Yun in this duel, we would have suffered utter disgrace.”
Namgung In, the child upon whom they had pinned their highest hopes, was still confined to the Second-rate realm, while the Anhui Mo Clan had already produced two First-rate martial artists. The sight had dealt Uncheon a severe shock, and Jeongcheon had surely felt no different.
“Setting you aside, Hyung-nim, the clan’s overall strength is still no match for the Anhui Mo Clan. This duel made that painfully clear. So I do not believe our oath was wrong. But…” Uncheon stared down into his brimming cup before continuing in a quiet voice. “Lately, I cannot help but wonder if our direction was flawed from the start.”
That thought had weighed on him especially whenever he met Yeon’s cold, resentful gaze.
That was why his heart had stirred so violently upon witnessing Namgung Yun—a youth who had suddenly acquired peerless martial arts, yet still unashamedly championed righteousness and chivalry.
“…It is too late to change how the clan is run.”
“I know.”
Respect for the Strong—or what Yun rightfully called The Weak Are Meat for the Strong—had already driven deep roots into the Namgung Clan. Attempting to overturn clan policy now would invite catastrophic turmoil.
The clan was fragile enough as it was. While the long-term impact remained unpredictable, in the short term, the fallout would be devastating. The narrow gap they had worked so hard to close against the Anhui Mo Clan would immediately widen again.
Furthermore, the Namgung Clan was hardly the only house governed by Respect for the Strong.
“However, if Yun sustains his current pace and becomes an Absolute Master renowned throughout the Jianghu, he may be able to lead that change.”
“…That is assuming he can reach such heights.”
Jeongcheon spoke curtly, but Uncheon caught the faint flicker of hope beneath the austere tone—a longing his brother had kept buried deep within his chest for far too long.
Looking at Jeongcheon, Uncheon could only lament the tragic state of their clan, which had forced a father to coldly sever ties with his own child simply because the boy was weak.
“Still, hope is better than despair. I intend to offer Yun whatever support I can for his growth. What say you, Hyung-nim?”
“No matter what anyone says, today’s Namgung Clan is built upon Respect for the Strong. Who could possibly protest supporting the one with the greatest potential to become strong?”
The Clan Head’s voice was firm and unyielding.
The clan’s paramount authority had granted his blessing.
“We must become strong. Only then will no one dare look down on us; only then will no one take what is ours.” Jeongcheon’s fingers tightened around his cup. “This is not merely for hegemony over Anhui Province. It is not just for our standing within the Orthodox faction. It is also to resist the looming shadow that has threatened us since ancient times.”
“The Demonic Cult.”
A name that made every martial artist in the Central Plains grind their teeth, whether from the Orthodox or Unorthodox factions.
Since time immemorial, they had repeatedly invaded to drown the Central Plains in fire and blood, and a century ago, they had brought the entire Murim to its knees. The humiliation and mockery that followed was enough to make one’s blood boil at the mere thought.
Though the Central Plains had managed to wrest itself free from their demonic grip, the peril had by no means vanished.
“They have been quiet these past few decades, at least.”
“It is the Demonic Cult. They will never remain dormant forever. As they always have, they will trample this peace in an instant and bare their fangs once more.”
It was as inevitable as the sun rising in the east every dawn.
“That is why we must grow strong.”
“……”
Drinking deeply, Jeongcheon repeated the words as if forging an unbreakable vow within his own soul. Uncheon quietly reached out and refilled his brother’s cup.
The celebrations in the main courtyard stretched deep into the night. Laughter, drinking, and music echoed across the estate.
Yet Namgung Yun, the guest of honor, had slipped away hours ago.
Even during his life as the Heavenly Demon, banquets had never been to his liking. Hero or not, he had no desire to linger in a room filled with people who were ill at ease around him.
Above all, he needed time to think.
Carrying a jar of liquor and a few bites of food, Yun had returned to his courtyard. Beneath the quiet vigil of the moon and stars, with the distant revelry humming faintly in the background, he lost himself in thought.
His mind lingered on the martial arts he had observed from the Anhui Mo Clan earlier that day.
Like most sabre techniques, their blade work had exuded an overbearing, oppressive aura. The problem was how intimately familiar that aura felt.
The Demon Spirit Sabre Technique.
In the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, it had been regarded as an advanced martial art. Why on earth had Mo Unseon, a scion of an ostensibly orthodox clan, wielded it?
I didn’t mistake it.
As the former Heavenly Demon, there was no chance he would fail to recognize the arts of his own cult. Though significantly altered over time, its core essence was undeniably the Demon Spirit Sabre Technique.
And it hadn't just been Mo Unseon.
The other Mo disciples had exhibited blade movements that clearly branched from the Divine Cult’s heritage as well.
The Anhui Mo Clan is connected to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult. There's no doubt about it.
His thoughts naturally drifted toward Yoma.
Seo Won-gil said he found Yoma’s secret hideout on Mount Huang, didn't he?
And Mount Huang was the very stronghold of the Anhui Mo Clan.
I’ll have to pay Mount Huang a visit after all.
A place tied to both the Divine Cult and Yoma. Whether out of his aspiration to become a chivalrous hero or the simple curiosity of a man who once reigned as the Heavenly Demon, it was something he had to investigate.
While the Namgung Clan revelled in the joy of victory, the return journey of the defeated Anhui Mo Clan was steeped in misery.
Those who had lost or scraped by with a pathetic draw against an inferior opponent kept their heads bowed in shame, and even Mo Un-su, the sole victor, dared not speak a word.
Mo Seok-heon, riding at their head, was no different.
One might have expected an elder to offer a few words of consolation to his crestfallen juniors, but not a single sound passed his lips. His gaze, which had beamed warmly upon them as the future pillars of the clan only days ago, was now frigid and merciless.
Losers deserve nothing less.
To Mo Seok-heon, in whose veins the law of the jungle ran pure, these youths were nothing more than pathetic fools who had tasted bitter defeat against their bitter rivals.
They grew complacent, blinded by hollow rumors of their own renown. Once we return to the clan, I will break them down and rebuild them from scratch.
It would be a living hell for the four of them. Some might buckle under the strain and fall by the wayside, but he did not care in the slightest.
The Anhui Mo Clan had no use for failures.
Still, the objective was met.
The true reason they had picked a fight with the Namgung Clan and demanded a duel in the first place. Testing the future of their rivals through their own proud four rising stars had merely been a pretext.
The true objective lay elsewhere.
Namgung Yun.