Vol 2 Chapter 6: No Wind No Waves Part 3

The next day, Kang Oh headed alone to Honamgak. Normally, Woo would have been with him, but not today. He had thought that simply keeping Woo by his side and helping him grow used to it would be enough. But in the end, it felt like he’d only dragged along someone unwilling.

His chest felt heavy. When he asked Woo to be kind to him just a little more, Woo only lowered his head and said nothing. He hadn’t expected much, yet the ache that lingered felt like a sign of his own pettiness.

He had stayed up the whole night, haunted by the look on Woo’s face when he was left speechless by the resentful words thrown at him. The thought that he had done something unforgivable kept looping in his head.

When he appeared at Honamgak, the first to greet him was Honamdan’s leader, Il Woon. But unlike usual, Woo was not at Kang Oh’s side.

“Why have you come alone?”

Kang Oh turned his head away, signaling he didn’t want to answer. Il Woon had feared the guest from Heedowon might have fallen ill, but when he saw not worry, but guilt clouding Kang Oh’s expression, he fell silent.

Something must have happened during the night.

“He… won’t be coming anymore,” Kang Oh muttered bitterly.

Before Il Woon could even ask what had happened, Kang Oh spoke again.

“Do you remember when I told you to look into peaceful places suitable for civilians who haven’t trained in martial arts?”

Though puzzled by the sudden question, Il Woon responded faithfully.

“Yes. But since you never asked for the list afterward, I just kept it aside.”

“Bring it to me today.”

Il Woon clasped his fists and bowed. “At your command.” After delivering his reply, he stepped back to retrieve the requested materials.

Left alone, Kang Oh took his sword and stepped onto the center of the training hall.
Curious if the Third Disciple was looking for someone to spar with, members of Honamdan gathered nearby. But Kang Oh didn’t invite a single one of them onto the platform.

He couldn’t trust himself to hold back.

Instead of the usual wooden sword, he drew a real blade. At the sight of it, the gathered members backed away two full lengths from the training hall, their faces flashing with alarm.

Whenever his mind grew restless, their lord would perform a swordwork. Most of the time, it was to organize the principles he had grasped after reaching a new insight.

No sane martial artist would willingly step into the trajectory of Kang Oh’s blade at such a moment. Yet, even though his beloved sword gleamed with dangerous sharpness, not a single member of Honamdan wished to retreat from him.

Anyone who witnessed the Third Disciple’s sword dance even once would learn a great deal. While most people trained with fixed forms and followed their structure, Kang Oh blended what he had learned with his real combat experience. Though his moves appeared improvised, he had a knack for weaving various sword techniques and principles into his dance.

In fact, there was even a famous anecdote about the Third Disciple’s swordwork.

A few years ago, by the riverside where willow branches swayed low, the Lord of Heukcheon was sharing drinks with his disciples. He ordered the youngest among them, the Third Disciple, to demonstrate the results of his training. Ye Kang-oh stepped forward, drew his blade, and began his swordwork.

The powerful, fluid motions of his sword met with the faint glint of sunlight, weaving together a rhythm that captivated everyone. It wasn’t simply a beautiful display. The force and presence radiating from him revealed the depth of his mastery. It was clear his sword had absorbed not only formal techniques, but real battle experience.

When Kang-oh returned after completing his swordwork, Yae Jinrang let out a hearty laugh and offered him a drink.

“You wield your energy freely, and your limbs obey your intent. What you’ve achieved is truly remarkable.”

“I’ve only shown you a poor performance, Master,” Kang-oh replied humbly.

The sight of the master offering praise and the disciple responding with modesty left a good impression. Still, some onlookers couldn’t help thinking that receiving such high praise for a single demonstration showed just how much the Lord cherished his youngest disciple.

But when the gathering ended, those tidying up were startled to discover several willow leaves had been sliced, each cut as fine as a strand of hair.

Had the leaves simply fallen to the ground, it wouldn’t have caused such alarm. Plenty of Heukcheon’s martial experts could easily make leaves drop without even touching them.

But the leaves brushed by Kang Oh’s sword hadn’t fallen. They still clung lightly to their branches, fluttering in the wind.

It looked almost as if artificial leaves had been attached with green thread.

He had cut the willow leaves, yet not a single one had fallen. The leaves remained trembling on their branches, as though untouched, a display so precise and controlled, it could only be described as extraordinary.

