A Vacant Seat Among the Seven
In the martial world, those who wield the blade outnumber the stars in the sky.
Men who grip a sword from the day they are born and will do anything—literally anything—to grow stronger. Even among such people, there exists a circle they dare not speak of lightly.
THE SEVEN GREAT FAMILIES
Seven houses, winnowed from hundreds—thousands—of contenders. They are, quite simply, of a different order.
Among the sects it is the Nine Great Sects; among the martial houses, only the Seven Great Families shine with that particular brilliance. Even children in mountain valleys chant the saying as they run about. And it is not only children. The judgment of the martial world itself is no different—you need only look at the list renewed every year.
Gangho Seoyeollok
The three hundred strongest in the jianghu.
Even when this work ranks the most delicate matter of all—martial prestige—there is little serious outcry among the people of the rivers and lakes. Most of those listed belong to the Nine Great Sects or the Seven Great Families. The rankings make sense. From first place to three hundredth, merely to appear on that roll is considered an honor; that so many of the names belong to those two circles is something even men who know their way around a blade will nod at without argument.
Cheonoe-cheon—Heaven Beyond Heaven. For one of those who are called, quite literally, the sky above the sky to be connected to the power they themselves were hunting…
“……”
“……”
“……”
Silence settled over the conference hall of the Seoho Gwak Family.
The hall masters exhaled, brows furrowed in thought—until one of them broke the quiet.
“Family Head, is it the Sichuan Tang Family?”
Wi Jong-geuk, Leader of Biryongdang, asked with a spark of eagerness. Someone else started to speak.
“If it’s those damned Namgung—”
“We don’t know.”
The answer that came back was rather deflating. Even so, Gwak Seo-ryong continued without any particular change of expression.
“The information Elder Brother obtained came from a spy who had been scouting a branch of the Murim Alliance and was fleeing. After they deciphered the cipher on the note he carried, they found nothing further.”
“Which faction did the spy belong to?”
“That, too, is unknown. Elder Brother said that once the fight turned against him, the man took his own life at once.”
“I… see.”
“However.”
Every eye fixed on him as the name left Gwak Seo-ryong’s mouth.
“What they did learn is that the organization tied to the family named on that note is the Blood Cult.”
“……So not the Sun and Moon Cult.”
“……The Blood Cult.”
“……Of all things.”
Several of them let out deep sighs.
The Blood Cult. Like the Sun and Moon Cult, it was one of the forces they suspected of being bound up with the family’s long-standing grudge. But they had only recently identified this one, and their information on it was sparse.
“If it’s the Blood Cult, we have almost nothing. Guessing which of the great houses they’re tied to from that alone will be—”
“This will be our first real lead.”
Steward Yu cut in over Wi Jong-geuk’s words. Ever since the last meeting, he had seemed oddly determined to set himself against the Biryongdang Leader.
“Since we can’t identify the family from Blood Cult intelligence, we reverse the process—find the family first, then use that to pry open information on the cult. The real question is how we locate that house… and isn’t there only one road open to us?”
Steward Yu rattled on as if he were eager to leave a strong impression. Gwak Seo-ryong regarded him for a moment, then slowly nodded and spoke.
“You all know. One seat has fallen vacant among the Seven Great Families of the Central Plains.”
For an instant the room held its breath.
“Our Seoho Gwak Family will take that seat.”
“!”
The reactions varied. Some nodded in agreement; others tilted their heads; still others carefully voiced dissent.
“Family Head. Simply joining the assembly of the Seven Great Families requires a vast sum of gold. And the monthly dues would, as things stand, place a considerable burden on our house.”
“A fair point.”
“Then why—”
“But if the words ‘Seven Great Families’ stand before our name, the tangible and intangible gains will be considerable as well. The value of the commissions that come our way will rise of their own accord, and patrons will appear who wish to back us. Will they not?”
Gwak Seo-ryong answered not with rank but with reason. Another hall master stepped forward.
“As I understand it, in the admission review, rumor of the martial strength of a family’s members carries considerable weight…”
“You mean the Gangho Seoyeollok.”
“Ah—not only that.”
