Old Maid Party!
That evening's dinner was surprisingly lavish. The table was literally groaning under the weight of the dishes, served family-style. The Namgoong family's martial artists didn't seem particularly surprised, though—they just dug in as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Clearly, they took good care of their meals here.
White rice, poached chicken, clear soup, meatball stew, sliced boiled pork, grilled fish, wild greens, bamboo shoot porridge, steamed fish, duck meat. These were all familiar foods even on the 3rd Floor, but they all tasted a bit bland. Like they'd skimped on the seasonings. Still, it was the kind of meal that made you feel healthier just eating it.
"You're eating really well. I figured you'd be on something like wall-grain pills."
I asked Namgoong Haryeong, who was sitting beside me to play host while we ate together. She smirked.
"You need a solid meal to train properly. That's why people flock to the Namgoong family. Didn't you see the crowds on the roadside on your way in?"
"Yeah, people lining up in front of the Dragon Gate Pavilion, spilling their troubles."
"Exactly. The Namgoong family rarely recruits new disciples or outer sect students—it's a rare opportunity."
Outer sect student?
"What's the difference between those two?"
"Disciples are total beginners who don't even know how to hold a sword. Mostly kids under ten. Outer sect students, on the other hand, come from outside the family but want to learn."
"Ah, got it. Like new grads versus experienced hires."
"Hm? Yeah, something like that."
She didn't get the reference but nodded anyway, assuming I'd figured it out. Still, the competition must be fierce. Training every day with meals like this? I could use some of that myself.
Curse of knowledge, maybe. Memories of the rare folks who'd come down from the 7th Floor flickered in my mind. Yu Ye-na had told me not to worry, but I was the only one who knew anything real about the 7th Floor.
"S-Sir. E-Eat."
"Thanks."
Kim Yang must have noticed my brooding—she sneakily placed a poached chicken leg from the soup onto my rice bowl.
"Worried about the conditions your father laid out?"
"Ah, yeah."
Not exactly, but it was something to mull over.
"You sparred with him last time, so you know—it's not easy. Basically, he's saying no."
"Really? I thought the opposite."
"Hm?"
I tore into the chicken leg. A bit more salt would hit the spot. Bland samgyetang was worse than I'd imagined.
"If he wasn't going to let you, he'd have refused in the letter from the start."
"...You're right."
"You and Namgoong Yeon both—you don't trust your father much, do you?"
Namgoong Haryeong stared at me, then burst out laughing and slapped my back repeatedly.
"If you'd lived with him, you'd never say that."
What could I say to that?
The rowdy dinner wound down, and the martial artists filed out one by one. They all headed the same way, their eyes sharp—not quite ready for bed.
"More training?"
"Of course. That's why they fed us so much. We train until zi shi."
Zi shi?
"M-Midnight, one a.m."
"Ah."
Perfect timing.
"Mind if I watch?"
"Not watch—join in. Father said to include you."
"...He's really putting me through it."
* * *
I'd heard martial artists trained brutally—it was common knowledge. The training grounds and tools I'd glimpsed on the way in reeked of ancient traditions preserved intact.
But this? Swinging a sword for two straight hours with 50kg weights strapped to your arms and legs? Where the hell did they learn that?
These guys are insane.
Sweat poured off me in sheets. I'd built up some stamina training with Baek Yeonhwa lately and felt pretty confident.
This was a whole different beast. And they weren't even teaching—just swinging away. Efficiency-wise, zero. No wonder it took martial artists years to rank up.
"Whew, I can't anymore."
As president of a matchmaking agency, surviving this long was damn impressive, right? In the midst of everyone else swinging in perfect unison, I grumbled and dropped my wooden sword.
"Hmph."
"Pfft."
"Knew it."
Subtle snickers from all around. Looked like the outsider jumping in hurt their pride—they'd been doing this their whole lives, after all.
As I set my sword down, Namgoong Haryeong and Kim Yang approached. She'd spent the two hours spectating with Kim Yang, pounding booze.
"Oh, finally done? You lasted longer than I thought."
"Y-You're okay, sir?"
"Not okay. Feels like my body's breaking."
Kim Yang came over and started massaging my arms. I'd thought she was drinking too, but she just smelled like barley—no alcohol on her breath. Namgoong Haryeong, meanwhile, was flushed red, giggling like a drunk.
"Not bad for a first-timer, hic! Who knew a matchmaking president had such grit?"
"Ugh, you reek of booze..."
I bit back that's why you're still single. She had a sword at her waist.
"Learn anything? Hic! You kept up pretty well—wonder if you picked up a thing or two."
The surrounding martial artists' eyes turned to us. They'd been half-worried, half-mocking, but listening closely.
"Two or three? Four at most?"
I counted on my fingers. The air suddenly chilled. Even Kim Yang glanced around warily.
"Ho ho?"
Namgoong Haryeong's drunken haze vanished, her smile tightening.
"Let's see."
Thud! She stamped her scabbard on the ground, shifting into stance. The training martial artists split to the sides like the sea, leaving just me, her, and Kim Yang in the arena.
"Wait, no—my arms are dead!"
"S-Sir. You're exhausted."
"You think enemies in the martial world care about your condition?"
Damn it.
"Agh, Kim Yang—go wait over there."
"S-Sir."
"It's fine. She's not going all out."
She hadn't drawn her sword, so it wasn't just drunken nonsense. I gripped my wooden sword with shaking arms as she slowly raised her sheathed blade.
"One exchange. High right diagonal swing."
"Got it. Come on."
There were plenty of ways to block. She was testing what I'd learned. I replayed the swings I'd memorized, nodded slightly—and her sword arced like a crescent moon.
Clang!
A heavy ring echoed like thunder. I thought my wooden sword might snap, but she'd controlled her power perfectly.
"Ow, my hands are numb."
I shook them out, grumbling, but Namgoong Haryeong stared in surprise before bursting into laughter.
"Pfft! Look at this guy!"
Her laughter echoed under the moonlight, mingled with murmurs from the Namgoong martial artists.
"Senior brother, did I see that right? Did he block with Iron Waist Body Forging Technique?"
"Not just that—the Half-Step Upright Stance was solid too. Better than you, at least."
"No wonder the Emotionless Sword Fairy favors him."
"Freaky. Reading that much in just one hour?"
Amid the stunned martial artists, Kim Yang grinned proudly, shoulders shaking.
"O-Our boss."
Look at her puffing up. Namgoong Haryeong stopped laughing, nodding in satisfaction.
"In one hour: Jeongsim Breathing Technique, Half-Step Upright Stance, Iron Waist Body Forging Technique. You grasped them all by eye. And looked like you could pull off one of the Twelve Forms too?"
"No idea what those names even mean."
She laughed and approached, hand on her chest.
"Jeongsim Breathing Technique. The foundation of Namgoong family breathing—evens your qi, keeps your center steady."
"Half-Step Upright Stance aligns your knees, waist, and shoulders off your forward half-step. Most stable after drawing your sword."
She gripped her waist firmly with both hands.
"Iron Waist Body Forging Technique. Stabilizes your lower body through waist rotation—holds your form through long training."
"Ah, so that's what they're called."
"How'd you pick them up?"
All traces of drunkenness gone, she eyed me hungrily. Dangerous. That old-maid instinct kicking in—spot a decent guy, start salivating.
"Ahem, you all did the same moves. Had to be Namgoong basics. Your fundamentals are so polished, it was easy to mimic."
Your textbook-perfect forms made it simple for me. It hit home for these sword-swinging brutes.
"Ahem, we train constantly."
"Consistent enough for an outsider to spot instantly."
"Well... it's just basics."
Tradition, hierarchy, brute force—praise comes stingy in places like this. My flattery landed perfectly.
Time to hand out cards later.
I glanced at Kim Yang; she nodded, pulling a business card case from her pocket. Good employee.
"Even so, you're the first to grasp them in an hour. You've got real talent."
"Yeah, Baek Yeonhwa said the same."
"Hmmm, tempting. How about I kidnap you and—"
Creepy talk. I whispered so others couldn't hear.
"Namgoong Haryeong likes rough types."
"..."
"Rough, bad boys are your type. I'm not that guy."
She licked her lips and nodded.
"True, not quite my taste... but wanna tweak your personality? Talk rough, hit women?"
"Absolutely not."
"Shame."
Hitting women? She shrugged, half-joking.
"Everything else is solid, but your Jeongsim Breathing Technique is clumsy. Not used to the breathing?"
"Ah, was gonna mention that. Uses inner power, right? 3rd Floor folks can't do Jeongsim, so if you teach later, maybe adapt it—"
I started explaining hypothetically; she rested her chin, suddenly serious.
"You really won't hit women or anything?"
No.
* * *
Under the misty moonlight, a new uninvited guest entered Unseo Castle's gates. No guards here—the gates stayed open year-round, easy to slip in.
But given her status, she was technically an intruder in Unseo Castle.
Long, snow-white hair like her pale robes. Iron badge at her waist with her sword, marking her identity. Her aura screamed high-born, but the killing intent she exuded marked her far more dangerous.
Martial artists awake at dawn swinging swords—or woken by her presence—watched from windows, not daring to approach.
She was that famous.
Her gaze fixed on the Namgoong plaque at the castle's edge, chewing the name.
"Young Master Kim Juseon."
No contact until now—and he comes straight to the Namgoong family?
Impossible. Absolutely not.
"Namgoong Haryeong—that wench got to him first...?"
Imagining Haryeong marrying first, smirking and teasing—it made her blood boil.
"Even if the heavens flip and the palace burns, that cannot happen."
Namgoong Haryeong marrying before her.
"Indeed. Haryeong lighting her bridal torch first? I'd sooner die than see it."
As long as Azure Wind Martial Lord Paeng Sorin kept her eyes open, it would never happen.