It required more than just sharp vision. One had to master internal energy, understand the movement of the wind, and perceive its path. And Kang Oh had fused all of that into a single demonstration. It was impossible to achieve without having fully mastered the sword.

One could understand the reason behind Jinrang’s hearty laughter and praise.

Word of this feat quickly spread among the servants and circulated through Heukcheon like a legend.

Soon after, rumors spread that the trees planted at the homes of several mid-level martial artists from Heukcheon had suffered damage. Hoping to test the Third Disciple’s precision, many tried to replicate his feat, only to end up slicing through trunks or hacking off branches.

Such tales added to the myth surrounding Kang Oh’s swordwork. If one were to gather everyone who wished to witness it, even filling Honamgak wouldn’t be enough. The line would stretch all the way to Heedowon. People would pay a fortune just for a glimpse.

As Kang Oh gathered his inner strength, the blade let out a subtle vibration. Those watching were stunned by the sound alone. For someone his age to wield a blade that resonated like that, his internal energy had to be remarkably deep.

He closed his eyes. The moment the faint tremor of the blade reached his ears, he took his first step, not to slay an invisible foe, but to unravel the tightly coiled threads within himself.

He had swung the sword hundreds, thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands of times. Though he appeared to be demonstrating a sword form, the way his movements flowed like water was graceful and beautiful. Yet it could not be called mere swordwork, for the trajectory drawn by his sword was anything but ordinary. Even when cutting through empty air, the wind split by each strike cried out in its death throes. Had there been a living person standing in its place, they too would have been cleaved without exception. Those who merely watched felt a chill crawling up their spines.

What chilled them even more was the expression on Kang Oh’s face. As he moved, his eyes were fixed only on the blade’s tip, utterly blank, bearing nothing within them.

Watching such an expression made the onlookers feel as if they were standing at the end of spring, when flowers bloom and fall and new buds emerge, only to be met with the bitter cold of winter. Only the occasional birdsong reminded them it was not the dead of winter after all.

Kang Oh stood alone, untouched by the stirrings or awe around him. A sensation that had taken root in his chest through repeated refinement now held him firmly.

His senses were sharper than ever, sending a tingling sensation to the tips of his fingers. His breath, and the wind stirred by his movements, all began to intertwine.

He could feel the fluttering of his sleeves with striking clarity. His cherished sword felt like an extension of his fingers. As he extended his arm where his heart led and stepped forward as if soaring through the air, his movement became impossibly precise.

The Honamdan members watched in breathless silence.

Even his footwork had reached a sublime level. As the swordwork reached its peak, their eyes were no longer following Kang Oh himself, but the path traced by his sword.

They were certain that if the blade had been aimed at them, death would have been unavoidable. Even so, the path it carved through the air was so breathtakingly beautiful, it sent shivers down their spines.

How much training would it take, how much talent would one need to reach such a level?

His blade swept low across the training ground, as if dividing it in two, then soared upward like a dragon rising to the heavens. His movements were fluid, unhindered, completely free. Yet the man at the center of it all, Kang Oh, did not look the least bit satisfied.

He had thought that unleashing everything in one burst would ease the weight in his chest, but unexpectedly, it only felt heavier.

“Focus. Your sword is a reflection of yourself. Never forget to keep your mind as clear as still water. When the master is unsettled, the sword becomes erratic. But when the master holds steady focus, the blade’s path will follow in kind.”

As he recalled Yae Jinrang’s stern counsel, Kang Oh adjusted his grip on the sword.

“Th–Third Disciple!”

One of the Honamdan members came running. She was so out of breath that even with her trained body, she struggled to speak clearly.

“There’s been a murder. A murder just happened.”

Kang Oh furrowed his brows and lowered his sword.

A few Honamdan members stepped aside to let the messenger through, unable to hide their regret at the interruption.

“Lead the way.”

Il Woon, who had just returned, quickly assessed the situation and followed right behind Kang Oh. Despite her pale face, the Honamdan member moved steadily at the front. She led them to the communal well behind Honamgak.

“This way.”

As she pointed to the scene and stepped aside, Kang Oh saw the corpse lodged upside down in the well. It was one of the communal wells used for drinking water at Honamgak, and Il Woon’s face stiffened.

