My Father Is the Number One Under Heaven - Chapter 23

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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 23. The Servant Boy Nobody Likes
In the early dawn, a nightbird sang its lingering song.
“Mmm… mmm… and… and more candy… just one more, just one more…”
Yul-i slept on, murmuring in her dreams.
Beside her, Paeng Seo-yeon slept just as soundly.
Then—
“Mm?”
Yul-i’s eyes fluttered open, sleep-heavy and unfocused.
She reached over and prodded Paeng Seo-yeon’s arm with her finger.
“Hmm? Yul-i, what is it?”
“Mama. I need to go.”
She needed the privy, it seemed.
The mother and daughter, eyes barely half-open, rose from the bed and padded quietly toward the washroom.
After a brief time, the pair returned to the room.
Yul-i scrambled back into bed and fell asleep with a pleased smile on her face.
Paeng Seo-yeon watched her daughter with a small, quiet laugh, then climbed back into bed herself.
She would kick off the covers soon enough, but first she tucked the blanket carefully around Yul-i, then pulled her own quilt up and settled back to sleep.
Or rather, tried to.
Some instinct made Paeng Seo-yeon open her eyes and turn to look beside her.
The space where her husband should have been was empty.
She turned her head, searching the darkness.
“Husband?”
But Yeou Un-hwi was nowhere in the room.
Paeng Seo-yeon’s face creased with confusion.
Where could he have gone at this hour?
***
On a high mountain peak from which all of Habuk could be seen in a single glance.
On a narrow summit that could barely fit one person, a figure sat in Seated Meditation, eyes closed in silence.
Hisssss.
Soon a wondrous golden light poured from his body, pushing back the darkness and scattering brilliant luminescence.
And how much time had passed?
The golden radiance slowly faded, retreating the way it had come.
The man in Seated Meditation slowly opened his eyes.
“Exhale… 3rd Stage now, then.”
This man was Yeou Un-hwi.
He had just surpassed the achievements of his previous life as the Blood Demon.
In those Blood Demon days, he had never spared his body a moment’s care, fighting endlessly, again and again.
Countless were the wounds that brought him to the brink of death.
But he had no time for true recovery—the moment he could move even slightly, he would set his next target and drag himself onward.
It had been a mad succession of acts only possible when one treats one’s own life like a toy.
His body had no right to be intact.
As a result, he had never fully refined the Cheonmu Divine Art—a heaven-sent opportunity earned through ages of struggle.
Or more precisely, he had never even thought to try.
Yeou Un-hwi’s sole reason for living had been to hunt down and kill the worthless scum of the Martial World.
But that was then.
Yeou Un-hwi was no longer a revenge-crazed murderer, no longer the Blood Demon.
Now his concern lay entirely in how to protect his precious family—and how to keep them safer still.
And for that, Yeou Un-hwi had to grow stronger.
Stronger than anyone.
Moreover, he possessed the Cheonmu Divine Art.
The Cheonmu Divine Art was the martial skill of Mu-shin, the greatest master of all ages past and present.
Deepening one’s mastery of such an art was the fastest path to acquiring power greater than anyone else’s.
His purpose became clear—this was what lay ahead.
There was no room for delay, no luxury of laziness.
And so Yeou Un-hwi climbed to this place every early dawn, devoting himself entirely to perfecting the Cheonmu Divine Art.
Fortunately, no one came to this place at this hour, so he faced no interruption and could focus wholly on his training.
His progress rose at a pace incomparable to his previous life.
Even he had not expected to reach the next stage so swiftly.
It was joyful, yet strange and disorienting.
Yeou Un-hwi did not know.
He had already inherited everything that Mu-shin Hyeok Jong-hu had accomplished in life, intact and whole.
All he needed now was time to digest it all at a measured pace.
Before his return, he hadn’t been able to do this, but now things were different.
Yeou Un-hwi had, without even realizing it, become completely prepared to accept everything of Mu-shin’s.
‘The Cheonmu Divine Art—3rd Stage.’
Casting back through the memories of his past life, at his current level, he didn’t think he’d be outmatched even if he faced one of the Twelve Inner Lords.
Though in truth, much would depend on which of them he encountered.
The Four Sovereigns, including the Martial Sovereign and Red Victory, might prove difficult.
They were the strongest among the Twelve Inner Lords, who were called the absolute masters of the current Martial World.
But still,
‘If I staked my life on it, I could take an arm or two with me.’
At that thought, Yeou Un-hwi let out a sudden laugh despite himself.
Without meaning to, the old mindset of his Blood Demon days had surfaced.
But what would he even do with an arm—
Yeou Un-hwi shook his head.
It wasn’t just about protecting his family.
To preserve their happiness, he himself had to survive, no matter what.
Going forward, he would have to discard the way of thinking from his Blood Demon days.
It wouldn’t be easy at first, but Yeou Un-hwi resolved to do it.
