Chapter 232

Chapter 232
**Chapter 232: Beg for the Final Flag**

“Cheon-yeong-ah. My son—born with every right to clutch the world in your hands. You were meant to rule over the boundless heavens. All beneath the sky shall follow you, and no force shall ever stand against your will.”

These words had echoed in his ears from earliest childhood, chanted like a mantra he could never forget.

In truth, Namgung Cheon-yeong had grown up without ever knowing true hardship. The worst he had endured was perhaps the sharp glares of his elder brother, born of their father’s open favoritism.

It was not that the Namgung Clan had raised him sheltered and fragile, like a bloom nurtured within a glasshouse. Even the trials they had laid before him had been no more than low hurdles, leaping from one to the next without strain.

But now, in this moment…

“There you have it. Our group has gathered four flags. Only one remains.”

A single doubt took root in Namgung Cheon-yeong’s heart.

*Father. None of this matches what you told me.*

From the moment he had left home to join the Dragon-Phoenix Contest, nothing had unfolded as he had foreseen. Jeongga Seol-ha—the woman he had loved at first sight, the one he had longed to take as his betrothed—had not spared him even a single glance, no matter how fervent his pursuit.

And this tournament had been no different. From the very start, one of his teammates had been left crippled, unable so much as to walk, struck down by Baek Yang-hwi’s underhanded tricks. Worse still, they had failed to claim even one flag on their own. They had been forced to retreat to the gathering point, resolved instead to seize flags from others.

“From this moment onward, you may fight among yourselves.”

The voice dripped with mischief, and merely hearing it set his blood ablaze.

*Come to think of it—all of this is that man’s fault.*

He burned to spring an ambush upon Baek Yang-hwi, wrest every flag from his grasp, and be done with it. With Ok-cheong at his side, such a plan ought to have been well within reach.

The only barrier was this: no matter how swiftly they moved, they could not outpace the judges who were already accepting flags on Baek Yang-hwi’s behalf.

“Why do you stand frozen? I told you to fight. Why do you stare at me so? Surely you did not imagine you would be facing me? Go on—off with you. The contest is between those teams teetering on elimination.”

How utterly absurd it all seemed. To Namgung Cheon-yeong, raised within the disciplined, hallowed halls of the Namgung Clan’s inner quarters, every gesture and word felt strange and unfamiliar.

Perhaps, had their paths crossed under other circumstances… they might have stood together, side by side, watching such a scene and sharing a smile.

*But fate would never grant us such grace.*

Setting aside all that had recently come to pass, this man was the very one who had brought about the ruin of Namgung Cheon-hu—his own elder brother. Falsely accused, branded a traitor to his clan, and vanished without a trace. He could not breathe the same air as Baek Yang-hwi, let alone stand beside him.

And now, he found himself forced to beg for that same man’s mercy.

“So the team that prevails takes the flags?”

“That is correct.”

The reply was terse, delivered as though their stations were equal—unthinkable, given the vast gulf between them.

“I cannot fathom your purpose. What do you stand to gain from all this?”

“What concern is it of yours?”

Legend spoke of the Crouching Dragon, who had once dwelt among thorns, swallowing bitterness to forge his resolve. This was the moment to yield.

“Very well. I shall hold you to your word.”

He turned toward Ok-cheong—the only other present he acknowledged as a worthy rival.

“I never thought the day would come when we would cross blades like this, Taoist Ok-cheong.”

“Nor I. Yet I suspect this shall prove most interesting.”

“Shall we dispose of the other two teams first?”

“Agreed.”

Not long afterward, the finest prodigy of Mount Hua and the brightest heir of the Namgung Clan faced one another, swords drawn. Each stood bound alongside two teammates similarly chained.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Clang! Clang! Ring!

The ringing of steel upon steel went on without pause. Yang-hwi watched, arms folded.

*Most entertaining.* More precisely, there was amusement in it, yet touched with a faint, wistful ache.

Come to think of it, this was the first time in this life he had seen Namgung Cheon-yeong wield a sword for so long.

