Sawangjeon, Countdown (4)
Never before had I felt my focus so sharp. My breathing was smooth, my body light. My mind was clear, and I could see exactly where and how to strike. The optimal state. I took my first step.
"You've grasped Geumgang Budong."
The Geumgang's single step. Father recognized it the instant he saw it. Focus, focus! I shoved all stray thoughts from my mind.
I can see it!
Where my next step should land. No hesitation—I moved without thinking. That made it incredibly fast. Not pondering then acting, but moving on pure instinct.
The start is disrupting his stance.
Everything up to now had been perfect. But Father showed no openings whatsoever. I couldn't get a read on where to attack. Still, I knew exactly how to handle an opponent like this.
If there's no opening, make one.
I closed in until I was practically pressed against him. Then I stomped—crunch!—on what I figured was the weakest spot on the ground. The floor dipped ever so slightly. Naturally, anyone standing on it would wobble too. Even a great warrior hailed as a martial god couldn't dodge that.
I quickly looked up to check Father.
'Huh?'
Crunch. The floor on the opposite side—where he stood—was caving in. I couldn't help but blurt out my admiration at that move.
"Whoa... there's a way like that too?"
I hadn't thought of it. I'd figured the only escape would be something like wall-walking.
"That's 20 gold taels for the floor repair you just wrecked."
In that instant, every bit of focus I'd built shattered. Regaining my composure was now my job.
"Of course I'll pay up."
My eyes twitched nonstop. Partly from the 20 gold taels, but mostly because Father was curling his pinky finger.
Thwack! It struck with multicolored sword qi.
'Urk!'
I'd clearly blocked the sword qi, but the heavy impact transmitted all the way to my hand gripping the sword. If I kept holding on, the shock would travel up my arm and into my body. My body, tempered at Shaolin to be tougher than ever, still couldn't deflect this.
I let go of the sword.
Whirrrrl—crunch.
The blade spun wildly before embedding in the ceiling.
"Add 10 more gold taels."
Clatter. Debris rained from the ceiling, smashing a celadon vase below.
Crash!
"Tough luck. Of all things, that one breaks."
"Wh-what... is that?"
Losing my sword was shocking, but the vase's identity mattered more.
"A masterpiece by the Central Plains' finest potter. Worth 500 gold taels on its own."
Thud—a sinking feeling washed over me. Then I saw Father curling his pinky again.
"Add 500 gold taels."
Run! Namgung clan jailbreak—do it now! Any more sparring, and my life was over!
As I scrambled to move, ding!!! A massive ring echoed in my skull.
What the—?
Split-second. In the blink of an eye. I blacked out.
When I came to, I was inexplicably flying through the air. My head throbbed like it was splitting, so yeah, I'd taken a hit there. No strength left in my body. Using what little I had, I craned my neck to see where I was headed.
"Ho!"
Father admired the sight.
"I hit you just hard enough to knock you out, but your durability's surprisingly good."
True, I wasn't lacking in that department. How many times had my head been bashed in? Still, this kind of pain was new. I desperately clung to my fracturing mind and fading consciousness.
There was one reason I endured with unyielding spirit. My body wasn't crashing into the floor—it was soaring through the air.
Sure enough! Right where I'd land was a celadon even more vibrant than the broken one.
Not that one!
Our old man would sell his kids to recoup that cash. At least 1,000 gold taels. Shatter that, and forget jailbreak—my whole life was done.
Right, Namgung Daeso! Stake your life on this move! I twisted my body like a shrimp with all my might, slamming toward the floor.
Crackcraaaash. The ground shredded, shards flying.
"40 gold taels."
My whole body ached, and yeah, 40 more gold taels added, but my heart was at ease. The fancy celadon was safe. No strength left to hold on.
"That one's sturdy, though. I aimed you right at it on purpose, but you went and saved it yourself... Still lacking, my youngest."
Uh...!
I should pass out! I have to! Why are tears flowing?
Ah, damn, my money!
"Don't worry. I'll bill Cheonryongjeon separately for everything you've broken. I won't hold you personally accountable."
Same difference, you jerk! The limit hit. Thud. My head dropped to the floor. Eyes slowly closing.
That was when.
"It was amusing enough, so I'll tell you this much."
...Gotta hear it. That's 570 gold taels worth.
"Your internal energy being different from others' is natural. But you could say it's not different at all. Just keep this one thing in mind. With your current mindset, you absolutely..."
Uh... gotta hear it...
This is probably the key part...
Looking down at the fainted Namgung Daeso, Namgung Hancheol finished.
"...cannot win."
That was Namgung Hancheol's cold verdict. From Namgung Daeso's perspective, maybe it was better he hadn't heard it.
But even Namgung Hancheol couldn't have foreseen one variable in his wildest dreams. And it was enough to overturn every evaluation so far. Honestly, it was weird he hadn't noticed. Even the person involved, Namgung Daeso, hadn't realized it yet.
* * *
I opened my eyes.
"You're awake, young master?"
Where am I? I was definitely in the patriarch's quarters...
"You scared me so bad earlier. Just thinking about it makes me tremble."
