Swish.
Two shadows appeared atop the collapsed roof, and in an instant, an elderly man and a middle-aged man with a jade-like countenance stood before Bu Eunseol.
“Leader! Leader!” Ok Hobang exclaimed in shock, bowing deeply as he recognized the two.
The middle-aged man, clad in a blue robe and exuding an air of divinity, was none other than Do Myeong, the Leader of Dongpyoseorang, who had left for secluded training four years ago.
“How have you been, Treasurer Ok?” Do Myeong asked.
“How did you get here so suddenly…?” Ok Hobang stammered.
“It wasn’t sudden,” said the elderly man standing beside Do Myeong, shaking his head.
This was Yang Sa, Do Myeong’s loyal servant of over twenty years.
“The Leader returned to Dongpyoseorang at the start of the Martial Tournament,” Yang Sa explained.
“Since the tournament began?” Ok Hobang’s jaw dropped.
Yang Sa sighed. “From the beginning, the Leader only wanted you to manage Dongpyoseorang well. He never desired to rise as a martial power by borrowing the influence of Hell’s Blood Fortress.”
“That… that’s…” Ok Hobang broke into a cold sweat as his hidden ambitions were exposed.
Do Myeong waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t blame the Treasurer. Without him, how could I have spent four years in secluded training so peacefully?”
He smiled warmly at Ok Hobang. “After I left, Hell’s Blood Fortress kept eyeing our guild, didn’t they? Without you, Dongpyoseorang would have crumbled, its mercenaries scattered or absorbed by Hell’s Blood Fortress.”
“Leader… Leader…” Ok Hobang’s eyes welled with tears of regret.
Do Myeong was a powerful and remarkable martial artist, but he had no ambition to expand Dongpyoseorang. Dissatisfied with this, Ok Hobang had spent the past four years leveraging Hell’s Blood Fortress’s influence to grow the guild and scheme to oust Do Myeong.
“Leader, I’ve actually been…” Ok Hobang began.
“I know. It’s alright,” Do Myeong said, patting Ok Hobang’s shoulder. “You did what you could. You worked hard in my absence.” Do Myeong’s warm words brought fresh tears to Ok Hobang’s eyes.
“Leader! Leader!” Ok Hobang clutched Do Myeong’s arm, weeping with remorse.
Yang Sa, Black Leopard, Orchid Flower, and Blood Awl were also moved to tears by the scene.
But one person—Bu Eunseol—stood with a bored expression.
“So…” he said in a low voice, breaking the moment. “Where’s my sword?”
***
The Yeongsasin Sword was indeed in the Great Armory.
Ok Hobang pointed to a large box at the armory’s entrance, filled with old swords still in their scabbards.
“The Yeongsasin Sword is in there,” he said.
Bu Eunseol peered into the box. “Hmm.” His eyes glinted as he lifted the box with one hand.
Click.
A mechanism activated, revealing a hidden compartment beneath the box. Astonishingly, this compartment was also filled with old swords, just like the box above.
Rustle.
Bu Eunseol reached in and picked up the most worn and rusted sword. It lacked any ornamentation, and its scabbard was so corroded it looked encrusted with jagged stones.
“A fine sword,” he remarked.
Shing. As he drew the blade, rust fell away, revealing a dark, glossy blade.
This was the divine sword, Yeongsasin, said to cleave even the souls of its foes.
“You knew it was the Yeongsasin Sword?” Ok Hobang asked, astonished that Bu Eunseol had found it instantly.
“I didn’t,” Bu Eunseol replied, channeling internal energy to strip away the remaining rust, a faint smile on his face. “It just called to me.”
The Yeongsasin Sword, now free of rust, gleamed with a dark luster even in its scabbard. Though it resembled a demonic blade, it was in truth a divine sword capable of repelling evil energies and cutting down malevolent spirits.
“I’ll call you Black Blade from now on,” Bu Eunseol declared.
Hum.
At his words, the Yeongsasin Sword—no, the Black Blade—emitted a low hum from its blade.
“This sword was originally prepared for the Leader’s return,” Ok Hobang said.
The Yeongsasin Sword was a divine weapon Ok Hobang had acquired through a year of effort by his mercenaries. But when his ambitions turned dark, he had intended it as a tribute to the Lord of Hell’s Blood Fortress.
“Yet it seems it had its true master all along,” Ok Hobang said, looking at Bu Eunseol’s profile. “I’m ashamed, but… I have a request.”
“Speak.”
“Please take care of Saha.” Ok Saha—that was Black Leopard’s true name.
“He’s just a mercenaries I contracted out of necessity. You don’t need to concern yourself,” Bu Eunseol said coldly.
Ok Hobang swallowed hard and fell silent at the icy response. “I-I’m sorry.”
Bu Eunseol added softly, “But I won’t let him die.”
“I won’t let him die…” Savoring those words, Ok Hobang allowed a faint smile to cross his face.
He finally understood Bu Eunseol’s true character.
I see it now. His nature. On the surface, Bu Eunseol seemed cold and ruthless, but he would never harm those under his wing. And if anyone tried to hurt them, he would protect them with his life.
“Thank you,” Ok Hobang said, bowing deeply. Then, as if remembering something, his eyes widened. “Are you leaving immediately?”
