Enforcing Discipline - 4
As the banquet dragged on, the commotion outside grew louder and louder. I'd asked them to play hard, but I hadn't expected this level of chaos. Don't those guys ever get tired?
Impressive spirit beasts.
Back in the primitive era when humans hunted with nothing but stone spears. When civilization and technology were still in their infancy, what allowed humans to catch wild animals was their endurance—the ability to chase prey until it collapsed from exhaustion. In other words, humans couldn't beat beasts with raw physical strength alone.
But having evolved into spirit beasts, those two deer outside had endurance that surpassed even humans. From Namgung Sega's perspective, it was nothing short of a disaster.
Time to wrap this up.
I set down my cup, eyeing Namgung Jeong's expression, which now looked as if he'd achieved enlightenment. Thanks to the deer duo's rampage, Namgung Sega's retainers were mentally drained, and I'd demonstrated that for the sake of my goals, I could even deploy spirit beasts.
Namgung Jeong hadn't shown any will to resist me throughout the banquet, so now a decisive final blow before withdrawing would seal the deal on restoring discipline here.
"I have a request for the family head."
"Speak freely, Vice Inspector General. If it can be of even slight help to you, how could I refuse?"
Namgung Jeong reacted immediately to my words. The sharpness returning to his previously bitter eyes suggested he'd intuited I was about to deliver my final strike.
"The Namgung sword has been renowned for ages. This fellow here grew up hearing of its fame, so he was thrilled to hear I'd be stopping by Hefei."
I gave a subtle signal, and Jo Wi-cheo, who had been quietly eating, rose from his seat and offered a formal salute to Namgung Jeong.
"Inspector Escort Jo Wi-cheo. It is an honor to meet the family head, the foremost swordsman of Namgung."
"Pleased to meet you, Inspector Escort. I've long heard of your fame in aiding the Vice Inspector General to bring peace to the realm."
"You flatter me."
I continued, watching them exchange insincere pleasantries.
"If the family head approves, would you grant this fellow a chance to spar with your sword experts?"
"A spar?"
The word "spar" shifted the banquet hall's atmosphere. Despite the shackles of being labeled cowards who stayed silent during the Mongol wars and the court's merciless scrutiny, Namgung Sega was still a martial family. And with their pride in being the world's greatest sword clan, they rarely turned down a challenge.
Especially when the challenger was an official pressuring them? Unlike me—the Giwang's grandson and a rank-4 noble—even a mere inspector escort could be beaten harshly in a spar without repercussions.
So naturally, they'd want to legally vent their pent-up frustration here. But oh dear.
If the family head himself doesn't step up, they stand no chance.
I'd drawn all the aggro as Giwang's grandson and Vice Inspector General, but objectively, Jo Wi-cheo was no slouch. In his mid-thirties, he'd reached the Peak realm—and was idling right on the cusp of Super Peak, a height only heaven's chosen could aspire to.
He's going to smash them.
Namgung Sega's prized sword experts getting crushed by a single official? From the court's view, it was like one random bureaucrat ransacking an entire clan. No greater pressure existed.
To Namgung Sega, who believed they lacked only legitimacy, not skill, this would demonstrate the court's authority. It would highlight the gulf between a minor clan and the court that spanned the realm.
Even I had to smile at my perfect plan. The retainers' morale crushed by the deer, the experts annihilated by Jo Wi-cheo, the family head tormented by me. If they still defied the court after this, they'd be some gutsy bastards.
As people poured out for the spar, the rampaging deer—eyes rolled back in frenzy—approached me.
"Settle down now."
- Kki-ing...
- Kki-ong...
I stroked their heads in praise, and pleased cries echoed out. Veterans were the best, indeed. Having once flipped an entire sect, dismantling one clan was a breeze.
...Can these two have offspring?
The thought popped up suddenly. With one male and one female, breeding seemed possible. Even if not full spirit beasts, their intelligence made them worth propagating.
"Vice Inspector General."
"Yes, family head. Speak."
My random musing was cut short by the family head's voice.
"May we choose the sparring opponent ourselves?"
"Of course. You know your sword experts' skills better than we outsiders do."
Honestly, as long as the family head didn't draw his sword saying, "I'll be the opponent," anyone was fine. Namgung Sega's prime elders from its heyday might've been different, but those old fogeys had secluded themselves for failing to uphold the clan's honor.
