Namgung's Last Heaven

The sword of Namgung Hwi, who had been an apostle of the Namgung Hwi Constellation, always shimmered with a blue light. Each swing traced a path that painted the azure sky itself. Because of this, the title Azure Heaven Sword Lord was prefixed to his name. But Namgung Hwi disliked his own epithet. At times, it even embarrassed him. He believed the sky was drawn not by his own power, but by the constellation's authority.

Perhaps that's why. From some point on, Namgung Hwi could no longer advance. His body yearned to press forward, yet his mind felt snagged somewhere, held back. Whenever he had time, he secluded himself in isolated closed-door training. The longer the retreats lasted, the more convinced he became that it was due to the authority bestowed by the constellation. Yet discarding that authority wasn't easy. He feared that letting it go would mean losing everything, rendering him unable to swing a sword ever again. In truth, he couldn't discard it from the start. With his soul bound—no, enslaved—to it, defying the authority at will was impossible. How could a mere human dare challenge a constellation?

And so, Namgung Hwi was slowly dying, facing an insurmountable wall just as he had in his room before becoming a hunter.

Then, out of nowhere, the apostle contract severed. The authority and power granted by the constellation vanished without a trace, clean as could be. That moment was truly dizzying. His body grew so heavy he wondered if he could even walk properly. Once he calmed a bit, he realized—embarrassingly—that it wasn't such a big deal after all. At the same time, he recognized his own shortcomings. And with that...

His heart felt incomparably lighter.

'Freedom feels like this.' He could now swing a light, boundless, carefree sword. In contrast, what the sword now carried grew incomparably heavier. Was this the mindset that true martial arts demanded? If so, what had he infused into his blade to make it weigh so much...? He couldn't know yet. His entry into the path had been unorthodox, so his martial foundation was inevitably shallow. From now on, he would seek the answers. Just thinking about it filled him with joy and excitement.

Namgung Hwi smiled faintly and continued swinging his own sword. Down from above, up from below, sideways from below, diagonal from above, thrust upward, slash, cut, parry... When he completed the first full cycle of forms, his sword seemed utterly plain. On the second repetition, a blue shadow flickered along its path. By the third, a sharp gleam began to flash.

On this fourth cycle, perhaps he could even capture the edge of the sky. As Namgung Hwi finished the final form with that thought—

"Gonghyeok ajusshi, lemme borrow your sword."

"Uh... h-here you go!"

A voice from the sky echoed from somewhere. Everyone watching Namgung Hwi's sword turned their gaze that way, but he kept his eyes fixed on the direction his blade was heading. Even when the sky manifested along that path, nothing changed. Namgung Hwi swung on, just as before.

By the fourth cycle, the sky naturally intertwined with his forms. Steel clashed against steel. Sword met sword. But their movements didn't mesh perfectly. They grated harshly, sometimes nearly injuring each other as blades slipped. After four cycles, into the fifth, the blue glow on Namgung Hwi's sword flickered out.

Neither cared. There was no need to.

On the sixth cycle, the blue light sparkled again. By the seventh, it spread beautifully. On the eighth, their swords began to align perfectly, like actors in a play. And on the ninth—

Namgung Hwi began to feel the sky's teachings through their clashing blades.

Relax your shoulders. Why tense them up like you're so great? Loosen up.

The Namgung sword embodies the wonders of heavy and light, not rigid hacking.

Tuck in your elbows. Unless you're aiming for the crown of the head, do it now.

Using your whole body is good, but overdoing it wastes power and telegraphs to the enemy.

Mind your footwork. The way you move, you're begging to die to an assassin. Your opponent always thinks one step ahead of your three. Surpass that to win.

Widen your vision. Bulging eyes don't see better. Take in everything: what your foe does, can do, prepares for. Instinct comes later.

Don't get arrogant. Use your internal energy. You gonna save it to boil soup? Use it actively—not to prop up weak flesh, but focused where it's needed most...

Such words seemed to flow through, and Namgung Hwi resolved to heed them immediately. It wasn't easy. He had five years of ingrained habits. But correcting them wasn't impossible either. After all, Namgung Hwi was a genius. While others basked in immense constellation favor, he had risen to top-tier mastery under a worthless one like a bug.

What that meant was clear. By the tenth cycle, his sword seemed clumsier and duller than the start. But on the eleventh, it recovered as if nothing had happened. By the twelfth, it had grown so refined that gasps of admiration erupted everywhere.

From then on, he fell half into a trance. Sword became self, self became sword. Sky became sword, sword became sky... One misstep, and he'd tumble into qi deviation. Yet Namgung Hwi swung fiercer, refusing to stop.

Only when his sword snapped in half did he snap from the trance.

"Kuhk...!"

Forgotten breath rushed in. Blood streamed from his palms, his vision went white, and standing became a struggle. So he just collapsed.

Namgung Hwi sat there gracelessly, slicking back his sweat-soaked hair. Steam rose from his crown, his body trembled like an aspen. He'd pushed mana—internal energy—to its limit, leaving his dantian aching.

