A Place for the Rootless

“Haha, to think I'd live long enough to be mistaken for something like that.”

Inside the general goods store, Mujin let out an awkward laugh.

Namgung Cheon nodded, as if in complete agreement.

The night before, they had been met with nothing but wary, suspicious eyes as they entered the inn.

'Excuse me... might you have some connection to those children?'

The shopkeeper's wife had approached them cautiously and asked the question. Her gaze had swept back and forth between Namgung Cheon's party in their immaculate martial robes and the children in their tattered rags.

Suspicion was written all over her face.

Only then did the group realize it.

Three able-bodied men traveling with five grimy, disheveled children — they looked every inch the part of child abductors.

Mujin snorted with laughter.

“Well, from that angle, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I suppose we did cut a suspicious figure. Wouldn't you say, Young Master?”

“I won't deny it.”

Namgung Cheon replied flatly.

At that, Baek Heon, standing nearby, lowered his head.

“This is my failing. I should have prepared the children's clothing in advance...”

“It isn't your fault. You're a guard, not a nursemaid. And besides, not one of us has ever raised a child, have we?”

Namgung Cheon soothed Baek Heon with the words.

The tone was offhand, but the consideration behind it was unmistakable.

Watching the exchange, a faint smile crept across Mujin's lips.

How strangely Namgung Cheon had changed of late.

The unfamiliar warmth radiating from a man who had once been cold as a block of ice — Mujin found he rather liked it.

Just then, the inner door opened and the shopkeeper's wife's voice rang out.

“All done!”

Three men's heads turned toward the back room all at once.

The children, now dressed in new clothes, shuffled out, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Sturdy martial uniforms of fine cotton, and leather shoes.

It was a night-and-day difference from the scraps of cloth they'd worn before.

“They suit you well. Fine feathers make fine birds, as they say.”

Even at Mujin's praise, the children couldn't quite bring themselves to be openly delighted.

Sneaking glances at one another, they could only fidget gingerly with the hems of their new clothes.

But the shy smiles blooming at the corners of their mouths were impossible to hide.

Then, the largest-built among them stepped forward.

“......”

The other children looked at him and gave small nods.

So encouraged, the boy looked up at Namgung Cheon.

His shoulders were stiff with tension, but his eyes were bright and clear.

“Thank you.”

He put his heart into those two words.

One by one, the other children bowed their heads as well.

“......”

Namgung Cheon looked down at the children without a word.

It was plainly a moment that called for something to be said — but for a man who had spent his entire life swinging a sword between life and death, it was an impossibly difficult task.

He would sooner swing his sword ten thousand times.

At last, unable to bear the awkward silence any longer, Mujin let out a short sigh and sent a whispered transmission to Namgung Cheon.

—Young Master, this is when you pat the lad's head and offer something warm like 'you needn't thank me' or 'just grow up healthy and strong — that's thanks enough.' Oh, and the boy's name is Sobaek, by the way.

At Mujin's coaching, Namgung Cheon's eyebrow twitched.

He hesitated a moment, then raised his hand awkwardly and laid it atop the boy's head.

“...Sobaek. You needn't thank me.”

A clumsy touch.

And a remark far shorter and drier than anything Mujin had suggested.

“So long as you all live well, that is enough.”

But the sincerity woven into those awkward words was more than enough to reach the children.

Only then did the tension melt from their faces, and their expressions opened up like flowers in sunlight.

“Yes, sir!”

“Thank you!”

The children looked at one another and burst into laughter.

Watching them, Mujin shook his head even as a smile tugged at his mouth.

Namgung Cheon, eager to escape the creeping awkwardness, promptly drew a silver ingot from his robe and handed it to the shopkeeper.

“Take this and settle the bill.”

The shopkeeper accepted the ingot, and his eyes went wide.

It was far more than the price of five sets of clothes.

“Oh, but sir, this is too much—”

“It's fine. If anything's left over, buy the children some sweets with it.”

At Namgung Cheon's words, the shopkeeper and his wife bowed deeply at the waist.

“Thank you, young master!”

A short while later.

Each of the newly dressed children held a single piece of candy in hand.

Over one little sweet, they beamed as though they owned the whole world.

Only moments ago they had been stealing nervous glances at everyone; now they walked ahead with light, springing steps.

“A fine sight.”

Namgung Cheon made no reply to Mujin's words.

But his gaze never once left the chattering children's backs.

The carriage left the center of Linxiang behind and turned onto the mountainside.

The road to the White Lotus Sword Sect was quiet.

On either side of the well-laid stone path stretched a dense bamboo forest, giving the impression of entering a secluded immortal realm cut off from the world.

Before long, at the end of the mountain trail, their destination finally revealed itself.

Above the mountain gate, held up by two massive ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pillars, hung a single massive plaque.

