The Orthodox Faction Is Peaceful Today, Too

"Come to think of it, the Hwangbo family should have arrived by now, shouldn't they?"

"I'd imagine so, Young Master. They did set out well ahead of us, after all."

"Then that's where we're headed. Dushik — go find them."

"Yes... Youngest! Go find out which inn the Hwangbo family has taken rooms at!"

Some days before, when we had seen the Hwangbo family off at the Paeng estate, a few words had passed between us...

Hwangbo Segwang and I had been formally introduced through Namgung Han, and with that arrangement in hand, we made straight for the inn his family had reserved.

And who should rise to greet me but someone I had never expected in the least — my own sister, Dang Mulin, seated in a corner of the inn with a teacup cradled in her hands. I cocked my head.

"Sis...? What are you doing here?"

"There you are at last. My little brother is competing in the Martial Festival — as his older sister, of course I had to come cheer him on."

"Oh my... has the young lady run away from home, perhaps?"

"It's not as if the Dang Clan is short on people — one missing daughter won't be missed. I did leave a letter for Father, so it should be fine... probably."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Listening to her, a single thought rose unbidden in my mind — honestly, why is it that nobody in the Dang Clan is sane except me?

And it was at that exact moment.

"Ho! Who have we here — if it isn't my old comrade! Truly, the longer the parting, the sweeter the reunion!"

Namgung Han, who until that moment had been asleep in the carriage drooling all over herself, came strolling out from behind me with both arms flung wide—

Pinch—!

"Haha... your idea of a welcome is a touch spirited, don't you think....."

"Just drop dead!"

Watching my sister fling a dagger out of absolutely nowhere, I slipped aside with the practiced ease of a man for whom this was routine, and called for the innboy.

As the saying goes — all the martial arts under heaven flow from Shaolin — and within those ancient grounds, the oldest seat of martial learning in the Central Plains, a handful of warriors still green about the edges had gathered for idle conversation.

"By the way, that mannerless cur should be arriving any time now."

"You mean the Dang Clan's Young Clan Head?"

"Aye... come to think of it — Myeongwol, didn't you say you traveled with him as far as Hebei?"

Myeongwol, who until then had been leaning against a wall on the far side of the room with his eyes closed, eased one eye open at the question. "That I did."

"Then you must have some measure of the man. What's your read? Is he truly as haughty and insolent as the rumors claim — sneering at all the world?"

"Well..."

He let his mind drift back over the past few days... and then a wry chuckle escaped him.

"See for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yourselves when you meet him. Though this much I can vouch for — that talk of his reaching the Peak Realm was no rumor spread for nothing."

"........."

His words dropped the room into a brief, weighted silence.

Grrrk, grrk— The hush was shattered by the unmistakable sound of a man grinding his teeth.

"That wretched bastard — I swear I will trample him beneath my own two hands."

"Ah... well, do as you like."

Watching a Taoist of the Qingcheng Sect bare his hostility toward Dang Muyeong with zero subtlety, the rest of the room nodded along in perfect understanding — save for Mount Hua's representative, who had answered with all the enthusiasm of a man ordering lunch.

"Still — this Dragon-Phoenix Tournament promises to be genuinely entertaining, doesn't it."

As the man who'd spoken traced a smile across his lips—

"This humble monk, too, finds himself looking forward to it... somewhat."

"A pity the Mad Sword will not be taking the stage... and yet — the Paeng Clan, the Hwangbo Clan, that notorious Dang Clan, and the other great families besides. Viewed one way, is this not the future leadership of the Orthodox faction, gathered all in one place?"

"So we are not even worth a passing glance, I gather?"

A woman interjected, a thread of irritation woven through her voice.

He promptly waved her off with a shake of his head.

"That is not what I meant... In truth, have we not crossed hands any number of times already? I only meant that fresh martial arts are what I hunger for — so kindly do not twist my words."

"Hmph!"

The woman blew a snort through her nose, whereupon a bald man with the smile of a kindly uncle stepped into the fray.

"Come, come, everyone — let us at least be warm among ourselves. With the enemy standing plain before us, infighting would avail us nothing."

"An 'enemy,' you say... and whom, pray tell, do you count as that enemy?"

