Return of the God of War - Chapter 44

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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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Chapter 44. Work well done.
Shink.
Thud.
Muk Yeojin sheathed the Heukya Geom, having eliminated every demon on Seolsan.
His hair stood wild in all directions, his entire body drenched in the Black Blood of the creatures he’d slain.
His appearance was, quite simply, a mess.
Yet despite it all, a satisfied smile played across his face.
Muk Yeojin gazed down at his own palms and nodded to himself.
He could feel it.
A sensation as though an invisible protective armor enveloped his entire body.
At last—the One Star level of Geukwon Hosin-gong.
He had not merely grasped the technique superficially, but had truly internalized the martial art itself.
Muk Yeojin was basking in the pride of his own achievement when it happened.
Whoosh.
In an instant, the landscape around him rippled and wavered.
In the blink of an eye, Muk Yeojin found himself back in the corridor of Manryeongung.
The formation technique known as the Ihwan Sigong-jin had been deactivated.
The sudden silence around him was so complete that he almost wondered if the desperate battle of moments before had been nothing but a dream.
‘Remarkable, truly.’
To transform one’s surroundings into Seolsan in an instant, then vomit forth countless demons—
the forbidden Left Path Techniques, including the Gimun-jin, never ceased to astound him, no matter how many times he encountered them.
One might say such powers rivaled the divine capabilities of immortals from legend without exaggeration.
Yet.
Nothing in this world escapes the law of equivalent exchange.
Great power invariably exacts its price—such is the principle of all things.
In that regard.
These godlike arts of the forbidden Left Path came burdened with equally severe limitations.
To deploy the Gimun-jin required a space abundant in Celestial Energy and Terrestrial Energy, along with precisely calibrated placements of devices.
Should even the slightest error creep into such meticulous design, the formation became utterly useless.
This was precisely why it proved so difficult to establish mechanisms and formations in natural environments, where variables abounded.
On a constantly shifting battlefield, such tactics became nearly impossible to employ.
There was also the practical economic reality: it cost far less to commit troops than to construct a Gimun.
And yet.
The reason Muk Yeojin—once called the master of the battlefield and the ghost of chaos—remained something of a novice in formation techniques was simple.
He’d never had use for them.
‘Still…’
Muk Yeojin rolled his shoulders, scanning his surroundings.
‘How much time has actually passed?’
Lost in frenzy, he’d been absorbed in frenzied swordwork, yet he had no idea how many double hours he’d spent within the formation.
A rough estimate suggested that since he’d entered during the night, the sun was likely well past its zenith by now.
Soon enough, Muk Yeojin carefully stepped out of the corridor.
Then a thought occurred to him.
‘Did Father… watch my battle?’
Everything else was of no concern.
But what troubled him was—
‘I think I may have cursed Father while I was beheading those demons. Or maybe I didn’t. I can’t quite remember…’
In that moment, a single bead of cold sweat rolled down from his jaw.
“…….”
Muk Yeojin let out an awkward cough and quickened his pace, treading as quietly as possible.
As he emerged from the corridor, a vast hall came into view.
Glancing through the window, contrary to his expectation that it would be high noon, dawn was only now breaking.
And.
There sat his father, Muk Woomyeong, quiet and still, eyes closed upon the great seat.
‘Is he sleeping?’
Well, yes—even one called a Samjon must sleep.
Perfect. He’d slip out while he had the chance.
Silently. Carefully.
So it was that the moment his hand touched the door handle—
“You’ve little sense of stealth, it seems.”
Flinch.
Muk Yeojin’s body went rigid.
“Your tongue’s sharp enough, I’ll grant you that.”
His fingertips began to tremble slightly.
Damn. He’s seen right through me.
Muk Yeojin was moistening his lips, about to say something—anything—when his father spoke.
“Well done.”
“…!”
Words he’d never expected to hear.
For a moment, Muk Yeojin turned with a vacant expression to look at his father.
“Go on inside.”
“…Yes? Ah, yes, of course.”
What’s gotten into him?
Either way, best to escape before his mood shifts.
“Then I shall take my leave and go inside, Father.”
Whoosh.
Muk Yeojin bowed hastily and vanished like a scalded chick, swift as an arrow.
Left behind, Muk Woomyeong watched his son’s retreating figure in silence before muttering low to himself.
“He has her nature. Blood doesn’t lie.”
Twenty years ago, perhaps.
The Celestial Sovereign Muk Woomyeong recalled a remarkable woman of the Orthodox faction who had smashed through the great gates of this hall and stormed inside.
* * *
A few days later.
Crack-crack-crack-crack.
Brilliant hand movements that dazzled the eye.
Those dazzling motions resembled both Palm Method and Claw Method.
Under the relentless barrage of attacks, Namgung Ryeongryeong couldn’t collect her wits.
Not before Gye O-su.
Not before hundreds of Sword Ghosts.
And certainly not before the Three Existences themselves, Muk Woomyeong—yet here she was, cold sweat pouring down her face as she faced this crisis.
The one who had driven even Sadocheon’s Sword Palace Master, Namgung Ryeongryeong, into a defensive position was none other than—
Pyo Yeon.
Every time her hands touched, Namgung Ryeongryeong’s hairstyle transformed into something different.
Namgung Ryeongryeong discovered that braids came in more varieties than she’d ever imagined existed.
After a full hour of battling with hair and ribbons, Pyo Yeon finally nodded in satisfaction.
“As I suspected, your ladyship has such fine features that a style emphasizing the eyes, nose, and mouth suits you perfectly.”
Namgung Ryeongryeong couldn’t tell what had actually changed, but in any case, she felt relieved that this seemingly endless ordeal had finally ended.
But that was to sorely underestimate Pyo Yeon.
Thud!
She stepped outside briefly and returned dragging in a mountain—a mountain of clothing.
Garments stacked high as a peak.
“Now that we’ve done your hair, we must choose your wardrobe. Today I’ll keep it simple—just seventy outfits for you to try. My lady.”
Namgung Ryeongryeong’s expression darkened.
Seventy outfits was simple?
More importantly—did she even own seventy outfits?
It seemed she’d have to stay up all night just to try them all on.
A sigh escaped her unbidden.
Yet because all of this was being done for her sake, Namgung Ryeongryeong couldn’t bring herself to say a harsh word to Pyo Yeon.
Seeing her beam with childlike joy only drew an involuntary laugh from her.
“You’re that pleased about this?”
Pyo Yeon’s smile only grew wider.
“Of course! A grand celebration! The scale alone rivals an imperial coronation, or so everyone says. And to think—our lady is the center of it all! I’m so happy I could die without regret.”
A grand celebration marking the Sword Palace Master’s ascension.
Under orders from the Sadocheon’s Master, the event had transformed into something extraordinarily grand.
The roster of those who’d confirmed their attendance was shocking in its splendor.
“With so many gathered, even the most renowned figures find it hard to gain entrance to the main hall, Janghyeonjeon, or so I’ve heard!”
Namgung Ryeongryeong laughed quietly.
“They’re not coming to see me. They’re coming to gauge Sadocheon’s movements.”
She was right, in fact.
Most of the attendees were far more interested in the activities of ‘Sadocheon’ than in the person ‘Namgung Ryeongryeong’.
Not only the Heukdo factions—Sadocheon’s affiliates throughout Gangnam—but also the Orthodox faction organizations.
That was why so many from Baekdo had expressed their intention to participate.
And furthermore.
For this gathering, the vital core of Baekdo—the Jeongdo Murim Alliance—had decided to dispatch an official delegation.
The Alliance’s reasons for setting foot in this gathering numbered roughly two.
The first was intelligence gathering.
