Chapter 85
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: As Always, the Jianghu's Young Experts Are Just the Protagonist's Punching Bags
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I stared up at Namgung Seheon just as blankly before tossing out a line.
“You only laugh when something’s funny, you punk.”
You think you could just laugh on command in a situation like this, with this serious, weird tension hanging in the air?
Namgung Seheon stepped even closer, tilting his head slightly as he asked,
“Even looking at my face?”
“What good’s looking at your face gonna do?”
“…The girls said even a pretty boy’s face is enough to make them laugh.”
Where the hell did he pick up that nonsense?
I snorted at him, scratching the back of his head as he straightened up, and hit him with a harsh truth.
“That’s only for rare beauties you catch a glimpse of once in a blue moon. Your face doesn’t do it for me, at least. My master, who I see every day, is way more handsome than you.”
“Damn it, that’s not fair! If you’re comparing, compare with someone our age! Who knows if I won’t be even more handsome than your master when I hit thirty!”
I barely held back a laugh at his utterly aggrieved expression, averting the first crisis.
“Fine, let’s meet again in fifteen years. But why the sudden talk about laughing?”
Curious, I asked, and Namgung Seheon pouted, messing up his bangs as he grumbled.
“I know telling you not to laugh in front of her is pointless anyway.”
“Oh, you get it.”
At my admiring tone, the corners of Namgung Seheon’s eyes shot up.
His face looked just like a sulky cat, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I burst out laughing. As I covered my face and chuckled, a voice thick with dissatisfaction rang out.
“Ah, not like that. Laugh sweetly at me, like you did for her.”
“Why are you whining? Pfft.”
The moment I slyly pulled my hand away from my face, his pouty expression hit me, and another laugh slipped through my teeth.
I laughed until my stomach hurt, wiping tears from my eyes before smacking Namgung Seheon’s arm.
“Hey, let’s get going.”
“Ah, why? It’s a hassle anyway, and those losers are everywhere.”
“I need to build some connections. And I should say hi to Paeng Haran. It’s been a while.”
“Get connections later through Jeon Ga-hui. She’s a wizard at judging people. Way more efficient than you running around everywhere—it’s better to get intros one step removed through her.”
“I just don’t wanna stay holed up in this corner anymore. If you hate it, stay here. I’m going.”
“You’re really gonna abandon your friend in this desolate spot?”
I whipped around, and Namgung Seheon—bigger than me—latched onto my shoulder.
He didn’t just close the distance on his own terms; he made it zero. Realizing I’d been dragged into his mess, a hollow laugh escaped me.
Still, he was lighter than a training boulder, so I trudged forward with him clinging to my back like baggage.
This damn guy dragged his feet on the ground without any intention of walking on his own.
“Hey, walk on your own two feet?”
Despite my irritation, Namgung Seheon—who had his arm locked around my neck and was leaning his full weight on me—bumped his forehead against my shoulder.
“Hey, hey, Biyeon.”
“What.”
“If some weirdo says something weird, don’t believe it.”
With his forehead pressed to my shoulder, Namgung Seheon mumbled. Felt like the weirdo in question was saying something weird right now.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just don’t believe it.”
Ugh, if you’re gonna say it, spit it out properly.
As we emerged back toward the cluster of young experts, eyes quickly gathered on us—then scattered just as fast when I scowled.
“Mount Hua’s reputation packs a punch, huh?”
I marveled, but Namgung Seheon—still burying his face in my shoulder—shook his head.
“Nah, it’s not Mount Hua’s rep. It’s just your ugly mug.”
“I guess I don’t check mirrors much, you bastard.”
“Even as your friend, I can’t deny your face looks mean from an objective view. And those tiger eyes make your glare feel like you’re looking down on people.”
“You hoe bastard… Get off my back.”
I shook myself hard and finally shook off Namgung Seheon, heading toward the eye-catching group in white robes even from afar.
Before I could call out to Paeng Haran, a boy with sharp features sitting beside him spoke up first, a beat faster.
“Quit the sneaky glances already. Didn’t they teach you that’s rude?”
He had a proper young master look, but the way he spat it out was anything but proper. His tone reminded me of someone familiar—soft, mocking sarcasm.
From the group he’d glared at, jeers erupted loud enough to be heard: “He’s overreacting when no one was even looking at him. What a guard dog.”
