Why Stop at One Sword?
Hefei. A sprawling metropolis in the very heart of Anhui Province, where the waters of the Yangtze spread across the land and soaked its soil with richness.
Here, in this very city, stood the Namgung Clan — the World's Greatest Sword Family — and under its banner, all of Anhui trembled.
Yet the sacred ground where their very soul resided lay elsewhere, in the Dabie Mountains that ringed Hefei to the north.
The sun was leaning west, drawing long crimson shadows between the strange, jagged peaks of the range. At the mouth of the Sword Soul Cave — carved into a sheer cliff face and belonging to the Namgung Clan — a deep silence had settled.
The massive stone door of the Sword Soul Cave stood firmly shut, and before it, a handful of figures waited out the hours like statues cast in stone.
"……I thought he would be out by now. It has already been more than half a day."
Seated in meditation atop a flat boulder, Namgung Do — the Seventh Elder, keeper of the Sword Soul Cave — muttered under his breath, his voice thick with displeasure.
Boredom and irritation bled openly from every word.
He glared at the sealed stone door. For hundreds of years, it had been the great gate that tested each generation of Namgung heirs. But to his eyes now, it was nothing more than a tiresome obstacle devouring his time.
Frowning at the tedium, he clicked his tongue softly.
He will walk out having accomplished nothing, having merely filled his allotted hours. Why must he drag things out like this?
Namgung Do's careless gaze drifted toward a lone figure standing anxiously near the stone door.
Namgung Baek.
The Tenth Elder of the Namgung Clan — a man who kept himself far removed from the clan's power struggles and attended only to his own duties, stubborn to the point of exasperation. Yet today, of all days, he seemed utterly unable to hold his composure, pacing before the stone door and stopping, pacing and stopping again.
He even tilted his ear toward the entrance now and then, straining to catch the faintest sound from within.
It had to be because of the youngest young master who had entered that place — Namgung Cheon.
Tch. That old fool still cannot let go of the youngest. Yes, the boy glimmered for a brief moment in his childhood, but the light of his talent went out long ago.
Scoffing inwardly at Namgung Baek's hopes, Namgung Do finally tossed out a remark.
"Tenth Elder, you know full well that no one may open the door of the Sword Soul Cave before a full day has passed since the trial began. Empty your heart, and wait."
"I know that well, Elder. And yet……"
Namgung Baek could not bring himself to finish, his dry lips trembling.
The Sword Soul Cave was a place of trial that every blood descendant of the Namgung Clan had to pass through upon coming of age. The one undergoing the trial was free to walk out whenever he wished — but intervention from the outside before the appointed time was absolutely impossible.
Even if a scion died, unable to withstand the cave's energies, or fell into qi deviation, that too was simply his own inadequacy. No one bore the blame.
And this time, the subject of the trial was none other than Namgung Cheon.
Despite bearing the name of the youngest son of Namgung Mugang, the Clan Head, his presence within the clan had faded to a whisper.
A middling youngest young master who had never shown outstanding ability, never poured himself into grueling effort — nothing more.
Had this been the Sword Soul Cave trial of any proper direct-line son, the clan's leading figures would have gathered in force to observe. But those waiting for Namgung Cheon now were the Seventh Elder and himself.
And beyond them, only two more: the young master's guard and maidservant, heads bowed as if they were criminals themselves. Four souls in all — a spectacle so meager it bordered on pitiful, and living proof of exactly where Namgung Cheon stood within the clan.
Half a day had already slipped well past since Namgung Cheon entered the Sword Soul Cave.
By clan law, the trial lasted until the sun fully rose the following day, so considerable time yet remained.
But the fact that the usually invisible Namgung Cheon had gone silent for so long planted a black seed of unease in the heart of Namgung Baek — the only person in the whole clan who worried for him.
"The hour of the rooster will soon end. Is there truly any meaning in waiting longer?"
He had tried to sound composed, but the anxiety in Namgung Baek's voice, breaking the silence, could not be hidden.
The Seventh Elder, Namgung Do, opened his closed eyes with slow annoyance. There was not a single spark of warmth in them.
"Discipline is discipline, Tenth Elder. The trial of the Sword Soul Cave must fill a full day — that is the rule. If he cannot emerge within the appointed time…… then that, too, is simply the young master's fate."
He went on in an even drier voice, addressing Namgung Baek's restless fidgeting.
"In all these decades, the only one to receive a Sword Selection in this cave has been the current Clan Head. Did the Eldest Young Master not, in the end, have to retreat at the very last threshold of the Selection? That is reality. It was a remarkable achievement in itself, mind you."
Namgung Baek bit his lip.
It was a fact he could not refute. If even the Eldest Young Master, who had carried the clan's hopes on his back alone, had ended that way, what could anyone expect of a youngest son who lacked even a presence to speak of?
As if he had seen straight through him, Namgung Do pressed on.
"It was the same with this young master and with the Lady Namgung Rin. Both of them filled the full day of the trial, and all they gained was a modest improvement in their foundational energy."
