Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Passed Candidates 4
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Night had fallen before they knew it, and a sharp half-moon hung in the sky, sliced neatly as if by a blade.
No additional passers had arrived besides Baek Moo-jin, Seo Moon-geuk, and Joo Ja-woon. It seemed these three were the final ones for the Fourth and Fifth Grades. But as they chatted, Seo Moon-geuk once again found himself overshadowed by Baek Moo-jin. Seo Moon-geuk and Joo Ja-woon were Fifth Grade Warrior passers, while Baek Moo-jin alone was a Fourth Grade Warrior passer.
Seo Moon-geuk occasionally let out sighs as he glanced at Baek Moo-jin.
'So that's why he faced off against the Silent Sword Unit Commander during the examination.'
Having already confirmed his skills firsthand, it was no surprise. Finally, someone from the Execution Hall emerged, gave a brief rundown of the upcoming schedule, and withdrew. With that, the three were free.
After being shown to their temporary lodgings, they truly had nothing left to do.
Baek Moo-jin stepped out alone in front of the White Sword Unit building to gaze at the moon. Unlike Snow Mountain, there was no biting chill wind, making it a perfect moonlit night for a stroll.
He had passed the North Heaven Alliance as planned, yet no great surge of emotion stirred within him.
This was because Baek Moo-jin possessed martial prowess far beyond that of a typical Fourth Grade Warrior.
Under the moonlight, he drew out the letter he always carried in his bosom and read it once more. And he recalled again.
The moment he had encountered the fate that left him no choice but to grow strong...
It stemmed from the letter his father had left behind and the family's secret tale.
2.
My son...
Years have swiftly flown by since you entered Snow Garment Peak, our family's forbidden ground.
Imagining just how strong you've become fills me with pleasant fancies even from this sickbed.
I long to see you once more, but my frail health won't allow it. Someday, when you descend from Snow Garment Peak, engrave these words I've set down in this letter deep in your heart.
This is our story—yours, mine, and our family's.
Tracing the origins of the White Flower Divine Art we cultivate leads to rumors linking it to the Demonic Path, whispers that once imperiled our house.
I don't know precisely when it happened; it was a tale handed down from father to son.
In any case, our family teetered on the brink of being branded public enemies of the martial world. The previous patriarch had few options. He abandoned our home and settled in Snow Mountain for that very reason.
In other words, even before claiming Snow Mountain, we were a clan wielding the peculiar art known as White Flower Divine Art.
Our forebears believed it couldn't be condemned as demonic solely for diverging from the righteous martial world's path.
There were slanders and schemes woven in as well. They hoped the storm would pass quietly, but people cherry-picked what they wished to hear, leaving our ancestors in dire straits.
Changing the martial world's deep-seated wariness of demonic supremacy was no small task for our family alone.
We had no choice but to retreat to Snow Mountain and lie low, as if the entire clan had entered secluded cultivation.
Quietly. And coldly.
Through those piercing years, successive patriarchs crafted a forbidden sanctum, laying diverse preparations in hopes a future heir might one day make use of them. That is the true essence of the Snow Garment Peak where you now reside.
It was a grueling, obstinate labor undertaken solely by the patriarchs.
One brought back Human Form Snow Ginseng from the remotest end of Ten Thousand Obstacles Valley in Heavenly Mountain. Another ventured to the South Sea to procure Dark Iron. Yet another secured a Poison Avoiding Ring—more arduous to obtain than any famed sword.
And it didn't end there. Your grandfather did the same, as did I.
All with vague hopes that whichever heir claimed our legacy would one day shake the world.
We gathered treasures, but alas, amassing wealth eluded our talents. Our strict curtailment of outside dealings surely played a part in that as well.
My son, what thoughts stir in you upon learning of these provisions for our waning house?
You ought to live with that grace etched forever in your heart.
Not because they prepared it demanding anything in return from you. In their own steadfast way, the patriarchs endured endless years of patience, awaiting the dawn of our clan's resurgence.
Snow Garment Peak is that very place.
With destinies forged across ages laid bare there, how could one call it a mere "opportunity" as the martial folk do?
It was to bequeath to our descendants a fate grander than any happenstance encounter.
My own grandfather once said:
That we were branded demonic not because we truly descended from the Demonic Path, but simply because we were weak.
I agreed profoundly.
When I took the mantle of patriarch, our reality was utterly destitute. Yet beholding the sanctum's preparations sent shivers racing through my entire body. And it forced me to grapple: Should I seize them myself and rise? Or yield them to you, whose brilliance eclipses my own?
The deliberation was brief.
Just as your grandfather yielded to me, so too have I resolved to pass it all to you, whole and unblemished, with joyful heart.
The family's legacy—that destiny—is yours.
As is the burden to redress our ancestors' sufferings and injustices.
Moreover, with your intellect so far surpassing mine, it was the only fitting choice as both father and master.
Moo-jin, once you've claimed our legacy, pour your full effort into it without reserve. This unworthy father eagerly awaits the day your martial odyssey blossoms into a reign of supremacy. Be it in heaven above, the underworld, or the hells below, I shall await tidings of you.
3.
How could a father's letter so profoundly stir the soul?
Each time Baek Moo-jin read it, the meaning it held for him shifted from day to day. At first, raw emotion drowned out the words entirely. Composing himself for a second read, he could only wonder why his father had never claimed the legacy amassed in the forbidden ground.
As more time passed and he revisited it, he let lingering questions and enigmas be, simply absorbing it with his heart.
He had embraced not only the clan's legacy, but its accumulated pains as his own.
Tucking the letter away, Baek Moo-jin vaulted atop the wall, drinking in the sweeping vista of the North Heaven Alliance.
To him, the North Heaven Alliance was no place to swear fealty.
Merely a site for learning.
As long as it brought him no harm, he intended to hone his experience here, holding nothing back in service to it.
Yet if they scorned him here, as his forebears had been for their singular arts, he stood ready to depart at any moment.
Baek Moo-jin vowed to become a man bound by nothing save the contents of that bosom-held letter. Inwardly, he pledged it to the former patriarchs who might watch from somewhere.
'I shall live freely—yet grow stronger than any other.'
He glanced at the Poison Avoiding Ring adorning his right ring finger, then turned his palm skyward and circulated the White Flower Palm. White outer energy began emanating from his palm, gleaming in the moonlight before swirling into a tiny vortex. It bloomed into the form of a small white flower and drifted away from his hand.
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