Chapter 73
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: The Deal's Conditions Were Too Harsh
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A falcon that had been circling high in the sky swiftly descended to the ground.
At the same time, with a sharp *clang* of metal clashing, a sword flew through the air. The moment the falcon entered his sight, Namgung Seheon had knocked away his sparring opponent's blade and rushed over.
The boredom that had been etched on his face moments ago had long vanished.
“What is it?”
His sparring partner muttered in dismay, and a boy nearby replied indifferently.
“Isn't it that guy? The one Namgung Seheon wouldn't shut up about, the only one who lasted over thirty exchanges? Looks like he finally got a reply.”
With no word for a full seven days and nights, Namgung Seheon had been in the dumps for days. For those who had to spar with him, the reply was welcome news.
The sparring partner, who had picked up the distant sword with fumbling hands, shook his head vigorously in disgust.
“But why's he blushing like that over a guy's reply? Like he got a love letter from some girl he's crushing on. Is he into guys or something?”
“It's a woman. His opponent was.”
“What?”
A light scolding flew at the sparring partner, who whipped around in shock.
“Why so surprised? Just look at his older sister—she hit peak realm just past her early twenties.”
He nodded in realization, recalling Namgung Seun, the outstanding swordswoman and leading candidate for heir of the Namgung Family, and muttered.
“Well, yeah. There's a reason they say in the martial world to beware women, children, and the elderly.”
Meanwhile, oblivious to the brief misunderstanding of his tastes, Namgung Seheon unfolded the long-awaited reply with a pleased expression.
His face grew subtly strange as he skimmed the letter.
「How many letters asking if I'm okay do you plan to send? That's falcon abuse. Don't you feel sorry for the poor bird? Anyway, thanks for the concern, but no, I'm still not okay. And no need for more replies. -Biyeon」
Look at this reply after all the letters he'd sent. Treated worse than the delivering falcon. Namgung Seheon huffed at the curt note that didn't even fill a full sheet, but stopped when he spotted the line about still not being okay.
「Hey, a guy can worry and send a few, right? What the hell have you been doing for seven days and nights that it took this long to reply? You weren't holed up in your room the whole time, were you? If so, get out, get some sun. If Mount Hua's too tough, come visit the Namgung Family.」
As he wrote a new letter on fine paper, he paused at Biyeon's neat handwriting, then pulled out another sheet and wrote extra carefully to match the style.
If Biyeon visited the Namgung Family, which guest quarters to assign, which spots to show him—such excited fantasies were a bonus.
And a few days later.
「Seven days and nights slicing leaves. And no to the invite. You come. Oh, you can't?」
The arrived letter was half its usual length.
“Falcon abuse? Says the one doing the abusing.”
He grumbled about what leaf-slicing even meant, but his hand clutched the reply tightly. Normally, he'd have flung it to the ground by now.
Staring holes through the last two lines, Namgung Seheon smirked crookedly.
“Ha, you think I can't come?”
A few hours later.
“Ah, why not! He invited me!”
“Why go to Mount Hua when their mourning hasn't even ended? You're thirteen—old enough to know time and place!”
He threw a tantrum but ended up with a thunderous scolding. Watching her scolded little brother from afar, Namgung Seun muttered with a sigh.
“What a pity he's a Daoist sect disciple. If he'd been from our family, I could've married him off as a son-in-law and gotten him out easy….”
Her loyal maid, standing guard as always, remained silent.
Despite her firm betrothal, Namgung Seun sneered at the parade of prominent proposals from family elders.
All direct heirs vying for young lord or patriarch positions, or patriarchs themselves. So transparently obvious.
“You'll make me out to be heartless after all.”
Clicking her tongue at their siblings' bad luck, she rose.
The fine skirt she'd been half-forced into since some forgotten childhood memory swayed gracefully.
* * *
A year passed, I turned fourteen, and this year, the long-delayed Dragon-Tiger Assembly was finally held.
Oh, and the deal's outcome...
“Damn, I thought I'd get to show off the 24 Plum Blossom Sword Techniques at this Dragon-Tiger Assembly sparring.”
Uiseong's condition hadn't been met, so the deal was voided.
