Namgung Hyeong's Proud Day
"Indeed, children's rights matter far more than poison arts!!! And here I thought the Sichuan Tang Clan kept at least some semblance of a line!!"
Namgung Hyeong heaved a sigh of lament.
"How brutal must the training have been for something like this to happen! Yes, they face inspection by the Human Rights Commission every year—but how could anyone hope to watch over every branch member across this vast galaxy? Of course things like this slip through! And the Sichuan Tang Clan is a house of spies; they are practically purpose-built for concealment! To think that such corruption was hiding in all that secrecy!! Such corruption! Corruption! Corrup… corrup…?"
"Uh—wait."
"Cor… corrup… corrrr-rup-tion—krrk… krrrk… Orthodox-path corruption—krrrgrrrrrrk…!"
Namgung Hyeong's face twisted all at once, and a bestial sound began to tear from his throat.
"Kirrerrerrrrrk-lek…!!! Corruption!!! Corruption in the Orthodox Path—irrerrrrr-leup…!!!"
His pupils spun wildly in every direction. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth.
The Succubus recoiled in pure horror. She knew exactly what this was. The so-called Namgung Disease—a unique mental affliction of the Namgung Clan.
It usually struck when they witnessed corruption or rot taking root within the Orthodox Path.
What came next was always the same: the sufferer would draw a blade, swing it like a frothing lunatic, and become a bio-guillotine of righteousness that cut down every scrap of immorality within reach.
The Succubus scrambled to intervene.
"Ahh~!! No~~!!! I definitely heard her say it~~! She said her childhood was hard, but she was happy~!!! You know—because her mother raised her with so much love!! It has nothing to do with Orthodox corruption!!! You understand?? Nothing to do with corruption!!?"
"Kirrerrerrrrrk-lek—ah, so that was it. Hmm… then perhaps she simply joined the Demonic Sect out of personal conviction. Honestly, I am not much of a detective, so I cannot be sure. Forgive the unsightly display."
Namgung Hyeong snapped back to normal almost at once.
He had only deduced the corruption rather than witnessed it with his own eyes; that was the sole reason it stopped here.
Had he seen an Orthodox clan committing tax evasion in front of him, the sword would already be out and a bloodstorm would be raging.
Ugh, these absolute maniacs…
The Succubus Boss shuddered. A clan that branded itself with self-hypnosis just to keep from falling into depravity. No wonder they held the galaxy's highest trust rating.
In some ways, their zeal ran even thicker than the Zami Star Cult's.
"At any rate… I shall leave this young friend of the Tang Clan in your care… You seem to know each other well… As a man of the Orthodox Path, I am too ashamed to lift my head before him. What is your relationship with him, if I may ask?"
"He's my tenant. And my honorary nephew."
"I see. An honorary nephew, then. Please look after him well."
Namgung Hyeong rose from his seat.
His work here was done.
"I shall take my leave, then."
He entrusted the aftermath to her and turned away without looking back.
After performing a righteous deed, one vanishes coolly into the distance. That was the true spirit of orthodox martial arts. Namgung Hyeong felt rather proud of himself.
O Ancestor Namgung Hwe… are you watching? Today, once again, I have been a righteous martial artist.
It had been an unusually eventful day. Still, he was glad it had ended well.
Namgung Hyeong found himself replaying the long, turbulent hours from morning to now.
So. Today had begun with breakfast: a pack of fresh strawberries harvested from the city's agricultural district (a local food company delivered a pack every morning if you subscribed) and toast. Karina and Hyukryeon Wiseol had refused, insisting the local fruit tasted ghastly—but to Namgung Hyeong it was simply another local flavor, mysterious and novel, and he rather liked it.
This planet held not only domed residential cities but also a number of domed farms built for food production, all sited for maximum sunlight. The purpose, however, was not photosynthesis. The thin atmosphere let through far too much radiation for open farming; LED grow-lights performed better. The sunlight's real job was thermal—warming the greenhouses for heating efficiency. Beyond the vast industrial farms, the residential cities also supported small-scale local produce. Premium fruit varieties, especially, were often grown hydroponically in indoor farm buildings. Hydroponics' greatest strength was absolute uniformity of yield and rock-solid quality control; in theory, one could match Terra's hydroponic standard exactly. Sadly, on a rural planet like this, limited access to quality cultivars meant even hydroponics hit a hard ceiling. That was why Karina and Hyukryeon Wiseol found the local crops so unimpressive. The disparity was a lingering scar of the Seed Wars—the conflict that had permanently shattered the Galactic Seed Treaty and left seed quality uneven across the entire galaxy. It remained a cautionary lesson in how critical galactic seed management truly was. Trends suggested the imbalance was slowly improving, yet one of the great unorthodox megacorps—Chimgwollyeon—had begun to throw sand in the gears, and quiet fears were rising that the seed industry might once again slide into a dark age. According to the Galactic Seed Commission's current policy…
…and so on.
After breakfast he began his morning meditation to the sound of birdsong. The sealed dome-city sheltered many species; the most common was the Marquisbelly sparrow. Watching the sparrows reminded him of a story. Eradicating birds from a city or region was never wise. One needed only look at Planet Redup, which had once launched a project to eliminate its avian populations. The result was irreversible ecological collapse, and the planet's long-term capacity for organic self-circulation sank to the bottom…
…and so on.
Then, over tea, he conferred with Hyukryeon Wiseol, Karina, and Bernoulli about the day's schedule. When Hyukryeon Wiseol informed him that today held a critical mission he would have to handle alone, Namgung Hyeong felt the weight of responsibility and asked to be entrusted with it. The tea was black. Speaking of black tea—historically, tea had always been a beverage of immense significance. During Terra's Age of Exploration it had been a vital commodity; the medicinal teas of Xing, which contained trace amounts of spiritual-elixir compounds, had been a luxury that piled up enormous trade surpluses. That one-sided profit ratio, however, also sowed the sparks of the great naval wars of exploration, and in those wars the long-veiled Eastern world first collided head-on with the West…
…and so on.
The meeting ended and he left the lodgings. Iron streetlamps lined the road. Truly, free-standing lamps rising like trees possessed far more romance than the wall-mounted sort. Even on Terra, certain cities still installed historic-style lamps in the name of cultural preservation. This city had likely chosen the traditional design for the same reason. And on the subject of streetlamps—the earliest ones appeared among the ancient Mediterranean civilizations, built to protect wanderers and deter bandits…
…and so on.
Along the way he noticed a great many automobiles. Being the countryside, there were also quite a few carts. Automobiles themselves had a long history. The conveyor belt, after all, had been invented precisely for automobile production…
…and so on.
Falling leaves…
…and so on.
The weather…
…and so on.
…and so on.
Oh! A stray cat! Cats are adorable! Adorable things must be petted!
And speaking of cats—most galactic cat breeds had undergone gravity-adaptation gene modification…
…and so on.
…and so on.
…and so on.
…and so on.
And so, at last, he arrived at the archaeologist's laboratory. There he conducted the day's true mission: a meeting with the archaeologist.
On Terra, an archaeologist was someone who unearthed the relics of human history—comb-pattern pottery from prehistory, steel swords from the Middle Ages, machine guns from the World Wars—and brought them into museums for study. It was a sacred vocation. And beyond Terra, such archaeologists still existed.
A great deal of time had passed since humanity opened the galactic age—long enough to qualify as true history. Thus the archaeologists of the outer worlds studied the ruins left by humanity on the planets it had colonized.
No matter how advanced modern recording technology had become, the vast stretch of years and the endless wars had torn countless holes in the finer details of the historical record. Excavating ancient artifacts filled those gaps and cast new light on the flow of human civilization. Humanity's footprints must always be protected. History was the identity of the species.
Even now, somewhere across the wide galaxy, cultural treasures that once shone in ages of glory were being forgotten. Those who sought the past and resurrected the forgotten from the earth—those were the archaeologists of the galaxy.
What they unearthed included unmanned probes from the early age of galactic expansion, the first terraforming machines lost in wartime, the remains of early-model polar-exploration androids sealed in glaciers—treasures of cultural and historical value alike.
And among all such relics, the ultimate prize—the very flower of archaeology—was the fateful encounter: treasures left by the ancestors that related to martial arts. The tomb of a master who had defined an era. A sword forged as a legendary smith's final masterpiece. A secret manual that had never seen the light of day.
Countless archaeologists chased after such encounters, dreaming of overnight fortune. It was a profession steeped in the pure romance of orthodox martial arts.
And so it was with the elderly archaeologist now sitting across from Namgung Hyeong. He had spent his life buried on this rural planet-system, a scholar never properly recognized. What valuable ruins could a backwater like this possibly hold? Occasionally a centuries-old survey craft turned up—but a few hundred years hardly made something historically significant. Expensive scrap metal, nothing more. The system itself was simply too young.
So the old archaeologist had mostly done theoretical work. He was not even registered as an official field researcher. Archaeology had never paid his bills; he lived on private tutoring on the side. Yet he loved the discipline itself, and so he had quietly continued his personal digs and studies.
Only in his twilight years had he finally landed the big one.
He had seized a lead on the true nature of the Fateful Encounter of Morlaren Canyon.
"You have done something truly magnificent, elder. If this research proves true, you will have claimed a glory that will live in history."
Namgung Hyeong offered the archaeologist his praise with perfect courtesy.
Today's meeting existed to thank the man personally for his labors and to discuss the schedule ahead. Entrusting the task to Namgung Hyeong—a direct descendant of the Namgung Clan—was the ideal assignment. When the galaxy's foremost name, the house of the Martial God and the greatest clan under the stars, came in person to pay its respects, the weight of that gesture was immense. It was the sort of moment ordinary people only ever fantasized about.
"Kh-hh…! Thank you… thank you… That a direct descendant of the Namgung Clan would come all this way in person…! My life's study has not been in vain…!!"
The aged archaeologist wept openly. For the bloodline of the Martial God to visit his home and express gratitude—this was drinking-story material until the day he died. In a countryside like this, he had never expected to cross paths with the Namgung Clan in his entire life.
And right now they were even sharing tea and sweets. Later they would sit down to a meal together.
Ha! Me! Eating with a descendant of the Martial God! Drinking tea with him! The whole package!
The archaeologist was already planning to ask whether they might take a photograph later. His great-grandchildren would be over the moon.