Clash at the Pinnacle of the Martial World (1)
Namgung Jung was stepping out of the Gajujeon.
He had originally planned to head straight to the Jipyeongjeon after parting ways with his youngest brother at the main hall. He had seen the boy in person and even confirmed that he had learned the Yang-ui Simgong. The initial objective had been achieved.
But...
That gaze his youngest brother had shown him just before leaving—it had captivated Namgung Jung.
In that moment, Namgung Jung recalled someone else. A gaze that seemed to dismiss him entirely, fixed solely on some distant horizon.
That was...
The same look he had seen in his eldest brother's eyes.
And so, uncharacteristically, he had rushed ahead without a plan, barging straight into the Gajujeon to propose a proxy duel to their father.
Only now did he realize how anxious he had been, but the water was already spilled.
Namgung Je-cheon would have noticed this erratic behavior from the start. No, he definitely would have.
Thinking back now, showing up at the Manhak Seogo in the first place had been out of character for him.
That smirk from the deputy strategist still lingered in his mind. It was undoubtedly the smile of someone scheming something.
Well, since he had already gone this far, this time he would uncover the source of that odd discomfort he had felt from his youngest brother.
Namgung Jung walked on, steeling his resolve again and again.
* * *
Contrary to Namgung Jung's suspicions, Namgung Je-cheon returned to the Gunsajeon and let out a sigh of relief.
Today was the day the youngest young master was leaving the Manhak Seogo. He had waited at the entrance as a courtesy, only for the second young master to suddenly appear and tell him to leave.
How fortunate that had been.
He had timed it perfectly to boast about his three days of achievements right as the youngest emerged.
In the current situation, what the youngest young master needed most was forces.
No matter how exceptional one's personal martial prowess, that only held true if it was truly otherworldly.
Namgung Je-cheon had no doubt that Namgung Daeso would become such a transcendent warrior, but there simply wasn't enough time yet.
Forces were the way to bridge that gap.
But he had failed.
They carried too heavy a burden on their backs for him to convince them. He couldn't possibly share that load.
Their paths diverged from his own.
Haa...
He didn't have the face to meet the youngest young master now. That was why he had unwittingly sighed in relief when the second young master told him to go.
Now I have no choice but to bet on the youngest young master himself.
I failed. The second young master's personal appearance signaled that something was about to happen.
Whatever it was, forces were absolutely essential.
From here on, the battles wouldn't be between individuals, but between factions.
As a fallback, pulling the lowest-rank warriors from each unit is the best I can do...
It wasn't enough, but it was the best he could think of now.
Namgung Je-cheon began moving his halted hands busily. He dipped his dry brush in ink and swiftly listed out a few names he knew on fresh paper.
He didn't distrust the youngest young master, but three days was far too short.
Black characters filled the white sheet.
Normally, a faint smile would grace Namgung Je-cheon's face in such moments, but today it was utterly desolate.
It had been ages since he last felt such a thick sense of defeat.
* * *
Singui headed straight to the Manhak Seogo the moment he sobered up, but he couldn't find Namgung Daeso.
Hurrying along, Singui recalled his conversation with Namgung Hancheol.
He had been drunk, but he remembered the final words clearly.
'Cheonma.'
The word had lost much of its terror now, but back then, those two characters had plunged the martial world into fear.
Why had Namgung Hancheol mentioned the Heavenly Demon?
This doubt in his heart would be resolved once he met Namgung Daeso.
Singui searched the estate high and low for Namgung Daeso. Then,
There he is.
He spotted Namgung Daeso with some shabby-looking old man.
"What did you just say?"
The old man's tone had turned surprisingly rough, unlike before.
"That you haven't properly learned your martial arts."
"Me?"
"Yes. From a glance, it looks like Wudang arts, but you've only scratched the surface."
"Me?"
"Yes. Even if you wanted to learn Wudang arts, you can't do it so half-heartedly. It'll backfire and hurt your body, Grandpa. Ever heard of qi deviation?"
"Me?"
"That's what I'm saying."
'Does this old man only know how to say 'me?'"
Yet somehow, it felt like 'how dare you' was implied before each 'me?'
I figured I'd give the old man a rough explanation and then take my leave.
"So, don't use half-baked martial arts when pruning. Just cut the branches you need to cut. Got it?"
"You're that youngest young master who just entered the Namgung Clan, right?"
"Yes. And my name's Namgung Daeso, by the way."
"Right. So you're the punk."
"Well... I'm your employer, even if I don't look it. Maybe ease up on the 'punk'?"
"I see. Guess I got too worked up."
Mujikja realized his mistake. It had been a long time.
Hearing it from another person. And from a fresh-faced kid whose head hadn't even fully matured... no, his blood had dried, but he was still short.
Being critiqued on his martial arts by such a brat—really... his lid nearly blew off after ages.
If this were Wudang instead of the Namgung Clan, he'd have summoned the sect leader and all first-generation disciples on the spot and smashed their heads.
Of course, he'd been half-excommunicated, so he couldn't. Back in the day, though. Long ago.
"Guess I'll head out now?"
Then he recalled what the deputy strategist had said before.
'He asked me to become the youngest young master's man. And that youngest is this kid...'
Absurd. He, the Taeguk Sword King, wasn't grinding away at pruning branches in the Namgung Clan, enduring scorn from others, just to meddle in kids' power struggles!