“Three of us, myself included, already have our names on the list. If we add two more and make five, that should be enough, should it not?”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“At least one of them will place his name within the year, I expect. And even now, that boy could take a seat at the bottom of the roll without much trouble.”
He meant the eldest, Jeong-pal.
Gwak Jeong-pal, the first son, who had been wandering the martial world and then, under the pretext of a year’s study, had been sent into the Shaolin Temple on Mount Song as a secular disciple. Even as a secular disciple, it was still Shaolin. That would weigh positively when the rankings were calculated.
“If it is the First Young Master… he ought to have been listed long ago.”
A hall master who remembered the eccentric but powerful Gwak Jeong-pal nodded in acceptance—and then Steward Yu spoke again, his tone anxious.
“Family Head.”
“If we do this, we will be competing with the Jusan Baek Family.”
“Most likely.”
“Then… we will have to win the coming duel.”
The Jusan Baek Family already had a duel with them scheduled not far off. That they were eyeing the last empty seat among the Seven Great Families was no particular secret. Word had even begun to circulate that the Seven Great Families themselves regarded the Jusan Baek Family as a strong candidate.
“Winning will leave a better impression than losing, at any rate.”
“I am concerned.”
Steward Yu’s expression turned complicated.
“Can the Second Young Master… truly defeat that man, Baek Jung-hyeok?”
The vast estate of the Seoho Gwak Family.
Among the tall pavilions that lined the grounds, with gardens and ponds visible in the distance, there stood one building in a quiet corner.
The pavilion of the Second Young Master, Gwak Yeon.
『 Iyeongak 』
A thick layer of dust veiled the plaque above the gate.
Unlike the pavilions of his brothers—where guests, clients, and affiliated martial artists came and went without pause—almost no one ever sought this place out.
Which was exactly why…
…it was a perfect spot to finish off leftover liquor…
Cough!
…someone woke with a rasping cough.
“Ugh… damn.”
From a floor littered with empty bottles, a face scored with old blade scars rose into view.
“Aah, this is really—”
“You’re awake.”
“Y-Y-Young Master?”
At Gwak Yeon’s voice, Cheon Gang snapped fully alert. Yesterday’s memories flashed through him like a bolt of lightning; he scrambled up from the floor and cast wild looks around the room.
“Over here.”
“Huh?”
Gwak Yeon stood by the window.
And the sight was strange. Sunlight, piercing the dust-choked air like an arrow, fell across Gwak Yeon’s face—and it seemed almost to glitter.
“You look… all right?”
“Do I.”
“No, you look completely fine.”
For someone who had been on a drinking binge with him the night before, he was far too intact.
“I never knew Your Young Master’s capacity for liquor was this strong.”
Gwak Yeon hadn’t known either.
He had not expected to be this unharmed.
Yesterday, until they ran into the men from Honcheonbang, he had deliberately paced himself. Unlike Cheon Gang, who had been drinking as if to die from the start, Gwak Yeon had only touched the cups lightly. After they killed the black-path thugs, once Cheon Gang had half-roused and they could drink in peace, he had poured the wine down freely—and discovered something he had never expected.
Another ability… I suppose.
He could break down the effects of alcohol.
And the way it worked was entirely different from anything he had known in his previous life.
It wasn’t internal energy.
People often said that true masters never got dead drunk. Their bodies held almost none of the turbid energy that ordinary martial artists accumulated, and if they felt themselves starting to go under, they simply drove the liquor out with their inner force.
But what Gwak Yeon experienced was a little different.
Blood.
The blood that ran through his entire body had burned away the intoxication the wine would have brought. Whether “burned” was the right word he could not say—but the moment he felt anything worse than a mild buzz, he was clear-headed again of his own accord.
The body of a vampire.
Discovering abilities he had not known he possessed was, in its way, quietly entertaining. While that thought was still in his mind—
“Young Master. This water—may I…?”
“Drink it all. I brought it for you.”
“Th-thank you!”
After a careful glance, Cheon Gang seized the pitcher on the table and drained it in great gulps.
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve with a satisfied “Haa,” then laughed awkwardly and spoke.
“Whew. I thought I was going to die.”
“Feeling better?”
“Yes! I’m fine now! Thanks to you, I had a good time, Young Master!”
“I enjoyed it too—got to eat a lot of good food thanks to you.”
“To be honest, I got so drunk later that I don’t remember everything… but the side dishes at the last place were the best, weren’t they? The one Your Young Master recommended.”
“I thought so too.”
“Wow. I didn’t know Hangzhou had a place like that. I’ll have to remember it. The name was… the name was…”
“Jeowun-banjeom.”
“Ah, that’s it! I remember the owner suddenly wiping down the signboard while we were drinking.”
“Well—not entirely out of nowhere.”
That was how it had gone.
Yesterday, while they ate and drank together, Gwak Yeon had been so astonished by how good the food was that he had asked:
— By the way, Master, these noodles are the best I’ve had in this life. What’s the name?
— They’re called Jeowun Noodles. A specialty of my own secret recipe.
— Jeowun Noodles?
— Yes. Same as the plaque hanging outside… ah.
— There was a plaque?
— Well… the dust… seems it had piled up rather thickly.
The owner had looked around his dust-choked shop with a bleak expression. That was the truth of it. Harassed so relentlessly by Honcheonbang, he had gradually lost the will even to run the place, and dust had settled so thick that the characters on the signboard itself had become unreadable.
— It doesn’t matter now, does it?
— You’re right at that.
— Shake off everything that’s past.
— Thank you. First thing, I’d better wipe the dust off the plaque.
— Ah—let me help.
— Good heavens! Th-there’s no need for that!
— It’s a simple enough job.
After a brief tussle, Gwak Yeon had taken the plaque down, and the owner had scrubbed away every bit of dust that had clung to it.
— So this is what the original plaque looked like. The calligraphy is excellent.
— Yes! Jeowun-banjeom—where happiness accumulates!
They had restored the original name. Once the dust was gone, the clean plaque had struck anyone who had tasted the house’s noodles with a force they would never forget.
That was how it had been.
He was certain he remembered it that way.
“……We should wipe ours too!”
“What?”
“Even so, the plaque on the Second Young Master of the Seoho Gwak Family’s pavilion ought to be cleaner than a noodle shop’s, shouldn’t it?”
Cheon Gang’s face was oddly heated—the liquor still not fully out of him. However much of yesterday he actually remembered, the clean plaque at Jeowun-banjeom had clearly left an impression.
“Well… for now…”
“While we’re at it, how about today? There won’t be just one or two people coming all this way to see my Young Master!”
“Hm.”
Gwak Yeon folded his arms. Whatever he was thinking, he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.
“Shall we, then?”
“Yes! We’ll clean the plaque till it shines! And tidy this place up too!”
“Right!”
“They say strike while the iron’s hot—how about we wipe it right now?”
“Good!”
“From now on people will be thronging this pavilion—if the plaque’s filthy, it’ll cost Your Young Master face!”
“True enough!”
“Well then!”
“Well then!”
“…?”
“…?”
Cheon Gang stared blankly at Gwak Yeon for a moment.
“Ah. I’m the one who has to do it, aren’t I.”
The look of sudden realization crossed his face. Scratching his head, he started for the door—
“J-just wait a little, please. I’ll fetch something to dust with and start cleaning right away.”
“We’ll go get it together, idiot.”
“Sir?”
“Am I supposed to stand here staring into space?”
“Th… that’s not what I—Y-Your Young Master, yourself?”
“Let’s go.”
Leaving the flustered Cheon Gang behind, Gwak Yeon stepped out of the pavilion first.
In truth, he had just heard movement outside. It had been soft enough that Cheon Gang had not noticed it at all—which meant whoever made it had some skill.
Don’t tell me.
At the same moment he had heard the soft sound of paper falling. Remembering everything that had happened yesterday, Gwak Yeon had a fair idea of who the owner of that sound might be.
Bang!
He pushed open the pavilion door—and saw a letter, laid neatly on the steps.
So.
He actually sent it.
A letter detailing how dangerous Baek Jung-hyeok of the Jusan Baek Family truly was.
And the sender was, of course, the young pup they had met at the first tavern yesterday.