Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter Title: Chapter 2: Find the Student (2)
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“Sa-gon. What did the Chu family punk have to say?”
One of the students cupped his fists in salute and replied to Yeom Gwang’s question.
“He cursed me right to my face, so I trudged off looking all dejected, just like you said.”
“And then?”
“Word is he went looking for a few others. They all gave him the boot, exactly as you predicted, Squad Leader.”
Yeom Gwang grinned toothily at the chuckling student.
“Heh heh. Good work.”
“Hee hee. Squad Leader, so does that mean…”
“Sure does. It’s about time you got promoted anyway. I’ll pair you up with someone suitable for the next sparring match. Show ’em what you’ve got.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
Yeom Gwang leered slyly at the student bowing his head with teary eyes.
You’ll never make it.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Yeom Gwang’s power in Bronze Hall was absolute.
For years, he had taken charge of the instructors and students in place of the unmotivated Hall Master Chung-hyun.
During that time, he had devised several ways to wield that power through every dirty trick in the book.
The promise he had just made to that student was one of them.
Commonly known as the ‘push-out’.
He recruited obedient students to manipulate opinions among the ranks or orchestrate group actions.
It was a tactic perfect for ousting instructors he didn’t like.
And when results were achieved, he fiddled with the promotion outcomes just enough.
Managing the sparring matches fell under the squad leader’s authority anyway, so cleanup was a breeze.
Disciples from middling minor sects, whose skills hovered on the edge, were desperate for promotion. Once they got it, they kept quiet about the shady dealings themselves.
A clean, effective method with no loose ends.
This is what real skill looks like.
The jianghu wasn’t all about martial arts.
Intrigue and schemes were everywhere, and sometimes even plots were fair game.
It taught the bitter lessons of life and how to navigate them properly.
Now that’s real education, isn’t it?
Yeom Gwang even felt a swell of pride watching the instructors who now looked to him for cues.
If it weren’t for that damnable pest!
Whoever this gutter rat was, he had stepped into Yeom Gwang’s kingdom—and it was time he got taught a lesson.
Especially when he thought of that pest harassing Yeo Mae-hong, the woman he’d been eyeing. It made his blood boil even in his sleep.
“Oh, right, Squad Leader.”
“What? You still here?”
“If you have the time, I’d like some guidance from you. My Divine Martial Swordsmanship just isn’t clicking.”
Divine Martial Swordsmanship.
The basic sword forms taught in Bronze Hall.
As squad leader, it was only natural to provide personal instruction, but Yeom Gwang snapped irritably.
“Idiot! You think I’ve got time to fix your half-assed basics?”
The student quickly proffered a hefty pouch.
“My family sent some tribute fees. I have to get promoted this time—it’s a matter of face.”
“Oh?”
“I absolutely must promote this round. For that, guidance from a renowned expert like you is essential.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Yeom Gwang hefted the pouch’s weight and spoke with confidence.
“Fine. When you show this much sincerity, how could I refuse to guide you?”
“R-Really?”
“You’ll definitely promote this time.”
It was a proclamation as good as prophecy from Yeom Gwang.
Chu Un-hwi whistled as he eyed the personal details scribbled on the paper.
“Nangong Yun-ho, huh…”
Nangong Yun-ho.
The eldest son of the Nangong Family—one of the Five Great Families whose influence blanketed the Nine Provinces. They were hailed as the Supreme Heavenly Clan.
“And the older brother of Little Sword Dragon Nangong Yong-ho.”
The righteous factions boasted brilliant talents destined to lead their future: the Five Dragons and Three Peaks.
The Little Sword Dragon was a genius among the Five Dragons, earning his moniker through sheer martial prowess.
Nangong Yun-ho, on the other hand…
“This is just pathetic.”
It was baffling how a son like this could come from the family head, known as the Supreme Heavenly Sword.
Twenty-one years old.
He had already spent seven years in Bronze Hall.
Most students promoted in one year.
Two at the absolute latest.
Lingering for seven? That was legendary in its own right.
“Instead of teaching him the family arts, they’ve left him to rot in the Divine Martial Academy. Looks like the family’s washed their hands of him.”
Neglect at best.
At worst, outright disownment.
“He’s been in Bronze Hall for seven years but isn’t even on the student roster.”
Even those unfamiliar with jianghu affairs had no idea Nangong Yun-ho, brother to Nangong Yong-ho, existed.
The Little Sword Dragon was called the Nangong Family’s heir instead.
Unless they were deliberately hiding it, how could a family’s eldest son just vanish?
Moyong Seon-ya knowing about Nangong Yun-ho—who wasn’t even on the roster—had been a stroke of sheer coincidence piled on coincidence.
“He enrolled the same time as me.”
“Then one day, I realized I never heard his name anymore.”
“He exists, but not on any lists.”
Before long, Nangong Yun-ho had become a ghost story of the Divine Martial Academy.
What an absurd situation.
“Strange, isn’t it?”
But what puzzled Chu Un-hwi was something else entirely.
“That mad sword demon—who carved rivers of blood like a lunatic—reduced to the Academy’s ghost?”