Bu Eunseol nodded, and Ok Hobang continued, “The Leader wishes to meet you privately.”
“The Leader?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Yes,” Ok Hobang replied with a faint smile. “You won’t regret meeting him.”
***
At Wonlimgak.
The place was originally a lodging for homeless mercenaries, but it had now become Do Myeong’s residence.
“Excuse me,” Bu Eunseol said as he opened the office door.
Do Myeong, who had been writing a letter at his desk, stopped and smiled. “Come in.” He stood and gestured to a table across from him. “Have a seat. Let’s have some tea.”
The tea Do Myeong offered wasn’t Sun-Moon Tea or Dragon Well, but a wild tea made from hand-picked leaves.
Bu Eunseol stared at the rustic cup before taking a sip.
“How’s the taste? I made this wild tea myself,” Do Myeong asked.
Bu Eunseol gave a wry smile. Every martial arts master he’d met seemed to love tea. And they always asked how it tasted after serving it.
“I don’t know much about tea… but it’s simple yet strong,” he said.
“Simple yet strong,” Do Myeong repeated, his smile tinged with both regret and satisfaction. “I’ve been pondering how to describe this flavor, and you’ve given me a clear answer.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Meeting a master like you makes ten years of study feel like nothing,” Do Myeong said with a hollow laugh, a faint glint in his eyes.
“I heard you’re a disciple of Nangyang.”
“I am.”
“Strange. Our guild has a considerable intelligence network, but… there’s no evidence you’re a disciple of Nangyang.” Do Myeong stared intently at Bu Eunseol.
Looking into his clear, cool eyes, like the azure sky, he said, “Is the Peongan Corps Leader hiding your information?”
Do Myeong chuckled to himself. “To have such an exceptional disciple… he must be protecting you with all his might.” Bu Eunseol’s eyes showed no hostility, but as Do Myeong spoke, his gaze deepened with memories of the past.
“You know much about our sect?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Heh heh,” Do Myeong let out a laugh, part chuckle, part sigh. “As much as you do.” It was an answer that left a strange aftertaste.
But Bu Eunseol, showing no interest, asked in a low voice, “What’s your business with me?”
“My business…” Do Myeong said, rising and walking to the window. “If I had to say, it’s about tying up loose ends.” His eyes, gazing out the window, were filled with deep regret and pain.
“I heard you’re one of the Ten Demon Warriors, the rightful heir to lead Nangyang. Is that true?”
“It is,” Bu Eunseol nodded.
Do Myeong slowly turned, and an overwhelming aura poured from him, unlike anything seen before.
“I was once a disciple of Nangyang, in the past.” Bu Eunseol blinked.
“In the past, a disciple of Nangyang.”
The statement didn’t add up. Once a disciple of Nangyang, always a disciple—unless they died during training.
“I don’t understand. If you were a disciple of Nangyang, shouldn’t you still be one?” Bu Eunseol asked.
Do Myeong gave a bitter smile. “I was meant to die in Nangyang. Yet here I am, alive and sinning.”
“I hate riddles. If you have something to say, say it plainly,” Bu Eunseol said.
“Very well,” Do Myeong replied, pulling an old book from his robes and handing it to Bu Eunseol. “This is my request.”
Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Memorize this manual and destroy it. If you do, I’ll have returned this martial art to Nangyang in its entirety.”
Bu Eunseol took the manual, noting the title: Fist Demon.
Just as the title of Sword Demon was passed down through generations in the martial world, so too was Fist Demon. But Nangyang, which valued practical combat, didn’t prioritize fist techniques.
A sword or saber was far more effective and powerful than fighting with six-foot fists.
“Is this manual truly a martial art of our sect?” Bu Eunseol asked.
“Of course. It’s the greatest fist technique of Nangyang,” Do Myeong confirmed.
Bu Eunseol’s expression turned curious. “I didn’t know our sect had manuals.”
“Nangyang does have manuals, though they’re rarely used to pass down martial arts,” Do Myeong explained.
“Then… did you master this manual?” Bu Eunseol asked.
He had meant to ask under what circumstances martial arts were taught via manuals, but seeing the pain in Do Myeong’s eyes, he changed his question, sensing he wouldn’t get a straight answer.
“My talent was lacking, so I couldn’t fully master this fist technique. Yet, out of greed, I didn’t return the manual to Nangyang,” Do Myeong said with a lonely gaze. “I was a disciple who died—or should have died.”
There seemed to be a deep, untold story behind Do Myeong’s words.
But Bu Eunseol didn’t press. Every martial artist had their own story, often buried quietly in their hearts.
“So, I just need to read and burn the manual?” he asked.
“Yes,” Do Myeong replied, adding cryptically, “This manual is incomplete. No matter how profound its techniques or principles, it lacks its finest essence.”
Bu Eunseol had no particular interest in learning fist techniques, so he nodded without much thought. “Understood.”
“You’ll take it?” Do Myeong asked.
When Bu Eunseol nodded, Do Myeong’s face lit up with a bright smile. “Thank you.”
What was he thanking him for?
But Do Myeong’s smile suggested he had shed a heavy burden he’d carried for years.
“I have a request in return,” Bu Eunseol said softly.
“Speak,” Do Myeong replied, narrowing his eyes and nodding.
***
“I understand. I’ll ensure Saha is informed through all our intelligence networks,” he promised.
