A long silence passed.
Cheon Ryu-yeong took a deep breath to steady himself, then looked at the two.
"I'm not aiming for the lofty realm of a great master. But if, through my best efforts, I can reduce even a little the needless loss of precious lives… that would be enough for me."
"…"
"That alone is enough. Life… is precious to everyone. Of course, I know full well that in the martial world, and on the battlefield, such words are a luxury. But if I, by growing stronger, can save even one person who might otherwise die because of my weakness… I think that's meaning enough."
Pungun stared at Cheon Ryu-yeong with a shocked expression.
Dokgo Seol bit her lip, watching him, then let out a strange sigh and turned her gaze to the window.
Those who live in the martial world live side by side with death. Warriors are always prepared to face it at any moment.
Yet no one truly wishes to die.
That was why Cheon Ryu-yeong's words seared into their hearts like a brand.
Death.
It is a constant fear, yet when the inevitable moment comes, a warrior accepts it with dignity—that is the way of the martial path.
But Cheon Ryu-yeong was saying that even when that moment arrived, he wished to delay it, if only for a little—
and not for himself, but for his comrades.
Seeing him speak not of me, but of us, something stirred and rose inside them.
Without realizing it, Dokgo Seol and Pungun both fell deep into thought.
His words had given them much to ponder—
especially the reason for seeking strength, the very root of that desire.
It shook that foundation to its core, presenting them with a kind of riddle to unravel.
After a moment of quiet that lasted nearly half a turn of the sandglass, Pungun finally spoke.
"Brother… you're truly a good man. One who doesn't fit the martial world at all."
Cheon Ryu-yeong scratched the back of his head.
"Am I…? But what can I do? My fate now is to live in the martial world."
"Then how strong do you actually want to become? Even if you don't dream of being a master, you must have some specific goal."
Pungun asked the question in all seriousness.
Dokgo Seol, who had turned away, now looked back at the two men with interest.
Cheon Ryu-yeong's eyes lit up at Pungun's earnest question.
"Pungun—about as strong as you."
"…!"
Pungun's pupils shook violently.
Seeing his surprise, Cheon Ryu-yeong quickly explained.
"Why so shocked? I just mean that if I could execute the basic stances as perfectly as you, I'd have no regrets. That doesn't require internal energy, after all."
Pungun let out an unreadable sigh, rubbed his face once with a hand, then gave a short laugh before speaking firmly.
"If that's all, then I can help you."
From the side, Dokgo Seol nodded in agreement.
A little training—done consistently—would do him good.
To be honest, Cheon Ryu-yeong's physical condition was terrible.
By ordinary standards, it wasn't bad,
but in the martial world, where he would now have to live, it was at rock bottom.
And while being completely ignorant of swordsmanship was one thing, it wouldn't hurt to at least know how to swing a sword.
As he had said, in a moment of danger, even a single form could be enough to create the chance to survive.
Cheon Ryu-yeong's face brightened.
"Thank you. I knew you'd help me."
"Don't mention it—you'll probably give up soon anyway. But I am curious to see how long you'll last. I'm personally interested in everything about you, Brother."
A mischievous glint danced in Pungun's eyes.
Cheon Ryu-yeong didn't notice it, and replied in an excited tone,
"Hahaha. Even if I can't reach the end, I'll keep whatever I gain along the way."
"Before you start learning swordsmanship, you need to build your stamina."
"Right. I should get stronger physically, too."
When Cheon Ryu-yeong nodded in agreement, Pungun leaned out the window and called,
"Please stop the carriage for a moment."
Without a word, Jo Jeon-hu tugged on the reins.
Creak.
Pungun opened the carriage door and said to Cheon Ryu-yeong,
"Get out."
"Huh?"
Grinning, Pungun said brightly to the bewildered Cheon Ryu-yeong,
"Run. We're starting stamina training."
"R-right now?"
Cheon Ryu-yeong's eyes widened, while Pungun's smile deepened.
"I've never heard of a martial artist starting training at twenty-five. Starting so late, and you still have the luxury to talk like that?"
"…"
"Get out. And run."
"Uh… can't I start after meeting my family? I can't exactly collapse the moment we arrive home."
"Now."
At Pungun's firm tone, Dokgo Seol clutched her stomach, barely suppressing the laughter that threatened to spill out.
