Foolish Sword - 2
Inheriting a nickname isn't all that rare. Back in the days of the Invincible Martial Alliance, promising young talents were given titles like Dragon or Phoenix, and in every era, there was bound to be at least one with a grandiose moniker like Sword King, Sword Queen, Sword Emperor, or Sword Sovereign—names that practically screamed rebel.
So it wasn't impossible for Grandfather to have inherited Grandmother's nickname. But 'inheriting the Foolish Sword?' A title laced with mockery? No one would willingly take that on. Human malice always exceeds imagination. The reasons for praise are few and similar, but the ways to tease or curse number in the hundreds—that's humanity for you.
If the world had wanted to mock Grandfather, they would've picked something other than Foolish Sword. No need to revive that particular jab. And yet, he became the second Foolish Sword.
He fully inherited the will of the woman who, with merely second-rate skill, strove to live as a true hero—and ultimately failed to surpass the realm's barriers before ascending to the heavens.
"Of course, it wasn't easy. Discarding the nickname I already had and accepting a new one. It's the process of shedding who I was and forging a new self, isn't it?"
Reading the tangled emotions in my heart, Grandfather burst into laughter and continued. "Nicknames aren't something you give yourself—they're bestowed by others. So I worked to make the world acknowledge me as the Foolish Sword."
His words brought to mind all the eccentric tales and quirks I'd witnessed and heard about him over the years. Perhaps... perhaps his cantankerous warrior life had been an effort to inherit Grandmother's title—
"I convinced those who called me Mad Dragon instead with my sword, and thus became the second Foolish Sword."
No, not that. He was always eccentric.
"...The Dragon has descended to become a sword, I see."
I fumbled for a response, finally managing something passable. Even with 'Mad' attached, a dragon is still a dragon. Grandfather must have demonstrated considerable prowess back then to earn that title. To cast it aside for something like Foolish Sword required resolve beyond the ordinary.
"No, it wasn't a descent. It was an ascent."
"Pardon?"
His words made no sense. Unless you're at the level of Divine Sword, turning from dragon to sword sounds like a step down, right?
"No need to grasp it now. You wouldn't understand even if you tried—so just let it slide."
But Grandfather only kept chuckling, clearly enjoying my confusion.
"What you need to know is that this old man carried your grandmother's will. That's enough."
By now, he'd tossed aside the third bottle and cracked open the fourth, speaking matter-of-factly.
"And that your grandmother was a greater hero than any king."
"I'll engrave it in my heart."
"Good. That's all."
Grandfather nodded, falling silent thereafter. It left me a bit bewildered. I'd learned a flood of new information about someone I never knew, but his demeanor suggested there was far more to tell.
I'd expected more than just her name, nickname, and personality. Stories of her heroic deeds, the journeys they shared across the Central Plains, how they first met and became husband and wife—I thought I'd hear it all.
"Come on, drink up. It won't do for the one who suggested drinks first to stop now."
"Ah, yes. Understood."
Yet I had no choice but to join his wordless silence. Grandmother, practicing heroism with a second-rate body. Her end likely wasn't a happy one, and for Grandfather to take such a drastic step as inheriting her title, he must have been consumed by rage back then.
No matter how many decades passed, those emotions couldn't fully fade. Regrettable, but understandable.
Grandfather had dredged up these painful memories because Ak Wang had mentioned her in my presence.
"You were set on throwing your life away most uselessly. Challenging the heavens on the faith of Gi Chung Mu Wang's legacy."
"I taught you the Righteous Heart Technique hoping you wouldn't get hurt. Not to pierce your enemy's throat like a dagger, but to serve as your shield."
And because he feared I might follow in Grandmother's footsteps.
'My shield.'
As I gripped a fresh bottle, I glanced at him absentmindedly. Perhaps he'd taught me the Righteous Heart Technique out of regret—that if Grandmother had known it, she might have lived.
If my guess was right, I was the unfilial grandson who'd driven a spike into his heart. And there couldn't be two such villains in the world.
"Kuhuhu, drinking with my grandson truly makes the liquor taste better!"
I smiled back at Grandfather, who laughed as heartily as ever. It was one of the few acts of filial piety an unfilial grandson like me could offer.
"...But no side dishes?"
"Go complain to your uncle-in-law. He just dumped these bottles and told me to eat whatever."
A snort escaped me at their stingy friendship.
After Un withdrew, about half an hour later.
"You drank a lot."
Aghyeon appeared, holding some dongpo pork.
"You rascal! How did you know my stomach was aching?"
"How could I endure hearing a glutton like you grumble all day? Better to toss this and be done with it."
With that, Aghyeon roughly plunked the pork on the table. The guy could never be straightforward. He brought it because he was worried about his friend—just say so.
"You're as consistent as ever."
"Who isn't?"
Sitting across from me, Aghyeon snatched the nearest bottle and downed it in one go.
"How far did you get?"
Then he cut straight to business.
"Sheesh. Why so interested in a grandfather-grandson heart-to-heart? Jealous that your friend and grandson-in-law had fun without you?"
"Cut the nonsense. I mentioned it assuming you'd already told him—if he doesn't know, I'm the one who looks foolish."
It was a perfectly reasonable point; I conceded. Aghyeon had already slipped up in front of Un. No need for a repeat—better to draw a clear line.
"I told him his grandmother was the hero called Foolish Sword."
"And?"
"That I inherited the title of Foolish Sword?"
"...That's it?"
"Isn't that enough? No need for more."
Aghyeon sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"You only gave the bare basics."
"Anything more would just hurt the boy's feelings. Even if he's never met her, do I need to detail how his grandmother suffered and died?"
"Fair enough."
Rarely agreeing with me, I picked up a piece of dongpo pork. Perfectly stable flavor. Wandering the Central Plains for local delicacies is great, but savoring a king's personal chef is no slouch either.
"Besides, talking about her might awaken her blood in the boy. Even now, not knowing, he bared his teeth before Hyun Gak Cheop Mok A. If the sleeping hero wakes fully, he might charge all the way to the Mongol steppes."
"In my eyes, it's already half-awake. Inheriting your blood and your wife's—expecting it to stay dormant is just wishful thinking."
I couldn't help but chuckle. No denying it. Even I thought Un had strongly inherited my blood and his grandmother's.
My son was relatively calm, which eased my mind.
"Still, Un will bring peace to the world not with the sword, but the brush. This era needs not the bravery of warriors, but the wisdom and diligence of scholars. He's born right on time."
"Didn't expect a scholar to tour the Central Plains, though."
"Truth be told, neither did I. Figured he'd stay put in Kaepyeong."
But watching Un roam not just Kaepyeong but every corner of the Central Plains—meeting officials and murim forces, resolving countless incidents alongside them—I became certain.
My choice was right. Unlike his grandmother, who wielded the sword for justice, or me, who sought to change the world through war, this boy would illuminate it peacefully.
...Embracing all the world's people without prejudice.
"Unlike us, he harbors no hatred. We can't stoke needless anger in such a child."
"Han Jung, you—"
"Don't look at me like that. You think the same."
Aghyeon silently picked at the dongpo pork. It's natural for me, Aghyeon, and the other kings and elders to despise and fear murim.
We remember their atrocities and cowardice, the disasters and suffering that unfolded in their silence.
But that hatred needn't pass to the next generation. Our emotions don't have to burden the future.
"My hatred mustn't become Un's. If he learns murim was tangled in his grandmother's death... what would become of him?"
"Nothing good."
I nodded at Aghyeon's words. His wife practiced heroism for the suffering masses under Mongol tyranny—even as those called murim cowered in silence. Despite being mere second-rate.
While famed clans and great sects sat idle.
That drew disaster. To the Mongols, she was just another dime-a-dozen second-rater. But to murim's eyes, she was an insolent nobody meddling in affairs beyond peak or Hwagyeong.
In truth, murim killed her. They dug the trap, they informed—and the Mongols delivered the deathblow.
"Han Jung."
"Ah."
I'd been staring at my charred chopsticks and let out an awkward laugh.
"These expensive?"
"Shell out some silver before you go."
"No heart, as always."
I set down the useless chopsticks and glanced back at the garden. I hadn't told Un the full story about his grandmother. No intention to.
Her life story inevitably leads to her death.
And that means speaking of murim's sins and my hatred.
'Can't do that.'
Un walks the path Daesong pursues: suppressing murim. Without private grudge.
That heart mustn't change. Young, capable successors oppressing murim out of personal vendetta would be a problem—especially if rooted not in his own pain, but empathy for his grandfather's.
'Can't ruin my grandson with false hatred.'
Un must shine brighter than the likes of me.