Chapter 246

Chapter 246

# Chapter 246: The Wanderer’s Inquiry

A man hurried along the winding path, his robes fluttering sharply behind him, a carefully spaced retinue of attendants trailing at a respectful, prudent distance.

“My lord, if you rush about so openly, people will see and say you are behaving utterly unbecomingly—such haste is beneath the dignity of your station.”

Namgung Il-geom let out a full, hearty laugh, the sound ringing out bright and unhesitant.

“Is mere formality and propriety truly what matters right now? My own son stands in the middle of a duel at this very moment—can you truly speak of dignity when his fate hangs in the balance?”

Ever since the opening of the True Dragon Battle, leaders and elders from every corner of the martial world and its countless sects had begun arriving in steady succession, gathering one after another beneath the great pavilions. Though the prestigious Dragon-Phoenix Meet had always been designed first and foremost as a stage for the rising younger generation of the most distinguished clans and lineages, it remained a rare and notable sight indeed for the heads of even the revered Five Great Clans to appear in person, rather than sending trusted envoys or heirs. This exceptional turn of events was made possible only by the solemn, far-reaching invitation extended by Mount Wudang itself.

“I was detained by unavoidable, pressing matters of state and clan—so much for decorum, so much for slow dignity! I must make all haste! At this pace, I fear I will have to call upon my lightness skill and leap across the very rooftops just to catch the final moments of the match!”

Namgung Il-geom was nearing his sixtieth year, a milestone by any standard. For a man of his standing, reputation, and age to bound across tiled roofs like an impetuous, untrained youth would normally be considered completely beneath his dignity, a thing no clan head would ever dream of doing in public. Yet he pushed off the ground without a moment’s further hesitation, his foot striking the stone with firm resolve.

“What could possibly stand in my way of witnessing Cheon-yeong’s finest, most glorious hour? You agree, do you not? Ha ha ha!”

“You speak nothing but the absolute truth, my lord—no father could do less.”

“Had the young master known you were coming to see him… but then again, without word sent ahead, the match may well have reached its end before we even step through the gates.”

The attendants chimed in one by one, nodding with exaggerated, careful earnestness. They had all heard detailed accounts from Elder Namgung Sa-geom regarding the formidable prowess and growing renown of Baek Yang-hwi—the very opponent their young master faced today. Naturally, not a single one dared voice such anxious thoughts aloud before the clan head, whose faith in his son appeared unshakable.

“I see unease written clearly across every one of your faces—do not think you can hide it from me.”

“There is no cause for worry, none at all. If you doubt what my son is capable of, simply wait and see with your own eyes. I have unwavering, unbreakable faith in him.”

*The sword I forged with my own two hands, tempered and shaped by my own will.*

Namgung Cheon-yeong was a blade that would never chip, never falter, never break. He had raised and trained him to be exactly that—strong, flawless, unyielding. How could the sharpest, sturdiest, most carefully forged blade in all the world ever shatter? Only common, poorly made steel snapped under pressure; only ordinary men crumbled.

His younger brother, Namgung Sa-geom, had sent multiple letters filled with indignation and alarm, detailing Baek Yang-hwi’s rising achievements, recounting the apparent disgrace Namgung Cheon-yeong had suffered, and urging swift, decisive action to set things right.

*He will emerge all the sharper, all the stronger, for having passed through this trial.*

The finest steel is not made soft by fire—it is refined by it, made harder and keener with every heating and quenching. Unlike Namgung Cheon-hu, Namgung Cheon-yeong was a perfect weapon, polished to brilliance. Accordingly, not a flicker of doubt clouded Namgung Il-geom’s heart, not even the faintest shadow of hesitation or fear.

*It will be so. It must be.*

Anything less would mean everything he had built, everything he believed in, was called into question.

Just then, they arrived at the open gates of the dueling grounds, where banners snapped in the wind and crowds thronged the viewing stands. Namgung Il-geom caught sight of a familiar face—one he had never actually met in person, yet recognized instantly from descriptions and distant meetings at past gatherings.

“Ah. Baek Clan Head, is it not?”

It was Baek Mu-ryang, the respected leader of the Heaven-Covering Baek Clan.

“Judging by your bearing and the crest upon your robes… you must be the distinguished head of the Great Namgung Clan. It is truly an honor to make your acquaintance at last.”