The familiar voice made me turn. It was Sinyejang. She looked just as I remembered after so long.
Ah, right. This is my room.
"Oh, yes. The patriarch left a letter for me to deliver when you woke."
Sinyejang handed it over.
"Ugh."
I tried to sit up and take it, but a sharp pain stabbed the front of my head, making me reel. She jumped up and eased me back down.
"Doctor Sinui said you need at least two days of bed rest. If you'd been even a bit off, your skull would've cracked—you should've seen him hopping mad."
That's when I got it. Why everyone bolts at the sight of our old man. One flick from his pinky, and I... nearly died.
Haha! Laughter bubbled up. Oh, right—what'd she say earlier? The letter.
"Sinyejang, read it for me."
"It's from the patriarch himself for you—how could I dare?"
"Of course you can. You're Sinyejang."
I placed her hand on my forehead. Warm. Probably what it'd feel like if Mom were here stroking it.
She dampened a cloth from a nearby basin and laid it on my forehead. Now cool.
"I soaked the cloth in water. Doctor Sinui said it'll heal faster this way."
Then Sinyejang unfolded and read the letter. When she finished, I stared blankly like I'd been dumped.
"Hee-hee, what a sight."
"This?"
"Yes."
"Haa... Got it. Leave me be—I need more sleep."
"Yes. I'll come back later to change the cloth."
After she left, I closed my eyes. Summarizing the letter:
-550 gold taels after treatment costs. I'll collect next time. If it's not ready, two flicks.
Wait, but! Didn't Father start it? No, was I the one who drew first? Whatever. Sleep first. Dunno if my skull really nearly cracked, but my head hurt like hell.
A bit later, Sinyejang returned with a basin of cold water. Snore snore. Namgung Daeso slept peacefully. If not for the massive lump on his forehead, it'd be a beautiful scene of homecoming rest.
Sinyejang changed the cloth on his forehead. Seeing how much he'd grown in just a year apart, she felt the relentless flow of time anew. Not long ago, he'd toddled around giggling, "Hee-hee, I pooped again!"
Namgung Daeso slept so deeply there was no sign of waking. Unlike Ilhyang's family, Sinyejang had spent her life at Namgung Sega. Her previous lady was Namgung Daeso's mother—the clan's sole matriarch.
-Soso, take care of this child.
Sinyejang had received the newborn Namgung Daeso too.
-My lady! Don't say such weak things! The patriarch will be here soon.
-Soso, I know my body. And even he asks me sometimes. He never really laughs without me.
"The young master truly takes after his lady."
The frail matriarch of Namgung Sega from his childhood knew no martial arts. Yet the martial-obsessed clan accepted her openly because she never flinched before Namgung Hancheol. Far from it—she smiled brightly. Without agenda or ulterior motive. Fragile as a flower on a cliff's parched edge, yet strong enough to keep its color there.
Because of her, Namgung Hancheol occasionally smiled. But after her death, no one saw him laugh again. Ten years passed. Then Namgung Daeso appeared.
Sinyejang recalled yesterday. The moment her heart nearly stopped.
* * *
Cheonryongjeon was rowdy for the first time in ages. Ilseon Dosa and Mujikja had returned from their long journey. Daytime, yet each held a bottle of liquor—smuggled from Shaolin when Ilseon Dosa left.
The door opened, someone entered.
"The liquor you wanted is here."
"Gah!"
"Kekeke—cough!"
"Ack!"
Choking sounds erupted everywhere. Spotting Sinyejang from the kitchen, he flung Namgung Daeso—dangling from his hand. Rough action, but Daeso floated gently through the air, landing softly in her arms.
Namgung Hancheol glanced at Daeso in her hold, then reached out casually to the side. Where Mujikja happened to be.
Fuck!!!
Mujikja thought it was his life's greatest crisis. He racked his brain fast. Think! What does this gesture mean? Or you're dead now! Overthinking maybe, but that guy was capable.
Right! He mentioned liquor right on entering!
Mujikja shoved a fresh bottle into his hand. A faint smile flickered on Namgung Hancheol's face, then vanished. Satisfied, he strolled out.
"Ask Yi Han to treat him. Mention I said so—he'll do it without complaint."
After, exhaustion hit, so they decided to rest easy today.
* * *
Stroking the sleeping Namgung Daeso's head, Sinyejang said, "Looks like the patriarch really cherishes you, young master."
That night, the official Sawangjeon invitations from Namgung Sega went out nationwide.
Two days later, all Murim received one.
[Sawangjeon Invitation]
1. This Sawangjeon is hosted by Namgung Sega.
2. Date: Same as always.
3. No limit on participants.
4. Age: 15 to 20.
5. Main bracket: 64 per event this year.
6. Note: Namgung Sega enters only two. Namgung So and Namgung Daeso.
7. Above, Martial God Namgung Hancheol [seal]
8. Complaints? Come settle it in person.
Blunt phrasing that subtly scratched at nerves. But recipients shrugged it off. No time for tone—they fixated on the sixth point. Enough to shake all Murim.