‘All things considered, things are going better than I expected.’
A month at the Paeng Clan.
Yeou Un-hwi felt that his adaptation to the Paeng Clan was proceeding far more smoothly than he’d anticipated.
Anyone who knew how Yeou Un-hwi was currently being treated at the Habuk Paeng Clan would be astounded that he harbored such thoughts.
What he was experiencing now was the kind of pressure that would make ordinary people want to weep.
Slander behind his back, contempt, ostracism, rejection.
They simply refrained from violence, but otherwise Yeou Un-hwi endured everything else.
Yet to Yeou Un-hwi, it all seemed nothing but laughable.
This couldn’t be called pressure.
Nor could it be called suffering.
He was the man who had suddenly lost his beloved wife without warning, and afterward wept tears of blood while cradling the corpse of his remarried daughter.
And what of his time as the Blood Demon—how bitter was that?
He had fought on even as his flesh tore, as pus seeped from his wounds, as he decayed, fighting and fighting still.
Compared to all that, his present situation seemed nothing more than child’s play—merely childish and amusing.
So there was nothing truly to worry about.
But neither did he intend to remain passive throughout.
When the time was right, he would respond.
Very slowly, and very thoroughly.
In truth, Yeou Un-hwi had no intention of concealing his martial arts indefinitely.
As long as the martial arts he’d mastered weren’t those of the Cheonma Divine Sect, nor those he’d learned from some heretical master of old, there was no reason to hide them like a criminal.
But if it became known that these were the martial arts of Mu-shin, who had been the greatest expert of all ages, there was a considerable risk that all manner of riffraff would flock to him, coveting the Cheonmu Divine Art.
So he intended to be cautious only until he became certain enough never to lose to anyone.
Until then, it was best to reveal his presence as naturally and gradually as possible.
“…Mm.”
Having sunk into contemplation for a long while, Yeou Un-hwi suddenly furrowed his brow.
The rising sun had tickled his eyes.
By now, the sun was already rising.
‘Then I suppose I should go.’
Yeou Un-hwi brushed himself off and stood.
Then, without hesitation, he leaped from the sheer cliff face.
As he plummeted at high speed, a smile spread across his face.
He was already beginning to miss his wife and daughter.
***
“Hah, ha-aaah!”
“Hrah-rah-rah!”
“The formation’s breaking! Pay attention!”
Morning had broken.
The morning at the Habuk Paeng Clan was always filled with the shouts of warriors.
After finishing Hell’s Nine-Pace Run, which was the pride of the Habuk Paeng Clan, early in the morning, the warriors underwent intense training until midday.
Of course, after eating lunch, the training resumed.
Thanks to this, only those of exceptional constitution could endure even a single day in the Habuk Paeng Clan.
During one of these training sessions where he continued to test his limits, a ten-minute break finally arrived.
Brief as it was, it felt like sweet honey.
Scattered about with ragged breathing, the warriors rested until one of them suddenly spoke up.
“Man, that guy’s really unlucky, isn’t he?”
“Who? What are you talking about out of nowhere?”
“Who else? That scholar fellow.”
“Oh, right.”
Somewhere along the way, the Habuk Paeng Clan had reached a point where everyone understood exactly who “that scholar fellow” meant.
Every warrior in the Paeng Clan had grown to dislike Yeou Un-hwi intensely.
If at first their displeasure had been mild, now it had deepened considerably.
Why was that?
Ordinarily, when people openly mocked and ridiculed someone as a group, that person would naturally feel intimidated and lose their spirit.
But this scholar fellow—somehow he didn’t seem to care in the slightest, and instead wandered about with a faint smile on his face.
The sight of him only made the warriors dislike him even more.
A man without shame was always unpopular, after all.
So they all rushed to curse that “scholar fellow.”
Then,
“Tsk, tsk. Still brimming with energy, I see.”
“Ah, welcome, Captain.”
“What’s all this muttering about? Makes you look shabby.”
“Ha ha… well…”
The warriors soon began grumbling to their superior about that scholar fellow as well.
At that, Captain No Il-bong let out a hollow laugh.
“So even harassment doesn’t faze him, which is why you dislike him even more? Is that it with that scholar fellow?”
“Yes, sir. We can’t tell if he’s just thoughtless or has the nerve of a lion.”
“You lot have a lot of time to spare, it seems, doing such pointless things.”
……
The warriors initially thought No Il-bong was scolding them.
But then,
“If something like that happens, you should’ve told me right away.”
“…Sir?”
“Such an entertaining matter, you know.”
“Ha ha…”
No Il-bong’s lips curled into a grin.
“There’s only one proper way to teach fellows like that a lesson.”
“What… way?”
Not understanding what No Il-bong meant, they all tilted their heads in confusion.
But whether they understood or not, No Il-bong began to chuckle to himself.
“Let’s make him bleed from his backside, the way we do things.”

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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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