Baek Mu-ryang appeared to be hastening toward the arena as well, moving with a purposeful step that matched his own.

“What a striking coincidence—both fathers of the competitors, running late and hurrying as one.”

“Heavy, unavoidable responsibilities kept me delayed far longer than I intended.”

“Then let us proceed together, side by side.”

Namgung Il-geom extended the invitation graciously. In truth, it sounded less like a suggestion than a quiet, confident command.

*The fool who took in a stray orphan boy and raised him as his own, turning him into nothing more than a mongrel pup with a famous name.* What expression would he wear once the outcome was decided and the truth laid bare?

*Perfect timing. According to every plan I have laid, that man will come to stand among us within the Heaven-Covering sphere soon enough anyway—one way or another.*

They walked onward together toward the heart of the arena, where the noise of the crowd grew louder with every step. They were nearly there when the sound erupted, swelling into a roar that shook the very air.

Deafening cheers burst forth from every direction at once, rising in a great, joyous wave.

“The victor is… Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon Baek Yang-hwi!”

“Woo! Wooooo!”

“The Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon prevails! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Baek Mu-ryang turned and met his gaze fully. A broad, unfeigned smile lit up his face—utterly sincere, completely free of scheming, calculation, or hidden pretense. Namgung Il-geom’s expression hardened instantly, his jaw tightening, his eyes growing cold.

—

The duel had ended. Victory had been declared for all to hear.

*This is enough—enough to claim total superiority, enough to proclaim his triumph wherever I go, to anyone who will listen.*

As Yang-hwi stood bathed in admiration and the thunder of applause, the crowd around him roared in celebration, their voices rising in unison.

“Woo! Wooooo!”

“The Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon wins! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

“The Heaven-Covering Baek Clan has surpassed the Heaven-Covering Sword Clan!”

The shouts naturally drew a smile to his lips, bright and unhidden.

*That is right. Shout it loud, shout it from the rooftops. All of this was done for exactly this moment—this recognition, this acclaim.*

Yet the deeper reality was different, known only to a few. In terms of true, underlying power and heritage, the present Baek Clan could never truly outmatch the Namgung Clan. In open, all-out warfare, they would be crushed completely, ten times over without a single doubt. But the world would see it otherwise. The Baek heir had stood in the arena and soundly defeated the Namgung heir!

*Even the most calculating, pragmatic minds will come to believe that within ten or twenty years, the Baek Clan will stand above the Namgung—with me at its center, leading the way.*

That was the crux of it, the prize that mattered most: public perception. The rising prestige that would follow in these words’ wake. And the fame bound up in those four glorious characters: Heaven-Covering Sword Dragon.

*I will become the Supreme Dragon. I will claim that title as my own.*

That was the ultimate prize of the Dragon-Phoenix Meet—an ambition he considered inevitable, yet one of vital, make-or-break importance. He had to seize it. The reason was simple and clear: if he succeeded, he was absolutely certain he could close the full gap with the Namgung Clan within three short years.

*Contain the Demonic Cult’s spreading influence and undermine Wudang’s carefully laid designs—all at once, with this single victory.*

Every step he took, every move he made, advanced the interests of his clan and no other.

Then a voice reached him, quiet and distinct above the cheering.

“Well fought, young hero—truly well done.” It was Yin Hu, speaking directly to him.

*I knew you would not speak openly of this. But then again, you understand better than anyone what the Namgung name means to me, what it has cost us.*

He had never spoken of his return from the past, nor the knowledge he carried from that former life. Yet a master remained a master, seeing what others missed. Yin Hu understood the depth of feeling Yang-hwi held toward the Namgung, the weight of history driving him.

“Thank you, Master.”

And that was only the beginning. As if in answer to Yin Hu’s message, more transmissions came flooding in, each voice distinct and familiar.

“Heh heh—quite the spectacular performance. I eagerly await the day my disciple and you cross blades in earnest,” Rak Bul’s voice carried unmistakable amusement and genuine anticipation.

“Ah, you simply must become my pupil! That final strike was magnificent! If you truly walk my path, who knows what heights you might reach…” The Sea Dragon King’s message cut short mid-sentence. He turned to find Yin Hu gripping his collar firmly amid the commotion, pulling him away. Both figures soon vanished from sight, leaving no trace.