"Haa... heuk, kurrup... kuh..."

Lifting his head... dawn had broken. He'd started at sunset, swung through the night, and stopped only as daybreak rose. Over twelve hours of demonstration and sparring. Had the sword not broken, it might have gone longer. What then? True qi deviation?

'And yet, why does it feel so...'

Refreshing? Namgung Hwi panted raggedly yet giggled.

'"Hear the Way in the morning, die content at dusk..."'

He now faintly grasped the emotions behind the sage's words. Once his breathing steadied, Namgung Hwi staggered to his feet. The sword he'd gained upon becoming an apostle had shattered cleanly. Its durability wasn't exhausted. No matter how odd the constellation, it was still one. A blade from such a being wouldn't break from mere sparring.

The sky, seeing Namgung Hwi reach his limit, had snapped it to force a stop.

He considered picking it up but didn't. Tearing his eyes from the fallen blade, he looked at the sky standing opposite. What to say? The emotions filling his chest were too vast for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠words.

Beyond the flood of constellation messages, the sky—who hadn't spilled a single drop of sweat—asked,

"How's it feel?"

A quiet question. Now, no other sounds reached him but her voice. Only then did Namgung Hwi look around. Overwhelmed by the twelve-hour spar, people wore varied expressions, watching the pair. And beyond—

The stars of the navy-blue sky twinkled painfully bright, showering praise. Of course, Namgung Hwi wouldn't cower or grow arrogant under such gazes. With utmost composure, he replied,

"...Incredibly refreshing. I feel emotions I can't quite express or know how to handle. It might be more than I can bear."

"You've opened your eyes."

The sky deeply empathized. How to describe that refreshment? She didn't know. But she knew the feeling well. It was for such sensations—worth forgoing food, sleep, even shitting—that one endured breath control and endless training.

"In your esteemed eyes, how was my sword?"

At Namgung Hwi's question, the sky closed her eyes, lost in thought. Even a small head held horrors within, so her deliberation stretched long.

"What did you swing it for?"

Namgung Hwi answered curtly.

"A sword to protect."

"What?"

"I don't know. That's why I'll seek it from now on."

"I see."

In truth, it wasn't the Namgung sword style she remembered. Unavoidable. What he'd learned was worse than trash. Even his internal energy handling suggested a half-baked technique. Once he'd reached a certain realm, he'd surely sensed the flaws. Thus, he'd developed his own interpretation.

She couldn't know his efforts. But his odd habits and postures during swings revealed immense toil. Whether he'd fully realized it didn't matter now. She already embodied all of Namgung's essence.

The sky's eyes curved slyly as she opened them.

"That's plenty to call a Namgung sword. It was cool, Namgung Hwi."

Namgung Hwi's face brightened, and countless messages bloomed before them. It began with those presumed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be sect leaders of the ancient schools.

Wudang, Huashan, Kunlun, Zhongnan, Dian Cang, Qingcheng, Hengshan. Every sect save Shaolin and Emei sent fervent messages to Namgung Hwi and the sky. Then came the clans: Hebei Peng, Huangbo, Sichuan Tang, Murong, Zhuge, Duguo...

Watching the deluge, Namgung Hwi flailed in daze. The hunters around him fared no better. Some even foamed at the mouth and collapsed. It wasn't mere messages—the constellations projected their presence too.

The sky, unfazed, recalled her first meeting with her master. What had master said then? It had felt cringey at the time, but jotting her bucket list, she'd vowed to recite those lines someday. Giggling, she eyed Namgung Hwi, lost amid the messages.

Just like her master then, she sent a transmission.

Namgung Hwi snapped alert at the transmission, eyes widening.

"Ah..."

Messages still flooded his vision. Become my apostle, and I'll grant this and that. Unlike that Azure Heaven whatever you served, we're on another level. You know it too. We're the true masters and sect leaders of the Central Plains. We'll somehow obtain Namgung sword arts to pass on. No need to learn ours. If needed, we'll teach—but follow your own martial path...

Hard to believe, having been burned once. But if it all came true, Namgung Hwi would become an unprecedented powerhouse. He'd reached Master rank under a pathetic constellation, and even after severance, held that level. With guidance from far superior beings...

How far could he climb? Human versus constellation. No contest. Any sane human would choose the constellation. Hunters sought power beyond humanity, after all—bowing to transcendent beings was right.

"I am Namgung Hwi."

He knelt.

"I have discarded all epithets."

No regret or hesitation marked his face.

"Disciple Namgung Hwi greets his master, the last heaven of Namgung."

With that, Namgung Hwi bowed deeply to the sky. That single act halted the constellation messages mid-flood. The onlookers froze too, breaths caught, rigid as statues.

In the utterly still world, only the sky burst into giggles.

'Master was right—getting even one disciple is tough.'

First disciple after 62.5 billion years? Exceptionally hard.

'But the first wish is fulfilled...'

For reasons unknown, she sensed the second was near.