They would likely gain entry to the very headquarters of Sadocheon, which would prove invaluable in assessing their movements and intentions.
Understanding an enemy’s strength and circumstances is the most fundamental principle of strategy.
And the second was a matter of face.
If the whole of Jungyeong focused on this gathering and they alone absented themselves, whispers of cowardice would inevitably spread.
As people who valued honor and justification as dearly as life itself, the Baekdo could not help but make at least a show of attendance.
Of course.
The probability that any major figures of the Alliance would be among the delegation was far from high.
“Still, the fact that the young lady is the principal remains unchanged, you see! Since she will stand before the masses, I, Pyo Yeon, absolutely cannot allow the young lady to appear shabby. Come now! We must select the gathering dress, choose the ornaments, and receive a meridian massage. There is no time!”
What significance could stimulation of the meridians hold for a martial artist who had already opened the Immack and Dokmack?
Though the question crossed her mind, Namgung Ryeongryeong allowed herself to be led along by Pyo Yeon’s eager hands.
Watching Pyo Yeon’s delight at the task warmed her own heart in a way she did not quite expect.
* * *
Crash!
A bottle shattered into fragments with a sharp, piercing sound.
Despite the intoxication having reached its peak, her eyes already glazed over, Hye Rangyeong shouted at the servants once more.
“Bring more liquor! Now!”
Jeong Yeo, the head steward, tensed at the risk of flying sparks of anger.
He let out a deep sigh, watching the servants scramble to flee.
She had already drained three bottles of potent strong liquor by herself, with scarcely any food to accompany it.
Her constitution had never tolerated drink well to begin with.
If the damage from alcohol accumulated any further, her body would surely suffer.
“What shall we do, Gyeom Chonggwan?”
In ordinary circumstances, the Gyeom Chonggwan whom Jeong Yeo knew would have dissuaded Hye Rangyeong by now.
But.
“Bring it to her.”
“Yes, surely you mean—— Yes?”
“Bring the liquor. Give her as much as she wants.”
Jeong Yeo’s body stiffened in shock.
The Chonggwan’s expression was utterly strange today.
“I—— Yes. Understood…….”
Gyeom Chonggwan regarded the now-unconscious Hye Rangyeong for a moment, then turned sharply and made his way toward his quarters.
Unlike his usual manner, he passed the servants without so much as a greeting, his steps measured and purposeful, when he murmured to himself.
“I had anticipated she would be easy to exploit—foolish and greedy as she is. Yet she crumbles over such trivial matters. A far more pitiful creature than I expected.”
[Shall we withdraw, then?]
A voice sounded from nowhere.
The corridor held only Gyeom Chonggwan.
Yet strange as it was, the voice reached his ear with perfect clarity.
One might have cried out in fear of a ghost, but Gyeom Chonggwan’s expression remained utterly unmoved.
“Yes. All the effort invested so far is wasted, I grant you, but there is no profit in keeping one’s mouth pressed to a rotting log that yields not a drop of sap. We must seek another tree.”
[What of Lady Namgung?]
Gyeom Chonggwan fell silent in thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“That woman is not an instrument to be wielded easily. Moreover, the Cheonju has taken an interest in her son. It is better to leave her untouched than to risk hasty contact.”
[Then what shall we do?]
“For now, we observe the situation.”
[Understood.]
Silence fell between them for a moment.
“What has become of That Object, the one Ma Seon sent?”
[We took possession of it at dawn today. Which person did you intend to use it on?]
“Hmm…….”
Gyeom Chonggwan’s steps halted abruptly as he deliberated.
His eyes fell upon a youth wielding Bakdo late into the night—Muk Byeongho.
From the moment Hye Rangyeong had confined herself and begun drinking, he had redoubled his training with ever greater intensity.
In that instant, the corners of Gyeom Chonggwan’s mouth curved upward.
“Perhaps, given our history together, it would be fitting to offer him a gift?”

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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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