Moon Fang (4)
Never before had such a thing happened.
Not in the generations past, nor would it happen in the future.
Jeong Cheolmin let out a hollow laugh, and Han Bin spoke up.
"A plain old sword is more than enough for me. Could you make one? I'll pay for the materials separately."
At Han Bin's words, Jeong Cheolmin tilted his head.
"Did you just say sword, not blade?"
"Yes, sword."
"From the Hebei Paeng Family?"
"What's the difference between a sword and a blade? As long as the edge is sharp, that's all that matters."
Jeong Cheolmin chuckled again at Han Bin's innocent remark.
"Haha."
It was the first time anyone from the Hebei Paeng Family had ever asked him to forge a sword.
Ordinary warriors could get their swords made at any local smithy. The commissions that came to him were always blades for the direct descendants of the Hebei Paeng Family...
It didn't matter if it was a sword or a blade, but the association with the Hebei Paeng Family gave him pause.
After a long laugh, Jeong Cheolmin seemed to steel himself.
"Young master. I'm sorry, but..."
That was when it happened.
Someone came running from behind Jeong Cheolmin.
"Grandpa!"
Jeong Cheolmin turned his head, his eyes widening.
The child running toward him was none other than his precious granddaughter, Jeong Soyeon, whom he wouldn't trade for the world.
Forgetting his conversation with Han Bin entirely, Jeong Cheolmin rose from his seat.
"Soyeon! You've grown so much. Haha."
"Grandpa!"
But in the middle of her run, Jeong Soyeon halted just before embracing him.
Jeong Cheolmin tilted his head at the sight.
Unexpectedly, his granddaughter's gaze was fixed on Han Bin's position.
Jeong Cheolmin asked,
"Soyeon, what's wrong?"
"Well, um..."
Jeong Soyeon recounted what had happened at the Stone Flower Sect.
Once he heard it all, another hollow laugh escaped Jeong Cheolmin's lips.
"Haha. That bastard from the Mu Sword Clan dared to touch my Soyeon? No more dealings with those Mu Sword Clan fools from now on."
"Grandpa, it's not about that thug harassing me—it's that this great hero helped me out. That's the important part."
"Right. The Mu Sword Clan..."
Mid-conversation, something seemed to strike him. Jeong Cheolmin trailed off and turned to look at Han Bin.
"Why on earth would you get involved in something like that? The Mu Sword Clan is connected to the Fourth Young Master and..."
"The justice of the jianghu comes before any personal ties I might have."
Of course, justice in the jianghu was the last thing on his mind. It was all for the formulas.
Han Bin smiled with a kind, benevolent face, and Jeong Cheolmin's eyes trembled.
Who in the martial world would risk enmity with his fiancée's family for the sake of jianghu righteousness? No such person existed anywhere in the Central Plains.
And to think that person had saved his own granddaughter—Jeong Cheolmin's heart pounded even harder.
Of course, he didn't show it outwardly.
Regaining his composure, he asked again,
"Do you need a sword from my hand?"
"Yes, I do. Master smith. And please, drop the formalities. Aren't you and your family lifelong benefactors to ours?"
"Even so..."
"Aren't you close with the Chief Steward of the Hebei Paeng Family? He treats me like a grandfather. Speak freely."
Han Bin grinned, and Jeong Cheolmin stroked his chin before bursting into laughter.
"Haha. Alright, then. I'll treat you casually."
"Yes, that's more comfortable for me too."
"Wait here a moment."
Turning around, Jeong Cheolmin unfolded the letter he had received from Jeong Soyeon.
As he read it, his eyes widened.
A few days earlier, he had discovered an ancestral forging manual and entrusted its interpretation to Soyeon's father.
This letter was that interpretation.
"The legendary sword or blade does not lie in the materials, but in the touch of the craftsman..."
Reading through the forging manual, Jeong Cheolmin narrowed his eyes.
'A direct descendant of the Hebei Paeng Family, who lost their Dark Iron, shows up right when the manual calls for it? Coincidence?'
Jeong Cheolmin shook his head lightly.
This was no coincidence—it was fate.
Finishing the letter, he walked to the workshop with a serene expression.
Everyone tilted their heads at his actions.
Jeong Soyeon did the same before calling out softly.
"Grandpa!"
Though she called, Jeong Cheolmin headed to the workshop as if possessed.
As Jeong Soyeon followed him, Han Bin, left alone, tossed back his tea.
Seeing this, Sim Miho asked,
"Did you know?"
Han Bin tilted his head slightly.
"Know what, Deputy Commander Sim Miho?"
"That the girl was Master Smith Jeong Cheolmin's granddaughter?"
"How would I? Did you know, Deputy Sim?"
"..."
"In the jianghu, if you stick to propriety, luck follows."
At Han Bin's words, Sim Miho and Cheolno exchanged glances. It was because of his inscrutable attitude.
As they traded looks, Han Bin continued.
"That was a joke just now—don't take it to heart. Sticking to 'propriety' will just get you stabbed in the back. Got it?"
"..."
Sim Miho stared at Han Bin, speechless.
At that moment, Han Bin stood up.
He wanted to see Jeong Cheolmin at work.
Master Smith Jeong Cheolmin.
From his memories of his past life, he was no ordinary blacksmith.
He was the one who had forged Moon Fang, the treasured sword of Seomun Mugeol, who was called the Sword Saint at the time.
Jeonggal Wi, the greatest poet of the jianghu then, had named it Moon Fang after witnessing the Sword Saint's demonstration.
Han Bin knew well the might of Moon Fang in battle.
He had faced it himself.
