“Have you perhaps gotten married yet?”

“I’m not married yet, but I do have a fiancée.”

Near the end of the duel. After witnessing the slashes and thrusts that had taken down the Blood Flame Fist Demon and Hwangbo Yeongcheon, Namgung Dowi’s gaze changed slightly.

How should I put it? It was like he had found a gold nugget lying on the street.

“I only have one child myself, so I was just asking. Don’t think too much of it.”

Though he said that, Namgung Dowi wore a slightly sour expression, like someone who had just realized the gold nugget he picked up had a name tag on it.

He let out deep sighs for a while before finally speaking.

“So? Did you gain anything from this? I hope it was at least worth what you’ve done for the Namgung Clan.”

“Yes. It was more than enough.”

I saw the Sword King’s sword. No, not just saw it, but did everything I could to overcome it.

I poured every martial art and technique I knew into it, and even received advice along the way on how to wield my sword better.

This was an invaluable time for someone like me, who had learned a patchwork of rootless martial arts cobbled together from here and there.

No matter how hard I tried to improve, a person’s time is limited.

Even counting my regression, I haven’t wielded the sword for even half a century.

Meanwhile, the Namgung Clan has focused solely on the sword for hundreds of years.

What I considered my best efforts were, from Namgung Dowi’s perspective, often just trial and error.

If Seo Mun-Hwarin taught me the general way of fighting, then Namgung Dowi taught me the way of the sword.

That alone was impressive enough, but the real treasure was—

“The Imperial Sword Form. Was it really alright for you to show it to me?”

“It’s not a shallow martial art that can be stolen in a single sparring session. So what would the problem be?”

“But I feel like I’ve learned at least the general path it takes.”

“Overconfidence has always been the privilege of the young. And you do have the skill to back it up. Still, don’t get too greedy.”

Namgung Dowi shook his head with a wry smile. Then, standing once again at the center of the training ground like when we first met, he began pointing at sword marks carved into the floor one by one.

“That one is part of the Tai Chi Sword left by a Wudang Sect leader two hundred years ago. It may have changed much by now, but the core of internalizing the flow as your own would remain the same.”

“This one is from my great-grandfather. He left it behind after an enlightenment late in life. That’s when the Imperial Sword Form was truly completed.”

“This brings back memories. I don’t remember exactly when, but that middle sword was left behind by someone who claimed to be a close friend of my father. See that rough tear in the blade? As a child, I tried to imitate it and ended up breaking a lot of innocent swords.”

Namgung Dowi continued pointing at each mark on the ground, explaining them one by one.

Eventually, he pointed to a newly formed mark, still dusted with white stone powder.

“That one is yours. You called it Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art, didn’t you? A sword imbued with killing intent is always sharp, but that also makes it dangerous. I don’t know how you controlled it, but the fact that it’s possible means I also learned something from you.”

“Ah.”

Only then did I understand how this training ground, full of sword scars, had come to be.

Long ago, the Namgung Clan must have invited or personally sought out outstanding, unusual, or unfamiliar swordsmanship and had those swords leave their mark here.

“Your sword is the kind often seen in martial artists who trained without formal affiliation. Taking what you’ve experienced and adapting techniques you’ve picked up here and there to suit your own tastes.”

“That’s right.”

For martial artists without proper affiliations, there are two options.

Either join a reputable sect and learn verified martial arts,

Or blend together techniques picked up from the streets or combat and forge your own patchwork style.

I, and the Ghost Shadow Thief, would fall into the latter.

However, such martial arts lack strong foundations, making it difficult to climb high.

The Ghost Shadow Thief was stuck at the wall of Sub-Perfection and was preparing for death.

And I, despite countless life-or-death battles in my past life, failed to break through the wall.

It wasn’t until I actually died once that I finally grasped the thread of willpower.

What’s important is that both the Ghost Shadow Thief and I were born with considerable talent.

But what if someone with lesser or mediocre talent tried to learn such cobbled-together martial arts?

Nine times out of ten, they wouldn’t even reach the Peak Stage.

In that sense, the Imperial Sword Form that Namgung Dowi showed me shares similarities with the Raging Wave Death-Stealing Art.

It’s the culmination of countless sword techniques the Namgung Clan personally experienced or collected over time.

The overwhelming pressure of the Imperial Sword Form. Beyond its power, the sheer sense of helplessness it evokes stems from this origin.

It contains countless swords, and so it can respond to countless sword paths.

It is the extreme of late-initiative dominance. A pinnacle achieved solely through understanding the sword.

The Imperial Sword Form is the product of exceptional sword talent refined over a long period.

If the Namgung Clan had lacked even a bit of sword talent, or if they had been just a bit more sane and less obsessed with the sword—

This martial art would never have come into being.

As I nodded inwardly, Namgung Dowi continued with a faint smile.

“By now, you’re probably thinking that if enough time and unrelenting effort are poured in, your martial art could become like the Imperial Sword Form.”

“Am I wrong?”

“You are.”

