Chapter 157

Chapter 157
# Chapter 157: Third-Rate Martial Family Becomes World’s Best

Namgung Cheon-hu had grown up hearing the very same words repeated to him without fail from the earliest days of his childhood—no, truth be told, from the very moment he first drew breath into this world. They had been spoken to him so often, with such solemn intensity, that they had carved themselves deep into his very bones, echoing in his mind even when no one stood beside him.

“Cheon-hu… you must make the name of our Vast Heaven Namgung shine brighter than it has in generations.”

“The weight of the entire Namgung Clan rests upon your shoulders, young master. It is a burden so heavy it might crush a lesser soul, but you were born to bear it—you must endure it, no matter what the cost.”

“Cheon-hu, live up to the great name you carry! Let your ambitions roar upward toward the heavens themselves, and never bow your head to anyone!”

As the eldest son and rightful heir to the Namgung Clan, he was the vessel for every last hope and expectation held by every single member of his extended family. He was also a prodigy—a genius of such extraordinary, breathtaking talent that not a single soul who knew him ever doubted he would turn those grand dreams into glorious reality.

…That fragile, shining certainty shattered completely the day his younger brother, Namgung Cheon-yeong, was born.

*If only I had never been gifted with such talent in the first place,* he thought, his heart twisting with a pain that had long since hardened into something far colder.

If he had been ordinary, he would never have had to carry the crushing weight of everyone’s expectations through every single year of his childhood. He would never have fixed his heart so fiercely on becoming the next head of the Namgung Clan, on lifting their name to heights no one had ever reached before.

*They raised me for this. They shaped me, trained me, told me every single day that I was the one. How could they cast me aside now that someone newer has come along?*

That bright, noble dream had curdled slowly, steadily, twisting and warping into something grotesque and unrecognisable deep within his chest. And anything that has been twisted so thoroughly will inevitably begin to rot.

It festered there, eating away at him, turning pitch-black, slimy and foul, spreading through his heart and mind until scarcely a speck of light remained. He was absolutely certain now that he would hesitate at nothing to satisfy this ravenous, burning craving—not even if it defied the natural order of the world, not even if it flew directly in the face of heaven’s own will.

Yet, for just a fleeting moment, a stray thought surfaced unbidden through the haze of rage and bitterness.

*When… when exactly did I begin to feel this way? At what point did the pride turn to poison?*

He brushed the question aside impatiently, refusing to let it take root. His lips parted of their own accord, and words began spilling out, low and ragged, into the quiet air. Speech was meant to connect people, to bridge the space between one soul and another—but spoken when entirely alone, it became nothing more than a soliloquy, a conversation with the darkest parts of himself.

True to its nature, the fire that blazed within his mind burned fiercely, searing through every thought and memory until only glowing white ash remained.

“I’ll kill you. I will kill you, Cheon-yeong—my own flesh and blood, my brother. And Baek Yang-hui… how could you do this to me? Father… how could you look at me and choose him instead? Heavens, tell me why! Let it all be stained black then—yes, let everything be defiled, if only I can grasp what is rightfully mine. The Vast Heaven Sword Squadron… the Namgung Clan… the Tang Clan… every last one of them who has turned against me, every last one who stands in my way—they must all be dealt with.”

No further questions arose to trouble him. His mind was already burning white-hot, consuming itself as fuel, feeding its own fire until nothing else could survive within it.

*So many people stand in my path. How dare they? How dare they presume to decide what belongs to me?*

The Tang family—mere tools that had slipped their leashes, daring to turn and bite the hand that had held them. His younger brother, Namgung Cheon-yeong—born so much later, arriving when everything was already meant to be settled, yet brazenly coveting what belonged to him by birthright. And above all others, Baek Yang-hui.

“Baek Yang-hui… Baek Yang-hui… Baek Yang-hui… Baek Yang-hui…!” He repeated the name over and over, like a curse or a prayer, each time spitting it out with fresh venom.

The flames within blazed ever brighter, showing no sign of dying down, no matter how great the piles of white ash they left behind. Strangely, though, these flames were not red or gold—they were black, as dark as the deepest night. Was it because the emotions feeding them had turned every bit as black?

*I will kill you. I will see you dead, Baek Yang-hui. I will not rest until you are gone from this world.*

It was a feeling so profound, so utterly devoid of light, that it might rightly be called utter darkness—and Baek Yang-hui was the source of it all. Baek Yang-hui, who had a younger brother every bit as gifted as he was, perhaps even more so. Unlike Namgung Cheon-hu, who saw his brother only as a rival stealing his place, Baek Yang-hui cherished that brother openly, proudly, without a single trace of jealousy or fear.

Namgung Cheon-hu lived in constant, gnawing fear of Namgung Cheon-yeong. He loathed the younger brother who looked up to him with nothing but pure respect and unwavering affection, yet whose staggering, monstrous talent was dismantling everything the elder had spent his whole life building.

*Loathe? Have I truly hated Cheon-yeong all this time, deep down?*

What else could it be, if not hatred—the quiet, terrible wish that another person had never existed at all, that they might vanish from the world as if they had never been born? Yes. He hated him. He had hated him from the very day he arrived, and every day since then.

Baek Yang-hui, in beautiful, maddening contrast, spoke of his own brother with nothing but open warmth and endless pride: *“My proud, wonderful little brother. There is no one in this world I admire more.”* He could celebrate his brother’s brilliance without reservation, without a single fear that it would diminish him. It all came down to talent—talent that Namgung Cheon-hu simply did not possess. A talent so vast it overshadowed even Namgung Cheon-yeong’s, so far beyond ordinary perception that most people could not even see its true scale.

*He must die. They must all die, so nothing remains to threaten me.*

He would become head of the Namgung Clan, no matter what stood in his way, and from that position of power he would reach out and claim the entire world. Every rising star, every budding genius, every great figure who might one day outshine him—they all had to be crushed. Not just Namgung Cheon-yeong and Baek Yang-hui, but every great tree that dared to grow tall enough to cast a shadow over him. He would ally himself with the vilest, most reviled unorthodox sects if that was what it took—there was no depth to which he would not sink.

*Let my hands be stained black from wrist to shoulder, let my whole soul be tarnished, if only I can see them dead and keep what is mine.*

Originally, his plan had been far more careful, far more respectable: make quiet contact with the Hyungsan Sect, feed them carefully selected, misleading information, and position the Namgung Clan as the noble leading force in suppressing the unruly western unorthodox factions. But the moment he saw the true, terrifying gulf between himself and Baek Yang-hui, he abandoned that course entirely. He wanted Baek Yang-hui dead so desperately, so feverishly, that he would dirty both hands and his whole being to make it happen.

Yet even that darker, more desperate scheme had been foiled by Baek Yang-hui’s sharp, unexpected moves. That man had seen right through it, and had set a counter-trap designed to leave the Namgung Clan and the Hyungsan Sect tearing each other apart. Half the loyal, capable members of the Vast Heaven Sword Squadron—who were meant to become his trusted right hand, his most reliable supporters in the years ahead—had perished as a result.

“Very well… I concede this round. You have won this battle, Baek Yang-hui.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth, tasting the bitterness of them. “But the war is not over. In the end, it will be your family that falls.”

He would see to it personally, he vowed, no matter what filth he had to wade through, no matter what sins he had to carry.

As these dark, relentless thoughts swirled through his mind, Namgung Cheon-hu froze suddenly, a new doubt piercing through the rage.

*But… can I truly stand before the clan as their leader, as the head of the Great Namgung, while steeped in all this filth? Will they not see the darkness in me?*

The Vast Heaven Sword Clan—the Great Namgung—was a revered orthodox sect, acknowledged and respected across the entire realm as a beacon of righteousness and honour. It was no place for someone whose soul had turned black at its core. To sit upon the ancestral throne, he would need to distance himself from the darkness, to appear clean and upright before all the world.

*All crows under heaven have black wings,* a quiet voice whispered in his mind. *Do they feel shame for it? Are they sorry for what they are? Stained hands? That is not nearly enough to stop us.*

No. A crow does not apologise for the colour of its feathers. It does not try to scrub itself white, for it knows its nature. Why should I feel ashamed of what I was born to be? Why should I apologise for being who I truly am?

That was it. He had not been stained black by his choices—he was born this way. He had always been this person, and the pretence of goodness was just another burden he had been made to carry. Realisation washed over him in a sudden, overwhelming rush of ecstatic relief.

*What does it matter how deep the filth, how black the heart? I can simply drape myself in spotless white robes, and they will see only the brightness of the cloth. They will never look beneath the surface.*

Humans were such shallow, predictable creatures, were they not? They judged entirely by appearances, by the words spoken and the clothes worn, and treated people accordingly. They would never know.

*Yes! That is exactly it! Be true to what you want! Be true to yourself! Stop pretending to be someone you are not!*

***

A sudden, unfamiliar presence broke his concentration as he sat in deep meditation, circulating his qi through his meridians, and he opened his eyes slowly. It was not A-du or Jeon Seol-ha relaxing in the room as they usually were—it was Chui-dal, standing there with a look of quiet pride.

“Brother.”

“Good. You have returned sooner than I expected. Did you find out what we needed to know?”

“More than a fair bit. And like I told you before I left—I am not the same Chui-dal you used to know. I have grown stronger, sharper, and I am far more capable than you give me credit for.”

Yang-hui whistled softly, a mixture of surprise and genuine pleasure. Even knowing how talented Chui-dal was, sending a first-tier martial artist alone into a stronghold teeming with peak-level masters had seemed like utter madness. Yet here he stood, safe and unharmed, brimming with quiet assurance—he must have uncovered a great deal of vital information.

*The world is truly wide, and the martial realm is full of wonders one could never imagine.* A first-tier warrior slipping undetected past peak-level guards using advanced concealment arts, gathering intelligence and returning without a scratch? Even accounting for the unique, extraordinary advantages of the Divine Thrower’s meridian system, it was something bordering on the miraculous.

*That is why you can never, ever let your guard down,* Yang-hui reminded himself. Rank and title meant nothing when arts were perfectly matched or uniquely suited to the task. He knew this from his own experience—he himself had defeated a peak master when he was still only first-tier, after all.

“Go on then, tell us everything. If the information is as valuable as you seem to think, I shall promote you to Ten Ri Chui-dal—how does that sound?”

Chui-dal’s face fell into a dramatic scowl of pure outrage.

“I sneak into a heavily guarded stronghold crawling with the realm’s most dangerous experts, pull off a flawless, daring mission without raising a single alarm, and return safely with secrets—and all I get is *Ten Ri*? Brother, where is the justice in that? That is hardly a reward fit for a hero!”

“Chui-dal.”

“What?”

“Why did you try to dodge?”

“Why what? I was just—”

Yang-hui’s hand shot out faster than lightning, quicker than the eye could follow. Chui-dal had changed, certainly, and he had tried to move aside—but he was not quite fast enough.

*Smack!*

“Ow! That hurts!”

“You fool. Did you forget that dodging only makes it hurt twice as much? You tense up, and the impact lands harder.”

“Twice? That was more like ten times worse! What did you do to me?”

Even someone who had endured the unimaginable agonies of the Asura Hell Great Law could not help yelping at that sharp, precise rap to the head. It felt as though a great bronze bell had been rung directly inside his skull, ringing and echoing long after the blow had landed.

“Heh. I have been doing a little improving myself while you were gone. I added a touch of sound-based arts principles to it—just a small refinement.”

“Who does that? Who incorporates profound sound arts into a simple knuckle rap?! That is completely unnecessary!”

“I do. And it worked perfectly, did it not?”

Jeon Seol-ha spoke up from beside him, a faint, smug little smile playing about her lips.

“Senior brother… is that not rather harsh? You have never once laid a hand on me, your junior sister, no matter how much I might deserve it.”

Chui-dal rounded on him immediately, eyes wide with righteous indignation.

“Is that true?! You have never once hit her? Not even a little tap?!”

“Never once.”

*Hmm… not quite. I seem to recall giving her a gentle tap or two when she was being particularly stubborn,* Yang-hui thought to himself. With a memory sharp and clear enough to quote every scrap of gossip from his entire past life verbatim, he knew he was right—but correcting her now would turn her expression truly terrifying, and he did not have the patience for that.

“Brother! That is nothing but discrimination! We are both your juniors, we both look up to you—why do I get punished and she never does?!”

“Jealous? If you want to be treated gently, then you should become a breathtaking beauty too, just like her.”

“That is unfair! How can someone of your standing, someone so wise and respected, be so biased?! It is completely unjust!”

“It is not bias—it is simple preference. Who told you you look like an unkempt little otter? You cannot blame me for what is right in front of my eyes.”

Chui-dal looked ready to burst with frustration. *I do not look like an otter! I have perfectly fine features!* In truth, he had neat, handsome, distinguished features that many would have envied—his brother was simply teasing him mercilessly for no good reason at all.

“You look thoroughly displeased. Seol-ha, show him.”

“Yes, senior brother!”

Jeon Seol-ha, who almost always kept her face carefully veiled in public, lifted the fabric away without the slightest hesitation and gave him a bright, radiant smile that seemed to light up the whole room. Chui-dal stared, utterly captivated, as he always was—her beauty was so striking, so perfect, that he could never quite get used to it no matter how many times he saw it.

“Any complaints now?”

“…None whatsoever. I yield—you are right, she is entirely too beautiful for anyone to treat harshly.”

That was how Yang-hui quelled Chui-dal’s little rebellion, quickly and without further fuss.

“Ahaha, senior brother.”

“What is it now?”

“You have never said so openly before… but I think deep down you truly do believe I am the most beautiful woman in the entire world.”

“If you are my junior sister, then yes—you are without equal anywhere under heaven.”

“Truly? You really mean it?”

She beamed with delight, and then he quickly added, “On second thought… that wide, mischievous grin rather spoils the effect. It makes you look more like a playful imp than a peerless beauty.”

“Hey!”

“And your manners are slipping too. Does the world’s most beautiful woman snap like that? She would speak with grace and dignity, would she not?”

*I held back from saying exactly what I really thought just for you,* she protested silently. *I have worked so hard to rid myself of all my rough, bad habits… and now you criticise me for being myself? Some people really do lack self-awareness.* Still, her spirits soared higher than they had in days. Praise from someone who had always been so quiet and reserved about such things meant more to her than any treasure.

“Chui-dal, pay his nonsense no mind. Tell us what you discovered—we must discuss our countermeasures urgently, before it is too late.”

“Why should I take orders from you? This is family business, after all!”

“Keep arguing and I will go straight to your father and tell him everything.”

Chui-dal fell instantly silent. Uncle Jeon Seon was the most kind-hearted, easily swayed man Yang-hui knew—and he already owed him so much that he would never dream of going against his wishes.

“Enough banter now, Chui-dal. We need every detail. Speak.”

“Banter? Me? I was not bantering at all—I was making a very valid point!”

“Playtime is over.” Yang-hui’s expression hardened, growing serious and focused. “I imagine they are planning a surprise attack, are they not? A direct strike to catch us off guard.”

“Spot on. How did you know? Did you suspect all along?”

“The little scholar and I went over every possibility together. There are other paths they might take, but a sudden, overwhelming raid is the only one that suits their goals and their nature.”

Chui-dal nodded gravely. “The Hyungsan Sect and the Namgung Clan are joining forces. They intend to assault the main manor directly—three days from now, at dawn, with two hundred carefully chosen elite troops, to wipe out the Baek family entirely in one stroke.”

“Two hundred is not a vast number by itself… but if they are sending that few, it means many among them are peak masters—some of the most dangerous fighters alive.”

“Almost certainly. That is exactly what my sources confirmed.”

Two difficult courses of action now lay open before them: recall the loyal forces currently returning from Gildju to reinforce the manor and stand together, or remain as they were and face the enemy with only the strength they had right here, right now.

“To be completely honest with you, brother… our current numbers simply cannot match theirs. You know that as well as I do. We would be outmatched and outclassed.”

“In terms of raw strength alone… you are entirely correct.” Yang-hui turned to Jeon Seol-ha with a confident, unshaken grin. “Are you ready, Seol-ha?”

She rolled up her sleeves, revealing toned, capable forearms, and met his gaze with equal determination. “I was born ready, senior brother. Whenever you are.”