Can One Not Mourn a Friend's Death?
Can one not feel sorrow at the death of a close friend? It was possible. The mindset of Murim warriors who practiced martial arts still held corners that Namgung Woo could not fully understand. On top of that, when one considered the spirit of chivalry that valued raising one's sword and burning with the will for revenge far more than mere mourning, it was entirely possible to be consumed by vengeful fury instead of grief. Yet the emotions Namgung Woo had sensed from Seo-mun Pyo were different. There was no sorrow, no thirst for revenge—only pure, seething rage.
"By the way, wasn't the Alliance Leader there with him at the time?"
Myo-rin's tone had returned to something close to normal, likely because she was circulating her energy to purge the remaining poison. At her question, Namgung Woo nodded.
"He was."
"Is that even possible? Alliance Leader Gak-won is famous for having opened the three divine powers—half of the six supernatural powers spoken of in Buddhism. If something was off, he should have noticed it right away, shouldn't he?"
"I blocked it."
"You what?"
"It looked like he was about to use it on me too, so I stopped it. He probably wasn't going all out, but the point is I could block it."
Myo-rin stared at him intently. Her eyes, still half-lidded and hazy from the lingering effects of the great hemp, held an expression too complex to easily describe.
"Seriously, no matter how many times I think about it, those eyes of yours are straight-up cheating, Captain."
How much had Myo-rin sacrificed and endured to obtain her own power? She had poured every ounce of effort into her craft, even reaching the point where her body could no longer properly taste food without the great hemp. And yet Namgung Woo had simply been born with an ability that overwhelmingly surpassed the Saryeongmun or anything else.
"I always knew the world was unfair, but whenever I look at you, Captain, I feel the heavens' favoritism so clearly it hurts."
"Favoritism, huh…."
Yes. She wasn't wrong. Namgung Woo inwardly tried to gauge the level of power that had been granted to him without any discernible origin. It was staggering. The strength to cleave rivers with a single sword strike and overturn the earth with one step. And beyond that, eyes that could pierce every mystery under the heavens. What kind of being could grant such things? If it was someone capable of giving this much power so casually, then surely they could take it all away with a mere gesture. And if these powers were to vanish as suddenly as they had appeared, what would be left of Namgung Woo himself?
Having eyes that could see through the world did not mean one had truly grasped it. That would be a delusion. A being existed in the heavens who could mold the world like clay in their hands. No matter how carefully one observed the mortal realm, the limits of that power were clearly defined.
The traces of secrets only make my thoughts more tangled.
In times like these, it was better to move. And as if on cue, their target had begun to stir.
"Let's go. We'll follow while activating the Qilin's Steps."
The main bracket of the grand competition began seven days after the preliminaries concluded. The largest training ground in Luoyang—the Murim Alliance's Grand Arena. Unlike the other training grounds in the city, this one was managed exclusively by the alliance. Originally, it was only freely accessible to warriors affiliated with the Murim Alliance. It was a place where groups practiced coordinated techniques or sparred with new faces they rarely encountered. Now, after some modifications, spectator seats had been installed and a proper duel platform erected at the center, transforming it into the official venue for the competition.
"Whoa… it's incredibly huge, isn't it?"
Even though she lived under the protection of the alliance, this was Namgung Sol's first time visiting the Grand Arena. Its scale was so immense that even Paeng Ha-ryeong and Jegal Seon-a, who resided in the main compound, were seeing it for the first time. Geumsin, who cared little for material things, simply glanced around to see who had arrived. The Yang brothers, however, stood with their mouths agape, overwhelmed by its majesty.
"In the end, he couldn't make it…."
The excitement of visiting the Grand Arena lasted only a moment. Namgung Sol felt a pang of disappointment as she thought of Namgung Woo, who had been acting separately for the past several days. Now that she had entered the Peak Realm, she had truly hoped to receive proper instruction in the Blue Sky Flying Swallow Sword Technique. Still, he had not completely neglected her. She had learned how to handle sword energy as a Peak Realm expert—from Paeng Ha-ryeong in his place.
"Looking at the matchups, all the ones who were supposed to advance made it through."
The bracket had only been revealed that day. There would be eight duels today. To prevent prior collusion with opponents or the preparation of specific techniques tailored to exploit a single person, the matchups were only announced right before the fights. Namgung Sol's opponent was another rookie who, like her, had newly entered the main bracket.
"Be careful. That young lady is close to the Captain, so she might know quite a bit about his martial arts."