"Wait!"
"I really gotta go. Truth is, I haven't slept in three days. Sleep's hitting me hard now. I got caught up earlier by accident, and my eyelids weigh a ton."
"Ahem. Sorry about that. This old man has a question—just answer one, will you?"
"Sure. One only. No seconds."
"Fine. You said I learned martial arts sloppily, right?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think that?"
The old man's aura sharpened in an instant.
'This is new.'
It felt like facing a battle-hardened martial world veteran.
Even in the supreme Namgung Clan, this aura from a mere pruning old man was excessive.
The old man wore a desperate expression. Whatever his reasons, everyone had their circumstances.
I answered sincerely.
"It's obviously sloppy."
Not that my words were precise. I wasn't some martial arts expert with vast knowledge—it just felt that way.
"Where?"
"The pruning."
The old man spread his arms, showing off the garden he had pruned.
"Where exactly!"
The garden was lush with verdant greenery. The trees were neatly trimmed, daily it seemed, creating a beautiful scene. A few passersby even smiled at the perfected garden.
The old man, proud of his work, curled his lips upward.
But.
"At a glance, it's like a painting—a scenic masterpiece."
"But not to you?"
"Right. Plus, as I said, using half-baked martial arts for landscaping makes it even less efficient."
Mujikja couldn't grasp what this brat was saying at all.
His martial arts foundation was Taeguk. What was Taeguk? Yin-yang this and that, but ultimately harmony.
He had applied Taeguk's subtleties to pruning. These branches extended harmoniously—who could achieve that?
There were two kinds of swords: the life-giving saenggeom and the life-taking sageom.
Mujikja had once been a Taoist. His heart remained so, pursuing the saenggeom his whole life.
That was Wudang's foundation too.
And this brat was denying it. The profound enlightenment embedded in these branches—how could this kid know? Even Namgung elders could barely glimpse it.
"It's excessive."
"What? Excessive?"
It was natural to be flabbergasted. Even the Martial God would get a polite ear at best. Fine, if it were the Martial God, he'd humor it. Pain hurt, after all.
But not for this brat.
"Pruning is about removing the excess to let healthier branches grow. You cut the weaker ones for that. But your pruning lacks nothing—it's all even."
"Isn't it better for the trees to grow evenly and green?"
"Sure. But that's just surface level."
I grabbed a tree and shook it.
Shake, shake.
The tree swayed weakly, its spindly branches rattling violently before snapping off with cracks.
"Even growth is good. But this isn't nature. Even with soil for roots and sunlight from above, this is an artificial space for these trees."
"True enough. A man-made environment, so he infused it with vital energy. To keep them alive.
"Exactly. In nature, your method might be right. There, weak branches get used by animals or eaten by hungry bugs."
Mujikja nodded. The logic held, at least.
"But not here. This garden has only trees. No animals or bugs dare approach. This is Namgung territory."
A place where humans lived, yet no mere beasts dared enter.
"Water flows down. The strong dominate the weak. But if everything's equal?"
"Isn't that good? Everyone thrives evenly."
"No. New competition arises. A new order forms, and unseen lives die in the process. So, boldly cut the weak—for the survivors' sake. Force the order. Hmm... like martial forms."
"Martial forms?"
"Yes. If every stance—one, two, three—is a profound technique, what happens?"
Usually, one form held one profundity, with others as setups.
Mujikja had devoted his life to the martial way, so he caught on.
"It loses value as a form. Just a list of techniques."
"Exactly! Fill lacks with feints, trim excesses for conciseness. Naturally..."
"A path forms for the form. Artificially. And at its end..."
"The profundity."
"So you're saying I'm excessive?"
"Yes. I don't know exactly where or how, but seeing your cuts, it's clear you gave it your all. Even from here, I sense Taeguk's energy in the severed branches. Proof you approached it with true sincerity. But continuing like this will exhaust you. The trees... and you."
"......"
Mujikja was considerably shocked.
-You'll tire yourself out soon.
The words Namgung Hancheol had spat right after defeating him, the Martial God.
He had stayed in the Namgung Clan over ten years to grasp their meaning.
Yet to hear the exact same from this brat? Unthinkable.
A ridiculous hope surged: maybe the answer lay with this kid.
"Then what should I..."
A new voice cut him off.
"Found you, you rascal!"
Mujikja scowled and turned toward the sound.
'Who the hell?'
I turned too.
A familiar face was rushing over, practically running.
"Singui?"
"Yeah! Do you know how long I've been looking for you? What are you doing here!"
"On my way to sleep?"
"What?"
Precisely, I had unwittingly meddled with the pruning grandpa on my way, but that was done now.
I bowed to the pruning grandpa.
"Well, I'll be off. Question answered, right?"
"W-Well, yes, but..."
Once again, Mujikja couldn't finish.
"Hurry up! I need to check your pulse properly."
"But I'm sleepy..."
"I'll prescribe something to knock you right out. You just sleep."
I grinned wide.
"Let's go, then."
A moment later.
"Excessive, huh?"
Mujikja stared at the garden he had once proudly considered his masterpiece.
The greenery was excessively lush.
'Maybe it really is...'
"What are you spacing out for?"
Someone familiar approached Mujikja.
It was an old man with only one arm.