They ran away and call it seclusion.
If they truly repented, they'd have faced the world's scorn and stepped up. That's why I was soul-crushingly polite to this family head—he hadn't fled.
"Vice Leader Namgung Pung—"
"Pardon?"
"...A slip of the tongue. Left Division Leader Namgung Pung would make a fine opponent for the inspector."
I nodded in satisfaction at the quick correction. How dare a mere clan utter the name of a divine beast like the Vermilion Bird. Asking to die, were they?
When the Vice Inspector General mentioned a spar, I saw it as an opportunity. A golden chance to vent the clan's suppressed rage, to reclaim a sliver of our honor.
Of course, as a companion of the royal-blooded Vice Inspector General, I didn't peg him as weak. At least a skilled First-rate, maybe early Peak. Generous for a warrior in his thirties.
But the moment the spar began, I realized.
I underestimated him.
Not generous—stingy.
"What in the world is this..."
"Vice Leader Namgung Pung reached Peak years ago—a true master. How could this..."
I closed my eyes quietly amid the elders' murmurs.
Total defeat.
No "good fight" or "close loss" excuses. This was a perfect loss for Vice Leader Namgung Pung—even a hundred rematches, a hundred defeats.
More humiliating: While the vice leader actively used Namgung techniques, the inspector relied solely on the rote forms of Song military drills.
I nearly missed it amid the intensity, but yes—pure rote forms. Namgung arts defeated by mere drill forms.
Not ordinary Peak.
Unilaterally dominating the same realm meant no peers. The inspector was on the verge of Super Peak—the pinnacle for mortals, barring the 12 Great Masters in Hwagyeong.
"The inspector has been drained by recent duties, but Namgung Sega's hospitality has restored his vigor."
I opened my eyes at the Vice Inspector General's amused tone.
"On behalf of the inspector, I thank you, family head."
"No need for flattery."
I mustered a smile in reply. But that "inspector" felt like mockery: "Even your clan's vice leader is no match for a rank-7 bureaucrat."
Has the gap widened this much?
Not even a hollow laugh escaped. Once the world's greatest, untouchable even by the Mongol court—now bested by rote forms. In mere decades, had the court advanced this far?
Bitter, realizing this was the fate of a great clan that stayed silent when it should have acted.
After sorting out the hierarchy with Namgung Sega, we leisurely exited Hefei. The sects and clans in Anhui would surely hear and pipe down on their own.
"Good work, Wi-cheo."
"It was tough."
Jo Wi-cheo answered my encouragement honestly.
"Matching a peer master with rote forms is no joke."
"What can we do? It's the only way to make those prideful types submit."
I chuckled at his grumble-disguised-as-grumble. Rote forms could thrash a First-rate, but against another Peak—even one nearing Super Peak like Jo Wi-cheo—it was a struggle.
Masters earned their title for a reason. But he'd crushed the Left Division Leader with rote forms at my request.
Partly because Jo Wi-cheo was stronger, but mainly the information gap.
Namgung arts were infamous; Song rote forms, less so. Or rather, less regarded.
Who'd study "mass-produced" drills when chasing profound arts attuned to heaven's mysteries? They'd dismissed it as peasants swinging swords wildly.
And rote forms were ordinary. But wielded by a Peak master with gritted teeth, fully versed in the opponent's sword paths? Game-changer.
The court brimmed with murim veterans who memorized every clan's signature arts—countermeasures long perfected. The result? Namgung's Peak master fell to court-issue forms.
Good enough.
I'd uprooted Namgung Sega's foundations last time. This sufficed to make them face reality: No longer the world's top sword clan, just local landowners.
"But sir, where to next?"
"Jiangsu, obviously."
I replied flatly to Jo Wi-cheo's obvious question. Anhui, then Jiangsu, then Shandong—standard route.
"Not the region—the sects. Jiangsu has no dominant power, right?"
My hand froze mid-stroke on the deer's antler.
...True.
Jiangsu's notable sect was Mosanpa, but they fought in the founding war and kept to themselves amiably—tricky to touch. Without them? No major players.
This is maddening.
Numerous small fries, no big fish. The worst scenario.