He had expected contact eventually, but not so soon.

It seemed tonight would indeed be a long night.

Exhaling smoke, he spoke quietly.

“Sit.”

At those words, an old man appeared from behind the pavilion.

Clad only in the most ordinary long robe, he was someone neither Unhwi nor Commander Seong had ever seen before.

He sat down naturally in the pavilion, grinning crookedly.

“I wanted to see you at least once, boy.”

“Who are you?”

The old man answered:

“I’ve come from the Muksehoe.”

Unhwi knew much. His experience was second to none. But Muksehoe?

He had never heard of it.

And yet, it was not something he could dismiss.

For the aura radiating from the old man was that of one who had surely reached at least the Martial-God’s Five Realms.

“Since it’s before the meal… may I have some?”

“Help yourself. And,”

Unhwi’s gaze slid past the old man.

“Those who came with you may eat as well. There’s plenty.”

It was not leftovers he offered.

Of the dishes laid out for the leaders of the Seongjak Alliance and Ham Jangsik, half had been touched, half had not.

Unhwi had offered the untouched half.

“Hrhrhr… Is that so? Then we shall.”

At the old man’s signal, a dozen men and women entered the pavilion and silently began eating.

Unhwi studied their faces closely.

One thing was certain.

Not a single one of them was young.

The youngest looked about seventy. The oldest—the first old man to appear—was surely older than No Cheonmyeong himself.

At least a hundred years.

A man at the Martial-God’s Five Realms could live to a hundred and fifty. With spirit pills and medicine, perhaps a hundred seventy, even two hundred.

“What should I call you?”

“Mm? A title… Normally I like being called Noya, but since this is our first meeting, let’s keep it simple. Just call me Senior.”

The old man grinned and extended his hand.

“I am Hwa Munyeom. You may call me Senior Hwa.”

Before Unhwi could even respond, Commander Seong, at his side, recoiled and muttered in shock:

“…Hwa Munyeom…? Don’t tell me… the Flame King?”

Hwa Munyeom chuckled slyly.

“Ah, sharp indeed, as one from the White-Snow Ghost Corps. I was called that once, long ago.”

Commander Seong looked stricken.

“…The Flame King Hwa Munyeom… I heard he retired into seclusion thirty years ago…”

Hwa Munyeom said nothing. Neither did Unhwi. They let go of each other’s hands.

Now it was time for the main subject.

“This is the first I’ve heard of your Muksehoe.”

“Mhm… I understand. Even Seo Hyo knows nothing of it.”

Taken literally, it meant The Silent Society. Coupled with Hwa Munyeom’s words, the conclusion was clear.

“You serve the rebuilding of the Thousand-Year Demon Sect.”

“Hrhrhr… Well seen.”

Cheonrim was indeed a formidable organization. Their strength was not in martial might but in commerce—they were merchants.

Connections and wealth could be called power, but not true force. They were auxiliary at best.

Those who would rebuild the Thousand-Year Demon Sect could never do so with money and contacts alone. They needed martial force.

As Seo Hyo had said, many in the martial world lay hidden, biding their time for the sect’s return.

The Original Blood Sect was not Yu Cheong’s only asset.

He had another. The Muksehoe.

This was Yu Cheong’s hidden blade.

“So why have you come?”

Hwa Munyeom burst into hearty laughter.

“Boy, for one they say is so clever, why ask such a foolish thing? That is the wrong question.”

He leaned his head forward.

“Shouldn’t you be asking whether I came here to let you live, or to kill you?”

The atmosphere in the pavilion froze at once.

***

Unhwi let out a brief laugh.

“…You laugh?”

“Yes. I laughed. Is that not allowed?”

“Hah! Seems our boy doesn’t understand the situation…”

“Enough with the tasteless jokes.”

“…Oh?”

“If you had wanted me dead, I would be dead already. And you’d not have brought so many with you.”

Hwa Munyeom also gave a small laugh.

“I thought a man who had polished gold dust on his face to retire into seclusion was reaching for something far greater… and your companions are no ordinary sort either.”

“Do they appear so?”

“Yes. Every one of them has reached the Mythic Realm or beyond. The reason you brought them was not to act—but to show them.”

“And what, exactly, am I showing?”

“Your force.”

“…”

“You did not bring an assault force. They are those you could call to hand nearby. What you wished was to make clear your will to use me as a blade. Thus, you displayed the power of your faction.”

At some point, the other warriors of the Muksehoe had set their chopsticks down.

Hwa Munyeom stroked his beard.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“As I’ve said, Senior Hwa, I know my place. If you meant to kill me, you would have done so with assassins. But instead, you revealed yourself openly…”

“Accepted.”

