Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Ghost King Sword
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“Ugh, my poor bones.”
Dang Chukyung hurried back to his private forge after wrapping up some urgent business, kneading his shoulders as he went.
He stripped off his outer robe and tossed it carelessly onto the floor before stepping in front of a mirror in one corner.
The spotlessly polished glass reflected his entire body, sculpted like a finely chiseled statue.
For a man on the cusp of ninety, he radiated the robust vigor of a strapping youth in his twenties or thirties.
His right arm, however, was a bit unusual.
In place of flesh and bone gleamed an intricately crafted iron arm and prosthetic hand, assembled from various mechanical devices.
“Does it need adjusting again? I just tuned it the other day, and it’s already acting up. Is this just what comes with old age? Tch!”
Dang Chukyung twisted a few screws embedded in his right arm before settling down in front of the furnace.
Whoosh!
Flames roared to life, flooding the forge with searing heat.
“Let’s see here. Hmm, this part should work if I do it like this, and if I twist the wire from here to there and wrap it—”
Dang Chukyung pored over the design blueprint Unhwi had left him, scrutinizing every detail.
He could usually grasp the principles of most blueprints with a quick glance and whip them up effortlessly, but this one? One wrong move, and he’d be in over his head.
It demanded an extraordinarily high level of comprehension.
Some principles were downright unfamiliar, even to him.
So he chewed over the details again and again, committing them to memory.
Little by little, the blueprint took root in his mind.
Where the hell did that kid dig up knowledge like this?
From their conversations, most of it seemed to be the boy’s own invention, but Dang Chukyung couldn’t hazard a guess as to how.
“No matter that he’s Hosan’s son—even then, acquiring knowledge like this shouldn’t be easy… Actually, being Hosan’s son probably makes it harder?”
The Dang Hosan in Dang Chukyung’s memory had shown zero talent for crafting from boyhood.
Maybe he took after his late mother?
But without any real details on her, that was a dead end too.
“A hidden dragon who’s kept himself concealed for over a decade… Easier said than done. No hot-blooded kid pulls that off.”
Dang Chukyung recalled the background on Unhwi that he’d had his steward look into and clicked his tongue softly.
He himself had spent nearly his entire life lurking in the shadows.
So he could well imagine the terror, despair, and agony Unhwi must have endured over those ten-plus years.
But Dang Chukyung soon shook his head.
He was a craftsman.
A craftsman never let pity for a client cloud his judgment.
Understand and empathize with their life’s path, yes—but mix in personal feelings, and you’d never produce a proper piece.
You’d lose the cold-eyed ability to discern exactly what the client needed.
And so Dang Chukyung dove straight into the work.
“He did say the materials had to be these, right?”
First, he unwrapped the bundle Unhwi had given him. Peeling back the cloth revealed a black sword nestled in its scabbard.
Clack!
The moment he slightly drew the sword from its sheath—
Keeeaahhh—
Whish! Whish! Whish!
Woooong! Woooom!
A deafening wail of ghostly shrieks erupted alongside a sudden gale that rattled every tool and fixture in the forge.
The furnace flames blazed more fiercely, the hammer and anvil trembled violently.
Objects hung on the walls even floated into the air.
And as the sword thrashed wildly… an overwhelming aura of ghostly qi poured forth.
Even Dang Chukyung, who had handled countless treasured blades, was startled by the sheer purity and density of it.
“A ghostly object? No, this isn’t just something infused with ghostly qi. A demonic thing… Yes. It’s a full-fledged monster now, no different from a yokai.”
Unhwi hadn’t simply handed over the black sword he’d gotten from the Fifteen Protectors.
That would’ve made it no different from the run-of-the-mill black swords used by the private guards of the Black Bone Ghost Vale.
Even modified, it wouldn’t become a magic tool suited to him.
So he’d applied special enhancements overnight.
Ghost King Blood.
Just as he’d mainly empowered his ancestor with it, he’d steeped the black sword in vast quantities of Ghost King Blood.
He’d filled a basin with so much blood—enough to fear fatal exsanguination—and soaked it for four hours straight, strengthening the sword’s innate power until it began to take on a faint spirituality.
—The Ghost King Sword.
That’s what the Fifteen Protectors had named the transformed black sword.
It was the sort of thing that would send the sorcerers of the Black Bone Ghost Vale into fits of rage.
But Unhwi dismissed it outright, saying it was too presumptuous for something that was just the beginning.
“You sly little bastard, handing me something this insidious. Not trying to assassinate me, are you?”
Of course, to Unhwi’s eyes, it was just some trivial trinket.
But to Dang Chukyung, the evolved Ghost King Sword was a treasure among treasures, not to be handled lightly.
Even melting it down required utmost caution.
One slip, and the yokai’s curse could possess the forge master.
“What to do with this?”
Dang Chukyung stroked his chin, his eyes darkening with thought.
Reforging a fan with such complex mechanisms already demanded every ounce of skill he’d honed over ninety years—and now handling its core material posed the same challenge.
What kind of insane difficulty was this?
And to finish it in half a month…?
‘This mad bastard?’
Only then did Dang Chukyung realize he’d been had by that smirking kid’s scheme.
‘Be careful. Unlike the young master, he’s a slippery fox. Blink, and he’s got you wrapped around his finger, ready to hand over your head on a platter.’
He should’ve known when that reckless colt—always charging headlong without a care—clicked his tongue in warning!
He’d dismissed it, figuring a kid not even in his twenties couldn’t be that cunning, no matter how sly.
Now half a month was out of the question; he might not finish a proper piece in a full month.
Even if he pulled all-nighters without real sleep.
This was at least a year’s worth of work.
‘Just scrap it?’
Dang Chukyung seriously considered it, but his pride in the moniker “Forge God of the Tang Clan” wouldn’t allow it.
…Maybe drag in one of his sorcerer pals from hiding somewhere.
Or summon his disciples from the Tang Clan Branch and have them hammer away together?
Even then, travel time made half a month impossible.
No—even with them all here, it’d still take a month.
Unless someone of his caliber joined in, the workload and difficulty were utterly impossible.
His mind grew foggy.
“Shit.”
Dang Chukyung regretted his foolish haste—mouth moving before he’d properly inspected the Ghost King Sword, distracted by the blueprint.
“Oh? What’s this? I wondered why it wasn’t rampaging, and here you are, holed up in the corner tinkering with some fun toy all by your lonesome?”
Dang Chukyung jolted at the sudden voice behind him and whipped his head around.
Unlike him, an elderly man over six feet tall with a benevolent, immortal-like face was stroking his goatee while peering intently at the blueprint.
“Hey, shit! How many times have I told you to make some damn noise when you walk?!”
“Oh, did I?”
“You’re that old and got dementia already?! Eighty years I’ve nagged you—nagged!!”
“Then nag me another eighty. Who knows? Might change me.”
“You’ll be over a hundred fifty by then. Think you’ll still be kicking?”
“Then no choice. Give up. You’ll feel better.”
“Damn it all!”
Dang Chukyung prided himself on never backing down in a temper tantrum anywhere—but this elder was the one exception where it never worked.
He’d even burst a blood vessel from frustration more than once or twice.
The elder’s name was Dang Munhyeok.
The Tang Clan Head, better known by his moniker Dark Lord.
Privately, they were blood brothers.
Though hardly anyone in the world knew it.
“What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the branch if you’re around?”
“Branch is in half a month. Today’s a stroll.”
“And the young master? You told him?”
“He’ll figure it out.”
“You mad—”
Dang Chukyung slapped his forehead at the utterly outrageous reply.
The absolute ruler of the western murim wandering about so casually?
Sure, hardly anyone in the jianghu could harm him, but it was a world teeming with schemes and ambushes.
Would all those enemies stay quiet if they knew?
‘Schemes and ambushes? This foolhardy guy’s no slouch there either… But still, too reckless!’
But Dang Chukyung kept his thoughts to himself.
Ninety years of life had taught him words were wasted on this man.
“More importantly, what’s this? Where’d you get such an amusing toy?”
The Dark Lord’s gaze was fixed on the blueprint.
Only then did Dang Chukyung realize the Dark Lord hadn’t spared him a single glance since arriving.
“What do you make of it?”
“What do I make of it? I said it already. Looks like a fun toy.”
The Dark Lord’s deep eyes sparkled with keen interest.
“It’s shaped like a fan, but its real use is as a sword. And when needed, it can unleash hidden projectiles as a killing blow… A weapon with three layers of twists. Whoever designed this is one devious bastard, huh?”
As expected of someone who’d risen so high—he pierced straight to the core just from looking.
Though famed for his martial prowess, the Dark Lord’s skill as a forge master rivaled Dang Chukyung’s.
He already seemed to foresee exactly how the weapon’s owner would wield it in battle.
Suppose someone faced Unhwi as an enemy.
They’d see the fan form and expect fan techniques.
Unhwi had mastered all eighteen classes of weapons, after all, so he was no slouch with fans.
But what if he switched mid-form to swordplay?
The foe’s movements would tangle hopelessly.
Off with their head, easy as that.
Even if they barely adapted and blocked it, problems remained.
Most would fixate on that first twist.
They’d focus solely on countering the swordplay.
Then, exploiting the gap, trigger the hidden projectiles?
The explosive power alone was brutal—but if they were coated in deadly poison?
‘…Straight to hell on the ghost cart.’
Devious and insidious to the core.
A bizarre weapon obsessed purely with victory.
“Quintessential Tang Clan.”
Petty, cunning, sly, victory-driven, exotic.
All words tailor-made for the Tang Clan.
That’s how the Dark Lord sized up the blueprint’s creator.
“Cunning as hell. Never met a foxier one in my life.”
“Who?”
“Hosan’s boy.”
“The eldest? The third?”
“Second one.”
“Huh? Isn’t the second a weakling by nature?”
“Must’ve changed. And get this—what’s even funnier?”
“What?”
“He declared he’ll inherit Stormwind.”
“!!”
In that instant, all playfulness vanished from the Dark Lord’s face.
A stony mask.
Dang Chukyung knew that was the true face forced upon the Dark Lord.
“Stormwind… huh.”
“And here’s the kicker—know what else?”
“Something worse than that?”
“He’s already mastered the Stormwind techniques. In mere days.”
“!!!”
“This weapon’s not three layers of cunning. It’s four.”
The fan’s twists didn’t end with projectiles.
Stormwind was wind. A fan stirred wind.
What kind of storm would this absurd fan unleash?
“A typhoon… No, apocalyptic gale.”
Infused with the Ghost King Sword’s power, it would become the wind that heralds world-ending doom.
The Dark Lord suddenly felt a burning curiosity to see the face of the man crafting such a horrific weapon.