“We should start by confirming the identity,” Kang Oh said.

Il Woon stepped forward and pulled the body out. The man wore plain black martial attire, and his face was badly damaged.

“There are no personal belongings that indicate who he is,” Il Woon reported after checking the corpse’s clothes.

The Honamdan member who had guided Kang Oh to the site examined the body as well, then suddenly stopped with a startled expression.

“His tongue… it’s split in half.”

Kang Oh asked with a frown, “You mean it happened as he was being killed?”

“No. It doesn’t seem like something caused by the murder.”

Kang Oh stepped closer, looked at the man’s tongue, and murmured under his breath.

“Check with the Medical Hall. Ask the physicians whether they’ve treated anyone recently with a split tongue.”

Cutting the tongue was a punishment often used in the dark path against those who failed to keep secrets, or spread false rumors. If the wound had been recent, it would have raised suspicion of a grudge. But since it had already healed, it clearly wasn’t inflicted during the murder.

The location only added to the suspicion. Even if the well stood on the outskirts of Honamgak, it was still part of Heukcheon, and martial artists came and went there all day.

Each member of Honamdan had been personally selected by Kang Oh. For someone to commit murder in the backyard of Honamgak, evading the eyes of all those sharp watchers, was nearly unthinkable. What’s more, the corpse showed signs of struggle, suggesting a violent death. Yet not a single member of Honamdan had heard a scream. Even the one who discovered the body had only come to fetch water and immediately reported it.

Why was the face so brutally crushed? Did someone hate him that much?

It was difficult for Kang Oh to determine the true identity of the killer or the group he belonged to. Judging by the harsh, almost crude nature of the wound that left no trace of trained martial techniques, he could only conclude that the culprit was a highly skilled individual adept at concealing their movements.

“Oh heavens… my son, my precious son!”

A man wrapped in golden silk sobbed uncontrollably as he clutched the coffin.

His physique was round and soft, resembling that of a scholar more than a martial artist. He was a merchant operating within the Heukcheon territory. Though his business wasn’t particularly large, his wife came from a noble family and had ties to the local authorities.

He wasn’t an influential martial figure, but having the power to mobilize the local officials made him troublesome to deal with.

He had suddenly appeared in front of Honamgak, claiming he’d received word that his son had been murdered by one of the Honamdan members. When a guard tried to block his way, he had loudly insisted that his in-laws were blood relatives of the lord and threatened to mobilize officials to arrest everyone involved. That was just a short while ago, and Kang Oh had curtly ordered him to be let in.

He had suddenly appeared in front of Honamgak, claiming he’d received word that his son had been murdered by one of the Honamdan members. When a guard tried to block his way, he had loudly insisted that his in-laws were blood relatives of the lord and threatened to mobilize officials to arrest everyone involved. That was just a short while ago, and Kang Oh had curtly ordered him to be let in.

They had just brought in the coffin to retrieve the corpse, but the man clung to the lid, screaming that he would not move an inch until the injustice done to his murdered son was resolved.

It was utter chaos. At least within Heukcheon, there had never been a case where an outsider had caused such a commotion.

“I will report this to the lord. How could my only son die such a meaningless death?”

Kang Oh narrowed his eyes. The Honamdan member he had sent to the medical hall had not yet returned, but the merchant was already here, convinced that his son had been killed.

What that implied was clear.

Whoever the real culprit was, this man wanted to pin the death on Honamgak.

Feeling as if he had walked right into a filthy, foul trap, Kang Oh stood silently, surveying the scene with a cold expression.

“Third Disciple!”

Just then, the messenger who had returned from the medical hall approached, ready to report to him, but stopped upon noticing the outsider’s presence.

“Did you find anything?”

Kang Oh asked in a calm, composed tone, as if there was nothing to hide.

The Honamdan member, who had been about to quietly withdraw, hesitated. But after gauging Kang Oh’s intent, she straightened her back and spoke.

“Yes. One day ago, a newly recruited martial artist received treatment at the medical hall.”

“Because of the tongue?”

“No. There was a sparring match, one that only warriors who had been in Heukcheon for more than three days were allowed to join. His son fractured a bone during the match, and I was told a splint was applied. As for the tongue…”

Everyone was focused on her words. She swallowed hard before continuing.