But when she saw Cheon Ryu-yeong step down from the carriage with a pitiful expression, she couldn't hold it back any longer.
"Hohoho… Hohoho."
Cheon Ryu-yeong smacked his lips at her laughter.
Pungun, shrugging, said to Dokgo Seol,
"My lady, this is entirely because Brother Cheon wanted it, so please don't misunderstand."
Dokgo Seol nodded.
"Of course. And while you're at it, push him hard. Oh, and you can just call me 'noona.'"
Pungun and Dokgo Seol's eyes met in midair.
In that instant, they shared a common goal.
Cheon Ryu-yeong's intent to learn martial arts was noble.
But his casual declaration to take up martial arts still pricked the pride of warriors.
The two silently resolved to show him just how grueling the path of training truly was.
Thus, Cheon Ryu-yeong's entry into martial arts began as a small act of petty revenge.
Dokgo Mu-yeong and Neung Un-bi sat in the guest reception hall of the Tang Clan, sipping tea as they waited for someone.
The head of the Tang Clan—Poison Hand Tang Cheol-hyeon.
One of the most mysterious figures in the martial world, he was an astonishing ninety-three years old.
Anyone else would have long since retired to a life of comfort, but he remained in full command of the Tang Clan.
Neung Un-bi looked at his empty teacup and swallowed a sigh.
They had already been waiting over two hours for Tang Cheol-hyeon.
Even for a senior of the martial world, this was clearly discourteous.
They had given notice the previous day, received an appointed meeting time—
At the very least, if not greeted in person, one should still keep the promised hour.
Finally, Neung Un-bi turned to Dokgo Mu-yeong, fuming.
"Clan Leader Dokgo, this is too much, isn't it? For me it's one thing, but you—you're the head of the Dokgo Clan, one of the Eight Great Clans…"
Dokgo Mu-yeong, eyes closed and arms folded, gave a wry smile.
He opened his eyes, glanced at the empty teacup in front of him, and replied,
"I don't mind. Elder Tang is my senior of much higher standing, after all."
"Regardless of seniority in the martial world, I am here now as the leader of my clan, for the sake of a formal meeting."
Neung Un-bi's tone was unusually sharp compared to his usual demeanor.
Dokgo Mu-yeong knew the reason well—
the humiliation of being defeated so easily by the Heavenly Demon Sword,
and the crushing sense of loss from losing so many subordinates.
He wanted to offer words of encouragement,
but in the end, this was something Neung Un-bi would have to overcome himself.
As with most things, time would be the best remedy.
"Status aside, the Tang Clan has power. They've earned the right to be proud. That's… the kind of place the martial world is, isn't it? The realm of the strong are revered."
The martial world is a place where only the strong are respected.
At Dokgo Mu-yeong's remark, Neung Un-bi had nothing to say.
In truth, quibbling over ideals and etiquette in the martial world is little more than admitting you are weak.
Strength brings wealth and honor—
and even creates manners where none existed before.
If you want respect in the martial world, you must become strong.
Honor can be fabricated; strength cannot.
The one eternal law of the martial world is strength.
A moment later, the reception room door opened and the middle-aged steward who had shown them in entered.
He set down a teapot of hot water on the table and said,
"Our clan leader wishes to convey his apologies for keeping you waiting so long."
Neung Un-bi looked at him with displeasure.
"Will he have time to meet with us today?"
"Yes. He says he will be here within a quarter of an hour."
Dokgo Mu-yeong smiled at the steward.
"Has something urgent come up?"
The steward scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Another guest arrived unexpectedly…"
At his words, Dokgo Mu-yeong and Neung Un-bi's brows twitched in unison.
Neung Un-bi bit his lip, then spoke.
"What sort of distinguished person would Elder Tang delay a prior appointment to meet?"
The steward bowed his head deeply, unable to answer.
Seeing this, Dokgo Mu-yeong chuckled.
"Hahaha. Looks like we've been directing our irritation at the wrong person. Very well, tell him we will wait. Let him take his time."
The steward, looking relieved, bowed deeply and withdrew.
As soon as he left, Neung Un-bi turned to Dokgo Mu-yeong.
"Who do you suppose it is?"
"Well… how would I know?"
Dokgo Mu-yeong poured tea into Neung Un-bi's cup, then refilled his own.
He changed the subject.
"By now, Young Master Cheon should have arrived in Sahan County."
