Will Over Might
Namgung In was Namgung Yun's cousin—two years his senior and the nephew of the clan patriarch. He looked down at Yun with a contemptuous smirk playing upon his lips.
“Well now, how are those injuries of yours?”
The words sounded like concern, but the tone carried none whatsoever.
He certainly didn't come here with good intentions.
Then again, expecting good will from the very bastard who had beaten Yun to death's door in the first place would have been utterly absurd.
“……”
“What? Cat got your tongue? Don't tell me you're terrified. Tsk, tsk. If someone who's supposed to uphold the great Namgung Clan in the future is this faint of heart, what will become of us?”
He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy.
“The only reason I was a bit rough on you was to temper that spirit of yours. With such a weak spine, how do you ever expect to navigate the treacherous Jianghu?”
“……”
“Hey, I told you to steel your heart!”
Yet it was glaringly obvious that Namgung In was thrilled by Yun's silence.
He thinks I'm too terrified to speak.
In truth, Yun remained silent only because he had not yet decided how to handle this little puppy barking in his face.
Though memories of the boy were gradually sharpening, he had not recovered everything. Unlike the servant Eun-sam or a total stranger like Seo Won-gil, Namgung In was blood kin—a fellow scion of the Namgung Clan. It was wiser to tread with a bit more discretion.
And more importantly...
I probably shouldn't kill this bastard right now, should I?
How long had it been since someone picked a fight with him so brazenly? It had been so long that he could not even muster anger. That fleeting surge of murderous intent was merely second nature, born of reigning as the supreme ruler of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
But he was not the Heavenly Demon right now.
Let's wait and see.
There might be some reason behind the punk's grudge.
Besides, he was currently striving to grasp righteousness and chivalry.
Severing this fool's head from his neck wouldn't exactly be chivalrous.
Even he understood that much.
Namgung In's sharp tongue continued its assault. He clearly understood that unseen wounds cut the deepest.
“With such pitiful skill, how do you expect to realize those grand ambitions you've been spouting? One must possess at least a modicum of martial might to have even a glimmer of hope.”
He added with a sneer, “I speak, of course, of your endless prattle that any true martial artist must perform chivalric deeds.”
Wait... the previous owner of this body ran around preaching that?
Learning that the original Namgung Yun had been so thoroughly pathetic was hardly pleasant, but knowing they shared an aspiration for chivalry gave him a slight bump in Yun's estimation.
“Martial might is essential to carry out a chivalric act. Yet with your inferior skill, enacting chivalry is out of the question. That is why I took the trouble of lecturing you, yet you never listen.”
Hmm? That's not what I was taught.
For a brief moment, Yun wondered if he had it wrong.
No, impossible.
The one who had imparted the concept of chivalry to him was none other than the Murim Alliance Leader himself. Compared to Dan Gong, the credibility of this wet-behind-the-ears Namgung brat was not even worth mentioning.
Perhaps I should be the one teaching him a lesson?
“That is not true.”
Good. The polite form came out naturally.
Quite fitting for an orthodox scion. Namgung Yun felt a quiet surge of pride.
“While it is true that possessing martial might helps in performing chivalric deeds, it is not everything. What matters most in enacting chivalry is not power, but the will to do so. The will to act righteously.”
That was what the Murim Alliance Leader had added back then.
Frankly, I still don't fully buy it myself.
Why wouldn't strength be the most important factor? With enough raw power, resolving matters—chivalrous or otherwise—was infinitely simpler. By that logic, shouldn't strength be paramount?
Still, since the Alliance Leader had declared it so, Yun had accepted it as truth.
Namgung In, however, had no intention of accepting any of it.
His face flushed crimson, raw fury blazing openly across his features.
“Is that so? Then let us see this 'will' of yours!”
Clenching his fists, Namgung In strode forward. Eun-sam, watching from the side, hopped about in sheer panic, completely at a loss for what to do.
Wait... is he resorting to violence? When I just quoted the Murim Alliance Leader word for word?
Whoosh!
Namgung In's fist flew forward.
It was not backed by any refined martial technique. While infused with internal energy, the amount was negligible. Aside from the thrust of the arm itself, the rest of his body was entirely unguarded—a vivid testament to just how completely he looked down on Namgung Yun.
Still, to his credit, he had trained diligently; for an unadorned punch, his form was solid.
And that was all.
There was no need to devise some grand counter.
Yun's body moved on instinct.
Of course, since this was not a vessel forged through his own decades of battle, it creaked with awkward friction. Yet even accounting for that, achieving his goal was effortless.
Smack!
A crisp, bone-jarring crack echoed through the room.
Eun-sam flinched violently at the sickening sound. But when he opened his eyes, they widened into saucers.
Thud!
A body crumpled heavily onto the floorboards.
By all rights, that should have been his master.
Yet the scene before Eun-sam's eyes was the exact opposite.
His master stood completely unharmed, looking utterly nonchalant, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
And sprawled at his feet was Namgung In—the prodigy hailed as the future pillar of the Namgung Clan, the very cousin who had tormented Yun without mercy.
Though right now, with a cheek swollen like a melon and white foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth, he looked nothing like a brilliant prodigy.
As Eun-sam stood frozen, his jaw practically unhinged, Namgung Yun scratched his chin and spoke casually.
“Clean this up.”
From that day forward, no one else came to visit Namgung Yun. One would expect at least a few people to check on a bedridden son of the clan patriarch, but Namgung In's disruptive tantrum had been the sole exception.
And even Namgung In never showed his face again.
I expected him to come back at least once, whether for revenge or something else.
Yun considered Namgung In an utter rascal. What kind of person throws a punch over a bit of advice if not an undisciplined hooligan? Furthermore, he was the bastard who had beaten the original Namgung Yun into a sickbed in the first place.