“They said it was the Second Disciple who cut it himself.”

“Second Disciple Yeom?”

Kang Oh furrowed his brow and turned to look at the coffin. The middle-aged man who had been clinging to it and wailing suddenly sprang to his feet. It seemed he hadn’t registered any of the conversation that had just taken place. Stubbornly, the merchant insisted again.

“I must see the Lord of Heukcheon. I may only be the head of a modest trade group, but my son has died a wrongful death. How can I simply stand by and do nothing?”

Kang Oh rose steadily to his feet, but gave no response to the man’s words. He simply watched the man in silence. That heavy, frigid gaze made the merchant shrink back little by little.

“How very convenient,” Kang Oh murmured.

At last, Kang Oh parted his lips, and the words that had kept the man waiting finally slipped out.

“How very convenient.”

He repeated the phrase under his breath, as if tasting the weight of it. The merchant, his face flushed with anger, demanded an answer.

“What do you mean by convenient?”

He tried to sound confident, but his voice trembled despite his effort.

“First,” Kang Oh said, “civilian access to Heukcheon is strictly controlled. So how did you manage to reach Honamgak?”

“I… I came to deliver goods. Our merchant group has been trading with the Third Overseer, and I brought the documents to prove it.”

The man retrieved a document from his robes, stamped with the seal of the Third Overseer. The date on it was indeed today. But the issue was, the Third Overseer, the very person he claimed to have been trading with, no longer existed in this world.

Though Heukcheon usually kept internal matters well-contained, even to outsiders, this situation was so absurd that even the usually composed Kang Oh found it almost laughable.

“Of all days, your son just happened to die today, and you had enough information to come all the way to Honamgak. Yet, you know nothing about the fact that the Third Overseer has been removed from his position.”

A half-baked intelligence network. Kang Oh tapped the hilt of his sword lightly with his fingers. Even though he had not released any killing intent, the merchant suddenly remembered that Kang Oh was, after all, a martial artist. He swallowed hard.

“T-there was a letter sent to me. It said my son had been horribly murdered, and if I did not come at once to find justice, the truth would be buried and the criminal would be allowed to roam free under the heavens. Uwaaa… my poor son…”

The man broke down into sobs once again. While Kang Oh could sympathize with the grief of a father who had lost his child, the man’s habit of resorting to tears whenever faced with a question he could not answer or a situation he could not explain caused Kang Oh’s lips to tighten.

“So, you knew your son was murdered, and even knew who killed him?”

The merchant bit his lip before replying.

“I will reveal the killer only before the Lord of Heukcheon. Only he can render a just judgment and avenge my son’s death.”

The merchant’s face, flushed with indignation, wore the look of someone who believed he knew something. Just as Kang Oh was about to rebuke him, a thunderous voice erupted, as powerful as the lion’s roar of Shaolin, shaking the very foundations of Honamgak and echoing far and wide.

“Silence!”

The shout, delivered with force nearing the level of perfected internal energy, made the merchant stagger. Had even a bit more energy been infused into it, blood would’ve likely poured from his ears.

“What insolence. Do you think you can summon the Lord of Heukcheon like he’s some dog from next door?”

“I greet the Lord of Heukcheon,” came the response.

With a look of irritation and a biting remark, the man known as the most stunning beauty in the world made his entrance. Kang Oh dropped to his knees in a formal bow. The Honamdan members behind him quickly followed, offering their respects to the Lord of Heukcheon.

It was Yae Jinrang, the Heukcheon Lord whom the merchant had been wailing for.

“Master, I apologize for failing to properly manage the incident at Honamgak and for troubling you.”

Kang Oh bowed deeply. No matter the cause, the incident had occurred within Honamgak, and that made it his responsibility.

“So it is. I heard my disciple was finally performing swordwork again, so I came to watch. And now some brazen fool dares to challenge the authority of the Lord of Heukcheon?”

As Jinrang waved his hand dismissively and asked, the merchant, who had been trembling, finally lifted his head. He thought this was finally his turn to speak.

“L-Lord of Heukcheon, I manage trade between Sichuan and Qinghai, under the name of—”

“Silence. I did not ask you.”

“Urgh, I—”

An overwhelming force settled on the merchant’s shoulders as he knelt, his knees sinking another inch into the ground under the weight of Jinrang’s invisible pressure.

