A noble young master as if drawn from a painting, but looking somewhat tired today, Namgung Jong let out a long sigh and opened his mouth.

“Haah… At the very least, the Hwangbo Clan won’t file any complaints, so don’t worry.”

“I know.”

In the previous life, Hwangbo Gwang lost everything—his life, his honor—when all his hidden deeds were exposed by the Hungry Ghost Division.

He had neglected his training, acted like a thug, and despite his large, imposing frame, he wasn’t much.

When he was killed by the Hungry Ghost Division in the past, it was revealed he hadn’t even fully reached the Sub-Perfection Stage. He was in the same half-step state as I am now.

Being born into a prestigious clan means starting several steps ahead of others.

Exceptional talent, advanced martial techniques, an abundant supply of elixirs, and an environment where one can focus solely on martial arts.

What others struggle their whole lives to gain even one of, he was born holding many—only to throw them away through his own lack of effort.

I don’t know why the Hwangbo Clan continues to protect someone like that, but with so many skeletons in his closet, they likely won’t raise their voices over just this.

So I seized the moment when Namgung Jong placed his hand on Hwangbo Gwang’s shoulder to try and stop him, and focused my killing intent there.

I didn’t expect him to wet himself, though.

As I nodded while chewing on the prepared food, Namgung Jong’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“You knew?”

“There were things I’d heard.”

“Hmhm. So you didn’t just flare up, but acted with calculation.”

Nodding with a satisfied expression as if pleased, Namgung Jong was the opposite of Hwangbo Gwang.

Obsessed with the sword, he trained day and night. He didn’t cause trouble, and his name was often mentioned in tales of good deeds.

When the Demonic Cult invaded, he was one of the first to step up.

Though he fell at the hands of the Heavenly Demon in the end, unlike the barely Sub-Perfection Hwangbo Gwang, Namgung Jong had reached the complete Flowering Stage before he died.

Someone you lose nothing by befriending, and risk much by turning against.

Personally, I was more interested in his swordsmanship than anything else, but Tang Sowol and the Tang Clan probably thought differently.

Since we’d moved seats, I clasped my fist and offered a formal greeting.

“I seem to have delayed my greetings. I am Cheon Hwi-da of the Tang Clan. Also, I apologize for what happened earlier.”

“As I told Hwangbo Gwang, you didn’t imbue it with killing intent. It wasn’t so rude as to warrant an apology.”

“Well, there’s still the matter of what happened to him.”

“That too is fine. Had you drawn your sword, it would have been a much bigger problem. The fact it ended here is fortunate.”

“…?”

A surprisingly accommodating attitude. Whatever the reason, my actions had disrupted the mood at a banquet hosted by Namgung Jong.

I narrowed my eyes and stared at him.

A princely face as if sketched by a master, but behind his gaze surged a deep, swirling ambition.

Similar to the Black Lotus Sect Master—but fundamentally different—this was blatant desire.

This guy… could it be…?

“I withdrew from the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering due to poor health, but I watched the entire event. All of the participants were impressive, but the most memorable bout was yours, Young Master Sword Dragon.”

“Hahaha! To hear that from none other than Young Master Cheon Hwi—I’m honored. My epithet may sound fierce, but it was recognized by the Black Lotus Sect Master. Now I see, there was no exaggeration in the rumors after all.”

As I gently set the tone, Namgung Jong eagerly took the bait.

That’s right. What I saw in his eyes was a raw thirst for recognition.

If the Black Lotus Sect Master was filled with a desire to own and dominate the world…

Then Namgung Jong was filled with a desire to be admired by the entire world.

This kind of overt person was rare, but not unheard of among unorthodox martial artists. I recognized it immediately.

Even accounting for the Namgung Clan’s tradition of pursuing excellence, it was excessive… but well. No one is perfect.

If you have good character, talent, and a great family, then you’re bound to have a flaw somewhere.

“So then, which match did you enjoy most? The genius from the Shandong Clan? Or the heroine from Jeomchang Sect? Ah, was it the monk from Shaolin I faced in the finals? They were all strong, so I feared my shortcomings might have been exposed.”

Though his words were modest, his face screamed “Please praise me in detail.”

Shaking my head inwardly, I answered.

“Just as you said, they were all excellent martial artists, and the matches were stirring… but the duel with the Shaolin monk, Wonyu, burned in me most. That final display of the Emperor Sword Form truly showed why the Namgung Clan is called the foremost sword family in the world.”

“Young Master, you’ve a talent for making a man blush. The Namgung Clan may hold that title, but I still have far to go.”

“That’s just how much it impressed me.”

And that’s true. If I fought Namgung Jong now, I’d probably win.

But that’s separate from the sword technique itself—the Emperor Sword Form was unlike any I’d seen before.

“I haven’t seen your sword yet, but I can tell it’s no ordinary thing. May I ask—where did you learn it? It doesn’t feel like the Tang Clan’s swordplay.”

“I don’t belong to any specific sect. I’ve had the fortune to learn bits and pieces here and there, and I’ve been building up my foundation from that. I’ve received much help from the Tang Clan.”