At the mention of Cheon Ryu-yeong, Neung Un-bi's previously stiff expression brightened immediately.
"Yes, I suppose so. I trust he arrived safely?"
"With the best of my clan's elite assigned to guard him, what trouble could there be? Speaking of which, I never thanked you for letting Seol and Yacha Sword escort him."
Though the Xuanwu Corps had been largely destroyed, Dokgo Seol and Jo Jeon-hu were still officially members of the Martial Alliance's Xuanwu Corps.
Neung Un-bi waved the thanks away.
"Think nothing of it. If I had my way, I'd have gone myself."
"Hahaha, is that so?"
"By the way, I heard that Young Master Cheon has decided to take refuge with your clan. Congratulations. Gaining such talent… I'd say the future of the Dokgo Clan is looking bright."
"Thank you."
The mention of Cheon Ryu-yeong lightened the previously heavy mood in the reception room.
Dokgo Mu-yeong took a sip of tea, then spoke with a worried look.
"Still… I'm concerned about Hero Han."
At those words, a shadow fell over Neung Un-bi's face again.
The Invincible Sword, Han Chu-gwang—
He had awoken three days ago, but had since shut himself away in seclusion.
"Yes… the shock seems to have been great. If he couldn't handle the Black Wolf Lord, then facing the Heavenly Demon Sword—who is said to be even stronger—must feel hopeless. He came all this way, determined to avenge his sect… but to accept that he's a step below the Heavenly Demon Sword—it must be hard."
Neung Un-bi gave a bitter, self-mocking smile.
In truth, he felt no less crushed himself.
But having been so utterly and easily destroyed by the Heavenly Demon Sword, even his will to challenge him had withered.
All that was left was emptiness.
Clasping the teacup tightly in both hands, Neung Un-bi spoke.
"The Heavenly Demon Sword is a formidable man."
Even as he said it, he felt goosebumps rise along his arms.
Just remembering the moment when the Heavenly Demon Sword cut through the Xuanwu Corps' three formations and came at him was enough to send a chill down his spine.
Dokgo Mu-yeong nodded gravely.
"Yes. A very dangerous man."
"That's why Young Master Cheon seems all the more remarkable."
They spoke of Cheon Ryu-yeong and the Heavenly Demon Sword for the better part of two hours before the sound of footsteps came from outside.
As Dokgo Mu-yeong and Neung Un-bi rose to their feet, the door opened and a man entered.
At the front strode a white-haired elder with a faint smile, moving confidently toward the table.
It was the head of the Tang Clan, Poison Hand Tang Cheol-hyeon.
There was a faint, sinister aura about him—typical of one who handled poisons.
Beneath his blunt, square jaw, a thick ash-gray beard grew, and age spots marked his cheeks.
But the most striking part of Tang Cheol-hyeon's body was his hands.
From the fingertips to the elbows, purple and black hues were marbled together, resembling the scales of some grotesque snake.
It was this feature that had earned him the nickname "Poison Hand."
"Forgive me for keeping you waiting so long. I saw the Xuanwu Corps Leader last year, but Dokgo Clan Leader—it's been ten years, hasn't it? You still look well. Ah! I was delayed because I was meeting this young lady."
When Dokgo Mu-yeong and Neung Un-bi saw the one who followed Tang Cheol-hyeon, their eyes widened slightly.
A beautiful woman of twenty-seven with cold eyes.
The Martial Alliance's Right Military Strategist—Ice Phoenix, Mo Yong-rin.
One of the Five Dragons and Three Phoenixes, the elite of the younger generation in the orthodox martial world, and one of the rare few equally versed in both the literary and martial arts.
But as always, even in such cases, there was some leaning toward one side.
If Sword Phoenix Dokgo Seol leaned more toward martial skill, Ice Phoenix Mo Yong-rin leaned toward scholarly talent.
A prodigy of the Mo Yong Clan, she was famous for her perfect memory—able to recall anything she had seen once.
It was said she had memorized nearly three thousand books; there was no need to say more. She was a universally acknowledged genius.
Had she been born male and taken the imperial exams, there was no doubt she would have placed first.
Mo Yong-rin looked at the Dokgo Clan Leader and Neung Un-bi with a faint, icy smile.
She was a cold woman by nature, hence her nickname "Ice Phoenix."
But as they met her glacial gaze and smile, both men felt a vague sense of unease they couldn't quite explain.