The fact that this effect came from sheer presence alone was terrifying. Most martial artists of a certain level could emit hostile or murderous intent to intimidate common folk, but that never translated into actual physical force. What Jinrang had just displayed was a realm far beyond what even the elite warriors of Heukcheon could imagine.

“This disciple was lacking in vigilance and failed to control the entry of outsiders. I have caused you concern, Master. Please punish me.”

When Kang Oh knelt and lowered his head, Jinrang let out a short snort and withdrew his pressure. The merchant clutched his chest, gasping for breath.

If that treasured youngest disciple hadn’t pleaded for punishment on his behalf, Jinrang would no doubt have crushed him with sheer pressure until he vomited.

After all, Heukcheon was a martial sect. Only the chosen few were allowed to cross its high threshold. For an ordinary civilian to speak so brazenly to Heukcheon’s Third Disciple, and to be caught doing so by the Lord of Heukcheon himself, There was no way that kind of disrespect could be overlooked, not with the sect’s reputation on the line.

The moment that man laid a hand on the Lord of Heukcheon’s cherished youngest disciple, his fate was as good as sealed.

“Give him one hundred strikes of the rod and throw him out of Heukcheon. How did someone like that even make it past the gate?”

Jinrang had come expecting to see Kang Oh’s swordwork, only to witness an arrogant fool pointing fingers at his disciple as if scolding a bandit. The shift in mood left him deeply displeased.

One hundred strikes. To the merchant, it was as good as a death sentence. He looked up at Jinrang with a horrified expression, only to find the martial lord gazing down at him with such cold indifference, it was as if he no longer even saw him as human.

At that moment, Kang Oh stepped forward.

“Master, I believe the truth behind this incident must be made absolutely clear.”

Jinrang was about to say there was no need to deal with a man like that, only the murder itself warranted investigation. In his life, Jinrang had encountered all kinds of liars, and that middle-aged man was just another one. Those who grieved sincerely never wailed for others to hear. They grieved in silence, hoping someone might notice.

But this man, claiming to be the father of the dead, cried out so loudly it was clearly for show. Worse, he kept stirring the pot, not out of sorrow, but to keep the matter alive and squeeze out a greater payoff.

Still, because it was his disciple who had pleaded on the man’s behalf, Jinrang relented and asked one more question.

“Why?”

When Jinrang asked, Kang Oh replied respectfully.

“Because it appears to be an attempt to tarnish Honamgak’s name.”

“…There’s someone behind this?”

“No matter how closely this merchant group has dealt with Heukcheon, the timing of his appearance seems far too convenient to ignore, at least in this disciple’s view.”

Thanks to Kang Oh’s intervention, the middle-aged man had finally caught his breath. Flattened by fear of Jinrang moments earlier, he now jerked upright at Kang Oh’s words and said something no one could have predicted.

“They say you pamper that servant so much, you even carry him in your arms up and down the stairs of Akgak. And now what? My son is brutally murdered for spreading a few rumors about him, and you’re talking about some culprit behind it? What’s the point of digging for a scapegoat that doesn’t exist? Are you trying to disgrace my son’s death even more? !”

Jinrang’s expression darkened like storm-clouded earth. The man had meant to drag Kang Oh down with gutter water, but all he had done was trigger the Lord of Heukcheon’s wrath.

“So now you’re saying—”

Jinrang lifted his hand, and the man’s body floated into the air.

Void Grasping Technique.
Someone watching murmured the name.

“My disciple killed your son over some dogshit rumor and now pretends he’s innocent. That’s what you’re saying?”

Suspended in midair, the merchant’s face shifted from bluish-purple to pale, then darkened again in cycles as his throat was squeezed tighter.

It was said that provoking the Lord of Heukcheon was more dangerous than crawling out of a pit loaded with a hundred Thunderfire Bombs. At least in that case, the one who suffered would die alone.

But once someone crossed Jinrang, even their relatives would be dragged down with them. And no one could say a word about it.

“Kh… khurgh.”

As the man writhed, choking on invisible force, Kang Oh stepped forward at just the right moment.

“You seem to know quite a lot for something that only happened yesterday.”

“Heukcheon has ears everywhere, from the righteous to the Western Regions, but yours seem the sharpest of all. That’s going to be a problem.”