*Our lives have become so thoroughly tangled.*

Namgung Cheon-yeong—foe to the house of Chudal. The man who had ended his life before this one. The shining hope of the Namgung Clan, an orthodox sect rotting from within. And yet, if he traced their earliest bond… Yang-hwi and Namgung Cheon-yeong had once stood as brothers-in-arms.

During the campaign to crush the Demonic Cult, they had fought side by side against the same enemy. They had never grown close, circumstances having kept them apart, yet they had shared a jest now and then. That faint tie had led him to accept commissions from the Namgung Clan—commissions that ended, as all knew, in utter disaster.

“Forgive me, Best Sword Among Wanderers.”

Those had been Namgung Cheon-yeong’s final words in that former life.

*Forgive me, indeed. You ought never to have done anything requiring forgiveness in the first place, you fool.*

*That said—his talent truly is extraordinary.* Ok-cheong was gifted, beyond doubt, and a good ten years his senior. Yet Namgung Cheon-yeong held his ground, meeting every strike of Ok-cheong’s blade.

*I would dearly love to see that talent flourish fully. But it cannot be.*

The Namgung Clan would fall. And it would fall by his hand alone.

Forcing this fight rather than simply handing the flag to Ok-cheong was all part of that design.

“Yang-hwi!”

He started, nearly leaping from his skin. “Good heavens—you startled me.” He had been so lost in thought he had not noticed A-du drawing near. “You have finally arrived? Where have you been?”

“I brought rice cakes!”

“Rice cakes?” Which meant she had not wandered fruitlessly in search of a flag—she had already secured her place. “Did you find one?”

“Mm-hmm!”

“And where was it?”

“Just where you told me to look.”

*There actually was one?* He had pointed in that direction at random, merely to send her away so he might have a moment’s peace. Truly, those born lucky escape even a stumble unscathed.

“You found it and handed it in straightaway? What of the others?”

“Dusik and Samsik are managing. They told me to go on ahead before someone else snatched it.”

*Dusik and Samsik? Those are hardly names one hears from the great, noble houses.* In any case, it mattered little.

“You see? When you do as I say, even rice cakes drop into your lap while you sleep. Am I right?”

“Rice cakes?”

“Exactly. Remember this—always listen to me from now on, and you shall do well. Understood?”

“Understood!”

He patted her shoulder and turned back to the fight.

“It will not last much longer. As I expected, Brother Ok shall carry the day.”

Namgung Cheon-yeong possessed skill far beyond his years—of that there was no question. But so too did Ok-cheong.

*Even so… the scales are tipped heavily.* Several factors were at play.

For one, their formation. Three were bound together: Namgung Cheon-yeong at the center, Ok-cheong on the right. And one of Namgung Cheon-yeong’s teammates could barely stand, his leg struck useless by Yang-hwi’s own blow. It left Ok-cheong far freer to move as he chose.

*His companions are clumsy and unskilled—or rather, the fault lies in leadership.* Ok-cheong’s teammates moved as one, acting instantly at his command, fully aware that victory would grant them but a single flag and seal their elimination nonetheless. Meanwhile, Namgung Cheon-yeong had never truly won his own team’s trust.

“Fall into line! Move properly!”

The expressions on his companions’ faces each time he shouted were almost comical—too intimidated to glare openly, yet their discontent written plain to see.

*It is well I set this in motion. A pampered young lord would chafe bitterly at finding himself in such straits.* His teammates, facing certain elimination, knew it would serve them best to curry favor with him. But human hearts do not always follow cold logic. When all one receives is harsh words and scant hope of reward… it becomes all too easy to resent the one who rules over you.

Had they not been bound together, the outcome might have been different. A single well-timed strike can turn the tide of any contest. Namgung Cheon-yeong’s skill, though not the equal of Ok-cheong’s, was more than enough to shift the battle’s course. The odds had been slim, yet not impossible.

*In the end, it comes down to people—not prowess alone.*

“Young Heir Pang.”

