Gwanjongcheonma’s Game Broadcast - Chapter 166

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 166
[A Famous Sword and a Demon Sword are separated by merely a sheet of paper.]
It is one of the most well-known sayings in the Murim.
All Murim practitioners desire strength.
Naturally, they wish to wield a blade of superior craft.
The blacksmiths of the Murim are no exception.
They dream of seeing the greatest swordsman of the Central Plains wielding a blade of their own forging.
Or they wish to place their own sword in the hands of someone close to them, hoping to be of use.
So they quench countless times,
mixing every material that exists in the world,
and sometimes they infuse something extraordinary.
“I want to have the sword you made.”
“If you don’t want to die, get out.”
The blacksmith’s forge stood empty of people.
Even the central hearth, which should have burned hot year-round, had gone cold in this place,
when sudden swordplay erupted without warning.
Clang!
Clang!
Despite the wicked blade launched in a surprise attack,
the man who deflected it wore a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Indeed. A famous sword, I see.”
“Die!”
Wheeeesh!
The stronger the blacksmith’s killing intent grew,
the more the surface of the blade in his grip sang with the sound of wind.
Like a human’s whistle,
or like some haunting cry that seemed to drift through a reed bed.
A ringing so dreadful that the weak of heart would collapse at merely hearing it.
But the man received the blacksmith’s attacks without moving.
Until his strength was entirely spent.
Until his killing intent grew weary.
Until the anguished regret that gripped him faded, at last, into distance.
“Haah… ha…”
“To handle the Whistle-Sound Sword with such mastery. You are no ordinary blacksmith, I see.”
“How do you… know that?”
This was the meeting between Hae-rang and Su-hyeon, the genius blacksmith.
Toward Su-hyeon, sprawled upon the ground, Hae-rang spoke of this and that.
From the moment the first stars peeked through the sky, until the time to bid farewell came with the blue light of dawn.
Though both his body and spirit were weary,
sleep would not come to him.
After spending the whole night in conversation this way,
Hae-rang asked Su-hyeon a question.
“Why do you hold your son’s sword, when you have made such excellent blades?”
“How could I grip that famous sword with hands stained by my own blood? To starve to death, or to go mad and die wielding the Whistle-Sound Sword—that is how I atone to my son.”
“You comfort yourself with easy thoughts.”
“What do you…?”
“That is merely a standard you invented to ease your own heart.”
“What could you possibly understand…!”
“One mistake is enough. Would your son, who died intoxicated by your Demon Sword, wish to see you die as well? Do not commit a second wrong against your son.”
!
Su-hyeon said nothing.
Only after the sun had climbed high in the sky,
was he able to set the Whistle-Sound Sword, crusted with blood, down upon the ground.
Hae-rang watched him and smiled sadly.
“A man so eager to abandon his life, and yet why does he forge new blades? You sent your own child ahead of you in pursuit of the perfect sword.”
“A foolish question you ask.”
Su-hyeon looked directly at Hae-rang’s face,
and for the first time, something resembling a smile appeared.
“For a blacksmith, the sword is both blessing and curse. Even in agony that tears flesh and living sinew, we cry out and strike the hammer. It was decided for us from birth.”
“Is that what you call a blacksmith’s calling?”
“That’s right. Not for my son, and not for myself either. I simply have no choice but to do it this way.”
“You’re alike. Both of you—willing to seek out death’s doorstep for the sake of a single blade.”
“Ha. That’s why people say a Murim warrior and a blacksmith are cut from the same stubborn cloth.”
Su-hyeon laughed through clenched teeth, then pushed himself up with a wince.
He limped past the half-shattered door and disappeared into the darkened forge.
Hae-rang simply watched him go, silent and still.
“This blade. The masterwork of my lifetime. Something tells me you’d be the one to wield it properly.”
“That sounds ominous. Is this another Demon Sword?”
“No. It won’t harm the one who holds it. It’s just temperamental—difficult to manage, you understand.”
“A sword with personality. You’re right; famous blades often come that way.”
Hae-rang accepted the sword without hesitation.
A flash of lightning ignited in his blue eyes.
Crack!
In the same instant, a brilliant sword light blazed forth from the blade in his grip.
The light coiled and twisted like a serpent,
then, as if nothing had ever disturbed it, returned to its true form.
“You tamed it… in a single breath…!”
The sword light faded gradually,
but Su-hyeon’s jaw grew wider with each passing moment.
“When you spoke of rebuilding the Heavenly Demon Cult anew, I thought it was mere boasting….”
“If it were, then this night we’ve spent awake would have been utterly wasted.”
Whoosh.
Hae-rang swung the blade once through the empty air, then with an elegant motion, sheathed it at his waist.
The sword was his now.
“I will become the leader of the Heavenly Demon Cult. And you—you will become its Master Craftsman.”
“I… me? I….”
“Will you repeat your mistakes again?”
“!”
“For you. And for your son.”
Hae-rang looked at Su-hyeon with a smile as rare and precious as rain in the desert.
“I’m giving you a new purpose for your life.”
* * *
“Look at the state of you.”
Choi Gang-sik chuckled at the sight of Hae-rang.
The shirt that had been tucked neatly into his trousers now hung completely free,
and his hair, which had been carefully dried that morning, stood in disarray as if rats had nested in it.
“Judging by appearances, that must have been quite a heartwarming and positive conversation?”
“The elder proved to be in excellent spirits, I must say.”
Hae-rang climbed into Choi Gang-sik’s car, his hair still disheveled.
An old electric vehicle, purchased a decade ago.
Yet even that car looked in better shape than Hae-rang did at present.
“What were you two discussing to end up like this?”
“He said he wanted to try the game his grandson played. On a capsule the craftsman made.”
“You got straight to business on first meeting? Lucky you made it out alive.”
“The circumstances didn’t allow for a gradual approach.”
There were times when you could have a leisurely conversation over tea, exchanging courtesies—but only when both parties genuinely wanted to talk.
When time was short, directness was better.
Just as it had been when demanding the sword from Su-hyeon.
The method was effective, though not without consequences.
Su-hyeon had wielded his Killing Sword at Hae-rang,
and Ryu had pulled out his hair.
“First, let’s head home and find the next craftsman. I wanted to avoid going overseas because of the tournament preparations, but it seems unavoidable now.”
“I won’t be going overseas.”
“Hmm? So you want to focus on the Capsule Games for now?”
Choi Gang-sik thought that made sense.
They could prepare for the tournament at Kraft Headquarters.
Of course, using someone else’s facility meant access was limited to designated hours.
“No. Having met him in person, I’m certain now. I need to try Ryu’s machine.”
“Looking like that, your sincerity isn’t exactly convincing.”
“You’ll hear from me. The moment you search for a gamer called the Attention-Seeking Heavenly Demon.”
My nickname is Gwanjong Cheonma.
After gently pushing away the old man’s hand that had seized his hair,
these were the words Hae-rang had left behind.
“Just because a master craftsman has forged a Famous Sword doesn’t mean all his dreams have been fulfilled.”
“What’s this sudden talk about a master craftsman?”
“Finding a user worthy of the Famous Sword. And then passing the Famous Sword to that person. That’s where a craftsman’s calling ends.”
“Are you saying… that Ryu has already created a Capsule and is searching for its owner?”
It made no sense.
Recalling what had happened to Ryu’s grandson,
the notion that he would create another Capsule and search for a gamer seemed utterly unrealistic.
“That’s something beyond Ryu’s will. It’s more like a destiny born of genius.”
“Maybe because I’m not a genius… I simply can’t grasp it.”
As if disbelief itself had taken physical form.
Choi Gang-sik shook his head.
But a day later.
His eyes trembled with far greater intensity.
All because of a single email that arrived in Gwanjong Cheonma’s account.
(No Subject)
An email from Ryu had truly arrived.
* * *
Whirrrr!
The machine awakens from its long dormancy.
There aren’t even any ornate decorations—one can barely discern where the door release button is.
Watching the glass door rise slowly, Ryu let out a snort.
“A gamer with disabilities in reality stands out in Capsule Games. Hardly a unique story anymore.”
Ryu’s grandson.
Hyeon Jin-su was no different.
Hyeon Jin-su, paralyzed from the waist down, lived a new life after encountering Capsule Games.
A game where all four limbs could move freely.
Reality where movement remained impossible.
Before long, for Hyeon Jin-su, the ‘true reality’ had become the world inside the game.
“There was no way to stop him. Asking him to quit Capsule Games was asking him to stop living.”
Once, Ryu too had thought that better.
His grandson living a second life through the Capsule he had created.
But Hyeon Jin-su’s life ended abruptly within that Capsule.
“I’ve heard the Capsule itself wasn’t the cause.”
“What does that matter? What matters is that Jin-su went to heaven while using my Capsule.”
Once he had dreamed of Singularity.
Furthermore, he had dreamed of becoming a National Representative.
Yet that dream had shattered like bubbles due to the tragic accident.
And now.
Hae-rang boarded the worn Capsule.
“Do you know what you’re doing right now? Getting into a Capsule that could kill a person.”
“If that were true, you would have gone to prison long ago. Didn’t the investigation authorities already confirm there were no mechanical defects?”
“That’s….”
“I suspect you’ve been waiting all along.”
For whoever you were waiting for.
Hae-rang closed the Capsule door without finishing his thought.

Hae-rang activated the ‘Yes’ button.
He wasn’t going to broadcast, nor was he going to play a game purchased beforehand.
Hae-rang executed a pre-downloaded game.

Milksong.
A side-scrolling action game that seemed out of place for a Capsule Game.
It had a setup similar to ‘Cookie Run,’ a mobile game famous from long ago.
‘A game known for its brutally punishing difficulty, they say?’
How dire the situation was, to have once been designated a Singularity test game.
Even geniuses blessed by heaven couldn’t clear it, so it was quickly replaced by another game.

The crude opening ended, and the game battlefield unfolded.
It showed more care than the Jar Game from before,
yet the awkward map and chunky health bar were already whispering to Hae-rang.
Wake up and go home.
‘Not a chance.’
Hae-rang had no intention of leaving.
Since it was his first time playing, he might be clumsy with strategy.
But this was also his first time using Ryu’s premium capsule.
Whirrr!
‘This is… a machine that’s years old?’
As he activated the Heavenly Demon Divine Art, he understood it more clearly.
Just how brilliant a genius Ryu was.
Private Capsule.
High-End Capsule.
EX Capsule.
He’d experienced some fairly impressive capsules so far.
But Ryu’s capsule possessed a kind of comfort that differed from cutting-edge machines.
If conventional capsules felt like they’d embedded acceleration devices inside your body,
Ryu’s capsule was simply freedom itself.
The kind of freedom that made any movement possible, any action achievable.
A feeling as though he could sprint toward the clouds without hesitation.
Perhaps this design philosophy for such a capsule was not unrelated to his grandson’s circumstances.
“Beginning now.”
A sword in one hand.
A red cloak draped about his neck—the knight of Milksong began to advance.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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