Perhaps the pressure on his throat had eased, because some color was beginning to return to the merchant’s face. Bruised and blotchy, he stopped struggling, letting his limbs fall limp.

Just then, Jinrang released the Void Grasping Technique, and the man’s body collapsed to the floor.

“If you want to live, answer my disciple’s question.”

The Lord of Heukcheon stepped back, voice laced with venom.

After coughing for a while, the man finally opened his mouth. His voice, hoarse from the strangulation, had lost all its earlier defiance.

The letter said my son was already dead, and that the one who killed him was in Honamgak. It claimed there was only one grand structure built on Heukcheon’s outer edge, so it wouldn’t be hard to find.”

Il Woon stepped forward and searched the merchant’s robes, and found a single crumpled sheet of paper, just as the merchant had claimed.

The letter stated that his son had been killed in Honamgak. The culprit was a member of Honamdan, supposedly acting out of malice after the boy spread false rumors about their master.

The writer claimed to have witnessed everything but lacked the martial strength to help or capture the killer. Fearing the truth would be buried, they urged the reader to go to Honamgak and expose the incident before it could be covered up.

“I rushed to Honamgak, and just then, I saw martial artists stuffing my son’s body into a rough wooden coffin. I don’t know martial arts, so all I could do was shout to draw attention.”

He spoke as if everything that had happened was just a series of coincidences layered on top of each other. But to Kang Oh, something about the man’s story didn’t quite sit right.

For one, the Third Overseer had already been executed for taking bribes. All of Heukcheon’s affiliated vendors under his supervision were subjected to re-investigation, and only those who passed verification were issued new permits. So how had that merchant, who hadn’t even heard of the Third Overseer’s death, managed to get past the inner gates?

Were Heukcheon’s gatekeepers simply negligent? If not, then the only possible explanation was that someone had paved the way for him from behind the scenes.

More importantly, the merchant’s story kept changing. He had furiously claimed that Kang Oh was the killer, yet the letter stated the murderer was a Honamdan member who had committed the act out of a twisted sense of loyalty toward their master.

Was he trying to say that Kang Oh was to blame simply because he was at the root of it all? That didn’t make sense either.

Third, this wasn’t just any merchant. He ran a trade group of considerable size, with ties reaching into the local administration. And yet, he received a letter with no name and no sender, and still chose to trespass deep into Heukcheon. Whether in the righteous or demonic path, martial sects were strict by nature. The less one trained in martial arts, the more easily they were overwhelmed by the aura of those who had.

Some might say he acted foolishly, driven by grief for his son. But the more they examined the details, the less believable that explanation became. If anything, it only deepened the suspicion.

Who had done this? And for what?

“If there is a clear criminal, then they should pay for it.”

Kang Oh spoke with certainty. Jinrang, who had been silently watching to gauge his thoughts, narrowed his eyes. Of the three disciples he had taken in his life, Kang Oh was the only one connected to him by blood, yet he remained the most difficult to read.

The merchant, who had just been loudly condemning the Third Disciple as his son’s killer, hesitated as that very man volunteered to investigate the murder. His lips moved, but no words came out. Then something shifted in his expression, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him.

“Are you trying to handle the investigation yourself to cover everything up?”

“If I wanted to cover it up, I wouldn’t have to. My master already intended to.”

The merchant’s face drained of color, as if recalling how close he had come to being beaten a hundred times with the cane.

“Think what you want.”

It was the kind of remark one could only make if they knew the other party was powerless to do anything about it. And though the merchant felt that truth keenly, the pressure bearing down on him was different from what he had experienced with Yae Jinrang. It felt just as suffocating.

Having said his part, Kang Oh turned away. Jinrang and Il Woon both noticed the way his jaw was clenched. For someone usually so composed, it was rare to see even that much emotion on his face.

“What do you plan to do?”

Jinrang, frowning slightly, posed the question. Kang Oh answered politely.

“This disciple will go see Second Disciple Yeom. I must dig into this from the beginning.”

Jinrang furrowed his brow.

“If you insist on taking the hard road, I won’t try to stop you. But I don’t know how long I can keep watching that man speak so rudely to you.”

“This disciple will resolve the matter and report back to you, Master.”

“I had hoped I’d finally get to see your swordwork again.”

“My skills are far from refined, but if you think kindly of them, Master, then this disciple shall make the time.”