It was Song Chae-ji from the Hangsan Sect. She had declared she would enter the competition while she was in Luoyang, and she had indeed fought her way all the way to the main bracket. She had visited the Blue Sky Pavilion to boast about it, but unfortunately Namgung Woo had been drinking tea with Myo-rin at the time.
Paeng Ha-ryeong's thoughts grew complicated as she recalled Song Chae-ji's visit to the inn. Was she truly nothing more than an acquaintance or friend to Namgung Woo? She was someone who knew him in ways even Paeng Ha-ryeong herself did not. Their first connection—when Namgung Woo had first appeared in the world, the two had met and exchanged favors. She was someone Paeng Ha-ryeong could not help but feel bothered by.
First. There was magic in that word. It was not easily forgotten. And Song Chae-ji held many such "firsts." The first woman Namgung Woo had met. The first woman who had helped him. The first woman he had helped. The first woman who had learned his real name….
"Sister-in-law."
When Paeng Ha-ryeong suddenly grabbed her hand, Namgung Sol flinched in surprise and answered reflexively.
"Y-yes?"
"Do not lose. No matter what. Absolutely do not lose."
Paeng Ha-ryeong's aura surged with a ferocity Namgung Sol had never witnessed before. The energy was so intense that it made one wonder if it truly belonged to someone in the same Peak Realm. Namgung Sol snapped to attention like a new recruit and shouted vigorously.
"Yes ma'am!"
After receiving Paeng Ha-ryeong's encouragement—if it could be called that—Namgung Sol strode confidently onto the central duel platform of the Grand Arena. A familiar face was already waiting for her there.
"Ugh… I really didn't want to fight the Captain's disciple. But it can't be helped. No holding back, okay?"
"Of course! Please fight with everything you have."
Namgung Sol versus Song Chae-ji. The disciple of the Blue Sword Emperor of the Changcheon Squad and the rising star of the Hangsan Sect, one of the Five Great Sword Schools. By reputation alone, they were fitting participants for the main bracket.
"Then let the duel begin!"
With Deung Jong-yu's shout as referee, the curtain rose on the main stage of the tournament.
Clouds swallowed the moon. The faint starlight was too weak to illuminate the ground. The torches held by the sentries struggled against the thick darkness. A sinister wind blew. An ominous energy lingered in the air. The night was so silent that not even the sound of insects could be heard, grotesque in its suggestion that something might leap out at any moment.
A small sound—so faint it would have gone unnoticed even if someone stood nearby—lightly struck the castle wall and scattered. With only that slight presence as a sign, the uninvited guest who had entered the fortress began walking in silence.
The intruder was as stealthy as if cloaked in the fabric of night itself, and his spider-like movement left no trace. Before anyone could notice, he had reached the inner court. Guards, stone walls, and barriers were all meaningless. Blending into the darkness, he moved deeper inside. With each step, the surroundings seemed to slide behind him. In an instant, he reached the inner palace.
Those who come with good intentions do not come; those who come are not good.
A faint killing intent emanated from the body of the uninvited visitor. His purpose became clear. It was assassination.
The assassin stepped onto the roof of the inner palace. His target would be sleeping inside. All that remained was to enter and end that life. Killing intent sharpened in the assassin's eyes. The roof was sliced away without a sound. As if using some form of telekinesis, the removed section moved aside at his gesture.
With a mind colder than ice, the assassin set foot on the floor of the inner palace. Then—
Swish!
He threw himself outside, dodging the flying sword. As he fell toward the ground, the assassin saw it: the blade that had not only cut his clothes but also sliced his skin, scattering droplets of blood. And the blue-eyed swordsman holding that blade.
Tap.
The sound he made landing on the ground was astonishingly soft considering the height of his fall. It meant he had landed calmly despite the surprise attack. The swordsman who had been watching the assassin's descent from above let out a quiet sound of admiration.
Their gazes collided in midair. A momentary standoff. The swordsman spoke first.
"I'll give you time. If you want to keep your arms and legs intact, surrender now."
It was an arrogant statement. The assassin had traversed a castle filled with countless defenses as if it were his own home. And yet the swordsman was telling him he could subdue him whenever he wished. Still, the assassin did not react. There was no anger, no despair. He was simply calculating how to remove this obstacle.
The options of dodging or fleeing were discarded. His mission was the elimination of the target. Failure would not be tolerated. At the same time, it was impossible to avoid this swordsman and still kill the target. This was the conclusion he had reached after coldly analyzing the swordsman's skill.
When the assassin's brief deliberation ended, as if they had agreed upon it beforehand, the swordsman and the assassin charged at each other simultaneously. In the darkness, sword and sword bared their fangs.