The last message came from a voice he cherished above all others, warm and filled with pride.

“Hwi-ya. You were magnificent. Congratulations, my son.”

*Father?*

He should not have arrived yet—heavy clan business had kept him at home, delayed by urgent matters. The letter had clearly stated he would come only around the semifinal stage.

He turned quickly, and there he was, standing not far away. Right beside the frozen, rigid figure of the Namgung Clan Head, who stood as if turned to stone.

*What a striking, unforgettable picture.*

His eyes naturally met Namgung Il-geom’s. In that instant, the man spun sharply on his heel and departed without a word, vanishing into the crowd as if he could not bear to witness the victor’s celebration for even a moment longer. Not a single thought seemed directed toward comforting his defeated son, not one glance cast back toward the arena floor.

“Father!”

He spun his sword in a bright, showy flourish and hurried over, beaming radiantly, his steps light and full of joy.

—

Instead of staying to watch the remaining matches, he spent the quiet hours in private conversation with his father, away from the noise and crowds.

“You performed splendidly—beyond anything I dared hope. You truly defeated the Namgung heir, the boy everyone said was unbeatable.”

“Whose son do you think I am? The outcome was never in doubt, not from the very start.”

“True enough—though rumors swirled that this young master had been groomed with exceptional, unprecedented care from childhood, unlike the heir who came before him. He was raised to be perfect.”

It was an accurate observation, one he knew well. To be perfectly honest, without the priceless advantage of his past lives and the wisdom they brought, he could not have defeated Namgung Cheon-yeong at this stage in their lives. The boy possessed that much raw, natural talent—extraordinary, undeniable.

*If the world feels unfair, do not complain—change it yourself.*

He shrugged lightly and replied, “Compared to what still lies ahead, this was the straightforward part.”

“Wudang’s Present Sword? Shaolin’s Arhat challenger? Those will not be so easily overcome.”

“And the Tang Clan’s prodigy as well—he too will be a formidable test.”

The Tang Clan had changed greatly from what he remembered in his former life—all thanks to the guidance and techniques he had shared during the Sacheon expedition. Talents once suppressed and held back had flourished dramatically upon encountering new methods, their potential suddenly unleashed.

“Ah—there is one more thing I must speak of.”

“Another promising talent who has caught your eye? The wandering swordsman Nanghon you wrote about in your letter?”

Earlier in the tournament, Yang-hwi had genuinely hoped to recruit Nanghon, seeing in him great potential. He had even suggested it to Baek Mu-ryang and outlined his reasons in detail. Now, standing after this victory, his perspective had shifted entirely.

“That is the one. But recruitment is no longer an option—I have decided against it completely.”

“If you have judged him so, then his character must be deeply flawed despite his undeniable skill.”

“Not exactly… though perhaps character is part of it, in its own way.”

He realized his father did not yet know the full story behind his change of heart.

“Did you not see So’s match earlier? That will explain everything.”

“I nearly missed yours as well—I arrived late and could not see every bout.”

He recounted the duel between Baek Heon-so and Nanghon in full, describing every moment and the way the fight had unfolded. Baek Mu-ryang listened carefully, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he weighed the details.

“Do you know why this Nanghon seeks to challenge you above all others?”

“I cannot say for certain. Publicly, he claims he simply wishes to test his skill against mine and see where he stands.”

“He is driven by the thrill of battle, by the hunger to prove himself. And in doing so, he struck your brother—my son—and left him broken.”

*Struck*—the perfect word, heavy with meaning. Strictly speaking, Nanghon had done nothing against the rules. So had suffered grave injuries and fallen unconscious only because he refused to yield, refused to step down, until his strength gave out completely. But a father’s heart could never be entirely impartial, not when his own child lay hurt.

“You now have a debt to settle. Repay Nanghon in full, and let him know what it means to harm one of ours.”

“Of course—I would have it no other way. I intended to face him next regardless. Casting it as avenging my brother gives it a fitting, proper face before the world.”

“Be honest with yourself—justice, not appearances, is what truly drives you.”

He scratched his head sheepishly, ready to discuss their next step, when there came a soft knock at the door.

“Clan Head?”

Chudal peeked cautiously into the room.