At Kang Oh’s reply, Jinrang’s gaze turned strange.

His sister’s son wasn’t the affectionate type, not even in passing. He had always been polite, but for him to take the initiative to suggest something like this was a first.

He wanted to give him everything. Gold, jewels, none of it mattered. Kang Oh devoted himself to martial arts, smiling only when he stood among blooming flowers. For him, Jinrang had created Heedowon, a paradise on earth. And in all the years he had lived there, Kang Oh had never once invited a single guest.

At that age, it was only natural to want to show off what one had. Recognition from others, even when unearned, could still bring a sense of pride. Jinrang considered even that kind of craving for attention to be part of growing up, and so he was willing to overlook a little arrogance from Kang Oh, so long as he remained under his guidance.

But Kang Oh had never once relied on Jinrang’s favor to act recklessly. That calm, restrained nature of his was like a pine tree standing tall in solitude, steadfast and ever-green. And Jinrang took pride in that.

Even so, fish cannot live in water that is too clear.

Watching his disciple, who wandered the outer world of Heukcheon without ever settling or leaving a mark within, Jinrang found himself rethinking his judgment.

He had once believed Kang Oh, whose mind had been wiped completely clean, had simply caught up with others’ twenty years of cultivation through effort alone. But what if that blankness also meant something had been left hollow?

If things like desire or ambition had been lost in the process, then what was he supposed to do?

Jinrang treated Kang Oh the way one would handle a porcelain vase already lined with cracks. He was his sister’s child, his own nephew. He hadn’t meant to, but he had tampered with the Kang Oh’s mind.

That guilt had never left him. He believed he had made Kang Oh unstable from the start.

But now, it was Kang Oh who had spoken up first, asking to perform his sword dance for his master. He had never volunteered before, likely to avoid clashing with the Grand Heir, Mo Yong Yuun.

It was the first time he had made a move like this.

Jinrang watched him closely.

“Is there something on your mind?”

“I don’t know,” Kang Oh murmured, eyes lowered.

Jinrang waved a hand dismissively, as though he no longer wished to hear whatever might follow. That in itself was rare for him.

“Make sure it’s handled. If things go beyond what you can manage, I’ll step in.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Kang Oh cupped his fist in salute. By the time he looked up, Jinrang was already gone, so swiftly that to the onlookers, it almost seemed like he had vanished into thin air.

The trembling merchant finally lifted his head after Jinrang disappeared. Kang Oh looked down at him and gave a small gesture.

“Go.”

Yeom Seunghan’s residence, Himyeondang, was notably lavish. He wasn’t the frugal type to begin with, and he had always indulged in beauty and luxury. To outsiders, he might have appeared no different from a frivolous and decadent playboy.

But Kang Oh knew well that his senior was far from careless in martial training and possessed a deep appreciation for the arts.

“What brings our youngest to Himyeondang today?”

As if he already knew Kang Oh was coming, Yeom Seunghan stood waiting by the entrance with both arms open wide in welcome.

“Senior disciple, I apologize for coming under such unfortunate circumstances.”

“Unfortunate?”

Yeom Seunghan chuckled with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You mean that bit about my junior disciple committing murder?”

Yeom Seunghan already seemed to know what had taken place at Honamgak. Though he smiled like a kind-hearted man, it was proof enough that he wasn’t someone to take lightly.

The merchant, who had been following behind Kang Oh with his head lowered after meeting the Lord of Heukcheon, suddenly burst into tears.

There were far more eyes here than back at Honamgak. Seunghan gave a faint grunt of displeasure.

If his junior had killed someone out of emotion, that would’ve made things entertaining in its own way, but right now, the situation was anything but favorable.

“Hm. Wasn’t it a member of Honamdan who committed the murder?”

Under Kang Oh’s silent gaze, Seunghan quickly tried to smooth over what he had just said. Kang Oh wasn’t releasing any pressure or making threats, yet his quiet stare carried an uncanny weight.

“It seems you’re already aware, so there’s no need for a long explanation.”

“In any case, come inside. I happened to set aside a bottle of wine I was originally planning to give to Master.”

“We can drink another time. Right now, there’s something I’d like to ask about this incident.”

Kang Oh spoke politely, and the Second Disciple scratched his chin as he walked ahead.