No true orthodox martial artist would act like that.
Even if Namgung Yun was despised within the clan, such behavior crossed the line. He certainly didn't believe someone of that temperament would mend his ways after a single blow.
The only person who appeared every day was the servant, Eun-sam.
Even that kid keeps an awkward distance from me.
Usually, a personal attendant would develop some degree of closeness with his master, yet Eun-sam strictly focused on the bare necessities of his duties—as though terrified of becoming any friendlier than required.
It seemed the original Namgung Yun's standing had been even lower than he initially thought.
Yun gradually expanded his daily walks to piece together his memories of the clan estate. Thanks to that, he managed to map out the terrain surrounding his pavilion. And along the way, he gained a clearer picture of how the Namgung Clan viewed him.
How is it possible that not a single person shows warmth?
He had thought Eun-sam was merely aloof for a personal servant, but the other servants avoided him entirely. They offered the barest polite bows before hurrying on their way. The blood kin of the Namgung Clan he crossed paths with were even worse. Pretending not to see him was an act of mercy; many openly mocked him within earshot.
“Did you hear? He claimed the will to enact chivalry is what matters most!”
“I haven't laughed that hard in years. The fellow has a true talent for clowning.”
Though they did not address Yun directly, shouting it at the top of their lungs right in front of him made little difference. The incident had already become clan-wide gossip.
Around that time, doubts began creeping into Yun's mind about whether the Namgung Clan truly embodied the righteous faction he had envisioned.
Yet he brushed it aside.
This is the great Namgung Clan. The original Namgung Yun must have done something to deserve this treatment.
Even so, the doubt took quiet root in his heart.
Time to begin training in earnest.
Whatever his standing in the clan might be, it had nothing to do with refining his martial arts. He had focused exclusively on the Limitless Divine Art for a time, but he had indulged in that internal foundation enough for now. He wanted to swing a sword.
Picking up a blade resting in the corner of his room, he drew it slightly from its scabbard.
Not a particularly fine sword, but surprisingly well-maintained for someone who supposedly despised training.
With the sword in hand, he stepped outside. He took a deep breath and cleaved the air from top to bottom. Then from left to right, right to left, and finally from bottom to top. It was a sequence of exceedingly simple trajectories—not a formal technique, just the pure act of swinging steel.
Just as expected.
A fresh batch of memories surfaced in his mind: the swordsmanship learned by the original Namgung Yun.
The Hyocheon Sword Art. Contained within the clan's foundational cultivation method, it was the entry-level sword art of the Namgung Clan.
Not a bad technique at all.
Just as he prepared to swing the blade in earnest along the remembered forms, a panicked voice broke his focus.
“Y-Young Master!”
Eun-sam rushed over in a flurry.
“I've told you before, you cannot practice swordsmanship near the pavilion! Sword training must be conducted at the martial arts training grounds!”
The training grounds.
The moment he heard the term, an unpleasant memory surfaced.
The training grounds, huh...
Yun could finally understand why the original Namgung Yun had neglected sword practice. Among the few memories that returned, not a single one was pleasant—only mockery, humiliation, and endless torment.
Yet that had nothing to do with him now.
“W-Where are you going?”
“Didn't you just tell me to train at the grounds?”
“Pardon? You're going there right now?”
“Would you prefer I keep swinging here?”
“N-No, that's not what I meant, but...”
Though he always kept his distance, genuine worry flickered in Eun-sam's eyes, proving that some thread of loyalty remained. Namgung Yun smirked softly.
“Don't worry. Whatever you're dreading won't happen.”
If anyone needed to worry, it was the bastards waiting over there.
With easy, unhurried strides, he followed the newly awakened memories and made his way toward the training grounds.
“Hey, look over there.”
“Hm? What the... Isn't that Namgung Yun?”
“Did he actually come out to train?”
“He's carrying a sword. Looks like it.”
When he arrived at the grounds, the first to greet him were youngsters absorbed in practice—youths two or three years younger than Yun, some even five or six years his junior.
Hmm. Coming here was fine and all, but this is a bit humiliating. To think I have to train in the same courtyard as these toddlers.
Still, it could not be helped. Dividing training grounds according to one's realm was standard practice, whether in orthodox, unorthodox, or demonic sects. This was simply the karmic consequence of the original Namgung Yun possessing only enough skill to match these children.
And having resolved to live as Namgung Yun, he had to shoulder that consequence himself.
Not that I intend to take responsibility for all of his debts, of course.
Ignoring the stares boring into him, Yun found an open space. Gripping the sword, he focused his mind. He channeled no internal energy, simply guiding the blade along the trajectories of the Hyocheon Sword Art etched into his memory.
Whoosh!
The blade cleaved the air. Yun scowled involuntarily.
His center of gravity wobbled, the trajectory drifted erratically, and the sword tip trembled like a leaf in a tempest—the inevitable shortcomings of a body lacking fundamental physical conditioning.
What an utterly pathetic vessel.
Yet there were no shortcuts when it came to forging flesh and bone. The only path forward was to swing the sword relentlessly, hammering the body into shape through sheer repetition.
“...ey!”
He thought he heard a shout nearby, but absorbed in his blade, Yun paid it no heed. He simply continued his swing.
Suddenly, a hostile presence pricked his senses.
The countless life-or-death battles engraved into his soul moved his flesh before his conscious mind could intervene. Forcing compliance from limbs that stubbornly resisted, he executed the most optimal movement possible.
He shifted his right shin toward the source of malice behind him. Using the deliberate loss of balance to his advantage, he twisted the sword's path mid-swing.
The blade's direction changed with violent suddenness.
Its destination: right where the enemy ought to be.