“Astringent.”
The old man muttered as he savored his Tieguanyin.1
His broad shoulders belied his age, and his snow-white beard hung all the way to his navel, giving him the appearance of an immortal.
He would have looked the part, too, if not for the old sword propped beside him.
“I-I’m sorry, Senior. I haven’t reached my father’s level yet…”
“It’s a shame, but it can’t be helped. When the owner changes, it’s only natural for the tea to taste different. You may go.”
The teahouse owner, who had been bowing repeatedly, vanished as though he had been waiting for those very words.
The old man watched him leave, then ran a hand over his teacup.
“The three of us martial brothers used to stop by this place from time to time. That was more than thirty years ago. Your Master wasn’t the Sect Leader back then, either.”
“I see.”
Hyuk Sopyung answered from across the table.
He had kept his mouth shut for more than half an hour while the old man performed his tea ceremony, and his voice was cracked like a drought-stricken rice paddy.
“Would you like a cup?”
The old man’s gentle voice contained not the slightest hint of coercion.
But when the old man before him offered something, it had to be accepted. Hyuk Sopyung knew that, as did the thirty members of the Taeeul Sword Unit stationed throughout the teahouse.
“I would be honored, Senior Martial Uncle.”
The old man picked up the jade-colored teapot and tilted it over the empty cup Hyuk Sopyung held out respectfully.
Trickle.
The tea slowly began to fill the cup.
At the same time, Hyuk Sopyung’s expression changed drastically.
“…!”
“What is it?”
“I… It’s nothing.”
His words notwithstanding, Hyuk Sopyung was clearly struggling. His hand trembled, and his face flushed so red it seemed ready to burst.
It was only tea, yet every drop that struck the cup bore down on him with terrifying pressure.
What the hell…?
It was an enormous amount of internal energy. An overwhelming force that even Hyuk Sopyung, the Zhongnan Sect’s greatest prodigy, could not withstand despite receiving every elixir available without restraint.
He drew up all the internal energy in his body and poured it into the teacup, but he reached his limit almost immediately.
Tap. Crack.
The instant the last drop fell, a hairline crack spread through the cup in Hyuk Sopyung’s hand, and tea spilled over the rim.
That was when the old man’s gaze darkened.
He was Hwangbo Eom, the Taeeul Merciless Sword.
“How old are you this year?”
“…I have reached thirty.”
“When did you last see this old man?”
“Ten years ago.”
“Yes, that’s right. The Huashan–Zhongnan gathering. That was where we last met.”
The Huashan–Zhongnan gathering. Or the Zhongnan–Huashan gathering.
Huashan and Zhongnan—the dragon and tiger crouched in Shaanxi Province—held a gathering once every ten years where their young prodigies competed against one another.
Its official purpose was to foster friendship and exchange through duels, but everyone knew it was really a competition between the two sects.
“I remember now. I watched with my own eyes as that bastard Baek Museong toyed with you.”
“…!”
Hyuk Sopyung’s eyelids trembled.
How could he forget? The defeat he had suffered that day. The merciless gaze of The First Sword of Zhongnan, who had sought him out the moment he returned to the main sect.
“At your age, this old man had already mastered eight-tenths of the Taeeul Divine Technique. What about you?”
“…I apologize.”
“Ten years is enough time for mountains and rivers to change. Yet you remain exactly where you were.”
The same goes for you, Senior Martial Uncle.
Hyuk Sopyung fought desperately to hold back the words rising in his throat.
Surely you haven’t forgotten everything you did to me that day.
Talent without effort could never bloom.
Hyuk Sopyung loved martial arts. That was why he had been called the Zhongnan Sect’s greatest prodigy. He had devoted himself to martial arts and swung his sword through blood and sweat.
But he had not slowly fallen apart simply because Huashan’s Lone Crane, Baek Museong, defeated him in front of everyone.
“I already know you’ve been disgracing our sect’s name. I hear you’ve made quite a name for yourself in Xi’an.”
“Senior Martial Uncle…”
“This old man is speaking. Shut your mouth.”
Hwangbo Eom’s formerly dispassionate voice had turned colder than eternal ice.
“Watching all of you has been quite the farce. From top to bottom, every last one of you is splattering mud across the Zhongnan Sect’s signboard.”
By the top, he meant the Roaring Fury Swordsman, Song Il. By the bottom, he meant Hyuk Sopyung.
Even though his only Senior Brother was laid up with an Internal Injury, Hwangbo Eom continued to spew venom at him. Hyuk Sopyung and the disciples of the Taeeul Sword Unit realized once again that the merciless part of his epithet—
Taeeul Merciless Sword.
—did not apply only to his enemies.
“Your Master, who led the Zhongnan Sect into this sorry state, is just as pathetic. Why our Master ever handed the position of Sect Leader to someone like him…”
That was when Hyuk Sopyung’s tightly pressed lips finally parted.
“You go too far.”
“What did you say?”
Whoosh.
A gust swept over Hyuk Sopyung’s entire body.
No—it was not wind.
It was a powerful wave of qi flowing from the Taeeul Merciless Sword, a Supreme Peak master produced by Zhongnan.
“I must be going deaf in my old age. Say that again.”
But Hyuk Sopyung did not yield, even beneath the suffocating pressure.
“Your words… ngh. Go too far.”
Though the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord had never shown him warmth or affection, he was still Hyuk Sopyung’s one and only Master. And more than that—
“He is the Sect Leader of the Great Zhongnan Sect. You are a Disciple of Zhongnan, just as this junior is. Show the Sect Leader the respect he is due.”
“Respect for the Sect Leader?”
A sharp gleam flashed through Hwangbo Eom’s eyes.
There had been a time when no one stood closer to the position of Zhongnan Sect Leader than he did.
He had a Senior Brother and Junior Brother under the same Master, but neither had been a true rival. Neither could match his martial prowess or his ruthlessness.
The Sect Leader of the Zhongnan Sect should have been Hwangbo Eom. It was only natural.
“And what could a nobody like you possibly know to dare…!”
Hwangbo Eom was about to roar when he abruptly closed his mouth.
He had noticed Hyuk Sopyung’s unwavering gaze. He had also sensed the strange current passing among the Zhongnan disciples of the Taeeul Sword Unit.
These bastards.
Hwangbo Eom’s gaze turned cold. At the same time, the powerful aura pouring from his body slowly subsided.
His lips moved beneath his snow-white beard.
“The Sect Leader of the Great Zhongnan Sect…”
Hwangbo Eom lifted his still more than half-full teacup and drained it. Deep furrows appeared between his wrinkled brows.
“Still astringent. With a new owner, neither the flavor nor the fragrance is what it used to be.”
“…!”
“The Great Zhongnan Sect? What a laughable thing to say. Zhongnan today is nothing more than a castle in the air. While you were lost in despair and wasting your days on drinking, women, and gambling, this old man was working to restore our sect.”
“What do you mean…?”
Confusion colored Hyuk Sopyung’s voice.
Hadn’t Hwangbo Eom shut himself away at the main sect? Even when his Senior Brother, the Roaring Fury Swordsman, returned with a serious Internal Injury, he had not shown his face even once.
Then how…?
Hyuk Sopyung’s thoughts were cut short when a group entered the teahouse.
At their head was a young woman whose mere presence seemed to brighten her surroundings.
“I am Ju Hwaran, Young Bureau Head of the Yongbong Escort Bureau. I pay my respects to Great Hero Hwangbo, the Taeeul Merciless Sword.”
Ju Hwaran, the Dagger Hidden Flower.
At her bold greeting, the corners of Hwangbo Eom’s mouth curled upward.
“Good. Did you bring the item I requested?”
He stroked his thick beard, his eyes flashing with an unreadable light.
“By the way, who’s the Taeeul Merciless Sword?”
Speed Beggar answered gruffly.
“Who else would the Taeeul Merciless Sword be? He’s the Taeeul Merciless Sword.”
“Gibang. Aren’t you curious which is stronger—the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms at five-tenths power or the Flame Divine Palm at seven-tenths?”