"That is... a fine question....."

The sight of the baldy beaming away wrung a snort out of the man who'd been pining for the Mad Sword, and he drawled:

"In any case — this Dang Muyeong. I do hope I am granted the chance to verify with these hands of mine whether he is truly fit to sneer the words 'the great Nine Sects and One Gang.'"

"ACHOO!!!"

"Aigoo... you've got some grudge against me, have you?" Namgung Han — ambushed mid-meal — peeled the cucumber slice off her face and grumbled.

"Sorry, sis. Someone must've been talking about me somewhere..."

"...'Sis'? Muyeong — did I just hear you right?"

"Ah... er — I mean — hey, Namgung! My bad, sorry 'bout that."

"...'Namgung'?"

"My lord, do have some of this as well."

"The two of you aren't even married yet! Since when did my little brother start answering to 'my lord'?"

"Miss, we are to be wed soon enough anyway, so please don't let it trouble you..."

"Who... who are you calling 'Miss'?!!!"

In an atmosphere that could curdle even an iron stomach, I kept shoveling rice into my mouth.

"My, my... the Young Master dines with three lovely ladies at once. Aigoo, how I envy him."

Thwack—!

"AAAAGH!!! My shin....."

So yes — there did exist one Dang Giyeong who simply had to voice a perfectly useless observation and collect his beating for it.

"San — don't look over there. There is not one soul of sound mind in that corner."

"As you say, brother. Though — why aren't you riding in the Paeng family carriage..."

"Mm... there were... circumstances. Nothing good ever comes of knowing, so do not pry."

"Paeng Jun! What in the world happened to you — you're a changed man."

"Segwang. I am begging you. Shut your mouth."

There were also those who worked hard to keep their eyes anywhere but on that tableau — a spectacle unsettling even to witness from a distance.

"Setting that aside — when are the Moyong and Yang clans due to arrive?"

"Moyong is a fair distance off, so they'll be running late; the Yang clan should reach us sometime this evening, I should think..."

"Convenient, then. A few of our own haven't turned up yet either — by the time Moyong gets here, everyone should be accounted for."

"It remains a decision I am none too fond of, but..."

Paeng Jun drummed his fingers on the table as he answered the scowling Hwangbo Segwang.

"Can it be helped? The clan heads have already rendered their verdict..."

Then he turned his gaze toward where Shaolin stood and went on.

"Things have grown ugly in the murim of late... The Demon Cult is stirring, the Unorthodox are pooling their strength into a single fist — and those bastards still haven't come to their senses, too busy squabbling over sides."

"So if it comes to it, this is our failsafe for when the Orthodox tears itself apart — that the idea?"

"Well... it is merely prudent to plan for the worst. And truthfully, one could say that raising the great clans' voice is necessary if only to keep the Orthodox faction from shattering."

"That scheme came out of that girl's head? She's got more audacity than her face would ever suggest..."

At the end of Hwangbo Segwang's gaze sat Zhuge Baekhwa, smiling without a care in the world as she pressed food to her beloved's lips.

"My lord, say 'aah.' Aaaah~"

"That's enough... I'm full."

An innocent face pure enough to grace a painting — and behind it, a blueprint for clubbing the Nine Sects and One Gang across the back of the skull. At the sight of her, he could only shake his head.

A few days' grace remained before the Martial Festival opened, and since arriving at Mount Song I had passed my hours in quiet contemplation of myself.

"Haah... so in the end, Penetrating Force is about all I've got to work with."

With my options for the Dragon-Phoenix Tournament rationed this severely, I was rubbing my eyes raw with irritation.

Blood arts, to work wonders? One misstep and I'd be hauled off to some cell beneath the Murim Alliance before I could blink. Ganggi? The finals might forgive it — but flash it in the early rounds and I'd find myself granted a one-on-one audience with either the Alliance Leader or the Abbot of Shaolin. And poison? I'd be wearing some 'Venomous Serpent' sobriquet by nightfall, well on my way to becoming the second coming of Dang Mulin.

Which left me exactly one card. And even Penetrating Force was hardly innocent — it, too, worked by touching my opponent, seizing the flow of their blood, and gouging up their insides.

"How the hell would they ever catch that? A Profound Realm master couldn't — even the Profound Realm's own granddaddy crawling out of the ground would be none the wiser."

Absolutely certain it would never be detected, I was sketching out, more or less, how I intended to fight in this Dragon-Phoenix Tournament.

Knock, knock—

"My lord, may I come in?"

At the sound of Baekhwa's voice through the door, I answered, "Yeah, come on in," and she eased the door open and slipped inside.

"What brings you to my room first thing in the morning?"

"The weather is so lovely today that I thought I'd take a walk nearby... and I wondered — might you care to join me?"

She asked it with both cheeks dyed red, her hands clasped tight together.

"Sure. Let's meet at the inn entrance once I've wrapped things up. I'll get ready and come down myself."

She looked so damn cute that I agreed on the spot.

Once she had slipped back out, I snorted a quiet laugh, threw on the nearest clothes at hand, and made my way downstairs.

"Young Master, where might you be off to? Could it be, by any chance—"

"Baekhwa and I are stepping out for a walk. If anyone comes looking, I'm not here."

"Do have a wonderful time, sir!"

"Baekhwa — shall we head out, then?"

"Yes....."

Hand in hand with her, I walked out of the inn — leaving Dang Giyeong grinning like an idiot at our backs.

And so the two of us wandered the market hand in hand...

"Wow... my lord, isn't this just lovely?"

"It's alright, I guess? Later I'll have a merchant guild fetch you something far finer."

"Ahem....."

We had been browsing a stall that sold ornaments and trinkets. The owner standing behind his wares, for his part, made little effort to hide his discomfort...

We drifted past the street food stalls as well...

"My lord, do you like potatoes?"

"Potatoes aren't really my thing... You like potatoes? Want me to buy you one?"

"No... I don't much care for potatoes either."

"Land all ten and I'll hand over something truly fine!"

"Ooh! My lord, shall we try that? They give you that if you hit every one!"

We had even stopped by a stall promising all manner of prizes for pegging balls at a target.

Of course, being catastrophically hopeless with thrown weapons as I was...

"Throwing stuff is just about the one thing I'm dead last at in the entire Dang Clan."

"Oh....."

Needless to say, we did not play.

"You there! Draw your sword this instant!!!"

A commotion had broken out somewhere ahead — a fight, by the sound of it.

"Baekhwa, feel like watching a fight?"

"A fight?"

"Yeah! Someone up ahead is shrieking for someone to draw a blade. Let's go have a look!"

"I'm not particularly keen on that sort of thing... H...huh?"

Her hand still locked in mine, I strode briskly toward the ruckus.

"Tch... what a racket. You're not worth drawing my sword for — come at me or slink off, your choice."

"You insolent bastards — do you have any idea who I am... How dare you!"

A man dressed in finery that announced his wealth at a single glance was roaring himself hoarse, veins practically bulging, at a man and a woman clad in dark martial uniforms.

Since nothing in this world entertains quite like other people's brawls, I elbowed through the crowd, hoping against hope that steel would be bared any moment now...

"Hm? My lord, that person is one of the Moyong clan's—"

As Baekhwa pointed toward the quarrel and named the Moyong clan, yesterday's briefing resurfaced, and I muttered under my breath.

"Ah... if he's Moyong, he's one I'll be sitting across from at the council before long. But he's brawling in the middle of the street?"

Anyway — watching a man who would soon be lashed to me under the banner of the Seven Clans Alliance picking a two-on-one quarrel, I scratched my head and said to Baekhwa:

"Guess I'd better go lend him a hand, then?"

I threaded my way out of the crowd, slung an arm around the man's shoulders, and hollered at the pair:

"Hey! Even up the numbers, would you? Ganging up two on one like a pack of cowards — that's just shameful, no?"

"Wh...who—?"

The man, abruptly shoulder-to-shoulder with a complete stranger, could only gape at me—

"My lord! The Moyong clan is over there!"

At her voice behind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me, I released his shoulder with perfect composure, strolled over to the pair instead, and waggled a finger at him.

"Hey! Let's make it three against one. A martial artist has to stomach this much unfairness if he ever wants to grow."

A dead silence swept the surroundings.