Chapter 49
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Namgung Clan (4)
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"Don't acknowledge it, you bastard!"
This guy had no sense of shame. Hwangbo Jangseong was truly torn about whether to form a marriage alliance or not. The more they talked, the more exhausted he felt, layers upon layers of fatigue piling up. They hadn't even had a long conversation. It was just a short exchange, yet why did it leave him so drained?
"I'm counting on you for my son and Cheolho."
"You don't even plan to watch the match."
"My son will win anyway."
"Please watch your mouth."
To Hwangbo Jangseong, Mujin seemed like the epitome of someone who lived without a thought in the world. He didn't look back once. A wave of anxiety hit him— was he really bringing a walking powder keg into the family? But it was too late to back out now, with so many eyes watching.
'What if it's intentional?'
If he was putting the Hwangbo Clan front and center to warn others not to touch them carelessly.
"I hear the roast duck at Mingxing Tower is to die for. Whoops, now I'm drooling and can't hold back."
Intentional, my ass!
You couldn't expect this guy to have any wrinkles in his brain. He just proved he had none at all.
"Cheolho."
"Yeah?"
"What do you mean, yeah? If you're pissed, get stronger. A weakling grinding their teeth just wears down their own fangs."
"It won't go the way you want."
"I?"
"Uncle!"
Uncle rubbed him the wrong way a bit, but it was true, so he held back for now. Besides, listening to it turned blood into flesh, flesh into fighting spirit— it was the kind of scolding that built you up.
"Don't drop out before facing my son."
"We'll meet in the round of sixteen."
"Oh ho, so everyone before the round of sixteen is dog food? Makes sense, the Beggar Clan is crawling with acorns everywhere. At least you'll be a chestnut."
"Who said that?"
Cheolho's retort came too late. By the time Mujin's voice rose, the surrounding gazes had turned ice-cold. Among them, the opponents who might face Cheolho before the round of sixteen were burning with hostility. Now, every opponent he'd face would come at him with full resolve.
'At your age, the more enemies, the better.'
-He's spouting off because it's not his fight.
'He's the future Iron King. Iron gets stronger the more you hammer it.'
-More guys end up dead that way.
'No way.'
-The future can change.
'You said it was fate before.'
Mujin had seen Cheolho after he became the Iron King. Naturally, he didn't know what trials and tribulations came before that. But he knew the Iron King's temperament. To become such a thick-headed, bullheaded wall of a man, it took more than ordinary hardships. He'd probably brushed death countless times, teetering on the edge of life and death.
For now, to temper the unfinished Iron King, he needed to artificially create those trials. Especially since the kid thrived on comparisons and rivalry.
The king of envy and jealousy— that was the Iron King.
'My son will be a worthy rival.'
Pure talent-wise, Cheolho had the edge over his son. But his son had overcome that with spirit elixirs and endless training. And the recent Little River Stronghold subjugation had helped.
'Gotta kill a lot to grow for sure.'
A warrior who hadn't killed was just a flower in a greenhouse. The more you killed, the tougher your martial arts and mindset became. That didn't mean go around slaughtering indiscriminately. Just make damn sure to kill those who deserve it.
And when they're all dead?
The murim was full of such scum, so supply never ran out. Kill and kill, and more kept coming.
-You made enemies in the orthodox sects and now you're telling him to kill? Blood King suits you better than War King.
'Mercy is tough. I've never seen a guy who preaches it live long. I want my son to live a long life.'
Saving lives.
Merciful sword, merciful blade, merciful fist.
Sounds great.
Everyone's ideal. But it's a mark of hesitation. The desperation to save people robs you of cold resolve. Then you die. You end up saving no one and losing everything. Plenty of guys like that. Until you're perfect, you have to be selfish sometimes.
Survive, and you can aim for the next chance, uphold justice. Die, and justice is just fish bait.
Mercy is a realm greenhorns who can't even run shouldn't chase. Cowardly? Cruel, but reality favors the cowards— they live longer.
"Kang Taejin of the Pine Tiger Sect and Joo Jeong-san of the White Sun Gate, please come to the arena."
His son's match began, snapping him out of his thoughts.
-Well, survivors are the true powerhouses.
'Right you are.'
A dead powerhouse? How's that a powerhouse? The one who lives to the end, walking their path— that's the real deal.
Embarrassment fades quick.
The arena's heat was rising, but focus varied by match. Naturally so. The power behind the competing youths determined the attention. The greater the sect's fame, the thicker the interest.
Pine Tiger Sect.
Honestly, not well-known. Even in Anhui Province where they were based, few knew their exact spot. Cheongyang? You might know the county name, but unless you're a local, you won't know how long a sect's been there.
If they hadn't produced a single rising star in over a century despite surviving that long, they were second-rate at best. No notable talents in a hundred years.
The moment Pine Tiger Sect was called, attention should've dropped, but surprisingly, it drew all eyes.
Two reasons.
The Mystic Music Sword's defeat and the Hwangbo Clan.
What kind of sect could make the Zhuge Clan eat dirt and ally with the Hwangbo? Curiosity peaked as the Pine Tiger participant stepped onto the stage.
The arena was structured in hexagonal tiers, with elevated VIP seats.
The VIPs seated there were warriors whose names adorned the jianghu roster.
Hebei Peng Clan's Sword of Splendor, Peng Wijing.
Sichuan Tang Clan's Ghost King Hand, Tang Baekgi.
Zhuge Clan's Mystic Music Sword, Zhuge Gun.
Hwangbo Clan's Hundred Battle Fist, Hwangbo Jangseong.
The Namgung Clan's Sword Commander sat in the top seat but handed proceedings to Sword Fixer Namgung Jin.
The Little Dragon Tournament wasn't even for the later generation elites. Limited to sixteen-year-olds, unlike the peak thirties, it gauged potential. Still, it unearthed future martial prospects.
Their gazes were sharp.
Show us.
Your talent.
We'll judge.
Zhuge Clan's Mystic Music Sword didn't like the stares but wouldn't flee. Leaving would admit pettiness. A beggar's plight. To cover his shame, Pine Tiger had to fight hard. A quick loss would make them laughingstocks.
Damn reality.
'That rotten bastard!'
Zhuge Gun had another reason to fume. The culprit making him restless was leisurely munching snacks at his seat... then dozing off.
Confidence? Or mockery?
Felt like both. His composure shook. Zhuge Gun barely suppressed his rising rage.
'Don't lose!'
A loss would be trouble. They had to win to save face for him and the clan.
"Let the match begin!"
Dong-dong-dong!
The drums beat in succession.
Taejin, thrust into unwanted spotlight by his father's antics, endured countless gazes and whispers on his way to the arena.
'Should be lightening the pressure, not piling it on.'
That father of his had loaded on the burden. Normally it'd cripple performance, but training under him had swollen his guts. No jitters even in his first real fight. Thanks to Dad, he had an iron-willed heart.
Give the poison, give the cure.
Never just the cure. Even cures sometimes came laced with poison. Surviving those brutal trials had forged him unshakable. Yeah, look on the bright side— Dad's deep wish for his success... bullshit!
Snore, snore!
Dad sleeping like a log, snoring away. Bystanders might think he was easing his son's nerves on purpose.
Dad sleeps when he sleeps!
Don't misread what Dad shows. Take it at face value. Assuming schemes or tricks is a trap. Pile those up, and totally wrong conclusions follow.
'...No way.'
Did he plan it?
Yeah. Even his own son got confused by the man. He knew the real face, but just when he relaxed, smack— a crisp backhand to the head.
The Little River Stronghold raid was a shock. Never imagined Dad that strong.
Happy about it?
Future looks bleak.
"Don't get cocky just 'cause folks are watching!"
"Y-yes, sir."
Whoops, zoned out.
His opponent, Joo Jeong-san of White Sun Gate, bristled with edge, ignored till now. For Joo, aiming to make his name and secure succession here, Taejin's spotlight grated. That attention belonged to him.
Besides, Pine Tiger Sect was a tier below White Sun Gate. Lucky win over Mystic Music Sword, propped by Hwangbo ties— otherwise, no advancement.
Joo Jeong-san vowed to shatter the facade and steal that spotlight. The kid was the youngest entrant anyway. Three years was no small gap.
"Here I come!"
Joo unleashed White Sun Gate's signature sword art, White Heaven Sword Method. First form: White Heaven Single Flash. Blitz with a quick draw to disrupt, seize initiative, then mid-form White Heaven Myriad Calamities to finish.
That was the plan...
Boom!
Kuheok!
A scream erupted as he flew off the stage. Joo Jeong-san rolled on the ground, unconscious.
Roooar!
Cheers exploded.
"Ended in one strike! What a beast!"
"They say a true son under his father? I'd carry that son everywhere!"
"Cool it. Just a first-round bye! Opponent was a rookie!"
"Everyone here placed top in regionals."
"White Sun Gate's no pushover!"
Taejin's one-clash win boosted notice, but opinions split. Most first rounds ended quick. Dragging it out risked later matches, or skill gaps showed.
But eyes differed. The VIPs' gazes were sharper than the crowd's.
'Quick reflexes.'
'Counter smooth and natural.'
'Even breathing— solid basics.'
'Impressive confidence.'
The Five Great Clans upped their evaluation. Still, a notch below their heirs. Opponent too weak; gap too wide. Master vs. novice shows clear.
Kwaang!
Before mulling Taejin's result, another match ended.
Kudada-thud!
Yi Sohyeon of Greensong Manor hit the dirt. The pretty girl swung her sword, but the charging beast punched outright. Gut shot, she yelped "Heuk!" and flew, tumbling down.
"Nam Cheolho wins!"
Me too, one clash!
He expected cheers, but silence fell.
"Brutal guy!"
"No mercy even for a girl!"
"Whose kid is that?!"