Han Bin wanted to witness the blacksmith who would forge the supreme sword of the world, destined to become legend.
Clang.
Clang.
Before long, Jeong Cheolmin was hammering a glowing red-hot lump of metal.
Han Bin narrowed his eyes, observing the process closely.
In his past life, Han Bin had learned enough smithing to pass as one.
Not to make weapons, but to disguise himself as a blacksmith.
Those memories stirred him now.
Han Bin stepped closer.
Peering into the workshop entrance, he felt the scorching heat.
There was no door, so the interior was fully visible.
Soyeon, who had arrived first, was propping her chin and watching her grandfather work.
Clang.
Clang.
The hammering rang out rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
Han Bin watched, entranced.
There was no wasted motion in the hammer's arc.
It was the mark of a true master.
Seeing the legendary smiths Gan Jiang and Mo Ye in his handiwork was only natural.
What was being born from Jeong Cheolmin's hands now might not be mere armament, but an artwork bearing the myths of antiquity.
Each strike breathed life into the metal; the next sharpened its edge.
That was when it happened.
Han Bin gasped.
"Gasp."
Cheolno, watching from behind, asked,
"Young master, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just a bit hot."
"Then I'll fetch some water."
Cheolno dashed off quickly.
Han Bin couldn't tear his eyes from the lump Jeong Cheolmin was hammering.
A yellow glow flickered within the metal.
Was it a trick of the molten iron?
Or a sign that it held the formulas of the Yongrin Sword Art?
He couldn't tell.
Then, Jeong Cheolmin's hammering stopped.
Clang.
As the echo of the final strike faded, he tossed the hammer aside carelessly and rose.
Turning around, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Thud, thud.
As he exited the workshop, his eyes met those of his granddaughter, who was staring at him.
"Soyeon. What are you doing here?"
"Watching Grandpa work."
Jeong Soyeon answered, and he sighed.
"I guess this old man has gotten too old."
"Why do you say that?"
"Never mind. I need a break today."
Jeong Cheolmin scooped up his granddaughter.
Then Han Bin tilted his head and asked,
"Master smith, forgive me, but may I ask what happened?"
"My body can't keep up with the ancestors' pace anymore. It's frustrating."
At Jeong Cheolmin's words, Han Bin narrowed his eyes.
"Pace?"
"Well..."
Jeong Cheolmin started to explain but paused.
Han Bin quickly interjected,
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into your family's secrets."
"No, young master."
"Then, may I make another request?"
Han Bin's eyes gleamed.
Jeong Cheolmin looked at him curiously.
"Speak."
"My sword. Could I forge it myself?"
"You?"
"Yes."
Jeong Cheolmin eyed him with concern.
"Martial arts and smithing are worlds apart."
"I want to try. I want to breathe my soul into the weapon I'll carry for life."
Jeong Cheolmin tilted his head.
Those were the words of a craftsman, not a warrior.
Still, he couldn't let just anyone use his forge.
Only two of his disciples were permitted to make swords or blades.
Then, someone tugged at his sleeve.
It was his granddaughter, Jeong Soyeon.
She clasped her hands together and nodded pleadingly.
Please let him.
Jeong Cheolmin glanced at the ceiling helplessly.
In a tiny voice, Jeong Soyeon said,
"You were surprised earlier too, Grandpa."
"Ahem."
Jeong Cheolmin cleared his throat awkwardly.
As Soyeon said, Han Bin's skill resembled that of a decades-seasoned smith.
After a moment's deliberation, he resolved himself.
"Very well, I permit it."
"Thank you, master smith."
With permission granted, Han Bin entered the workshop.
The searing heat made him squint.
But only for a moment—he shook his head.
The yellow points he had seen earlier were gone.
Han Bin grabbed the lump with tongs and thrust it into the furnace.
Once it softened, he pulled it out and poured it into the mold.
Then he checked again.
A smile played on Han Bin's lips.
The yellow points had reappeared.
The problem was, with the metal so hot, he couldn't pinpoint their locations.
Top or bottom?
Inside or out?
He couldn't tell.
"Guess I'll just have to strike and see..."
Muttering to himself, Han Bin began hammering furiously.
Clang!
Clang!
Even after several strikes, the formulas of the Yongrin Sword Art remained silent.
Han Bin flipped the lump and hammered the other side.
Finally, the yellow points emerged again.
Clang! Clang!
His heart pounded in time with the strikes.
Thump. Thump.
But he couldn't hit the points squarely.
They shifted unpredictably.
Strike the front, and they moved to the back.
Strike the top, and they slid to the bottom.
It was like whack-a-mole.
Except this mole moved at peak-master speed.
Han Bin couldn't give up.
Clang! Clang!
He gritted his teeth and swung.
The thought of forging a sword wasn't even in his mind.
The sword could wait—the Yongrin Sword Art formulas came first.
That was when it happened.
Text appeared before Han Bin's eyes.
You have acquired Su (Speed) from the Basic Volume of the Yongrin Sword Art.
'Finally!'
It felt like a decade's worth of indigestion dissolving.
His admiration was brief—Han Bin resumed hammering.
With one more Su,
perhaps because of its effect, acquiring the next formula was easier than before.
You have acquired Su (Speed) from the Basic Volume of the Yongrin Sword Art.
The speed increased further.
Now, he could almost track the yellow points in real time.
You have acquired Su (Speed) from the Basic Volume of the Yongrin Sword Art.
This was a real jackpot.
If luck held, he could complete the entire Basic Volume of the Yongrin Sword Art right here.
Han Bin worked his hands even faster.
Watching him, Jeong Cheolmin let out a low exclamation.