"Ugh… uhh?"
"Is the pain severe? You're breaking into a cold sweat…"
"Mm? Ah… n-no, I'm fine."
Only then did Jang Uibo realize how he must have looked. Hastily, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
Seeing Seol Ang-geum's worried gaze fixed on him, Jang Uibo quickly tried to change the subject.
"Ahem… well then… where is the young master now?"
"Who knows? From what I've heard, he usually just shuts himself in his quarters and reads."
"What? Reads? That brat— no, that child?"
"Yes, haven't you heard? He's studying the Analects at his age. Oh, right!"
As Seol Ang-geum answered, something seemed to come to mind, and he clapped his hands together.
"Now that I think of it, that boy left a message for me to pass along once Brother Jang woke up."
"A—a message? What is it?"
"Well… it's…"
Seol Ang-geum gave an awkward smile, sensing Jang Uibo's uneasy reaction, and cautiously recited.
"'Calamity comes from the mouth, yet the mouth has lips; closing them can prevent disaster. (禍出於口, 而口則有脣, 闔之可以防禍也).'"
"…Calamity comes from the mouth… but the mouth has lips, so if you close them, you can ward off calamity…?"
"Yes. He definitely said it just like that."
"Hmm…"
Swallowing dryly, Jang Uibo nodded. Beads of sweat trickled once again down his forehead, which he had only just wiped dry.
'So… a warning not to let my tongue wag carelessly…?'
Did it mean not to speak lightly of the Yongmyeong Merchant Guild ever again?
Or perhaps not to go around bragging about his duel with that boy?
…Most likely both.
With his face pale, Jang Uibo shut his mouth tight, prompting Seol Ang-geum to glance at him with curiosity.
"What's the matter, Brother Jang?"
"Hm…? Ah… nothing. More importantly, could you… step out for a while?"
"Huh? All of a sudden?"
"I think… I ought to get some rest."
Jang Uibo furrowed his brow awkwardly, trying to end the situation.
Fortunately, it seemed to work, as Seol Ang-geum quickly nodded with a polite expression.
"Of course. Rest well, and call for me if you need anything. I'll be nearby."
"Thank you."
"You came all the way here at my request—this much is nothing. Then, please rest."
Bowing to Jang Uibo, Seol Ang-geum stepped out of the room.
Left alone at last, Jang Uibo lay back and recalled his duel with Cheon Wuha.
As he stared blankly up at the ceiling, Wuha's dazzling final sword technique replayed over and over in his mind.
Rustle.
The sound of thin, old pages turning echoed in a small room.
By the light of a single candle, Cheon Wuha sat reading a book.
His chin propped on one hand, eyes lowered lazily over the text, there was a depth in them difficult to fathom.
Rustle.
How long did the silence last?
By the time the thick book had nearly reached its halfway point, Wuha finally spoke aloud into the quiet.
"How long do you plan on standing there?"
Though his eyes never left the aged text, he addressed the silence with a calm question.
No reply came, but Wuha continued evenly.
"If your wounds are healed, you could just leave the guild. Hanging around like this… what exactly do you intend?"
…Step, step.
As soon as his words ended, footsteps sounded from beyond the door.
They drew closer, and then—
Clack.
The door opened, and the man who entered was none other than the Ghost Sword, Jang Uibo.
Yet even as he stepped into the room, Wuha did not lift his gaze from the book in front of him.
"So you knew I was here?"
"That's a strange question. Spending five days loitering outside—wasn't that your way of begging me to call you in?"
"…So you knew all along."
Jang Uibo gave a bitter smile at Wuha's retort.
"Then why today…?"
"I figured you had some sense, after all."
"..."
"And it seems you know how to keep your mouth shut."
Still not sparing him a glance, Wuha casually flipped a page and went on.
"In any case, I've given you the chance. Speak. What did you come here for?"
"…I came to ask about the technique you used against me in the duel."
Jang Uibo, speaking with careful deliberation, asked cautiously:
"Was that a technique you already knew from the start? Or… was it merely…"
"..."
"…that you mimicked my own technique?"
At that second question, Wuha's hand, about to turn a page, paused.
A faint laugh slipped from his lips.
"And why does that matter to you?"
"It's important. At least to me."
"Hm…"
At the unexpected firmness in Jang Uibo's tone, Wuha finally looked up from the book to meet his eyes.
"If you don't want to answer, I won't press. But do you think you'll get a proper answer by putting it vaguely like that?"
"..."
"Either lay everything out honestly and seek an answer—or stop wasting my time and leave."
Losing interest again, Wuha dropped his gaze back to the text.
Jang Uibo hesitated, lost in thought, then let out a long sigh.
"…Ghost Sword's Three Slaughters (Gwigeom Samsal). That's the name I gave that technique."
"..."
"But its original name is Three Illusory Forms of the Sword (Hwangeom Samhyeong)."
"..."
"It belongs to the Phantom Sword Sect (Hwangeommun), destroyed forty years ago, and comes from the Phantom-Demon Sword Arts (Hwanhon Gwi-hyeong Geombeop)."
"…What?!"
Wuha's eyes flashed with disbelief at the unexpected confession.
'The Phantom Sword Sect was annihilated?'
The Phantom Sword Sect had been one of the central sects of the Sado Alliance, led by the Death-Bringer Heavenly King (Salmyeong Cheonwang), one of the Four Kings.
For such a sect to be destroyed could only mean a war that shook the entire Sado Alliance.
'And forty years ago, of all times?'
Wuha had reincarnated thirty years after the death of Sa U-myeong.
So forty years ago would have been the very year Sa U-myeong died.
Did that mean the Sado Alliance, weakened by Sa U-myeong's death, had been attacked by the Martial Alliance then?
Even those bastards, who rarely moved for fear of the Demonic Sect's balance?
'…What am I even thinking?'
Shaking his head, Wuha dispelled the creeping thoughts.
The past was the past.
Learning of it wasn't meaningless, but this life was meant to be different. He had no reason to bind himself in chains of lingering regret.
With a calm expression, Wuha spoke.
"…So you managed to find and learn the sword arts of a destroyed sect."
"It was by chance. During an assignment, I met a survivor of the Phantom Sword Sect."
"An assignment?"
"I cannot speak of the details. But to learn even that one technique, I paid a heavy price."
Wuha nodded slowly at the explanation.
For a wandering swordsman, such opportunities were rare. Most never touched true sect techniques unless they met a master by luck or stumbled on a fated chance.
For Jang Uibo, to learn a peak-level demonic technique from a fallen sect must have been such a chance—one he would seize at any cost.
Jang Uibo's face darkened as he continued.
"I trained that technique endlessly until I reached the level of a first-class expert. But… that was my limit. I rejected countless invitations, devoted myself only to the sword, and yet I could not break through to the supreme realm."
"…So?"
Wuha tilted his head.
"What are you getting at?"
"…I wish to ask a favor."
"A favor?"
"If the technique you showed me is truly the next form of the Ghost Sword's Three Slaughters I have mastered… then…"
Stammering, Jang Uibo finally forced the words out.
"Teach it to me."
"…Hah?"
Wuha's eyes widened in disbelief.
"I know it is shameless. But to me, it is desperate…"
"I think you're mistaken."
Wuha's eyes narrowed, his voice chilling.
"I let you in here to give you a chance to speak—not to entertain such absurd requests."
"..."
"Until the moment you lost, you disrespected both the Yongmyeong Merchant Guild and my father, did you not?"
Unable to answer, Jang Uibo clenched his fists.
Why had he acted that way?
Was it resentment at his stagnation?
Jealousy of the talent he could never have?
He stayed silent, and Wuha clicked his tongue.
"If that's all you came for, then we have nothing more to discuss."
"..."
"Leave."
A clear dismissal.
Wuha returned his gaze to the book.
'So… it's impossible after all.'
Jang Uibo had thought this was his last chance—to shatter the wall that had confined him for ten years and finally step into the supreme realm.
But his arrogance, his disrespect, had doomed it from the start.
After a long silence, he stood and bowed stiffly.
Rustle.
"…Forgive my intrusion."
Step, step.
His footsteps toward the door grew heavier with each step.
The ten years he had spent struggling flashed before his eyes.
And then—
Halt.
'…No. Not like this.'
Jang Uibo stopped abruptly at the door, fists clenched.
This was his last chance as a warrior. Pride meant nothing.
He turned back, drew a deep breath—then dropped to his knees before Cheon Wuha.
Thud.
"Young master."
"…What do you think you're doing?"
Wuha frowned. Jang Uibo's eyes shone with resolve as he bowed deeply.
"I beg you."
"…After everything you did, you now ask for my grace?"
"No. I would never dare ask you to forget the insult I brought to the Yongmyeong Guild. I know I have no shame."
"Then?"
"I will repay it. By any means. If not enough, then with my very body. I will pay for my offense and for the grace you show me."
Something in Jang Uibo's desperate voice made Wuha's hardened expression soften slightly.
"I never said I'd show you grace."
"Ten years."
"..."
"For ten years… not once did I stop striving against the wall before me. But on my own, I could not even see the path forward."
"..."
"I cannot undo the mistakes I made. But neither can I abandon this chance. Please… open the way for me."
"..."
"I beg you."
Stripped of pride and pretense, Jang Uibo's plea made a strange light flicker in Cheon Wuha's eyes.
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