Camellia 16

Seol Yeong suddenly becmae lost in thought.

The Murim Alliance Leader, Namgung Woonpyeong, was a man who loathed blood fiends to his core. His mother and father had both been killed, torn apart by blood fiends. His brothers, his sisters, all had died the same way. So his hatred for blood fiends was something no one could blame him for.

Seolyeong remembered meeting Namgung Woonpyeong when he was around twelve, while attending a martial arts tournament held in Hapbi. The moment Namgung Woonpyeong noticed him, an icy blue aura swept over his body, and Murong Wi quickly grabbed Seolyeong by the arm and pulled him away, advising him in a low voice.

‘The Alliance Leader won’t be kind to you, Ahyeong.’

‘It’s fine.’

But Seolyeong stubbornly walked toward Namgung Woonpyeong anyway.

Anyone in the martial world naturally admired the Namgung clan. They wielded both the heavy sword and the swift sword with mastery, sometimes even concentrating sword energy to unleash thunderbolts, and they strode with composed dignity in their neatly tied blue martial uniforms. The martial artists of the Namgung family were a symbol of the pure orthodox sects.

Though Seolyeong wanted to live as a rogue rather than settle down in one place to train, he still dreamed of at least once exchanging words with Namgung Woonpyeong, a man famed as the prodigy of the century.

Among boys his age, it was common to boast about any connection with the Namgung family. Even Murong Wi had close relationships with Namgung Jun, Namgung Woo, Namgung Jeonghye, and the like, which made others envy him.

Young Seolyeong was jealous. He sometimes envied Murong Wi, the First Young Master of the Murong clan, who had been born into an entirely different life.

Brushing off Murong Wi’s concern, Seolyeong stood in front of Namgung Woonpyeong.

‘Ahyeong!’

Murong Wi shouted in panic. The desperate scream drew every martial artist’s attention, and Seolyeong blinked in confusion as his vision turned crimson.

‘…Huh?’

He hadn’t even seen Namgung Woonpyeong draw his sword, yet one side of his face had already been slashed. The character 兇 (wicked) was carved into his tender skin.

With his small hands, Seolyeong touched his cheek. Namgung Woonpyeong spat out,

‘A shameless wretch. If I were you, I would’ve killed myself the moment I learned of my origin.’

His skin stung. Pain seared through him like a downpour. It hurt like hell. But even then, Seolyeong couldn’t let himself cry. He felt like Namgung Woonpyeong would hate him even more if he did.

He respected the man. He didn’t want to be despised by the hero he dreamed of standing beside one day.

The memory made his temple ache. Seolyeong clutched the blanket and then released it, trying to ease his rising tension.

Right. It was pointless to worry that he might start a second Great War between the orthodox and unorthodox sects. The Alliance Leader already despised him. Even if he returned as a corpse after dueling the sect leader, the man would be glad rather than mournful.

So using the Alliance Leader as an excuse to avoid meeting the sect leader didn’t really hold water. Still, Seolyeong craved fresh air, he shot up and threw open the window.

Ah. It was the middle of the night. He had wanted to see the sun glinting in the sky, what a shame.

For now, he inhaled the cold night air. The dry chill of the snow-covered mountain was nice, but every breath stung his throat. It left a scratchy feeling. Seolyeong even wondered if the air had been poisoned.

“This is a mountain where civilians live… Surely not.”

He murmured to himself, then stepped right up onto the window ledge. As he leapt into the sky, air surged toward him from every direction.

The snow-covered scenery of Yeonhu stretched wide beneath him.

Once again, he understood why the sect leader had chosen Yeonhu Mountain among the many in Sipman Daesan. The jagged canyons surrounding the Yurigung created a defensive basin, it looked solid, protected. Anyone trying to invade would have to cross those gorges first and would almost certainly be spotted and struck down before they got far.

Like a hawk soaring overhead, Seolyeong flew through the sky. But when Seonwol-do gave a low whine, he angled his descent and landed along a steep slope of the canyon.

“What?”

The blade vibrated incessantly, as if pleading to be restored. Seolyeong finally gave in and activated its core. The blade, with its moonlight pattern carved into the metal, wrapped snugly into his grip and emitted faint bursts of yellow energy.

This usually happened when Seonwol-do was trying to communicate something.

“I said, what’s wrong, you dumb mutt?”

Seolyeong’s voice sharpened as he became more annoyed. In response, the blade bent slightly, pointing downward.

“Huh? Who’s that little one?”

With his sharp vision, Seolyeong instantly spotted a boy collapsed in the snow.

He darted down and scooped the child up. The boy was thin as a leaf and cold to the touch. Seonyue Blade followed behind and tilted its edge toward the boy’s face.

A glow of pale sword energy lit up like a candle.

Dried black blood was crusted on the boy’s lips.

“No way…”

This was Sahyeol Amje’s territory, the master of poison arts. Seolyeong feared the child may have accidentally ingested something deadly. In a rush, he flew back to the octagonal hall he had just left, slipping through the open window.

He laid the boy on the warm bedding and stripped off the stiff outer garments. Frozen stiff with ice crystals, they were useless. Thankfully, the inner martial robe was still intact, so Seolyeong wrapped the boy in blankets and pulled him close.

He spread the Yang energy from his danjeon throughout his body. The boy flinched. The warmth must have felt strange. Seolyeong whispered gently.

“Just hold on a little. You’ll feel warm soon.”

No matter how open the sect was to accepting anyone, letting a child unable to care for himself wander into a snowy mountain was too much.

If they weren’t going to take care of him, they shouldn’t have let him in. They should’ve sent him back.

Seolyeong touched the boy’s forehead, cheek, and neck with the back of his hand. Every part was ice cold. Not even a corpse awaiting burial would be this frigid.

With no other choice, Seolyeong summoned a flame to his fingertips and brought them to the child’s lips. A small flame slipped through the parted mouth and disappeared inside. The boy’s tense face eased.

“Looks like it suits his constitution.”

If it hadn’t, the boy would’ve felt like he was being branded in a furnace. The warmth may have melted his frozen danjeon, but the pain would have been unbearable.

Relieved, Seolyeong held the boy close.

At some point, the boy’s small hands had found their way to Seolyeong’s chest. His forehead rested against Seolyeong’s heart. He must have needed the comfort. It was no wonder injured people begged physicians to hold their hands or hug them. When someone was pushed to the edge, it was only natural to crave another’s warmth.

The boy gasped softly in his sleep. Seolyeong sent in more flame. It felt like a mother bird feeding her chick. He clicked his tongue as he gazed at the boy’s peaceful face.

“How did you end up here…?”

Seolyeong gently stroked the boy’s gaunt face. He didn’t know whether it was his teacher complex or something else.

“…Young Master?”

Meanwhile, Yuwon had returned after failing to locate Cheonsin, and was stunned to find the mad bride lying in bed with a child. Worse, Seolyeong had made a pillow of his arm for the boy. She instantly recognized the boy curled up in Seolyeong’s arms.

Sahyeol Amje.

The cold husband whom Seolyeong had so dreaded meeting was now sleeping peacefully in his bride’s embrace.

But Seolyeong clearly hadn’t realized it.

Yuwon hesitated, she was unsure whether to reveal the truth or stay silent. She chose the latter.

She imagined her younger brother, trapped in a child’s body, waking up in Seolyeong’s arms brought her satisfaction.

“Yes, Yujae… You need to know what it feels like to be vulnerable.”

Yuwon had long been burdened with the shame of being mocked by Cheonsin for being in love with Si Pungjae. Now, perhaps, it was time for Cheonsin to experience a little of that humiliation himself.