“Speak.”

“Do you require the flag?”

“I do not. I can imagine no more graceful exit than this.”

Pang Wang had sought a dignified way to withdraw from the very start. Surrendering his place to a junior after having secured it would reflect great credit upon him; word would travel, and the world would applaud his generosity.

“Be that as it may—” A knowing grin touched Pang Wang’s lips. “Watching these two duel has stirred my own spirit of competition. Might we linger a little longer?”

“You do not mean to invite them both to join us, merely to spare their feelings?”

“Heh—you have seen through me.”

“You are a trial to the very end. Then let the Great Ocean Dragon King Do visit every torment upon you, Young Heir.”

“I think not.”

“Indeed you shall. For I shall wish it so.”

“What?”

Pang Wang had overlooked one crucial detail—a contingency held in reserve.

“If you refuse to yield your flag, then I shall withdraw instead. You shall lose our wager by default and become a disciple of the Great Ocean Dragon King. Is that not so?”

He continued without waiting for an answer. “I do not say it to boast, but I am confident I should become a favorite pupil. And then I shall ask my master to make your life a burden—all to settle every grievance I hold against you.”

“Even should I step down this very moment, I shall join the Heavenly Martial Ten Lords. What say you to that?”

Pang Wang stood speechless, as though struck dumb. In go, it was a surrounded piece; in chess, checkmate.

“Ahem… merely jesting.”

Just then, the duel between Namgung Cheon-yeong and Ok-cheong reached its end. Ok-cheong held his blade to the younger man’s throat and smiled warmly.

“The contest is decided! A splendid display! Young Heir Namgung, your skill far outstrips your years—truly remarkable! Hahaha!”

The distribution of flags began. One was awarded to Jin Yeong-jin, and another to Ok-cheong.

“I have an announcement to make,” Pang Wang declared. “I, Pang Wang, shall stand aside and yield this opportunity to those who follow after me.” His formal bow drew a ripple of applause from onlookers. One flag remained.

“And so, Namgung Cheon-yeong… do you desire this last one?”

Namgung Cheon-yeong stood as though carved from stone—yet his eyes burned with a flicker of fire. Greed for the prize? Or something deeper still?

“The fight promised but one flag. Should you wish for another, you must meet a new condition. Beg. Weep, if you must—and it shall be yours.”

For an instant, pure, unfeigned killing intent flared in Namgung Cheon-yeong’s gaze. Yang-hwi smiled to himself. *It has been some time since I felt such genuine malice.*

“You find yourself unable? Should the great Namgung heir fall in the preliminary rounds, what will they say in Anhui? Why, all of Jiangxi shall be stunned—and delighted. After all, I too advanced against all expectation, just as you yourself remarked.”

“Baek Yang-hwi…”

*Yes. Burn brighter. Let it consume you.*

“What is your choice? If you do not want it, I shall offer it to another.”

No answer came—only the grinding of teeth.

“Cannot bring yourself to beg? Does pride weigh so heavily upon the heir’s shoulders? I shall count to ten. After that, it is done.”

He spoke slowly, clearly, each number falling soft and sharp.

“Nine… Ten. Most impressive. A pride worthy of your station. You fall, yet you do not bow—such is your spirit!”

He tossed the flag so it landed at Namgung Cheon-yeong’s feet.

In truth, he had never intended to withhold it. But granted this way, the sting would linger longer—and the fire would burn all the hotter.

*Consider yourself fortunate. I have need of a rival worthy of the Great Clans.* Pang Wang was too unpredictable; one never knew when he might offer another noble gesture and slip away.

“Your expression is a delight to behold. A little something extra, for your troubles. Until we meet again… heh heh heh.”

Yang-hwi turned and walked toward the judges without looking back. Namgung Cheon-yeong stood staring at the flag. Minutes slipped by—fifteen, then half an hour.

“Young Heir Namgung… if you have no use for it, might I take it?” The question, spoken by one of the Ninety-One Team’s members, hung alone in the heavy air.