'This is… unexpected.'
He had thought the man would back down with a word or two.
For a martial artist of that age to bow his head before a child much younger than himself—wasn't something easily done.
All the more so when that child was the very one who had beaten him down so one-sidedly.
'So… what should I do now?'
In truth, much of the animosity he had felt toward Jang Uibo had already faded.
The man had paid a price for his rudeness before Cheon Myeonghak, and, unexpectedly, had shown qualities befitting a true martial artist.
Still…
'He says he's curious.'
After all, why would a mere wandering warrior, already at such an age, still struggle so desperately to grow stronger?
"Why?"
Unable to contain his curiosity, Cheon Wuha asked the kneeling Jang Uibo.
"With your current skill, finding a respectable position somewhere shouldn't be difficult, should it?"
At Wuha's question, Jang Uibo bit his lip in silence.
It was true.
Among wandering warriors, reaching the rank of a first-class expert was hardly common.
Someone of his caliber could easily be invited as an honored guest by a powerful household or a prosperous guild.
After a moment of silence, Jang Uibo slowly met Wuha's eyes and spoke.
"If my goal had been merely to live in comfort, I could have found a patron years ago."
"Then?"
"…It was my master's dying wish."
Wuha's eyes narrowed slightly at the unexpected answer.
"What did you say?"
"It was over twenty years ago."
Jang Uibo's face darkened as he recalled the past.
"My master, too, had once been a wandering swordsman who reached the rank of first-class expert. At that time in Chang'an, there was a family called the Jang Household. They spent a fortune to invite my master as their honored guest. But one day, to seize the Jang Household's main business, masters of the unorthodox sects came storming in."
"..."
"My master fought without retreat to defend the Jang Household. He accepted their proposal of a duel—if he lost, he would leave quietly. But his opponent was a master at the very peak. In the end, my master's right arm—his very life as a swordsman—was cut off, and the Jang Household lost its business to them."
Resentment burned in Jang Uibo's voice, and Wuha slowly nodded.
For a wandering swordsman at the level of first-class, it was only natural he could not match a peak-level unorthodox master.
"After that… the Jang Household began to lose their remaining businesses one by one to neighboring powers. With the swordsman who had protected them crippled, none would pass up the chance. And so, the Jang Household soon collapsed. My master, unable to endure the shock and resentment, passed away. On his deathbed, he left me with a final will."
"..."
"By any means necessary, grow strong. Break through the wall known as the supreme realm of wandering swordsmen. And… avenge the Jang Household, and my master's bitter regret."
"Then… you must be one of the Jang Household's bloodline."
Wuha, who had roughly guessed the story, asked. Jang Uibo gave a somber nod.
"At the time, I was the young heir of the Jang Household, not yet even of age. Not long after Master's death, my parents also passed away. Unable to protect my family, I could only live on as a wandering swordsman, promising myself a day would come to set things right."
"And in that life, you happened upon a survivor of the Phantom Sword Sect… and paid all you had to learn that technique?"
"You see it rightly."
"Hm…"
In truth, most who set out on the path of a wandering warrior had stories much like his.
Those born to comfortable lives had no reason to risk dying nameless on the road.
Thus, it was rare to find one without scars of the past.
Wuha told himself he had no duty to sympathize.
But…
'Put yourself in the other's place… only then can a judgment be true.'
The words of Go Seokjeong crossed his mind.
He had meant not to care, but in that moment, Wuha couldn't help but understand Jang Uibo's situation.
Not Sa U-myeong of his past life, but Cheon Wuha of this one—because parts of his story overlapped.
'Well… there's no harm in it.'
Sa U-myeong and Cheon Wuha were different people.
What he would not have done in a past life, he could choose to do in this one.
With his thoughts settled, Wuha tilted his head back to glance at the ceiling, then returned his gaze to Jang Uibo.
"I cannot make you stronger."
"But…"
"Nor can I teach you the technique."
At Wuha's blunt refusal, a bitter smile touched Jang Uibo's lips.
He had cast away pride and even revealed his past, only to be denied.
"…It seems I've made an unreasonable request."
"Instead."
"..."
"I can at least point you in the right direction."
At the unexpected words, Jang Uibo's head snapped up.
"Is that… truly so?"
"What do you think Phantom Sword (Hwan-geom) means?"
At Wuha's sudden question, Jang Uibo straightened his posture and answered quickly.
"A sword art that bewilders the opponent's eyes through endless variation."
"Then what is variation?"
"Well… the sword path changes depending on circumstance—"
"And what is the sword path?"
Pressed again, Jang Uibo fell silent.
He knew the concept of a sword path, but to define it outright—he faltered.
Or rather, he could not grasp Wuha's intent.
"To me, the sword path is, at its core… a line."
Answering for him, Wuha picked up a blank sheet of paper beside him and set his brush to it.
Soon, a single thick line stretched across the white sheet.
"And that line can branch into many directions. In martial terms, that's what you call variation."
Scratch, scratch.
Around the thick trunk line, several branches appeared.
It looked like the trunk of a tree, sprouting boughs.
"And from those branches, if you create countless more offshoots…"
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
From bough to twig, the paper filled until a whole tree took form upon the page.
"Only then… is the Phantom Sword complete."
"Mm…"
"Now then, let me ask you—what is needed to grow this tree, to create more branches?"
Jang Uibo's eyes widened slowly.
To grow a great tree, to cover it in countless branches—what was necessary?
'…Roots.'
Roots strong enough never to falter, no matter how the branches grew.
At that realization, a shiver coursed through his body.
'So all along… I walked the wrong path.'
That was why no matter how far he walked, he never arrived.
He had obsessed over branches while neglecting the roots—so his sword could never advance.
"It seems you've found your path."
Seeing the change in Jang Uibo's expression, Wuha nodded once and returned to his book.
Rustle.
The sound of pages turning again.
Meanwhile, Jang Uibo sat motionless, as though frozen, as he tried to digest the martial truth he had just received.
How much time passed?
As he savored the revelation, light gradually returned to his eyes.
And then…
Sssk.
Looking at Wuha with eyes difficult to describe, Jang Uibo adjusted his posture and bowed deeply from his knees.
"…I have received a grace I could never repay, even with my life."
"..."
"I sincerely repent for all my arrogance and disrespect before. Please, forgive me."
Still holding the book, Wuha gave the faintest of nods.
"That's enough. You may go."
"My deepest thanks, young master."
Relief flooding his face, Jang Uibo clenched his fists.
He hesitated several times as though debating, then, voice trembling, he spoke.
"May I… make one more request?"
"A request?"
"From today, I will start again from the beginning, with the guidance you have given me. Therefore…"
"..."
"If you would allow it… ten years from now, may I once more… cross swords with you?"
His voice trembled with tension, yearning, and desperate hope.
Wuha, about to turn a page, paused and raised his eyes.
"Ten years would not be enough."
"Ha… haha, you're right. I thought as much myself."
At Wuha's indifferent reply, Jang Uibo forced a laugh, hiding his disappointment.
And at that moment, a faint smile curved Wuha's lips.
"Still… it will be amusing to see how much you've improved."
…Clench.
At those words, as good as permission, Jang Uibo clasped his fists tight and bowed again.
Relief, joy, gratitude—emotions tangled across his face.
"Th… thank you, young master!"
Choked with emotion, he gave his thanks again and again.
That day, Jang Uibo swore an oath.
From this moment forward, he would become stronger beyond compare to his present self.
So that in ten years, he could stand tall before the young master and cross blades as an equal.
And that he would repay today's grace without fail.
Leaving Wuha's quarters, Jang Uibo wore a serene smile unseen on his face before.
"Therefore, I offer my formal apology for my rudeness to the guild master the other day."
"Th-this… such formality isn't necessary…"
All traces of arrogance gone, Jang Uibo bowed respectfully before Cheon Myeonghak, who could not hide his bewilderment.
How could a man change so drastically in just a few days?
Yet despite the doubts swirling in his mind, polite words of courtesy left Myeonghak's lips.
"There's no need to call it rudeness. After all, did you not come all the way here to watch over Wuha without asking anything in return?"
"I would be ashamed to say it was without return. You already saw fit to send ample gold through Seol Ang-geum."
"T-that was only meant to cover your travel expenses…"
"For mere expenses, it was far too much. Though belated, allow me to express my gratitude for your thoughtful generosity."
"Haha… well, this is…"
Myeonghak gave an awkward laugh as Jang Uibo bowed again.
In truth, the Yongmyeong Merchant Guild was not so great a house.
Though counted among the Five Great Guilds of Chang'an, they were only there by virtue of making up the numbers.
The bulk of commerce was monopolized by the two largest guilds.
And yet, the Ghost Sword Jang Uibo, a first-class master said to be unmoved even by money, was bowing humbly before him—a minor guild leader.
The situation was so unbelievable that Myeonghak's heart pounded with both excitement and unease.
"Then… does this mean you have decided to teach Wuha?"
Pouring wine into his cup, Myeonghak asked carefully. Jang Uibo smiled faintly and shook his head.
"My apologies. The young master is not someone I can teach."
"What… if not you, then there will be no one else who could!"
Myeonghak's desperate face betrayed his feelings.
It was why he had approached Jang Uibo with such humility to begin with.
He had given up on both Cho Mudo and Seol Ang-geum. Only Jang Uibo could be the perfect master for Wuha.
But the swordsman's reply left him dejected.
"Forgive me, but if I were to teach him, I would only hinder his growth. Even if not I, there is no wandering swordsman who could properly guide that child."
"Th-then… what should I do?!"
"…I hardly dare to say, but… just leave him be."
"…What did you just say?"
Dumbfounded, Myeonghak asked again. Jang Uibo answered with a gentle smile.
"Do not mistake me. But in my meager judgment, the only ones who could truly teach that boy are those who stand at the very pinnacle of the martial world."
"And by pinnacle, you mean…"
"The rulers of today's jianghu. The ones known as the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors—or the Four Heavenly Kings."
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