As I grumbled with arms crossed, Biyeon, who had just stepped into the first stage of the 14 Plum Blossom Sword Techniques' first form, scratched his head.
“Still, hitting the third stage of the 14 Plum Blossom Sword Techniques in just six months is the first major accomplishment since the current Mount Hua's top sword.”
“I thought I was a genius who could've broken through the third stage in four months.”
All I'd gained from the deal was a humble attitude toward advanced arts.
Plus Uihyeon's repeated emphasis on order—“See for yourself”—and Uiseong's guffaws—“You really thought you'd succeed?”
“Four months to third stage in an advanced art isn't genius, it's heavenly prodigy.”
“There was a guy who mimicked a single 24 Plum Blossom Sword form after one look. Didn't expect you couldn't even manage that.”
“Crazy, is that even possible?”
It was. I recalled the white hair fluttering with his movements. What to do about our talent-lifespan trade-off, huh.
“We've grown quite a bit, but I wonder how much stronger the Wudang White Group's captain has gotten since then.”
Including Bihwan, who stroked his chin worriedly, I issued a serious warning to the entire Plum Group.
“That's not our concern. Just remember—if we lose this time, Selection Hell descends again.”
We now stood at the sect gate to welcome the Wudang Sect.
Come to think of it, nine years ago, I was standing here too.
Except Uihyeon and Uiseong had moved forward to the second-generation spots, and around me were Plum Group members instead of the Chair Group, it was much like nine years ago.
The grand, massive gates, firmly shut, swung open, and a group of warriors in Taiji-embroidered Daoist robes entered.
“Keuk, facing them at our home base, the Wudang guys don't seem like much.”
“Hut, even beasts lose half their ferocity leaving their territory.”
I tossed a bored remark at Biyeong and Bidam's unhinged laughs and bravado.
“Your turn this year?”
The annual sore losers were plenty to keep me vigilant every year. Gotta live with my head on straight to avoid that.
“The day for revenge on that win from five years ago has finally come.”
Bihun muttered with a fierce grin. He was always like that, so no one could tell if it was puberty or just regular Bihun. Thanks to that, he dodged closed-door training.
I turned toward where the slouched Bihun glared and spotted a face both unfamiliar and familiar.
Taller now, baby fat shed for a sharper look that shed its childishness. Baek Geon had grown into a face that suited the description of being as handsome as his master.
Pleased, I grinned wide and waved. Baek Geon stared blankly for a moment, then flushed bright red like a blooming flower. Baek Yun beside him looked pissed.
After the two sect leaders exchanged greetings and the elders briefly did the same, we watched the Wudang disciples head to the Jade Purity Hall.
The Wudang White Group captain was whispering with his fellow disciples, glancing at us—precisely the Mount Hua Plum Group. Suspicious, I raised an eyebrow.
Looked like they were plotting something. Our eyes met, and the Wudang captain gave a feigned friendly smile and nodded his chin.
And shortly after.
We faced the Wudang three major disciple generations in the exact same formation as four years ago.
The reason for gathering was obvious. We'd been ordered to show the Wudang kids around the upper palace, and they'd likely been told to build rapport while touring with our guidance.
But since our last meeting five years ago ended in a brawl, the mood around the two sects was awkwardly tense.
Feeling the duty as the eldest to break the ice, the Wudang captain spoke first.
“Wow, you've grown so much! I can barely recognize you.”
I gave a dubious look at his exclamation, similar to five years ago, aimed at me in the center.
You're one to talk, about to hit early twenties yourself.
“Any place you wanna see?”
At my indifferent question, the Wudang captain glanced around, confirmed not an ant in sight, and spoke.
“A quiet, secluded spot with no people or eavesdroppers.”
“Rematch for that brawl we couldn't finish back then?”
I unconsciously patted my empty belt. No sword—gonna have to fist-and-palm it? He frantically shook his head at my words.
“No, not a fight. I have some serious business to discuss.”
The spot we chose was the Plum Group's exclusive training ground. Scrubbed clean recently, it looked unfamiliarly pristine even to us.
Huddled in an inconspicuous corner, we looked like we were scheming.
“So, what's this about?”
At my question, the slightly tense Wudang captain made a low-voiced proposal.
“For this sparring match, let's rig the results to 15-15.”