A Hero's Reputation
The inn where Namgung Cheon was staying.
From early morning, the street outside the window had been unusually loud.
“Waaaah!”
“Long live the Azure Sky Sword Hero!”
Cheers and murmuring clamor poured in without pause. Mujin, who was gathering their belongings inside the guest room, cracked the window open and peered out. The street in front of the inn was already packed shoulder to shoulder, a sea of people—young and old, men and women alike—all gathered with eyes that seemed to be waiting anxiously for someone.
“What a crowd.”
Mujin clicked his tongue and shut the window. Then he turned toward Namgung Cheon, who sat at the table sipping his tea, and flashed a mischievous smile.
“You hear that out there? They're calling you the Azure Sky Sword Hero.”
Namgung Cheon set down his teacup without answering. But the unfamiliar epithet rang clearly in his ears as well.
“You remember the beggars skulking around the docks last night?” Mujin continued with a grin. “No doubt they spent the whole night blabbing to everyone in town. You can see it coming a mile away.”
The scene at the docks the night before flashed through Namgung Cheon's mind. Countless eyes hidden in the darkness, watching their every move. The eyes and ears of the Beggars' Union.
The Beggars' Union, huh.
Their intent to raise him up as a hero was obvious.
Most likely a political maneuver to keep the Four Black Alliance in check.
They meant to spin the narrative so that, even though the union's headquarters sat in Hunan, it was the orthodox sects who had rid the region of the Ghost Mask Pact.
There's no weapon more fearsome than a rumor passed from mouth to mouth.
The Beggars' Union had shrewdly played on exactly that. Beyond a simple tale of martial valor, he could see right through their scheme to use him as a lever to shake the hearts of Hunan's people.
While Namgung Cheon sat lost in thought, Mujin spoke up.
“Not exactly a bad thing, though, is it? You've gained a reputation sitting still, young master, and it's done this region's sects a fair bit of good besides.” Resting his chin on his hand, he went on. “Then again—Azure Sky Sword Hero. Reads a sight better than Sword Ghost, I'll grant. Though 'hero' isn't exactly the epithet I'd pin on you, if I'm honest.”
“Fair enough.”
Not Sword Demon, but Sword Hero.
Namgung Cheon let out a quiet chuckle and rose from his seat.
“Time we were going.”
“Let's.”
Namgung Cheon, Mujin, and Baek Heon led the children out of the guest room. By the time they descended to the first floor of the inn, the innkeeper and the young attendant had already caught wind and bowed them out with bent waists.
“Safe travels, Great Hero! Do come again!”
Namgung Cheon offered only a light nod and pushed open the inn's door.
Creeeak—
The door swung wide and sunlight flooded in. At the same moment, the eyes of the crowd packing the street all fixed on him at once.
“He's come out!”
“It's him! The Azure Sky Sword Hero!”
Waaaah!
The cheers shook the street. People shoved against one another, straining to catch even a slightly closer glimpse of him. Merchants abandoned their work to applaud, and travelers stopped mid-stride and bowed their heads. In their eyes shone genuine reverence and gratitude—the sense of release that came with the disappearance of the Ghost Mask Pact, the phantom of fear that had threatened their children for so long.
Mujin scratched his head, looking a bit embarrassed.
“Well, would you look at that. A real hero's welcome. How does it feel, young master?”
“Nothing to feel.”
Namgung Cheon was unmoved. It wasn't as though he had done any of it to earn this kind of praise.
He walked on in silence, shouldering his way through the crowd.
Then it happened.
“Young master! Young master!”
A group of people came rushing through the crowd. Women holding children by the hand, rough-clad men—their faces were all streaked with tears.
Namgung Cheon's eyes narrowed. The woman at the front was the mother of the child who had given him the pebble at the docks days ago.
Then the people behind her must be…
…the parents of the children he had rescued at the docks before setting out for Dream Ring Island.
“You saved them!”
The moment the woman reached Namgung Cheon, she dropped to her knees.
“I will never forget this debt as long as I live!”
She pressed her forehead to the ground and wept aloud. The parents behind her scrambled to kneel and bow as well. As though their knees touching the rough dirt meant nothing at all, they bowed their heads in the lowest, humblest posture they could manage.
Was there anything in this world more heartfelt than the heart of a parent who had won back a child?
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“We will remember your grace, Great Hero, until our bones turn to dust!”
The onlookers watching the scene reddened at the eyes and joined in the applause.
Mujin glanced helplessly at Namgung Cheon, who addressed the woman at the front.
“Rise.”
His voice was as calm and dry as ever.
“There's no need for this.”
“But still—”
As the woman sobbed, Namgung Cheon shook his head.
“It was not done to be thanked.”
He meant it. He had not acted to become a hero, nor to be showered with praise. He had merely repaid a small pebble, and at the same time moved to dig out the Four Black Alliance's secrets—that was all.
Namgung Cheon looked for a moment at the children nestled in their parents' arms. They had clawed their way out of hell; he hoped only that they would live ordinary lives from now on.
Live well.
Leaving that brief wish behind, he turned away.
“Let's go.”
The party pushed through the crowd and receded into the distance. Among the onlookers watching their backs, sighs of admiration escaped.