“…The Taeeul Merciless Sword, Hwangbo Eom. He’s the Junior Brother of the Roaring Fury Swordsman, Song Il, and the Senior Brother of the current Zhongnan Sect Leader, the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord.”
As expected of a walking encyclopedia of the Murim. I hadn’t brought him along for moments like this, but he was useful in all sorts of ways.
Except for the smell.
I muttered inwardly as I kept walking.
We were on our way to a teahouse called Tengwang Pavilion. Gung Gibang walked beside me, looking deeply displeased.
“I’ve been thinking about this, and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“This is bigger than I expected. And it isn’t just anyone—it’s the Taeeul Merciless Sword. At least you can reason with the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord, but that man…”
Gung Gibang couldn’t finish his sentence and shook his head repeatedly.
“Why? How bad is he? Have you met him before?”
“Once, while I was with my Master. That was enough to make me never want to see him again.”
Judging by Gung Gibang’s reaction, Hwangbo Eom must have made one hell of a first impression.
He shuddered with a disgusted expression, then gave me a sidelong glance.
“You don’t need to ask me. No one knows a household better than its neighbor.”
At the end of Gung Gibang’s gaze was Baek Museong, who had been walking silently without saying a word.
The face that usually wore a relaxed smile had long since hardened like stone.
Okay. I get the picture.
The Taeeul Merciless Sword.
As you spent time in the Murim, you started noticing a few interesting things. One of them was martial epithets.
An epithet contained a piece of the person it belonged to. Sometimes it told you what weapon they favored. Other times, it revealed their personality.
In Hwangbo Eom’s case, it did both.
Merciless. That word alone tells me more or less what I need to know.
I’d bet Hyuk Mujin’s wrist that he wasn’t some genial neighborhood grandpa who chuckled all day. If that wasn’t enough, I’d throw in his ankle too.
Gung Gibang spoke anxiously.
“It’s not too late to turn back.”
“Hm? Turn back from what?”
“Interfering in matters between sects is likely to cause trouble. Even more so when the other party is the Taeeul Merciless Sword of the Zhongnan Sect.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’? I’m telling you to forget this nonsense and go to Sichuan!”
I blinked innocently.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Huh?”
“Who’s interfering? We’re just going to drink some tea. Isn’t that right, Cheongpung?”
Cheongpung, who was chewing the candied sweets I had bought to keep him quiet, answered enthusiastically.
“Yes! We’re going to drink tea!”
Gung Gibang stared at him incredulously.
“Didn’t you say earlier that you’d already had tea?”
“Uh… Well…”
No wonder his answer had sounded so evasive.
Cheongpung had already polished off the sweets in the blink of an eye. He sucked on his fingers and looked back and forth between Gung Gibang and me.
His eyes dripped with longing as they swept across a street stall overflowing with snacks.
“Cheongpung, you’ve never had tea before. Right?”
As I spoke, I spread one hand wide and waved it over Gung Gibang’s shoulder. Five more candied sweets were added to Cheongpung’s share, and he nodded eagerly.
“That’s right! I’ve never had tea before! My butt’s itching to get to the teahouse!”
“You heard him.”
His will to fight shattered, Gung Gibang tore at his matted hair.
“Damn it. If Master beats me with the Dog-Beating Staff2 later, I’m telling him this was all your fault.”
“Go ahead. My Master is the Fire King.”
“You miserable bastard. You’re worse than a dog.”
“Stop whining and keep walking. What about you, Mujin? Got a problem?”
Hyuk Mujin looked at me hopefully.
“Am I allowed to say so?”
“Sure. If you want to die.”
“…”
“All right. We’re almost there.”
The weathered signboard bearing the name Tengwang Pavilion drew steadily closer.
I strode onward until I finally stopped before the teahouse door.
Well, this is no joke.
The Taeeul Merciless Sword. The greatest swordsman Zhongnan could boast of. I could feel the aura of a Supreme Peak master beyond the door, along with the presence of dozens of people carrying considerable qi.
The pack frame on my shoulders suddenly felt heavier.
“Old Master, don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’ll protect you.”
“Nothing will happen,” I muttered softly, then threw open the door.
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