Return of the God of War - Chapter 26

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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 26. Whether it becomes comedy or tragedy.
Before the entrance of Chunghonjeong.
There stood an elderly man with a gaunt frame and kindly creased features, leaning against a tree stump.
At his waist hung two swords that symbolized him—the Baekya Ssang-geom—and his gaze fixed entirely on Muk Yeojin as he approached.
“Ah! Young Master Yeojin. A pleasure—seen you from afar a few times, but this is our first direct meeting.”
Muk Yeojin drew his focus taut.
He knew well how vicious the blade lurking behind that kindly face could be.
‘Pi Yangcheon…….’
The great Sadocheon—a massive mountain range forming fourteen peaks.
The Six Palaces, Five Halls, Three Chambers.
Among them, one pillar of the Sadoyukgung.
Master of the Geomgung.
Pi Yangcheon, Lord of the Sword Palace.
Such a figure would not have emerged for an evening stroll to Chunghonjeong and met him by mere chance.
‘He must have been waiting for me here with purpose.’
When he searched his memory of his past life, there had been no connection whatsoever with the Master of Geomgung. Yet now, thinking of why he would appear so suddenly, one name came to mind.
‘Hye Rangyeong.’
The fourth concubine of the Sadocheon Lord, and mother to Muk Byeongho and Muk Iyeon.
Pi Yangcheon, Lord of the Sword Palace, was the most prominent figure in her faction.
‘If it is indeed that woman, she may well still harbor resentment toward me over what happened then.’
Three years ago at Mangdamjeon.
The incident shortly after his return, when he had crushed Muk Byeongho and captured his father’s attention.
That night, when Hye Rangyeong had attacked his quarters with such crude revenge, Muk Iyeon’s intervention had rendered it fruitless—yet she might still be nursing a grudge in her heart.
But then.
‘Would she move the Lord of the Sword Palace directly for that?’
This far exceeded the measure of using an ox-killer’s blade for a chicken.
The same held for the Master himself.
A master of such caliber moving to harass a boy barely grown for personal revenge, when he could easily be fifty years older—it made no sense.
Irritation flared suddenly in his chest.
After all, the Lord of the Sword Palace could not openly murder the bloodline of the Sadocheon Lord in broad daylight within his own domain.
Even if by some slim chance he were to fight, victory would be impossible—but escape, he was confident he could manage.
Having settled the matter in a flash, Muk Yeojin stepped forward.
“You’ve come on the orders of the lady Hye Rangyeong?”
At those words, the Master of Geomgung tilted his head slightly, then smiled.
“I’m not one to take orders from that child, but I was asked to discipline an impudent youngster.”
Muk Yeojin clicked his tongue softly.
It amounted to the same thing either way.
Muk Yeojin slowly drew his sword from its sheath.
“Surely you don’t intend to use both your swords against a mere boy like me?”
The Master of the Sword Palace was a rare wielder of dual blades to be found anywhere in the Central Plains.
If he drew even one, Muk Yeojin could manage—but should the old man unsheathe both the Baekya Ssang-geom, he had already resolved to flee without hesitation.
“Hehehehe.”
The Master of Geomgung burst into laughter.
“Are you suggesting that if this old man uses only one blade, it might be worth attempting? Or am I mistaken?”
Whisk.
Muk Yeojin answered by pointing his blade forward.
Whoosh.
The smile vanished from the Master’s face as if wiped clean, and a killing intent so unsettling that even fur would stand on end swept over them.
“I’ve always sensed it—you are far too arrogant, Young Master Yeojin.”
Instead of drawing his sword, the Master of Geomgung picked up a fallen branch from the ground.
A clear statement that he would face him with that.
“And isn’t it you who are overconfident, Lord of the Sword Palace?”
“A true craftsman does not blame his tools, I’ve heard it said.”
Muk Yeojin smiled faintly, his gaze shifting to the Master’s waist.
“Which is why you carry not one but two of those divine weapons, I see. If you have no need for them, why not hand them to me? In return, I’ll fetch you a fine branch from the mountain behind this place.”
“What did you say?”
For a moment, the Master of Geomgung stood blank-faced.
It had been so long since his ears heard words with such sharp edges that he was taken aback.
Who in all of Sadocheon would dare show such an attitude to the Master of the Sword Palace?
He nearly laughed aloud at the sheer absurdity of it.
“Heh heh heh, he flaps his mouth even before the Heavenly Master, so there’s hardly reason to feign surprise now. Very well—if the young master defeats me, I’ll hand over the sword or anything else you wish.”
But he didn’t stop there; he raised the stakes further.
“And I’ll make this old man’s kindness work in your favor—I’ll draw this blade instead of a stick, and if you win against that, I’ll grant you victory. How does that sound?”
It was a boast born from absolute certainty that he could not lose.
Yet it struck directly at Muk Yeojin’s competitive spirit.
In that moment, he resolved to flatten the old man’s arrogance once and for all.
“Very well.”
The Geomgung Master nodded.
“I’ll give you three moves as a handicap. Come at me.”
In the same breath, the Geomgung Master drew out a crimson blade-energy from his stick.
Muk Yeojin, too, began to draw up the Changgunggi that had been coiled in his Danjeon.
A shrill whistle cut through the air.
A breeze that seemed to come from nowhere swept past both of them.
The Geomgung Master’s presence—careworn as a back-room elder just moments before—transformed instantly.
Though it was not a death-wager match staked on their very lives, the pressure emanating from the Geomgung Master was enough to draw cold sweat down Muk Yeojin’s spine.
If both unleashed their full strength, he would not be able to touch even a hair on the Geomgung Master’s head.
Yet in this moment, Muk Yeojin judged inwardly that he possessed sufficient chance of victory.
The reason: the Geomgung Master was currently letting down his guard.
But it was not arrogance.
One cannot call it arrogance when a wolf disregards an ant larva before it—merely a difference in scale.
That disparity was precisely what Muk Yeojin intended to exploit.
‘I must end this at the opening. If the exchange drags on, defeat is certain.’
He had to decide the bout within the three handicap moves granted to him.
“Then I’ll begin.”
This was not an opponent he could afford to spare effort against.
He would attack at full power from the first move.
As Muk Yeojin drew in a sharp breath, both his thighs ballooned with force.
Crack-crack-crack.
The power driving through the earth was extraordinary.
Whoosh.
Pushing off the ground, Muk Yeojin’s form shot forward like a lance of light.
At the same instant, he brought his raised arm down in a cleaving strike, as if to bisect the Geomgung Master.
Crash!
The Geomgung Master’s horizontal stick and Muk Yeojin’s blade collided, and a savage roar split the air.
Shock flickered across the Geomgung Master’s face.
The force of Naegong that Muk Yeojin possessed far exceeded his expectations.
From the start, by claiming the Baeksu Shindan in Biyeondong, Muk Yeojin’s Naegong reserves were already among the foremost of his age.
Now that he had gained Giyeon through the Yeonhwa Ryun and his Naegong had grown, and the very nature of it had become far more refined, the term Hugi Jisoodeul seemed almost laughable.
In an instant, the Geomgung Master’s posture and breathing wavered, and Muk Yeojin seized the moment.
Here, he unleashed a move the old man had never anticipated.
Whoosh!
“What?!”
The Geomgung Master gasped in astonishment.
Just as he seemed to charge forward again, Muk Yeojin hurled the blade he held like a projectile weapon.
A swordsman throwing his sword like a hidden dagger?
For one who had walked the Path of the Blade all his life, it was unthinkable.
Clang.
The Geomgung Master tilted his stick diagonally and swept it up, deflecting the flying blade, and in that same heartbeat, Muk Yeojin plunged through his exposed front.
In that moment, Muk Yeojin regarded the figure before him as a sworn enemy he must eliminate.
His fists carried the intent of Pilsal—the killing blow.
Just as despair flickered across the Geomgung Master’s face—
Muk Yeojin’s Yeonhwangyeok came crashing down.
The Sanwangmu Sachoesik Baekeungkwon.
A supreme combo of twelve consecutive strikes, amplified by the mystery of Chimtu Gyeong.
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
The Geomgung Master swiftly recovered his stick and, employing Bobeop footwork, raised it to meet Muk Yeojin’s fists.
But as he retreated, Muk Yeojin pursued with equal tenacity.
On the seventh strike, the Geomgung Master’s stick finally shattered, and Muk Yeojin’s next blow drove toward his vital meridians.
In that moment, there was only one thing left for him to do.
Whoosh!
Clang!
The master of Geomgung had drawn one of the Baekya Ssang-geom from his waist—the Heugya Sword—and used its flat to block the punch.
Muk Yeojin withdrew his extended fist and retreated a step, creating distance between them.
A moment of silence descended.
The quiet was broken by the master’s hollow laugh.
“Hehehehe……”
He seemed utterly unable to believe what had just transpired.
Meanwhile, Muk Yeojin, though victorious, showed little sign of elation.
In truth, he felt no particular thrill.
Yes, he had won the wager the moment the master drew his blade, but the chasm between their skill levels remained as vast as heaven and earth.
If anything, he’d only become acutely aware of his own shortcomings.
‘Still so far to go. That said……’
The way the master had blocked with the flat of the blade rather than the edge, the nature of his movements—everything spoke to the same truth.
There had been no intention to harm him at all.
Then what was this?
“You didn’t come here to retaliate at Hye Rangyeong’s request, did you?”
The master, who had been staring vacantly at the Heugya Sword, shifted his gaze and let out a faint smile.
“I’m old enough that I can’t be bothered wading into the petty squabbles of you young sprouts.”
Young sprouts—that was his term for Muk Yeojin and Muk Byeongho.
Perhaps Hye Rangyeong as well.
It was a barb to his pride, but coming from the master of Geomgung, Muk Yeojin found no ready retort.
Yet he was not one to let such things pass.
“How does it feel, then, being defeated by a young sprout?”
He’d hoped the master would flare with indignation, his face twisting in fury, but disappointingly, the old man gave no such reaction.
“Kckckck, I should feel terrible, yet I feel rather pleased. Strange, isn’t it? Most strange.”
Click.
Whoosh.
The master sheathed the Heugya Sword and tossed it toward Muk Yeojin.
Catching the blade, Muk Yeojin was genuinely startled.
Even accounting for the wager, he’d never expected the master to surrender the sword so readily.
All his prepared excuses and contingencies suddenly seemed unnecessary.
“He’s like a son to me.”
“You can simply give away your son to someone else?”
“A grown child leaving the parent to stand alone—that’s the natural order of things.”
Muk Yeojin didn’t take the master’s words at face value.
To swordsmen, a blade meant far more than mere weapon—it carried weight beyond measure.
One only had to look at his own mother to understand that.
The master of Geomgung would be no different.
‘There’s surely something deeper at work here.’
And even if there weren’t, accepting this blade would entangle him in countless complications down the road.
By any reasonable reckoning, he ought to refuse.
But.
After a brief moment’s consideration, Muk Yeojin secured the Heugya Sword at his waist.
“I’ll make certain your son is well-fed and well-cared for from this day forward.”
The master nodded with a satisfied expression.
“But if this wasn’t about the lady, why were you waiting for me here?”
The master chuckled softly and turned away.
“Perhaps fate simply drew me to this place.”
With that, the master receded steadily from view.
Muk Yeojin watched the old man’s silhouette shrink into the distance, then turned and went the opposite way.
Whether his fate and the master’s would weave comedy or tragedy together—
no one could yet say.

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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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