The boy scowled and gripped the sword at his waist, but Paeng Haran called his name in a languid voice.
“Seryun.”
“…You okay with this?”
“Of course. It’s not like this is the first or second time.”
“I’ve told you over and over, you don’t need to get used to these damn stares.”
Seryun. Jin Seryun. I rolled the three syllables around on my tongue, staring intently at the boy exchanging words with Paeng Haran, his face conflicted.
Ah, so this is the protagonist.
The protagonist of [Sword God Returns]—the world I’d read, the one I’d lived in, and the one I’d keep living in.
Sensing my stare, Jin Seryun turned to me and asked flatly,
“Got something to say? Or business with me?”
I’d figured meeting the protagonist would split the heavens and earth, or at least bring thunder and lightning. But the world stayed shockingly ordinary.
It was just my mood that felt off.
“You strong?”
At my out-of-left-field question, the space between Jin Seryun’s brows narrowed.
In murim novels, the jianghu’s young experts were basically protagonist power gauges. (Whether they messed up or not) They were the sacrificial punching bags who took beatings to give a rough measure of the protagonist’s skills.
Usually the role of sect heirs or disciples from great clans.
And I was a disciple of mighty Mount Hua Sect, one of the Nine Great Sects.
By the laws of these stories, there was every chance I’d charge in first, get utterly crushed, and end up proving Jin Seryun’s strength in front of all these young experts—
‘But I’m curious. He’s the protagonist, after all. Just how strong is he?’
Anyone who dips a toe in the jianghu is half-mad.
They swing swords—or whatever weapon, fist, palm—all day, chasing realms beyond human limits. You think a sane person could endure that?
They either bail or go mad right along with it.
And me? From the moment I opened my eyes in this world, I’d grown up in that madhouse—a prime specimen of a mad genius.
The kind who’d toss face and pride aside without a second thought for a fight with a real powerhouse.
Of course, that’s only if it’s not some overwhelming monster who’d straight-up kill me.
As I reached for the hilt at my waist, Jin Seryun’s face hardened. A snicker escaped at the wariness in his pitch-black eyes, sharpening his aura even more.
The thick tension coiling around us was broken by Paeng Haran’s amused voice.
“Who starts with a duel before even exchanging names?”
“It’s pretty common in the jianghu.”
I replied indifferently, raising my free hand slightly.
Paeng Haran waved back casually in greeting, glancing between me and Jin Seryun before saying softly,
“But I’d prefer my friends introduce themselves first, before any sparring.”
Even with his suggestion, our hands still hovered over our sword hilts.
Paeng Haran asked again, soft as a seal stamp but with more emphasis this time.
“You’ll both humor me, right?”
*Cough*. At the faint cough tacked onto the end, Jin Seryun sighed first, pulling his hand from the sheath and offering it to me.
“I’m Jin Seryun of the Myeongwon Sect.”
“Biyeon of Mount Hua.”
I gripped his callused swordsman’s hand firmly and gave a simple intro.
I met his appraising gaze head-on without flinching. Maybe sensing me sizing him up in return, Jin Seryun took a step back.
“If you wanna fight, do it at the upcoming Yongbong Branch Meet, not here. I don’t wanna cause a scene. You’re used to eyes on you as a disciple of a great sect, but I’d rather skip the unwanted attention.”
The boy, not yet consumed by hatred and vengeance, had a remarkably calm temperament.
“Sorry.”
The apology slipped out on impulse.
Sorry I can’t fully shield you from the tragedy ahead—that all I can do is sharpen the blade of your revenge toward the Demonic Cult.
Five years from now, you’ll gradually become the Jin Seryun I read about.
Even after earning the title of Sword God, wracked by regret, despair, and vengeance, you’ll turn back time—only to go mad, forever unable to grasp the future you wanted most.
When I meet you five years from now, which loop’s version of you will it be? How far can I change that future?
Jin Seryun’s expression turned odd at the inexplicable apology. He scratched his cheek awkwardly, trailing off.
“Nah, no need to apologize…”
“See? I told you he’s a good guy.”
Paeng Haran cut in with a grin.
Thinking I’d apologized for picking a fight, Jin Seryun’s eyes softened. Meeting that gaze, I awkwardly swept back my bangs.
Ha, had I just racked up another mistaken good deed?