Chapter 59
Chapter 59
Having carried Yeo Il several times before, Namgung Hui-myeong lifted her onto his back without the slightest stagger.
The air grew cooler, and the clear sounds of birds and rustling grass suggested they had reached somewhere along the mountain ridge.
After pulling up weeds and fashioning a passable cushion, Namgung Hui-myeong carefully set Yeo Il down upon it. Then he pressed a hard stone into her hand.
“I will be about ten zhang away. If you need anything, strike that.”
She nodded.
Placing paper and brush beside her as well, he stepped back, steadied his breathing for a long while, and finally drew his sword.
Yeo Il opened all five senses and focused on the sword art he displayed.
So absorbed was Namgung Hui-myeong in wielding his blade that he had no notion she sat there with her eyes fully open.
Given all he has experienced of late—and that he must fight his first match today—I expected the tip of his sword to waver with distraction.
Instead, had he not grown to a surprising degree?
There are those who grow stronger the more hardship they endure. Most martial artists are such.
Weapons are not things easily swung with a clear mind. Only the mad cling to the sword for long. If one’s head were properly attached, one would not even glance at a weapon.
People fear the sight of blood. To harm another is a dreadful act that kills both body and heart. When a person kills, instinct demands flight.
Thus, to claim one draws the sword to protect is hypocrisy—self-deception at best.
To lift a blade after seeing blood requires discarding even that hypocrisy. Only lunatics do so. Beasts cast into chaos, losing reason and becoming serial killers. Hardship merely sharpens such creatures, a reward and a morsel.
Viewed from that angle—
Namgung Hui-myeong possessed all the makings of a fine martial artist.
“How is it, Soyo? My sword. Does it sound different from before?”
After some time, catching his breath, Namgung Hui-myeong approached and asked.
Without hesitation, Yeo Il recalled the cleanly parted current of wind and nodded.
Yes. Very much so.
He smiled in satisfaction.
“As it should. …But in what way is it different?”
I sense composure. Rather than scrambling to follow a path already cut, you move with unspoken certainty, carving your own way wherever your steps fall.
“I see. I think I understand—and yet I do not.”
From her perspective, it was astonishing that he had achieved such convincing growth without fully grasping it.
Was this what it felt like to witness a genius grow? She felt a faint pang of apology toward Seol-yeong, but she had never once felt such surprise watching him.
She expected Namgung Hui-myeong to resume his sword practice. Instead, he stretched out beside her and lay down, utterly at ease.
Today is your first match. Are you not nervous?
“What is there to be nervous about? However capable my opponent, could he compare to Chuhyeol Sword Ghost?”
To some, the remark might sound arrogant. To Yeo Il’s ears, it was not arrogance but self-mockery. She knew exactly how Namgung Hui-myeong had thrown himself before Chuhyeol Sword Ghost.
Having barely returned from the brink of death, he must have replayed that encounter countless times.
He would have faced that foe again and again in his mind—not seeing himself felled by a sharp strike, but countering it as naturally as flowing water. Again and again.
I suppose that is true.
“…What is this, Namgung Soyo? Why are you not nagging for once? I thought you would scold me for trying to coast on such complacent thinking.”
Shall I?
He groaned at once, then spoke in a calmer tone.
“When I was young… I simply admired swordsmen. So I would ponder every time. How much must one temper one’s resolve to wield such a steadfast sword? What is needed to become a master…?”
“……”
“And only later did I realize. The realm Father and Brother achieved with the sword was built upon regret—and wailing.”
His tone turned faintly bitter.
“Once I learned that, I thought of something else. That to keep holding the sword means waiting for more regret. Strong resolve affects those around you.”
Was he worried that, because of him, Yeo Il might again fall into danger?
That is a result-driven interpretation.
Yet it was deeply human.
For one born a genius like Namgung Hui-myeong, even this anguish would serve as nourishment. Which made her feel inexplicably sorry for Seol-yeong.
With all due respect, that is excessive self-consciousness.
She nearly added, You are still a weak genius, but restrained herself.
“…Ha. My energy drains all at once.”
Though his voice sounded oddly relieved.
Stretching lazily, Namgung Hui-myeong grasped her arm and helped her to her feet.
“Let us head back.”
She nodded.
“And just in case… do not tell Brother what I said today. He will claim I am indulging idle thoughts because I feel comfortable and grind me like a dog.”
She would tell him.
After digging his own grave with needless worry, Namgung Hui-myeong escorted her back to her room and admonished her.
“Just rest here. It is crowded like an ant nest out there, and the match will end in a few exchanges. Following along to watch—or listen—is a waste of time. Hey, insolent servant. Assist Great Hero Jin and guard Soyo well. Understood?”
This time, Yeo Il agreed readily.
The early rounds of a tournament teeming with late-stage prodigies were hardly entertaining to her.
Even the matches she found somewhat interesting—Bang Woo’s and Namgung Jeok-myeong’s—would not occur for several more days.
She might as well torment Jin Cheong-ak and practice breathing exercises.
When she opened her eyes half a day later, Jin Cheong-ak was dozing.
Perhaps standing guard in his stead, Seol-yeong sat by the slightly opened window, quietly watching a corner of the street.
Wiping her sweat with the cloth Jin Cheong-ak had prepared, Yeo Il asked casually,
“You are waiting for Seol Seorin.”
Startled upon inadvertently glancing back and noticing her partially loosened clothing, Seol-yeong immediately turned his head back toward the window and answered,
“Does it not seem strange?”
There was faint unease in his voice.
Yeo Il considered what troubled him, then nodded.
“She is later than expected. Perhaps she has other matters to attend to.”
“Even if she had matters, she would have seen you first, Miss. She would not drag it out and waste time like this.”
That was true.
“It has been some time. She may have found a lover.”
At that, Seol-yeong snorted so explosively it might have frightened off a boar.
“Ha! Do not speak nonsense. Her eyes are set upon the roof—no, the sky. What ordinary man could satisfy her? Impossible. Absolutely not. She would have come straight to you.”
Absolutely. And certainly.
“You are sure?”
“Of course.”
“Then I will step out for a moment.”