He cut Unhwi off—but Unhwi betrayed no reaction.

Hwa Munyeom continued:

“Yes, you are right. We intend to wield you as a sword. You have shown the talent, proven your worth. Though secrecy is vital for the Thousand-Year Demon Sect’s return, it is also true we need one who can walk openly in the light. Unlike us, you can act publicly. That makes your value… great indeed—”

“Forgive me.”

Unhwi drained his cup in one motion and cut in.

“I never once said I would be anyone’s sword. Senior.”

The atmosphere turned cold.

Hwa Munyeom’s gaze sharpened. The warriors of the Muksehoe shifted ever so slightly in their seats. But Unhwi remained calm.

“Why do you seek to rebuild the Thousand-Year Demon Sect?”

At his words, Hwa Munyeom shot back:

“Why do you ask?”

“Why wouldn’t I be curious?”

Unhwi slowly turned his cup in his hand.

“In all the thousand years of history, none bore such infamy as the Thousand-Year Demon Sect. To revive such an order is enough to brand you enemies of the entire martial world. The reason you’d bear that burden—that is what I wish to know.”

Hwa Munyeom drank deeply, then chuckled low.

“Very well. You’ve swept aside Yang Seoljin, and Seo Hyo of Cheonrim has strongly recommended you to him. So I shall speak plainly.”

Hwa Munyeom’s words sank into the pavilion.

“The martial world needs order.”

“Order?”

“Look at it now. The orthodox and the demonic, the hegemonic and the heretical—all tangled in ceaseless struggle. Each shouting their own justice, each keeping the other in check.”

His voice grew heavier.

“And none have achieved true unity. The Martial Alliance boasts loudly but is nothing but hypocrites fattening themselves behind the scenes. The Sichuan Alliance pursues only its own gain, excusing it as tyranny, grasping only at what lies before them. The rest cling only to their little fiefs. Even the Heavenly Alliance you now serve.”

“So you claim the Thousand-Year Demon Sect is needed?”

“Indeed.”

Hwa Munyeom nodded firmly.

“The Thousand-Year Demon Sect was different. They achieved true integration. Whether orthodox or demonic, tyrant or heretic, it did not matter. They forged a single, vast order encompassing all.”

“And that order plunged the martial world into chaos.”

“What can be achieved without sacrifice?”

A cold light gleamed in Hwa Munyeom’s eyes.

“Even now, men die daily. In clan feuds, in meaningless battles, in intrigues of profit. Better, then, that all be united under a single order. Would that not be preferable?”

“…”

“When the Thousand-Year Demon Sect rises again, all this meaningless strife will end. Under one absolute order, true peace will come.”

Unhwi was silent ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) for a long moment.

He felt the weight of the man’s conviction.

Hwa Munyeom asked:

“I have answered. Now I want yours. What do you desire?”

Unhwi fell into thought.

I want the Everlasting Snow Palace to endure forever.

But he could not voice that here. For that to be true, Yu Cheong—its greatest enemy—must die.

Yet killing him would not be easy.

The Original Blood Sect stood before him, shielded by myriad forces, the Muksehoe among them.

And above all, Unhwi’s own realm was still lacking.

Even if he ascended swiftly, to kill Yu Cheong, who had long since reached the realm of True Sovereignty, would require time.

Yes. To kill Yu Cheong, he must first deceive him.

The Muksehoe.

They were Yu Cheong’s chess pieces—one of his greatest sources of strength.

It must begin here.

Unhwi spoke softly.

“I respect my father.”

“…”

“His will, all of it, I admire. He does not wish for bloodshed among kin, and he strives to preserve the values of the Snow Palace. I honor that. But—”

A subtle shift entered Unhwi’s voice.

“I am the youngest. As the youngest, I can uphold his will—but not from the place closest to it.”

The warriors of the Muksehoe listened in silence.

“My eldest brother, Seol Horyeong, is, without question, a genius. He is fit to be Palace Heir. The second son as well.”

Unhwi paused, staring into his cup.

“I cherish my brothers. But I cannot bind them, cannot shackle them to inaction.”

No one spoke. No one even lifted a cup or chopsticks. That was how serious his tone was.

“I am weary of it.”

His voice sank low.

“I yielded, placed my brother on the seat of heir—but I know I could fulfill that role myself. Yet I cannot overturn it. To do so would defy my father’s will.”

Hwa Munyeom murmured softly.

“A dutiful son, then.”

Unhwi gave a bitter smile.

“A dutiful son? If you wish to call me that, I’ll accept it. But I would rather you saw me as a conqueror.”

“…How can you be a conqueror? To all eyes now, you are closer to a loser than a lord.”

A smile traced Unhwi’s lips. But it was colder than anyone had expected.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep