To Each Their Own Path

"There. All done."

"Hah."

"Uh-uh. You shouldn't keep scoffing like that."

"..."

At her urgent warning, Hwangbo Mujin scowled. A splint was currently strapped to his once-sharp nose. The handiwork of Seong Yueun, the chief disciple of the House of Benevolent Brightness, was undeniably superb. From setting the bone to stopping the bleeding and applying the splint, the entire process had been as smooth and natural as flowing water. Yet, even Yueun could not heal the wounds to Mujin's pride. His dignity as a man and a martial artist had been utterly shattered.

Mujin glared with burning eyes toward a corner of the room. There sat a dark-skinned youth with his eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he were in deep meditation.

He must be reviewing the fight.

The youth had looked utterly bewildered by his own victory, as if he couldn't comprehend how he had pulled it off. It wasn't entirely unheard of. In the world of martial arts, it was common for someone to achieve a sudden breakthrough mid-combat and perform far beyond their usual limits. But why?

Why did it have to happen when he was fighting me?

The youth had deployed his techniques at the perfect moments, linking them together with seamless fluidity. Mujin's own techniques had been read and neutralized, rendering them useless, while the counterattacks had flown in from completely unexpected angles. It had felt as though he were fighting an entirely different person.

If I had gone all out, I would have won.

And that was the truth. No matter how cleverly his opponent had utilized his forms, the match would have ended in an instant had Mujin unleashed his full power. Such was the gap between a Peak Expert and a Second-class martial artist. Moreover, this had been a contest of raw, close-quarters brawling. Byeok Sogun had never professionally trained in external martial arts. Had they clashed head-on without any self-imposed restrictions, Mujin's fist qi would have crushed Sogun's flesh and shattered his bones.

But there's no point in dwelling on "what ifs."

Hypotheticals could not rewrite the past. Besides, Mujin was the one who had proposed the restrictions in the first place. Making excuses now would only make him look pathetic. He, too, began to mentally replay the duel, just as Byeok Sogun was likely doing. Arrogant and authoritarian though he was, Hwangbo Mujin was dead serious when it came to martial arts. He analyzed the fight step by step, breaking down every exchange. What if I had done this here? What if I had closed the distance even more back then? How could I have linked my fists and palms more naturally? Even in this brief window of reflection, he identified numerous flaws in his performance.

My physical conditioning was lacking. And I've neglected my other martial arts.

The Hwangbo Clan was renowned for its members' innate, monstrous strength and sturdy skeletal frames. As a direct descendant, Mujin possessed the physical might of a giant. Yet, he had been pushed back by a mere Kunlun Slave. Blaming his defeat on his physical vessel would be an insult to his ancestors. Even a legendary sword would rust if left untended. It was Mujin's own fault for relying too heavily on his internal energy while neglecting his physical conditioning. The same went for his martial arts. Was the Hwangbo Clan's Thunderbolt Divine Art weak? No. Even his opponent had praised it. As much as he loathed to admit the Kunlun Slave was right, the fault lay not with the martial art, but with the one wielding it.

I relied too heavily on the Three Heavenly King Fists.

He had been so captivated by the sheer, domineering power of the Sumeru Heavenly King Divine Art—a technique passed down exclusively to the direct lineage of the clan leader—that he had neglected his other arts, such as the Thunderbolt Divine Art and the Eighteen Bends of Mount Tai Art. His lack of mastery in those areas had ultimately dragged him down. Now that he had identified the problem, all that was left was to put in the work. But just as Hwangbo Mujin was mapping out a new training regimen in his head—

"Don't you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠agree, Brother Hwangbo?"

The sudden question snapped him out of his thoughts. Not quite catching the context of the conversation, Mujin frowned. Seeing his scowl, the man who had spoken grew even more animated.

"See? Even Brother Hwangbo looks displeased."

The man's name was Seok Gyeol, a martial artist from a branch family of the Seok Clan Manor who had previously struck up an acquaintance with Mujin. He was currently locked in a heated debate, and his opponent appeared to be Seong Yueun.

"We joined the Path of Righteousness, not some low-class mercenary guild to run trivial errands."

"But how can we call this the Path of Righteousness if we simply ignore those in need of help?"

Ah, I see.

Mujin immediately grasped the subject of their dispute. It was an issue that had been grating on his nerves as well.

Roughly three, two, and two.

Mujin, Seok Gyeol, and Baekri Eon made up the three who were dissatisfied. Cheong-gae and Danmok I-hyang remained neutral. Lastly, Seong Yueun firmly believed they should continue as they were.

No need to even ask that guy.

Byeok Sogun was still sitting there with his eyes closed, meditating. But there was no point in asking for his opinion anyway. After all, who was the one who had started all this trouble in the first place? It was him.

"Lady Seong, think about it," Seok Gyeol argued, slamming his wine cup onto the table. "Once we finish this trial, we will return to the Alliance. Everyone will boast of the righteous deeds they performed. Some will have slain tigers. Others will have wiped out bandit dens. Some might have even captured notorious demons!"

"And what about us? We're out here searching for lost puppies and repairing broken wagons! What are we, common tavern boys? I didn't travel all the way from Hebei to Hubei, and now on our way to Hunan, just to do chores!"

Baekri Eon, sitting beside him, nodded in vigorous agreement. Even Cheong-gae and Danmok I-hyang, who had been maintaining their neutrality, seemed to silently agree, causing Seong Yueun's expression to darken.

"But it's still helping others, and it's the right thing to do..."

"But those are trivial matters."

The moment Hwangbo Mujin spoke, all eyes in the room turned to him. He didn't flinch. He was used to being the center of attention. He calmly voiced his thoughts.

"Those are problems the common folk can solve themselves if they just band together."

"But we were the only ones there who could help them at the moment."

"If they had waited, they would have found another way. Those who possess great power must use it for great deeds. We train in martial arts and embark on these righteous journeys to solve the problems that the common folk cannot solve on their own. Is that not so?"

"..."

"If you lose yourself in trivialities, you will miss what truly matters. One must know how to sacrifice the small to achieve the great."

Even Cheong-gae nodded in agreement at those words. Seok Gyeol went so far as to clap his hands in admiration, singing Mujin's praises, while Seong Yueun bit her lower lip. Frustration was written all over her face, but she couldn't find a counterargument to his logical point. Beside her, Danmok I-hyang gently patted her shoulder, and it seemed the debate was drawing to a close—until a voice cut in.

"You are mistaken."

"What?"

An irritatingly calm voice interrupted. Byeok Sogun had opened his eyes and was staring directly at Mujin. The youth's thick lips parted once more.

"Chivalry is knowing what is right and acting upon it. How can one measure righteousness by scale?"

"Of course you can measure it. Between finding a lost puppy and saving someone on the brink of death, which one is clearly more important?"

"And did you see anyone on the brink of death while we were looking for that puppy today?"

"Just because they weren't right in front of us doesn't mean they don't exist in this world."

Mujin slammed his hand onto the table with a loud thud. Yet, Byeok Sogun didn't even flinch as he continued.

"If you keep abandoning the small things right in front of you for the sake of some distant, grand goal, what will happen when that grand goal finally arrives? Can you truly be certain you won't abandon that as well, eyes fixed on something even greater?"

"Ha. Sophistry."

"But isn't that what chivalry is? Sometimes, it means making a massive sacrifice for something seemingly trivial, even if it defies all logic."

Mujin felt a heavy lump form in his chest. The chivalry he had been taught was nothing like this.

Mujin's father had always emphasized the duty of the strong. Because they enjoyed great power and privilege, they were obligated to accomplish great deeds and protect the weak. Bandits plundering commoners, unorthodox factions causing chaos, or demonic masters practicing bizarre arts and slaughtering the innocent—taking care of the threats that ordinary people could never hope to face was the duty of those with power. That was the chivalry Mujin knew.

Yet, listening to Sogun's words made him feel like a lazy, heartless scoundrel who turned a eye to righteousness. To make matters worse, his opponent was a youth who had only recently learned martial arts and used to harass women. The displeasure Mujin felt was thick and suffocating. Part of it was also self-loathing—he was furious at himself for actually finding the youth's words somewhat persuasive.

His throat burning, Mujin poured himself a cup of wine and gulped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it down. Yueun gasped, flustered, and reached out to stop him, but—

"What an interesting conversation."

A clear, melodious voice echoed through the tavern first. Since their group had rented out the entire establishment, there couldn't possibly be any other guests. Every eye turned in unison toward the source of the voice, where a familiar figure stood. Damp hair from a recent bath clung to his neck, and his eyes were bright and clear. Having shed his heavy outer robe, his slender silhouette was fully revealed. It was Yoo Jeong, the martial artist in charge of their group.

What is chivalry? It was a question Yoo Jeong had pondered deeply in the past, and one he still grappled with today.

As Grandmaster Goeng-ryo had once said, "If there are ten thousand people, there are ten thousand paths." If one were to define chivalry, countless answers would emerge. Yet, none of those answers could be called wrong, nor could any single one be declared the absolute truth. Ultimately, though we call it "chivalry," it is not an absolute dogma. It is simply each individual's unique way of striving toward an inexpressible truth.

Thus, seeing them debate and ponder the meaning of chivalry brought a warm, genuine smile to Yoo Jeong's face.

Is this what it feels like to watch the younger generation walk the path I once trod?

Of course, strictly speaking, not a single person gathered here was younger than Yoo Jeong, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the refreshing feeling of his bath had been amplified by a deep sense of pride.

"There is no single correct answer to chivalry. What truly matters is that you strive with all your heart for the convictions you hold dear."

"Though each acts according to their own intent, ten thousand paths ultimately return to one. If you devote yourself with a single mind, your will can reach the heavens, and through human effort, even destiny can be overcome. Therefore, move forward with single-minded devotion."

Recalling the advice he had received from Grandmaster Goeng-ryo, Yoo Jeong brushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his face. Annoyed when it immediately slipped down again, he reached into his robe, pulled out a hairpin, and held it between his lips. He gathered his hair, twisted it into a loose bun, and secured it in place with the pin. It wasn't as neat or beautiful as the way Paeng So-eun styled hers, but it kept his hair out of his face, fully exposing his long, elegant neck.

Much better.

Though he had claimed he would only keep the hairpin as a keepsake, its sheer utility had led him to use it quite often. As he finished tidying his hair and lowered his arms, however, he noticed a strange atmosphere in the room. Had his advice been too profound? Everyone was staring at him, their eyes completely glued to his figure. Tilting his head in confusion, Yoo Jeong felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a flush of embarrassment at their intense gazes and quietly confessed.

"Actually... those were Grandmaster Goeng-ryo's words."

His face burned. He felt a wave of embarrassment and shame. Swept up in the feeling of playing the wise senior, he had passed off someone else's wisdom as his own.

This is all Paeng So-eun's fault.

He blamed it on spending too much time with So-eun, catching her habit of showing off. Yet, the gazes still didn't waver. In fact, while a few quickly looked away only to steal furtive glances, Byeok Sogun and Seong Yueun squeezed their eyes shut. It was an entirely unexpected reaction. As Yoo Jeong tilted his head in bewilderment, Danmok I-hyang sent him a telepathic transmission.

- Senior.

Danmok I-hyang addressed him with her usual polite formality. She pointed a finger toward her own chest. Watching her gesture with confusion, Yoo Jeong unconsciously looked down. In the process of reaching into his robe to retrieve the hairpin, the front of his collar had been pulled wide open, revealing a glimpse of his pale, smooth chest. Finally understanding where their eyes had been directed, Yoo Jeong's lips twitched.

Shortly after, the sharp sound of knuckles flicking foreheads echoed repeatedly through the tavern.