“What is it?”

“I heard someone had their tongue split in the medical hall.”

“Ah, he was the one that died?” The Second Disciple furrowed his brow, seemingly unaware of that detail.

At the mention of his son, the middle-aged man trailing behind began sobbing even louder.

“Noisy.”

The Second Disciple came to an abrupt stop and shot a cold, blade-like look at the merchant. The sobbing, loud and deliberate as if begging to be heard, finally come to a halt.

“He couldn’t hold his tongue and went around spreading slander about Heukcheon. I didn’t think he’d turn up dead in just a day, but he brought it on himself.”

He sneered past Kang Oh’s shoulder at the middle-aged man, as if daring him to object.

In truth, the Second Disciple had said it to provoke him.

“Brought it on himself, you say!”

The merchant flared up in outrage. He might have been frightened, but as father, he couldn’t let that go.

“So what, he died unjustly and now you want Heukcheon to pay you compensation?” Like a sly snake flicking its tongue, the Second Disciple gave a quick twitch of his lips.

The merchant, fooled by Seunghan’s appearance as a pleasure-seeking man, had no idea how cold the blood running through his veins truly was. Without realizing it was a trap, he lashed out again.

“He was my only child… He was murdered. Do you think I’d ask for compensation? Not even a fortune in gold that weighed as heavy as his corpse could make me let this go!”

So, money isn’t what he’s after?

Both Kang Oh and Seunghan arrived at the same conclusion.

“That’s an interesting claim.”

Seunghan frowned and asked again.

“So, if it were twice the amount, you’d be willing to consider it?”

The Second Disciple dug a finger into his ear, looking bored. The merchant hesitated, clearly thrown off by the response.

“Go ahead then. Yes, Seok.”

One of Seunghan’s men, Geum Seok, stepped forward and leaned in to whisper something by his master’s ear.

“What? We don’t have the budget for that?”

“Well, you recently invited Master Wang Gyowol, the zither virtuoso, to give a lesson at Hwaweonru.”

“Hm. Then just put it under Master’s name. He’ll handle it.”

The way he shrugged looked unbearably careless. It was not the proper way to respond to someone’s death.

The merchant, still stunned by that arrogant display, turned red and pale by turns.

“Well then, shall we move on to calculating something else?”

Seunghan patted Geum Seok’s shoulder, who looked like he was about to cry at the thought of going to beg money from Seo Mun Geumryeong. Then he turned to face the merchant. The cheerful smile that had played on his face a moment ago was already gone.

“If I’ve bought your son’s life with gold twice his weight, then tell me, how much would it cost to buy your tongue?”

“M-my tongue?”

“I could press you on how you dared to storm into Heukcheon, but let’s say that old travel pass you received makes it excusable. I’ll even overlook the fact that you entered a restricted area, one closed off to civilians, just because you were swayed by a stranger’s letter, without once checking whether it was real. Let’s call it leniency, for the sake of that pitiful show of fatherly love.”

At a glance, it sounded almost like he was offering concessions.

“In that case, don’t you think I have every right to claim that shameless tongue of yours as collateral, the very one that dared to blame your son’s death on the Third Disciple of Heukcheon and the Honamdan under his command?”

“Second Disciple.”

Kang Oh called out to the now visibly cold and furious Seunghan.

Seunghan looked from the pale-faced merchant to the youngest disciple and let out a disapproving sound with his tongue.

“You’re far too soft.”

It was a scolding meant to stop him from defending someone like that. But Kang Oh cupped his fist, pretending not to understand.

“My abilities are lacking. I’ve caused trouble for you, Second Disciple.”

“Enough. Do as you please. You said you wanted to hear about the martial artist whose tongue was split, didn’t you?”

Seunghan waved his hand dismissively. Now that Kang Oh had spoken up like this, not even Jinrang could have stopped it.

Well, Master has always been soft on his disciples…

Swallowing the thought, Seunghan began explaining what had happened the day before.

“In the early morning, I entered the medical hall and found a martial artist spreading vile rumors about a guess at Heedowon and the Third Disciple of Heukcheon. The content was utterly base, so I exercised my authority and dealt with him on the spot. Falsehoods like that must be punished strictly if we’re to make an example. Since it happened in the medical hall, I left without providing treatment.”

“By falsehoods, you mean…”