Namgung Dowi shook his head firmly. He stared at the new sword mark I had left and spoke.

“I understand how you reached that conclusion. It’s based on the belief that, over infinite time, refining infinite swords will eventually lead to something similar.”

“That’s correct.”

“Swordsmiths like us spend every day pondering how to wield better. It’s natural to think that way. But, there’s one thing you must never forget.”

“What is it?”

“It is always a person who wields the sword. No matter how much you deny it, every sword you wield inevitably carries traces of you.”

With that, Namgung Dowi drew his sword and assumed a stance. It was the thrust I had shown him, a reinterpretation of the Hwangbo Clan’s technique — the Taesan Piercing Sword.

He slowly extended his heavily drawn-back arm forward.

It was just a slowed-down version of my own strike.

But something was different.

Taesan Piercing Sword is a simple, powerful thrust, not even really a proper form. Until I become more familiar with willpower, that’s all it is.

Embedding willpower into it is difficult, but the sword path itself is easily imitated — it shouldn’t have surprised me.

So how was it different?

It was clearly a straightforward thrust, driven by the will to push forward.

Only after watching the halfway-completed thrust intently did I realize the difference.

“It’s not a point.”

“Well observed.”

My imagined thrust always focused into a single point. But the one Namgung Dowi unleashed was a strike that sought to dominate a surface.

If my Taesan Piercing Sword pierced through an obstacle, his would shatter it to pieces.

Both swords sought to push through what lay ahead. Their stance and trajectory were the same.

But the difference in how one conceptualizes a thrust changes everything.

“Even if our martial knowledge were exactly the same, the results would differ based on our experiences. Have you ever wanted to be a king?”

“I understand now. The path and process of refining one’s martial art — that’s where Sir Sword King and I diverged.”

“A path is just that — a road. It’s natural for there to be forks.”

Even if my martial arts and those of the Namgung Clan share the same principles, the years we’ve built upon them differ.

More importantly, the goals we pursue at the end cannot be the same.

I was not born into abundance, never received universal affection or respect, never gained insight without facing death, never had a desire to be the best at everything, nor enjoyed attention and recognition.

Thus, I cannot wield the Namgung Clan’s sword, and likewise, they cannot wield mine.

This isn’t about the level of martial arts — it’s simply how it is.

Different people walk different lives, and so, naturally, wield different swords.

“What did the head of the Seo Mun Clan say while teaching you?”

“‘Don’t rush, don’t compromise, and think with intensity,’ she said.”

“All wise words. Then allow me to add one more.”

Namgung Dowi sheathed his sword and, after a moment of contemplation, spoke.

“The sword is already swung before it is drawn.”

“…Pardon?”

“You’ve reached Divine Sword Unity. You’ll understand it soon enough.”

“???”

The cryptic remark made me tilt my head. I didn’t quite understand it yet, but I doubted someone like the Sword King would say something meaningless, so I made sure to remember it.

“Let’s call it a day. The sun’s about to rise — you should get ready to leave.”

“Ah, it’s gotten that late already.”

When I looked up, the red hue of the lantern had already been swallowed by the dawn sky.

I secured my sheathed sword tightly, straightened my clothes, and gave a formal fist salute.

“Thank you for your guidance.”

“No need. I should be the one thanking you for the help you gave. Ah, before you go, may I ask one thing?”

“Please.”

“If you one day reach an even higher level, would you spar with my son again?”

“Not you personally, sir?”

“As I said before, a different person wields a different sword. Even though my son and I share blood and grew up in the same house, we can never be exactly the same. There’s a limit to what I can teach him.”

“I believe I understand.”

Namgung Dowi felt like a man born for the Imperial Sword Form.

If the tower of swordsmanship built by the Namgung Clan reached the heavens, then he was the one standing at the top, looking down.

But Namgung Jong was different. Like other members of the Namgung Clan, he wanted to be the best and was obsessed with the sword, but—

He wasn’t someone who sought to reign.

If anything, he was someone who embraced others but always needed to stand at the forefront.

At least, that was what I felt from our clash of swords.

Before regression, Namgung Dowi earned the title of Sword King through the Imperial Sword Form. In contrast, Namgung Jong mastered the Limitless Blue Skies Sword Technique and was known as the Sky Piercing Sword Lord — a reflection of this difference.

“I also enjoyed sparring with Brother Namgung. I would welcome the opportunity.”

“Thank you.”

With those final words, I left the training ground.

Unlike the sword-scarred training ground, the outside was pristine. At that moment, a thought occurred to me.

The marks I left behind would eventually become part of the Namgung Clan’s sword.

And likewise, Namgung Dowi’s teachings would remain within my sword.

Though we walk different paths as different people… a path is not made up of forks alone.

There are crossroads too.

Perhaps today was the day our paths crossed.

***

On the way to Sichuan, passing through Hanan as scheduled.

“You little brat, your mind is full of demons!”

I tried to help a monk being attacked by Green Forest Bandits, but got mistaken for one of them.

So I just took them all down.

Well… that’s how it went.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep