The Celebration Banquet (3)
Right after finishing the spar, I went around asking people one by one until I found the man who had so readily lent me his sword earlier. After a few inquiries, someone raised their hand.
"That would be me. I should have gone to fetch it myself. My apologies for the trouble."
The man wore a straw hat with an exceptionally wide brim. All that could be seen beneath it were his rather handsome features and, for a man, unusually long brown hair. Beyond that, one could only tell that he was quite young.
"Not at all. Thanks to you, I was able to complete the match safely. I am grateful."
"Think nothing of it. You're no petty thief, so lending my sword for a moment was hardly a burden."
He seemed to have a straightforward, cheerful disposition. As he set down his cup, I returned the sword to him. Sheathing it, he glanced at me and spoke.
"That was a spar that brought me joy to watch."
"You flatter me—"
"A fellow who has forgotten even basic courtesy deserves a beating to come to his senses. Watching that ten-year-old lump of indigestion get flushed out felt like a complete rebirth."
Ah. So it wasn't about skill or anything of the sort. It was simply satisfying. So that was it. As expected, that fellow's conduct had not been that of an ordinary righteous sect member. Otherwise, this man would not have spoken so cuttingly about him.
"Don't dwell too much on his rudeness."
He poured me a cup of water and handed it over. The moment I accepted it, he dropped a thin rod into the cup. It was a silver rod. Was he openly assuming I would be wary of anything he offered? He was more forthright than I had imagined.
He removed the rod from the cup and continued.
"What he said wasn't entirely wrong, but we don't endorse his way of thinking or his beliefs. Rather, as you said, many were displeased by his reckless remarks."
"Claiming to represent the righteous path when he isn't even the Wulin Alliance Leader? That's a joke that isn't even funny."
As he spoke, he looked at me again. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly—had he smiled?
I asked him one thing.
"You said what he said wasn't entirely wrong. Might I ask which part was correct?"
"Suspicion. Or rather, scrutiny."
He answered briefly.
"Half the people here would find it difficult to receive an invitation on their own merits. The Changcheon Sword Family is a place of that stature. Yet you came here truly alone, so it is only natural that people would feel both discomfort and scrutiny."
"Well, there won't be anyone doing that now."
"Why is that?"
He shrugged as if it were obvious, as though wondering why I even asked. Then, seeing that I genuinely didn't know, he smiled with amusement.
"Because you are strong."
A truly straightforward answer.
"I'm not talking about your current strength. I'm talking about your future potential. Reaching first-class in at most four or five years, and wielding a sword technique that could be called a divine art with a sword you've never held before, nearly to perfection!"
He spoke with pure admiration.
"The term 'the greatest talent under heaven' was made for you, and 'a genius seen once in a millennium' is a phrase meant for you."
"I've never thought my talent was inferior to others, but... if I had been ten years old, I never could have surpassed you. I would have struggled just to follow the sword."
As if reminiscing about the past, he tilted his head, then praised me while calling himself ashamed.
"Does that much really wash away your discontent?"
Yet those compliments fell far short of resolving my question. When I asked again, he countered with a question of his own.
"Do you not have a sense of what it means to be the greatest talent under heaven?"
I nodded plainly. Because I truly didn't. What would being the greatest talent under heaven even accomplish when I was still so weak?
"It seems you're quite far from politics, just like before. I should have considered that. My apologies."
Bowing his head slightly as he lifted his hat in a gesture of apology, he explained.
"Most of the renowned figures in the current Murim are advanced in age. Especially the Ten Venerables of the Wulin Alliance—they are even older. Their era will likely not last another fifty years."
He was right. The Ten Venerables of the Wulin Alliance, including the Taiji Sword Lord, Pae-jon, and the Absolute Sword Duke, were all old. In fact, one of them, the Huashan Sword Lord, would die within ten years. The others would not be much different.
"Then who will fill their places? Naturally, the experts of the next generation."
Just as water flows to fill an empty space in a river, it was an inevitable principle. He said this, then pointed directly at me with his hand.
"You will be there. You will stand at the pinnacle of the next era. I don't know how long it will take, but it won't be long. The world itself is embracing you."
The pinnacle of the next era—that is, the greatest under heaven.
"Given the circumstances, none of us find it strange that you and the Namgung family would form a connection. If anything, we envy the Namgung family. A talent like you might even become part of the Namgung lineage."
Ah. But I am not envious. Not of you personally, but if my family had someone like that, it would only mean more work, which would be troublesome for me. So he added.
In many ways peculiar, but he seemed like a good person.
"My questions must have been bothersome, yet you told me so much. Thank you."
I meant it sincerely. Now that I looked, he had been drinking, and it seemed my curiosity had completely sobered him.
"Might I ask for your name, sir?"
At that, he smiled brightly and said,
"Haha, I am hardly worthy of being called 'sir,' but it pleases my ears to hear it. You probably wouldn't know my name, so if I were to give my alias, I am known in the Murim as the Ghost Dragon (Gwiryong). I am not so great, so there is no need to remember it."
With that, he lifted his hat completely to reveal his face. Light brown hair that reached just past his neck, utterly unkempt and carrying its own wildness. And his eyes, likewise light brown, but with a deep, intense gaze.
"Ghost Dragon..."
Ghost Dragon. Dokgo Mujin. The eldest son and heir of the Dokgo family, who annihilates enemies with the eerie phantom sword of the Dokgo sword art. Usually, the character for "ghost" () is not attached to righteous sect talents. Even if their sword art is ghostly, it would be called phantom or transformation instead. If someone exceptionally earns that name, there are only two reasons: either they desired it themselves, or their life was fundamentally different from that of an ordinary martial artist. Dokgo Mujin was the latter.
Despite being the heir of the Dokgo family, he left the clan and wandered the world. Even after earning the name Ghost Dragon, he did not stay long with his family. In his previous life, he spent a full ten years traveling the Murim. Then...
When the Dokgo family was destroyed along with the rise of the Demonic Cult, he became a clanless patriarch overnight. From that day on, he lived obsessed with slaughtering Demonic Cult members to the point of being called the Demon-Slaying Sword, until he died in a duel against the Soul-Devouring Spear.
A pitiful martial artist. If he had lived just one more year, it would have been a spear, not a sword, that killed him.
"....."
Turning my back to him, I thought to myself. In this life, I hoped that she and I could somehow save him and his family as well.
. . .
Dokgo Mujin picked up a bottle of liquor within reach and poured it into the cup before him. Perhaps because it was expensive, a clear, refined aroma lingered faintly at the tip of his nose. He took a sip and fiddled with his sword with his other hand.
"Truly enviable."
His sword possessed freedom. A freedom unbound by the narrow confines of forms or techniques. If only it were possible, even if it meant wandering the world for a lifetime, Mujin wanted to unfold such a sword with his own hands. He wanted to hold the world in his grasp.
"It seems that realm is regrettably not permitted to me."
Though the liquor was sweet, only bitterness remained in his mouth. Today, he had seen and understood. It was not a realm one could reach through effort alone. How could human thought follow a body and sword moving as one?
"If I cannot do it myself..."
He wanted to at least watch from the side. Fortunately, it seemed the other would walk the path of a Murim warrior. If so, it would not be strange for Mujin to face him.
"Come to think of it, I didn't even ask his name."
How careless. He had given his own alias but not asked for the other's name. He should have naturally offered it. What a stingy junior.
"Well, giving him a name wouldn't be so bad either."
That way, when they met again, he would carry that name. Mujin pondered deeply.
"Sword Python (Geommaeng)—the serpent that becomes a sword."
It was a name for a man who had not yet become a dragon but would soon become one and make his name resound throughout the world. A satisfying name.
"Beneath the southern sky, a hidden dragon once lived."
But that, too, would end today. People from all over the world had witnessed his majesty. The Murim would likely buzz with talk of him for at least a month. Anticipating that, Mujin emptied the last drop from the bottle.
"I have high expectations. Sword Python. I wonder what path you will walk when you step into the world."
Whether it would be the path of righteousness or that of a heretic.
".... Though it is merely my wish, I hope your era arrives as soon as possible."
Because the so-called righteous path of the current era did not sit well with him at all.