The Goksan Cheok Clan
The Goksan Cheok Clan. Known simply as the Cheok Clan, this family was a martial house so renowned that it maintained ties with the Five Great Clans of the continent.
On top of that, their weaponsmithing was exceptional — it was no exaggeration to say that most of the famous blades in Goryeo had come out of the Cheok Clan's forges.
In the field of mu — the martial arts, pure and simple — there was no family on Goryeo soil that could rival them. In sheer scale, the Wang Clan was the largest, but judged on martial prowess alone, the Cheok Clan could claim third place, уступing only to the Yu Clan.
...Though apparently, anyone below first-rate wasn't even treated as a combatant there, so the comparison was meaningless anyway.
And right in front of that very family's gate, two figures lay sprawled on the ground.
"Ugh."
"As expected of the Young Lord of the Wang Clan..."
Tap. Tap.
Shaking out my hands, I gazed at the firmly sealed door and let out a sigh. I'd shown them the token and asked them to open up, and they'd attacked me without a word of warning. Apparently, anyone lacking the skill wasn't allowed to enter. Rules were rules, or so they said.
Even so, do they really not think about politics at all?
The Wang Clan and the Cheok Clan were bound by a marriage alliance. Not just some loose tie — an actual marriage alliance — and they attack on sight? If this were any other great clan, I'd have crippled the gatekeepers' dantians and severed the tendons in all four of their limbs by now.
But if this wasn't the gatekeepers acting on their own initiative — if it was actually clan policy — then it meant this was a group that couldn't care less about something as petty as politics. Delightful.
After taking stock of the gatekeepers, who lay collapsed and foaming at the mouth, I placed my hand on the door.
Thud.
Hm. Heavy. Quite a lot of it seemed reinforced with iron. Judging that it would be difficult without internal energy, I immediately drew my neiryeok up from my core — and the weight pressing against my palm seemed to lessen.
Screeeech.
The door ground open, metal shrieking against metal all the way.
BOOM.
"Let's go."
At my words, Nari and Ansong carefully stepped through.
...Fine, Nari, that's expected of you. But Ansong, what's your excuse?
Somewhere along the way, he'd started acting a little strange too.
"Is there nothing else beyond here?"
"Couldn't tell you."
There wasn't much beyond the gate. The path stretched open and empty ahead, which suggested more gates awaited us further in.
Thorough, aren't they.
Most clans didn't bother stacking gate upon gate like this. A layout like this existed precisely for siege defense — inner walls and outer walls, built to grind an invading army down layer by layer.
Perhaps the Cheok Clan had genuinely built their compound with a full siege in mind. It was thorough to the point of paranoia — though what else would you expect from the Cheok Clan?
We'd walked maybe a fraction of a jeong when the smell of hot iron began to drift from somewhere ahead. My body felt faintly warmer, too.
"It's suddenly gotten so stuffy."
Nari fanned herself with her hand. As a non-martialist, she seemed to be suffering more than the rest of us.
"Just bear it a little longer. We're nearly there."
"Yessir..."
Tongue lolling out, Nari nodded with visible effort. Glancing over, I saw Ansong dripping with sweat as well — apparently feeling the heat just as badly.
Is it really that bad?
Nari was a civilian, so fine. But Ansong wilting like that was hard to wrap my head around. I was a Peak Realm expert myself, and I felt perfectly fine.
But the further we went, the more the heat closed in until it swallowed us whole.
"It's too hoooot..."
"Young Lord? Are you certain this is the right way? It keeps getting hotter — I'm afraid we've taken a wrong turn somewhere."
"There's only one path here. How exactly would we have taken a wrong one? Less talking, more walking."
"Yessir."
You were going to follow anyway, so what was the point of complaining?
As Nari and Ansong trudged along behind me, wilted as two wrung-out rags, a new sound joined the heat — the ringing of hammer on iron and the clash of blades.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
SHING! CHAAANG!
What kind of household was this loud? I was still wondering when another door appeared before us.
"You there. Halt."
Just as expected, another gatekeeper moved to block our way. Certain he'd lunge at us too, I was already drawing up my internal energy — but the man panicked and waved his hands frantically.
"Wh-whoa, hold on! Why are you raising your qi all of a sudden—"
"Hm? Wasn't that how it worked?"
"That's a kind of ritual, only at the first gate! Here you need only present your token, so kindly put the qi away."
Well, look at that — some common sense after all.
And here I'd assumed they were all battle-crazed lunatics who fought anything that moved. Offering a silent apology to the Cheok Clan — whom I'd mentally branded a house of battle maniacs entirely on my own — I fished out the token.
After that? More of the same. A round of startled gasps, a request to wait a moment. Not a hair's difference from the Kim Clan — except that here, I was actually welcomed.
"It is an honor. I am Cheok Heon, Commander of the Red Dragon Brigade, entrusted with guiding you through the clan grounds for the day. I look forward to serving you."
"A pleasure to meet you, Commander Cheok Heon."
The man who introduced himself as commander of the Red Dragon Brigade was a burly fellow with a head of red hair and a frame like a fortress.
Come to think of it, Cheok Hwaryeon had red hair too — must run in the blood. The only difference was that Cheok Heon's red ran a shade paler.
"The Clan Head has asked that you tour the grounds first, then come to his hall. Would that be agreeable?"
"Of course. This may be my mother's family, but I've never once visited. Forgive my cheek, but I'd like to see everything."
"Understood. This way, then."
Following Cheok Heon's lead, I found the heat and the ringing iron drawing steadily closer — and before long, I laid eyes on their source.
"Hey! Can't you hold it steady?!"
"Water! Bring water!"
HISSSS...
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Countless artisans were smithing in every direction as far as the eye could see. Swords, spears, sabers, armor — weapons of every description took shape under their hands.
"Incredible."
Ansong stood gawping at the scene, the heat utterly forgotten.
"What do you think? The smithing the Cheok Clan takes such pride in."
Cheok Heon puffed out his chest with unmistakable pride. But my attention had already wandered elsewhere.
SHING! CHAAANG!
Off to the left, a group of warriors were sparring. If it were nothing more than ordinary warriors drilling against one another, I could have spared a respectful nod for the forge work — but there was no looking away from this.
Live blades? For a spar?
To be fair, I'd crossed live steel with Yi Uigang myself. But that had only been possible because his skill towered so far above mine that he could pull every stroke short of my throat without thinking.
Between equals it might be forgivable, but a man of Yi Uigang's caliber simply doesn't slip during a live-blade spar.
And yet the warriors sparring down there all looked to be of roughly comparable skill. Using live blades against one another at that level was no different from training with your life on the line.
Indeed, among the sparring pairs I could see more than one hand missing a finger or two. Lost to accidents during practice, no doubt.
"I once had quite a serious accident myself, you know."
"You as well, Commander Cheok Heon?"
"I'd wager only a handful in this entire clan have never been hurt during a spar."
Not exactly something I was in a position to say, having driven myself to death's door chasing that very same desperate edge in my training — but this seemed beyond reason entirely. This wasn't a battlefield. They chose sparring methods that risked bodily maiming as a matter of course.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Which is precisely why it's so good."
They're all madmen.
So thinking, I watched the sparring — and one red-haired girl caught my eye. Her red ran deeper than anyone else's, so rich that anyone could see she carried Cheok Jun-gyeong's blood thick in her veins.
And her swordsmanship was anything but ordinary. Where the others wielded their blades with restrained, flowing elegance, this girl's sword was hegemony incarnate — sheer, crushing dominance in steel form.
She doesn't look old enough to have come of age yet.
Even at a glance, I could tell she was on a level with Seonhwa.
Presently the girl, having felled four opponents in the blink of an eye, lowered her blade and studied it in silence.
"Who is that young lady?"
When I asked, pointing with my finger, Cheok Heon folded his arms with pride.
"That would be Lady Cheok Yul. Born to a cadet branch, but her talent was so extraordinary that the Clan Head took her in as an adopted daughter."
"Oh? She's that remarkable?"
"It's not a thing I should say lightly... but people call her the Second Coming of Cheok Jun-gyeong."
Now that was an interesting piece of news.
Within the Cheok Clan, the name Cheok Jun-gyeong carried immense weight. And that name had been spoken within the clan's own walls — which meant it was no idle flattery.
I want to fight her.
If she truly deserved to be called the Second Coming of Cheok Jun-gyeong, then even a brief exchange of blades might yield me some flash of insight.
The thought made my fingers itch. I found myself absently toying with the hilt of my sword — and then, without warning, I felt a gaze on me.
I turned — and there was Cheok Yul, staring straight at me.
"......"
I didn't look away. We held each other's eyes until, at last, she was the one to turn her head first.
A shy little thing, isn't she.
"Young Lord... I'm honestly going to die of the heat..."
Nari's voice was nearly dead. I looked back to find her panting with her tongue hanging clean out of her mouth, looking thoroughly miserable.
Ansong had gone a step further and was actively trying to strip off his shirt — the heat seemed to have cooked his brain outright.
"Let's move on. My people are about to expire."
"Haha. I suppose it is a punishing environment for outsiders. I'll escort you to the Clan Head's hall at once."
Under Cheok Heon's guidance, we made our way to the Clan Head's hall and arrived before a modest little pavilion.
Once inside, all I could see were a handful of rooms and nothing more.
"How austere."
The words carried more weight than their plainness suggested. Aristocrats being aristocrats, they loved ranking each other by the size of their estates and other such childish games.
At my remark, Cheok Heon chuckled.
"I can't speak for other houses, but the Cheok Clan has never given a moment's thought to any of that. Which makes life rather pleasant, if you ask me."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that strength is our hierarchy."
With those words, one of the doors swung open.
"Enough chattering out there. Come in."
A deep voice rolled through the entire pavilion, soft yet inescapable.
Cheok Wihyeon — Patriarch of the Goksan Cheok Clan.