“To think he takes no credit for himself…”
“Is he not a true hero among men!”
Namgung Cheon's offhand remark was received in an entirely different light. The honest words it was not done to be thanked struck them as the very picture of boundless humility.
And so, the world's misunderstanding of Namgung Cheon piled one layer higher still.
The road out of Yueyang, heading toward Linxiang and the White Lotus Sword Sect, was fairly peaceful.
It was an overland route that followed the waterways of Dongting Lake. The path was smooth, and reed forests swaying in the river wind stretched out without end. The creak of carriage wheels grinding over the dirt road and the clip-clop of hooves set a steady rhythm. Now and then the wind carried the smell of the water, but even that felt peaceful beneath a sky so clear and high.
Perhaps because days of tension and exhaustion had finally lifted, the children had leaned against one another and fallen fast asleep.
Namgung Cheon watched the sleeping children for a while, then turned his gaze out the window. Beyond the endless reed fields, scattered houses came into view here and there—the bent backs of farmers tending their fields, children at play.
Hunan might be a land where the unorthodox path held sway, but life here was no different from anywhere else in the Central Plains. The same everyday scenery you could find anywhere.
Come to think of it, the Cult that the people of the Central Plains so feared looked no different, either.
The scenery of Mount Shimanbei from his previous life, back in his days as the Heavenly Demon, drifted up in his memory. People had lived there too, and children had run and played. It was a place people spoke of with chattering teeth, calling it the Demonic Cult—but life existed within it all the same. The only difference was how much blood had to be spilled to protect that ordinary life.
Then Mujin, seated beside Baek Heon who held the reins in silence, spoke in a low voice.
“Truly peaceful. And only yesterday we were in hell.” Scratching the back of his head, he went on. “About the White Lotus Sword Sect, though…”
Mujin glanced slyly back at the sleeping children and continued.
“I wonder if they'll settle in well. All I know of them is one drink shared with that young heroine at the River-Along Martial Assembly, so I'm in the dark about the finer details. You know anything, young master?”
“Nothing.”
Namgung Cheon answered shortly.
“Well, I suppose this is your first time heading to the sect too. I've only heard rumors myself—that they're the only tough customers in Hunan who dare speak their mind without so much as a glance at the unorthodox sects.” Mujin snorted a laugh and went on. “That's why they say their nickname is the Nine Nether Grass. They say the place survives even in hell.”
Namgung Cheon nodded. For an orthodox sect to survive intact in Hunan, where the Four Black Alliance's influence ran deep, was close to a miracle. And that meant they had something—the strength to protect themselves.
If that's the kind of place it is, these children will be in good hands there.
He looked once more at the sleeping children. Helpless orphans with nowhere to go, for now.
But they carry exceptional talent for the martial arts.
Given proper masters and taught sound martial arts, they were seedlings that could one day grow into great trees. If the tenacity of the White Lotus Sword Sect met the talent of these children, the result would be well worth looking forward to.
Time flowed on, and before anyone noticed, the red sunset had sunk low and the sky was darkening.
The carriage entered Linxiang.
Northern Hunan—Linxiang. It was a quiet town with nothing particular to recommend it beyond the fact that the White Lotus Sword Sect held its ground nearby. Lanterns were flickering to life one by one, lighting the narrow streets, and the peaceful late-evening scene of folk heading home after a day's work unfolded before the party.
Namgung Cheon gazed up at the sky for a moment, then spoke quietly.
“We should lodge here for the night.”
“My thoughts exactly. It's a good two hours' travel yet to the White Lotus Sword Sect, and it's getting too late for that. The children look worn out as well.”
At Mujin's words, Namgung Cheon addressed Baek Heon.
“If there's an inn nearby, pull the carriage over.”
“Yes, young master.”
Before long, Baek Heon brought the carriage to a halt in front of an inn.
Rattle.
The carriage stopped, and the party disembarked one by one.
“Whew, the smell of food is just rolling out of that place. Hunger's the best sauce, they say—”
Mujin stretched and looked around—and his words cut off mid-sentence.
The eyes of the people passing through the street were all fixed on them.
At the same time, the street, which had held a lively bustle of its own, fell quiet, and everyone began staring at the party with strange looks on their faces. Three men in splendid martial garb, followed by children in ragged, threadbare clothes. It was a mismatched group no matter how you looked at it.
The people stopped in their tracks and began to whisper.
“L-look over there.”
“It couldn't be…?”
Mujin smiled awkwardly and whispered to Namgung Cheon.
“Haha, seems the news has traveled here already?”
But at that moment, Baek Heon, who had been quietly keeping watch beside the children, murmured low.
“…I don't think that's what this is.”
Baek Heon's hand slid stealthily to the hilt of his sword. His instinct as a warrior was sending him a warning. Those eyes held no goodwill.
“Hm?”
Mujin studied the people's expressions again. Baek Heon was right. There was no cheer or reverence in their gazes. Quite the opposite—it was a look laced with contempt and suspicion, and fear beneath it all. Like people who had seen something they were not meant to see, they stole glances at the party even as they hurried to make themselves scarce.
“…Closer to wariness than welcome, I'd say.”
The smile quietly drained from Mujin's face.