That's Not How You Do That

"So the guest retainer knows how to enjoy himself."

Paeng Jeokhon muttered it with evident amusement. The large detached pavilion attached to Manhyangru.

They had tried to claim the place themselves, only to be turned away — someone important was already using it. To walk in so brazenly to a pavilion that had refused the heirs of the Five Great Clans...

Hwangbo Yong shrugged.

"Taking the entire pavilion for himself. Hmph."

"Considering how the other guest retainers vanished from Jianghu rumor the moment they entered the Namgung Clan, this one seems rather active."

Jegal Seoseo let her curiosity show. Perhaps it was the exotic appearance — she made no secret of her interest. Namgung Muyoung, by contrast, remained cautious. He had never even seen the man. How could anyone know what kind of person he was?

The conversation drifting toward the Namgung Clan's guest retainer only made him more uncomfortable.

"If that's the case, perhaps we should return to the estate today? Everyone seems rather curious about our guest."

"Hahaha. It's that Golden Young Master they're curious about. The other guest retainers are all venerable elders, aren't they? We can barely handle the seniors of our own families — you think we'd be comfortable facing those renowned masters?"

"..."

Well, that was fair enough. Even Namgung Seowol, her face as blank as ever, cast a faintly curious glance toward the pavilion.

The guest retainers she had known since childhood were relics of a previous generation — practically grandfathers, and she had never been particularly close to any of them. They were eccentric to a fault, and they preferred solitude. Some of them hadn't set foot outside the estate in years.

This Golden Young Master was different. Coming out to a tavern like this, for one thing.

How old is he?

Claiming they couldn't tell from this distance would be absurd. Everyone here was an heir of the Five Great Clans. They had all taken in his appearance. What they felt was strange. His presence made his age impossible to pin down. There was a pure light in his face that made him look young — and yet a peculiar profundity that made him feel like a weathered old man.

Whatever. I'll just ask Sister Muhwa.

Namgung Seowol wanted to leave this tedious gathering and get back to the estate. The so-called heirs of the other Five Great Clans did not sit well with her at all. She missed the elders of the Namgung Clan — free-spirited people who had never bothered with pretense. Every one of these heirs she had come to know out in Jianghu was steeped in artifice.

Of course she understood. That was what an heir was supposed to cultivate. A blade behind the smile. Laugh on the surface, conceal everything behind it.

Muyoung's the opposite problem. He's so genuinely kind that it isn't even an act.

Aigoo. As his cousin, I'd better look after him.

What she didn't know was that Namgung Muyoung had equally firmly resolved to look after her — a cousin who might do anything at any moment.

Seowol was still turning that over when the atmosphere around them suddenly grew restless. She looked up.

"The Black Path."

A pack of rough-faced men came swarming in. The Black Path thugs headed straight for the pavilion.

"Hmm?"

"That's..."

Wasn't that where Sun Wukong had gone?

The Black Path men shouted something in front of the pavilion.

"Lord of the Manor! We heard the news!"

"Father publicly declared he won't hand Hoga Manor over to me? I've come to take it myself!"

Hwangbo Yong clicked his tongue.

"The Black Path doesn't even recognize their own fathers once power-lust takes hold."

"Well, isn't that how the world works everywhere?"

"But that guest retainer went in there..."

Paeng Jeokhon was still murmuring when the pavilion door opened.

"Didn't you say you'd help me?"

"There you go getting familiar again."

"...Did you not say you would help me?"

"See? You said it."

Hoga Jangju was at a loss for words. The shouting outside was his son's voice. The fury in that tone left no doubt — the boy had come ready for a fight.

Hoga Jangju glared at Sun Wukong. He had been lying low at Manhyangru, playing dead. Until his body fully recovered, appearing in public looking like an invalid would only diminish his authority. He had never said any such thing. He had thought it, yes — but he had never said it out loud. This was stirring up a hornet's nest for nothing.

Hoga Jangju wanted nothing more than to plant a fist in Sun Wukong's cheerfully smiling face.

"Why not pour that energy into the unfilial son trying to steal the old man's power instead?"

"..."

Hoga Jangju flinched at those transparent eyes — eyes that seemed to have read his mind. Those red eyes with golden pupils. Instinct told him they were dangerous. Better to face his son in this wrecked body than throw a punch at those eyes.

In the end, Hoga Jangju staggered to the door and kicked it open. His son stood there, flushed with arrogance — the spitting image of Hoga Jangju in his youth. Sturdy men flanked him like an honor guard. Hoga Jangju let out a sigh.

He really is my son.

Only a few days since he'd fled to Manhyangru, and the boy had already seized everything. At this point, the reasonable choice would be for an old father to surrender his power and step aside. But where had the son's hunger to seize his father's power come from in the first place?

"Like father, like son. Heh. The kid takes after his old man, all right. Not just the face — the hunger for power, too."

Ojeong, who had slipped back at some point, settled himself in front of Sun Wukong and started picking at the side dishes.

"You got ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠here fast."

"Wasn't hard. I just told him his old man was at Manhyangru plotting to take him down, and he followed me without a shred of suspicion."

"What an idiot."

Sun Wukong clicked his tongue. All he needed was a useful card in his hand. It didn't matter if the son became master of Hoga Manor. Sun Wukong had briefly weighed the two of them himself.

"So what's the plan? I went to Hoga Manor — the son's already taken over. The neutrals won't cooperate with him, but they aren't opposing him either."

"That so?"

"Yes. The Lord's decision to hit Cheonghyeopbang wrecked them, and then he had to beg the Namgung Clan for his life. He's got no authority left."

"That's exactly why he's perfect."

"Pardon?"

"A man who seizes power still needs someone to lean on."

Naturally. You can pile more debt onto a man who's already scared. Ojeong understood the logic well enough. The question was how. Only one method came to mind.

"Is the Great Hero going to kill him?"

"Hey now! This Great Sage is a believer in non-killing."

"..."

If you're going to snap his spine so he can't even crawl... wouldn't killing him be more merciful?

"You say that because you've never seen Hell."

"Ah. Yes, yes."

Ojeong's enthusiasm went ice-cold. Sun Wukong felt genuinely wronged. What kind of place was Hell? Better to live incontinent than go there. Sun Wukong felt a swell of pride in his commitment to non-killing. What a merciful, Buddha-like spirit this was. Heh. You watching, Guanyin?

Once I find Sanzang, I'll have to brag about this.

While he was entertaining these peculiar thoughts, the father and son had shouted themselves hoarse and finally drawn their swords. Hoga Jangju abandoned any hope of the chattering Sun Wukong behind him and gripped his blade.

A fight among the Black Path was never decided by lofty martial attainment. How vicious you were. How underhanded. How much guts you had — nerve, in the vulgar tongue. All of it came from experience.

They said to beware of old men in Murim, but the saying cut deeper on the Black Path. Growing old on the Black Path meant you had survived the most vicious back alleys. The ones who didn't survive never earned the right to grow old.

But still...

"Father, I'll take you somewhere nice. Go rest and recover."

The son's sword came slashing down without a shred of mercy, and Hoga Jangju struggled to block it.

"Nngh!"

Swallowing a groan, Hoga Jangju swung his sword again and again. A cruel smile touched his son's lips. He could almost hear the words: I'm succeeding you as Lord of the Manor, Father.

Blood seeped from his reopened wounds. The snow-white bandages turned crimson in an instant. Hoga Jangju raged at the thought of Hoga Manor — the life's work he had built — slipping away like this.

And then.

A voice that rang through his skull. It was similar to a sound transmission, but it wasn't. It struck his mind like a revelation descending from the heavens. The instant he heard it, he knew it was Sun Wukong's voice.

He hesitated, and a roar shook his head until it rang. Hoga Jangju followed the voice. One step left — and his son's sword came down exactly where he had been standing.

"......!"

A cold sensation washed over him. As if possessed, Hoga Jangju slashed at the lower opening. His son's face twisted grotesquely.

"Kh!"

A strike aimed at an unexpected opening. His son twisted away so hastily that his feet tangled. Hoga Jangju's eyes lit up. He moved to press deeper — it was a genuine opening. Sun Wukong stopped him.

Hoga Jangju hesitated for a heartbeat. If he drove into that opening now, he could press the attack. But a fierce instinct told him to obey the voice. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He moved as instructed. Confusion flickered across his son's face.

What? Did the old man eat something weird?

Hoga Jangju was the one who had taught his son martial arts. Naturally, the son knew his father's movements inside and out. That was why this felt so alien. These were not the movements of the father he knew.

Has the old man been hiding techniques even from his own son?

The son had never dreamed his father would deceive even him. In that moment, he understood with painful clarity that he still lacked his father's capacity for ruthlessness. Which, from Hoga Jangju's perspective, was deeply unfair.

Commands and abuse poured into his mind without mercy. Hoga Jangju's body trembled. Was it the humiliation? No. For the first time in sixty years of life, he understood what it meant for a sword to dance.

Was my martial art always this powerful?

His movements had become impossibly fast, impossibly fierce. His footwork was crisp and light. His breathing eased, and vitality surged through his body. All of it — from nothing more than matching his movements to Sun Wukong's commands. The strange experience filled Hoga Jangju with a satisfaction that reached his very fingertips.

And that wasn't all.

"Good heavens — the Lord is still that strong?"

"Bleeding from wounds that grave, and he still moves like that!"

"The Young Lord still can't match the Lord after all..."

The voices rose around him. A thrill ran through Hoga Jangju like lightning striking his mind.

Ah!

These were the men who had already gone over to his son. And now they were watching him with awe and envy. Why had this fight been arranged in such a public place?

To show them a withered, wounded Hoga Jangju who still stood unshaken even as he bled.

A Black Path leader had to be strong. He needed the strength to keep rough men in line.

If that one intervened directly, it would look like I was clinging to outside help to keep my power... but this way!

A ruler who seized power through an outsider's strength never earned true authority. This was different. There was no problem at all. Hoga Jangju ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was clearly displaying the vigor of old age, proving he was still in his prime.

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fresh wave of admiration rose in him. He had already known this man was a master beyond his reach. But the way he set the board was razor-sharp.

He's even meticulous. More terrifying and more formidable than Honamdo. For now, moving as he wishes is the right call.

Having settled his thoughts, Hoga Jangju brought his son down and looked around. The warriors of Hoga Manor stared at him with expressions of awe. Hoga Jangju suppressed the emotion welling up inside him and swept his gaze across them with a face of ice.

A savage gleam in his eyes, visible even through bandages soaked dark with blood. The martial artists of Hoga Manor swallowed hard and, one by one, bowed their heads.

Hoga Jangju put steel into his voice.

"We return to Hoga Manor."

"...Yes, my lord."

A thrill ran through Hoga Jangju's body. Submission that came from the heart. He could see it in the backs of their bowed heads. He had reclaimed Hoga Manor — built with his own blood and sweat — from his son. A man as sensitive to the currents of power as he was could feel it with certainty. But his son still refused to accept that the fight was over.

"You—!"

The son, who had been standing dazed, could not endure the reversal. He thrust his sword from behind. A cheap, underhanded backstab — classic Black Path.

Hoga Jangju spun desperately and knocked the blade aside. A dull shock traveled up his son's wrist and tore the sword from his grip. The blade spun away, whirling through the air...

And landed among the heirs of the Five Great Clans.

A cold silence settled over the courtyard.