White Lotus Sword Sect.

The plaque had faded badly, weathered by long years of wind and rain.

Its corners even bore scars that looked as if they had been slashed by blades and scorched by fire.

Yet the characters carved upon it — the name White Lotus Sword Sect — still radiated a distinct, vital energy.

Brushwork both gentle and unyielding.

It resembled nothing so much as the spirit of a single white lotus blooming untainted even in the mire.

“Hah, you can feel their spirit from the plaque alone.”

Mujin spoke with unconcealed admiration.

Namgung Cheon, too, nodded silently in agreement.

The plaque alone spoke of the unshakable resolve of those who had guarded their sword without bending, even as the unorthodox factions flourished all around them — and of the pride they took in it.

When the carriage came to a halt, the disciples guarding the front gate stepped forward to block their way.

Then Baek Heon, seated on the driver's bench, said something to them.

“......!”

The disciples' eyes went round as saucers.

One of them immediately sprinted inside, and a short while later, urgent footsteps came hurrying from beyond the gate.

“Young Master!”

A familiar voice.

It was Lee Ja-seong, the Young Sect Leader of the White Lotus Sword Sect.

He pushed through the disciples, ran out, and respectfully assumed a cupped-fist salute.

“To what do we owe the honor of a visit to this humble place? Had you sent word ahead, we would have come out to greet you.”

As he stepped down from the carriage, Namgung Cheon studied Lee Ja-seong's face.

He looked noticeably gaunt compared to the days of the River-Along Martial Assembly.

“I've come because I have a favor to ask. But first — is everything well with you?”

At Namgung Cheon's question, Lee Ja-seong nodded with a wry smile.

“Yes, there has simply been a great deal happening within the sect lately, so I've been a little busy.”

He put on a bright face and guided Namgung Cheon's party inside.

Thus they entered the White Lotus Sword Sect.

“Hyaap!”

“Swing harder! Sharper!”

On the training grounds, dozens of disciples were sweating buckets as they drilled with their swords.

Their battle cries rang out so loudly they seemed to shake the very mountain.

Namgung Cheon observed the scene with keen attention.

Then, something he had heard back at the River-Along Martial Assembly came to mind.

So this is what they meant when they said the sect used killing strikes unbecoming of an orthodox school.

However.

Something is strange.

To Namgung Cheon's eyes, something looked unnatural about it.

The flow of their internal energy was measured and proper, but their sword paths were excessively ferocious.

That jarring dissonance caught Namgung Cheon's eye.

Well — now is not the time for this.

Setting the question aside for the moment, Namgung Cheon resumed following Lee Ja-seong.

Before long, they arrived at the guest quarters reserved for honored visitors.

The room was spare but immaculately kept.

Once they had taken their seats and wet their throats with warm tea, Mujin set down his cup and broached the matter in an offhand way.

“By the way — where is the Sect Leader? I should like to pay my respects.”

Lee Ja-seong answered as he set down his own cup.

“My apologies. My father is currently in Changsha, the provincial capital, for a council.”

“A council?”

“The situation in Hunan has grown dire of late, so the orthodox sects of like mind have gathered to discuss how to respond.”

Worry seeped into Lee Ja-seong's voice.

That the orthodox sects of Hunan — a land where the Four Black Alliance's grip ran deep — had banded together could only mean the situation had grown truly desperate.

Namgung Cheon nodded.

Then Mujin, reading the moment carefully, brought up the real business at hand.

“Speaking of which, Young Sect Leader — forgive me at a time like this, but we've come with a request.”

“Think nothing of it. Whatever it is, please speak freely.”

“The children who came along with us earlier.”

As Mujin glanced toward him, Namgung Cheon picked up the thread.

“They are children we rescued from the Ghost Mask Pact. All of them are orphans of the world, left with nowhere proper to go.”

Namgung Cheon gave a brief account of how the children had been rescued and of their circumstances.

The news had not yet spread to Linxiang, it seemed — Lee Ja-seong's expression shifted from moment to moment as he listened.

And when every word had been heard—

“Truly admirable, young master — no, forgive me. Great Hero.”

Lee Ja-seong bowed in earnest.

Namgung Cheon shook his head.

“It was nothing remarkable. What matters more is...”

As Namgung Cheon let the words trail off, Lee Ja-seong's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes gleamed and he nodded.

“Taking in children with nowhere to go is simply what must be done. We of the Sword Sect will take responsibility for them.”

Adding five mouths to feed was no burden whatsoever for the White Lotus Sword Sect.

If anything, Lee Ja-seong believed that turning away parentless children would be the true betrayal of chivalry.

But Namgung Cheon did not stop there.

“I'm not merely asking you to take them in.”

“Then...”

“Accept them as disciples.”

Namgung Cheon's eyes deepened.