“Hooh. Is that so?”

I glanced sideways. Tang Sowol, in the middle of a cheerful conversation with Wi Ji-Su-Lian, turned her head with a curious tilt.

But it didn’t last long. As I continued looking, her lips twitched—and she broke into a silly smile.

I answered with a faint smile of my own.

After that, I continued to offer modest praise to Namgung Jong and built rapport.

I greeted Wi Ji-Su-Lian, and exchanged a few light words with Jin Baek of the Zhongnan Sect, who arrived later.

Perhaps because everyone here walked the path of martial arts seriously, the initial awkwardness quickly faded, and we soon delved into impassioned discussions about martial techniques.

To me, most of it was ground I had already covered, so it wasn’t particularly moving.

But seeing how clearly each clan and sect’s philosophies emerged from their discussions, it was still interesting.

Surprisingly, the fiercest debate was between Wi Ji-Su-Lian and Jin Baek.

The Huashan Sect and the Zhongnan Sect both share the roots of the Quanzhen Sect and live in proximity.

I had assumed this closeness led to mutual understanding, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

The debate centered around whether one should preserve a constant center amid change, or throw oneself into change to pursue progress…

Honestly, I barely understood half of it—I know almost nothing about Taoist philosophy.

Seeing Namgung Jong and Tang Sowol understand it at least somewhat reminded me why Seo Mun-Hwarin in my past life had forced me to study.

Had I known even the basics of Taoist teachings, I might’ve gained much from this discussion.

And such knowledge expands one’s perception and awareness—often becoming the seed of insight.

Perhaps this line of thought only came to me because the matter of the Black Sky Sword Sect had been resolved, a chapter closed.

Once you’ve looked within, it’s only natural to start looking outward.

Anyway, we were enjoying a spirited, if not quite heated, martial debate…

When we heard a sharp voice from not far away.

“You think you can say that and walk away?!”

“Did I say something unacceptable? This is why people call you ignorant.”

“You dare! I’ve had enough! Get out to the sparring yard at once!”

Only one of them—the man—was shouting in a rage.

The woman facing him wore a cold expression, smiling faintly as if mocking him.

I looked around to see what had started the commotion.

Just then, Tang Sowol mouthed a voice transmission to me.

— Brother Cheon. Those two.

— What about them?

— They’re the heirs of the Peng Clan and the Yeon Clan that you were looking for.

“Hmm??”

The sound escaped me without thinking. I widened my eyes and looked at the two again.

Earlier, Hwangbo Gwang had wet himself trying to throw a fit—but the man now fuming with anger was even larger than him.

He must be over seven cheok, maybe even eight.

Impressive in size, but even more terrifying was that his entire frame was packed with muscle.

You’d wonder if he was really the same kind of human as me.

And the greatsword on his back—more like a hunk of iron—was about the length of a full-grown man.

Just swinging something like that with that body—how many people could withstand it?

No doubt he was the heir of the Peng Clan.

Meanwhile, the woman glaring coldly at him was the exact opposite.

Petite even for a woman, no visible muscle to speak of.

She looked more like a doll—or a living corpse.

No visible weapons, so she must use bare-handed techniques.

But her body seemed too frail for that.

Still, if you asked whether she was weak…

She was not.

The pressure emanating from her was on par with the Peng Clan heir’s.

Her skin was pale like a corpse, and her joints moved with a strange stiffness, but the energy flowing from her body was unmistakable.

Demonic Aura.

I recognized it well—it was the same aura Seol Lihyang once wielded in my previous life.

Unlike pure yin qi, which was inherently destructive, ghostly energy wasn’t that potent in itself.

But it had a special function: weakening the opponent.

When someone is touched by demonic aura, it chips away at their mind.

Hesitation grows, fear devours reason, and eventually, they’re left trembling, unable to act.

Many evil techniques make use of this. Inducing hallucinations, disorientation, or short-term loss of consciousness…

I’d seen it often in the hands of Seol Lihyang and other martial artists who manipulated ghost energy.

Of course, it’s not almighty.

To someone with firm willpower and refined discipline, its effects would be diminished.

And such sorcery-like powers would be rejected by orthodox sects.

If the Yeon Clan hadn’t built decades of trust, they likely wouldn’t have remained part of the orthodox world.

Still, despite its drawbacks, its strength lies in consuming not the body—but the mind.

A poison that targets the spirit.

With that much demonic aura swirling around her, even someone born with immense strength would find it hard to gain the upper hand.

Just as I began to assess their full presence…

I remembered.

If these two were the heirs of the Peng and Yeon Clans…

Then they were the ones who, in my past life, ultimately committed suicide together.

I had heard they were lovers, driven to despair by the feud between their families.

I narrowed my eyes and raised my internal energy, expanding my qi perception.

The world grew clearer.

And within it, the two—who looked moments away from breaking into a fight—were silently exchanging a flurry of hand signals and voice transmissions.

“Ha.”

What a tiresome way to live.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep