Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Namgung Myeong
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Namgung Myeong's little uncle bore the nickname One-Handed Thunder Sword.
Though he had lost his left arm in a battle with a demonic powerhouse, he could wield his blade lightning-fast with his right arm alone. Namgung Myeong thought his uncle's moniker was incredibly cool.
But that didn't mean he wanted to become a one-armed man himself.
Let alone losing an arm fighting a demonic powerhouse like his uncle—or worse, losing it to a second-rate warrior he had encountered on the boat.
Yet right now, Namgung Myeong was on the verge of becoming exactly that if he dawdled even a little longer.
He couldn't block Dang Mujin's sword with his broken wooden blade, nor did he have the leisure to showcase his family's famed footwork.
But Namgung Myeong knew one divine escape technique for this situation. Rolling on the ground.
Namgung Myeong hurriedly tumbled across the deck to evade Dang Mujin's sword strike.
"Puhh."
A woman's laughter rang out from behind.
Veins bulged on Namgung Myeong's forehead.
He had first encountered that woman on the boat and spent over ten days lavishing attention on her, dreaming of a passionate night together.
He had been so close to reaping the rewards, only to expose such an unsightly display.
Dang Mujin sensed the awkward atmosphere and spoke sheepishly.
"I'm sorry. I must have swung too dangerously. I'm just not used to sparring with real swords."
Namgung Myeong's pride took another hit. That was hardly something one said to an obvious inferior.
Gritting his teeth, Namgung Myeong rose to his feet.
"No, it's fine. It's my own lack of skill. The wooden sword was in poor condition too."
Of course, the emphasis fell squarely on the wooden sword's state rather than his skill.
Dang Mujin quickly chimed in.
"You've used that wooden sword too long. It was so brittle it could've snapped at any moment. My apologies."
Namgung Myeong was relieved at Dang Mujin's perceptiveness and glanced back over his shoulder.
The woman watched them both with a look that said, "Ah, so that's how it was." Namgung Myeong's expression softened a touch.
"With no wooden swords left, it might be best to call the spar here."
Dang Mujin took a step back as he spoke, but Namgung Myeong had no intention of stopping.
"No. Could you spare just a bit more time?"
"Yes?"
"It felt like a spark of insight just flashed by. I can't let that clue slip away."
Of course, there was no real insight. It was merely an excuse because he couldn't bear to end the spar with Dang Mujin on such a note.
Dang Mujin hesitated.
"But it looks like all you have left is a real sword, and I don't have the confidence to dodge one properly."
"It's fine. I won't infuse it with internal energy, and I'll avoid any dangerous strikes."
"...In that case, it should be better."
Dang Mujin reluctantly raised his sword. It was hard to refuse such dogged persistence.
Namgung Myeong drew his blade from the scabbard at his waist.
Even among the extravagantly wealthy Namgung Clan, renowned for sparing no expense on swords, this was one of their top five famed blades: the Three Phoenix Sword.
The Three Phoenix Sword was the masterpiece of a celebrated swordsmith.
It had been forged without stinting on materials, blending equal parts of precious wrought iron and black iron for the blade—a process that reportedly took well over a year for a single sword.
The resulting Three Phoenix Sword was as famous for its exceptional durability and cutting power as for its ornate, beautiful form.
Its scabbard bore a relief carving of two phoenixes entwined in flight, while the hilt featured an exquisite phoenix perched in repose.
Nor was the splendor limited to hilt and scabbard. The elegant ash-gray blade was engraved with a poem embodying a true warrior's resolve, inscribed in graceful calligraphy.
Namgung Myeong glanced at Dang Mujin's sword.
Unlike the Three Phoenix Sword, its hilt, scabbard, and blade were all utterly plain. There were no lavish decorations—not even the smith's mark.
Before he had even swung, Namgung Myeong felt an odd sense of superiority.
'Not quite a clash of hero and villain, but I'll smoothly deflect the first strike and then crush him with my sword. Since I've drawn the Three Phoenix Sword, I'll make it overwhelming and flashy.'
Dang Mujin raised his sword hesitantly.
"Then, here I go again."
"One exchange, if you please."
Dang Mujin swung along the same arc as before. Still not flashy, but a clean strike.
Namgung Myeong tilted the Three Phoenix Sword to receive it.
But the moment the blades met, Namgung Myeong felt something strange.
Dang Mujin's sword wasn't merely sliding along the Three Phoenix Sword's edge—it felt as if it were digging into it.
'Eh?'
It wasn't his imagination. Dang Mujin's plain sword shaved into the Three Phoenix Sword's edge like peeling fruit skin.
In that instant, he recalled the wooden sword bisected in two. Reflexively, Namgung Myeong channeled internal energy into his blade, and only then did Dang Mujin's sword halt.
Namgung Myeong realized his mistake and looked up. Dang Mujin stared back with profound discomfort.
"...Didn't you say you wouldn't infuse internal energy into your sword?"
Namgung Myeong's face flushed crimson.
He had forced the spar despite the massive disadvantage, broken his promise to face a real sword with a wooden one, and now shattered yet another promise not to use internal energy.
Three humiliations in the span of mere moments.
At this point, even Namgung Myeong had no choice but to apologize to Dang Mujin.
"I'm sorry. Swinging as if in real combat is a habit, so I did it without thinking. I've been rude."
Dang Mujin felt awkward in the face of Namgung Myeong's outwardly courteous demeanor.
It was difficult to press someone who was apologizing, and acting prickly here might earn the enmity of a great martial clan.
"...Now that I think about it, I wasn't blameless either. You offered me ridiculously favorable terms from the start."
"Thank you for seeing it that way."
"Ah, yes. The spar ended on a strange note somehow. At least no one was hurt."
"Yes."
The spar concluded in awkward disarray.
Namgung Myeong hurried back to his cabin and lit a candle. He had no interest in the woman's gaze now.
He inspected the Three Phoenix Sword meticulously.
Had the blade merely chipped, he might have chalked it up to bad luck—but the Three Phoenix Sword had been cleanly sliced along the exact path and shape of Dang Mujin's swing.
The sensation of a sword burrowing in like peeling fruit had been real.
'Unbelievable?'
The Three Phoenix Sword's form looked precarious, as if it might snap at any moment. His heart plummeted.
Having ruined one of his clan's famed swords, it was inevitable he'd catch an earful from his father and the family elders.
But after a brief moment, a different thought surfaced in Namgung Myeong's mind.
'This situation might be an opportunity.'
He had no idea how Dang Mujin had acquired such a sword, but it was undoubtedly a blade beyond imagination. It might even surpass the clan's greatest treasure and heirloom, the Hwanwon Sword.
'If I could just get my hands on that sword.'
This journey was Namgung Myeong's first foray into the martial world.
As was typical for such debuts, he had left the Namgung Clan with chest puffed in excitement.
He had dreamed of toppling a famous demonic powerhouse to make his name or besting a renowned warrior in a duel.
But reality had been venting frustration on mediocre bandits and slaying a handful of petty demons. Far from grand achievements, he hadn't even met average expectations.
But if he could obtain that sword, every problem would vanish.
Not only his father and the family elders, but warriors from other clans would acknowledge Namgung Myeong.
'Behold Great Hero Namgung Myeong. He brought back a divine sword on his first martial excursion. Surely you can achieve such feats too?'
'Killing a few demons—how does that benefit the clan? Try following in Great Hero Namgung Myeong's footsteps, at least his toes.'
The juniors of other clans would hear such tales until their ears blistered.
Namgung Myeong's hips fidgeted with excitement on their own.
*
Dang Mujin didn't take the spar with Namgung Myeong to heart. It hadn't been a proper exchange to begin with, and it had ended with both sides red-faced.
He simply thought of it as having crossed blades with someone from a famous clan. Nothing more.
Thus, life after the spar flowed on unchanged. Mornings and evenings, he cultivated his arts; days, he treated patients alongside Yi Chung on deck, honing his medical skills.
His patients were the boat's crew or fellow passengers.
"It's not sadness, and nothing's in my eyes, but tears keep flowing. I feel people staring oddly—it's hard to show my face."
"Do you sleep well at night?"
"It takes forever to fall asleep, my limbs feel feverish, and I wake easily."
"Much thirst and diarrhea?"
"How did you know?"
"I suspect epiphora. It worsens with colds or cold winds, right? It's milder now in summer."
"Exactly. Can it be cured?"
"I'll apply acupuncture first. Close your eyes."
Dang Mujin laid the patient down and took up his needles.
First, he inserted them at the Yintang between the brows, the ear tips, and the Dangyang on the forehead, then channeled internal energy through them to probe the meridian flow.
As expected, turbid qi had stagnated at the Qiuhou below the eyes and Jingming, irritating the tear glands.
In the past, he would have needled and prescribed a decoction. But after Yi Chung's teachings, he now had a new method: threading thin internal energy into the acupoint and using true qi guidance to resolve the ailment.
Dang Mujin carefully channeled his energy through the needle, dispersing the clotted turbid qi in the meridian before withdrawing it.
"You can open your eyes now."
"Already?"
"Yes. Take a look at how it feels."
The patient opened his eyes and looked around. Moments ago, tears had streamed even when shielding his eyes from the breeze—but now, they had stopped as if by magic.
He fanned his face toward his eyes and turned into the wind. It felt utterly refreshing.
"Good heavens."
Physician treatments usually took at least half a month, typically a full month, and often over a year.
But treating with Yi Chung's method resolved qi stagnation issues in an instant. It truly shattered all common sense.
Even Dang Mujin the physician was astonished—what must the patients feel? They always gaped in wonder after each session.
"How did you do that? My doctor said it was untreatable and to just endure it."
"Epiphora isn't common, so it's no surprise if the treatment wasn't known. It also requires some finesse to resolve smoothly."
"Finesse? You're too modest."
"It's really nothing. Anyway, press those acupoints I needled whenever you recall them. If it recurs, visit a physician and request Yuebi Jia Shu Decoction."
"Yuebi... what decoction?"
"Yuebi Jia Shu Decoction. Boil gypsum, ephedra, atractylodes, licorice root, dried ginger, and jujubes thoroughly. No rare or expensive herbs, so you can get them cheaply anywhere. Or decoct it yourself if needed."
After Dang Mujin wrote down the recipe, the patient bowed deeply in gratitude.
Dang Mujin rose and surveyed the surroundings. Few patients had come today, so the clinic wrapped up quickly.
But separate from the treatments, someone awaited Dang Mujin today: Namgung Myeong.
Since the spar a few days prior, Namgung Myeong had been approaching Dang Mujin quite amiably.
"Impressive. How does a warrior master medicine too?"
"It's the reverse. Not a warrior who learned medicine—I'm a physician stepping into the martial path."
"Yes?"
"The Sichuan Dang Clan isn't a martial house; it's a physician lineage. I trained in medicine, and circumstance led me into martial arts."
"...All the more astonishing. Was that elder by your side your father?"
This was the closest thing to an unfilial remark Dang Mujin had ever heard.
He forcibly quelled his rising fury.
"No. My father is back in Chengdu. That old man is just a traveling companion."
Namgung Myeong nodded.
Dang Mujin wielded an extraordinary sword but possessed only second-rate martial prowess as a physician.
His two companions: an unremarkable physician and one middling second-rate warrior.
In short, no one in Dang Mujin's group could challenge the Namgung Clan's prestige.
"Great Hero Dang. Just to check,"
"Yes."
"That sword you have. Interested in selling it?"
Dang Mujin pondered briefly before shaking his head.
"Can't do that. It's special to me."
He might have considered forging a new one if asked.
But he had no intention of parting with the Danhon Sword. It was the first sword he had named—and the first he had grown attached to.
"I see. Understood."
Namgung Myeong nodded and withdrew.
*
That evening, the boat carrying Dang Mujin's group docked at Wuhan in Hubei Province.
Yi Chung headed ashore to a tavern, declaring it had been too long since he'd wet his throat. Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae finished their deck spar and retired to sleep.
The next morning, Dang Mujin realized the Danhon Sword—and Namgung Myeong—were gone.
'...This bastard?'