He paused, fixed a frigid gaze on the stone door, and drove in the final wedge.
"Even those two entered the cave at a realm far higher than what this youngest young master possesses now — do not forget it. And what, pray tell, can be expected of a boy who never even laid a proper foundation? We shall count ourselves fortunate if his corpse is brought out intact."
"……"
The Seventh Elder's last words sank into Namgung Baek's chest like a dagger.
There had been no hope for Namgung Cheon anywhere in the man's tone — only a dry recitation of plain facts. And that very dryness sliced away even the thread of hope still clinging to Namgung Baek's heart.
Right. What was there to hope for?
In the end, only one conclusion remained to him.
Let him at least keep his life.
That was all. Anything more could not be wished for.
Not only Namgung Baek — not a single soul in the entire Namgung Clan had expected a Sword Selection from Namgung Cheon.
The moment Namgung Cheon reached out his hand toward Mukhon — the token of their promise, the sword that had once been his own — what blocked him was a thick, cold chain of iron.
The chain writhed like a living serpent, exhaling a frigid aura as though wary of intruders from the outside world. Yet more menacing still was the suffocating demonic qi seeping out of the blade even while sealed within its sheath.
Had he been the Namgung Cheon of before, he would have fainted dead away long before the aura ever touched him.
Impressive. Left masterless and alone for so long, and your temper has grown foul. Or is this your way of testing a new master?
Rather than recoiling, Namgung Cheon felt his fighting spirit blaze.
Demonic qi of this degree had been a minor hurdle to the man he once was.
Without a flicker of hesitation, he reached out and lightly closed his hand around the chain.
Krrrk—!
The chain shrieked and twisted within his grip.
KRAK—!
It snapped, and at last Mukhon — sheath and all — settled into his hand.
In that instant, the blade began to thrash violently from inside the scabbard, spewing out demonic qi far thicker and more ferocious than before. The sheath shuddered madly as if desperate to escape his grip, and the wild aura flooding through his palm surged backward along his veins.
This was the rite of the Sword Selection — the blade choosing its master. Perhaps this was Mukhon's final act of rebellion, one last trial to determine whether this new master was worthy of bearing it.
Your true master has always been me!
Namgung Cheon's eyes flashed.
He concentrated every nerve on subduing the furiously rampaging qi. First, the Body of a Hundred Weapons reacted with razor sharpness — sensing the blade's subtle tremors, the shifting of its center of balance — and beyond that, it instinctively detected the precise points along the blade's body from which the demonic qi flowed. An understanding that went beyond mere sensation, into instinct itself. And atop it all lay the experience and knowledge of the Heavenly Demon.
Demonic qi was never meant to be suppressed.
The righteous path refined itself through restraint and discipline, and thereby earned a pure, orderly energy. The demonic path was its exact opposite.
The essence of the demonic is freedom — and expression.
To rear and rampage like a wild horse was the very nature of demonic qi. What such power needed was not a sturdy bridle.
What it needed was a boundless plain, vast enough for that enormous strength to burst forth in full gallop.
The Heavenly Demon released the rituals of suppression he had instinctively begun, and instead took the violent torrent of Mukhon's demonic qi head-on.
Again and again the blade spat out its qi, testing him — but Namgung Cheon yielded not a single inch, accepting it and letting it flow through, over and over.
The experience of the Heavenly Demon, who had commanded legions of demon soldiers from the very summit of the Demonic Path. And the perfect harmony born from the Body of a Hundred Weapons, which understood any weapon as if it were his own flesh. This was not a contest of force against force — it was a process of understanding, and of dominion.
How long had it been?
At last, the demonic qi that had raged like a mad beast began to subside, smooth as a lie. The sinister dark-red glare emanating from the blade's edge guttered and died down as well.
Hummm—.
Like a loyal hound reunited with its master after long years, Mukhon let out a low, contented hum in his palm. The murderous aura that had been gnawing at the surrounding air had vanished before anyone noticed.
Finished throwing your tantrum, are we?
With a satisfied smile, the former Heavenly Demon drew Mukhon from its sheath.
With its black blade bared, the sword remained as dangerous as it was beautiful. He gave it a single light swing.
Shaaak—!
The weight that fit his hand like a glove. The familiar, perfect balance. It was flawless. Merely holding Mukhon filled his whole body with strength.
Cutting the brief reverie short, he turned to leave this accursed tomb of blades — and his gaze came naturally to rest on the sword he had passed earlier: Changcheon, the blade of the successive Clan Heads.
The peerless treasured sword that embodied the entire history of the Namgung Clan.
Then, all at once, an arrogant smile curled the corner of his mouth.
……Should I content myself with just one sword?
He recalled the sword-qi of the Myriad Swords Thicket, which had wrapped around him as if testing his worth.
Barely scraping out of that pressure with a single blade in hand — is that the way of you people, the Namgung?
Namgung Cheon's eyes glittered, cold and sharp.
What a joke.
His footsteps stopped.