“Every last one of them possesses exceptional martial talent.”

At those words, Lee Ja-seong fell into thought for a moment before speaking again.

“As it happens, I was watching them carefully earlier. Even at a glance, they stood apart from ordinary children.”

Besides, when a warrior of the Transcendent Realm like Namgung Cheon called their talent exceptional, he must have seen something beyond what ordinary eyes could perceive.

And so he hesitated no longer.

For the White Lotus Sword Sect, where talent was precious, there was no reason to refuse — rather, it was a proposal to be welcomed with both hands.

“Thank you.”

Lee Ja-seong rose from his seat once more and bowed deeply to Namgung Cheon.

“Those children — I will raise them with all my heart and soul. I will make them into warriors worthy of the name of the White Lotus Sword Sect.”

“I leave them in your care.”

Namgung Cheon gave a faint smile.

With this, the greatest task at hand — the matter of the children — was resolved.

The White Lotus Sword Sect had gained talent, the children had gained a home; it was a good outcome for all.

Lee Ja-seong said brightly,

“By the way — unless you must hurry on, why not stay a day or so before departing? I should like to pour you at least one cup of wine.”

At those words, color bloomed across Mujin's face.

“Oh!”

Mujin gazed at him, eyes brimming with anticipation.

Namgung Cheon burst into a soft laugh and nodded.

“Very well. We shall impose on your hospitality.”

A banquet of drink so lavish it made the eyes bulge.

Mujin's eyes sparkled brighter than they ever had.

“Oho, aged Hengyang Yellow Wine!”

Mujin received his cup with an exclamation of delight.

Lee Ja-seong smiled and spoke.

“You have a discerning eye. Young Sect Leader Hwa Jincheok brought it as a gift when he passed through. I can't say how grateful I am to him — not only for the fine weapons, but for such precious wine as well.”

He had even provided weapons already, it seemed.

Across Namgung Cheon's memory flashed the hearty image of Hwa Jincheok, stroking his singed beard as he laughed boisterously.

As bold as ever — a fitting Young Sect Leader of the Hwa Iron Sect.

It was a moment that confirmed the bond between Hwacheolmun and the White Lotus Sword Sect was being tied fast and firm.

After that, the cups went around several times more, and as a gentle haze of wine rose, the atmosphere grew all the warmer.

Amid light jests and laughter, the conversation drifted naturally toward the road the White Lotus Sword Sect had walked to reach this day.

“Still — it's no small feat.”

Mujin set down his cup as he began.

“To plant the orthodox banner and hold this ground in Hunan, crawling with those unorthodox curs? It can't have been easy. You've suffered for it, I'd wager.”

A bitter smile flickered across Lee Ja-seong's face.

“It has not been easy, I'm told. Barely a day goes by without a disciple dying...”

Lee Ja-seong poured the wine again.

His anguish seemed to show through the clear liquor itself.

“Is that why the sword changed?”

Namgung Cheon asked quietly.

“I watched the disciples training as we came in. It differs somewhat from what one would call an orthodox school's sword.”

Lee Ja-seong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nodded with a rueful smile.

“Yes, that's right. It's known even outside these walls. We had to change to survive. Gradually, generation by generation, we came to favor certain killing strikes over graceful forms, profit over lofty principles.”

He faltered for a moment, then added in a voice laced with self-mockery,

“And somewhere along the way, our Sword Sect... became something that is neither orthodox nor unorthodox.”

This was Lee Ja-seong's greatest torment.

The change had been a choice made for survival — yet in the process, he felt himself losing the pride of an orthodox sect, and guilt gnawed at him for it.

And the helplessness of being able, even now, to do nothing but struggle merely to stay alive.

Lee Ja-seong drained his bitter wine.

“The deeper I train, the more it feels like battering myself against a wall. The harder I try to cut — stronger, sharper — the heavier the sword grows in my hands.”

Namgung Cheon regarded Lee Ja-seong in silence.

A sword art that mimicked the killing strikes of the unorthodox path upon a foundation of orthodox internal energy.

Trapped within the shell of orthodoxy, he could never fully unleash those killing strikes.

His mind commands the blade to cut, but his body must be hesitating.

Namgung Cheon set down his cup.

Clink.

The small sound broke the silence of the room.

“They say a hundred words of theory are worth less than one sight of the real thing.”

Lee Ja-seong raised his head at Namgung Cheon's words.

“Troubles aired in words are nothing but armchair debate. Only by clashing body against body does the answer reveal itself.”

Namgung Cheon rose from his seat.

“Why not verify it for yourself?”

“Verify... what, exactly?”

Namgung Cheon rapped a knuckle against his sword sheath.

“That limit of yours. I mean to see, with my own eyes, the sword of the White Lotus Sword Sect.”