He licked his lips, recalling the fading silhouette of that ferocious warrior.
“Interesting.”
Finding Nangong Yun-ho’s haunt wasn’t difficult.
Ghost of Bronze Hall or not, space had its limits.
A quick search of the darkest, most foreboding training ground revealed a lone figure slinking away from prying eyes.
“There he is.”
Scruffy beard, tangled hair.
Worn-out training robes frayed at the seams, gripping a sword stained with hand grime.
A gloomy swordsman who ducked into wall shadows whenever students passed, then shuffled toward the shaded corners.
“Yup, Nangong Yun-ho.”
Confirming his features, Chu Un-hwi approached cautiously.
He timed it perfectly, stepping out to block his path.
“Care for a quick chat?”
Lifeless, gloomy eyes flicked toward him.
“Who are you?”
“Me? New instructor in Bronze Hall.”
“……”
One might expect some reaction, but Nangong Yun-ho simply veered aside and brushed past.
“Hey. I just wanna talk.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
Chu Un-hwi blocked him again, but Nangong Yun-ho’s gaze remained ice-cold.
“Leave me be.”
“Hey, at least hear me out.”
As he tried to ignore and pass by, Chu Un-hwi grabbed his shoulder. Nangong Yun-ho whipped his head around.
Unlike before, cold fury blazed in his eyes.
Whoa. Didn’t see that coming.
Chu Un-hwi pondered his next words, but Nangong Yun-ho spoke first.
“You here to sell me some rare elixir too?”
Elixir?
“Or maybe peddle some special training method that’ll make me a master?”
“You’re misunderstanding something…”
“Over ten instructors have hawked quack potions as ‘rare elixirs.’ Countless more taught bogus sorcery as ‘special methods.’ Hell, one even hooked me up with a shaman, claiming I was cursed. So what’s your angle?”
“……”
“I get it—you want to guide me and make a name for yourself. Repay the Nangong Family disgrace with kindness? Sounds like a fine heroic tale. Great bar story too.”
Caught off guard, Chu Un-hwi’s grip slackened.
Nangong Yun-ho slapped his hand away.
“I’ve got no money.”
He gestured to his ragged clothes.
“No hope left either.”
“So don’t spin heroic tales for tavern fodder.”
“Or rattle people with cheap curiosity.”
“I’m begging you.”
Chu Un-hwi stood frozen as Nangong Yun-ho trudged away.
Shk! Sh-shk!
Nangong Yun-ho swung his sword without pause.
The same stifled swordplay as always.
He tried to muster his energy, but his qi wouldn’t flow properly.
No—it wasn’t just the flow. His dantian, once solidly felt in his lower abdomen, had gone numb at some point.
Some called it a rare affliction.
In desperation, he’d scrounged all sorts of medicines and tried everything.
Nothing improved.
Shk. Sh-shk. Shk.
Still, Nangong Yun-ho didn’t stop.
If he did, he feared he’d forget even his sword forms.
Better dead than let go of the sword he’d gripped since childhood.
He swung desperately.
Stilted and choppy as ever, yet he pressed on like it was some supreme art.
“Hoo. Getting tired.”
Eventually, even basic swings grew burdensome—no energy left.
Clunk.
He propped his sword against the wall and grabbed his gourd.
It held spring water he’d fetched from the back mountain at dawn.
No real effect, but it cleared his mind, so he made the trip daily.
“Gulp. Gulp. Hoo.”
The water sharpened his senses.
Clarity brought back the earlier encounter.
That self-proclaimed new instructor.
First, envy hit him— the guy looked like a boy, so young.
“Everyone’s passing me by.”
His bangs hid his eyes, and loose robes obscured his frame, but he was surely younger.
“Frustrating.”
Jealousy and self-loathing clouded his mind.
But the deepest pain? His sword—once cleaving heavens at will—couldn’t even chain basic Murim Alliance forms anymore.
“I’m sorriest to you.”
He patted his scabbard.
“Truly sorry.”
Swish.
As Nangong Yun-ho departed, a petite shadow emerged from the gloom like mist.
“Weird. Really weird.”
The fog coalesced into Chu Un-hwi’s form.
Anyone seeing it would’ve freaked—stealthy and eerie.
But Chu Un-hwi was lost in thought.
“That’s definitely ‘him,’ right?”
Why was he only showing this level now?
Questions swirled, but one thing was clear.
He had to convince Nangong Yun-ho somehow.
“Never giving up on the sword after endless setbacks… Not easy.”
How many geniuses folded at the first failure?
Perseverance was impressive, but what caught Chu Un-hwi’s eye was his method.
“Rare to find talent marching straight ahead on a pitch-black path without a single glimmer, refusing to backtrack. Not bad.”
With even a faint light, one could follow it.
But stubbornly forging on in total darkness? In his long life, he could count such people on one hand.
“That settles one thing.”
His path ahead solidified.
“I need that guy.”
Not for foreknowledge.
Not out of necessity.
Because it had to be him.
“I like idiots.”
Chu Un-hwi bared his teeth in a grin.