Return of the God of War - Chapter 49

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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 49. Not Bad At All
Gwi Young’s face was completely concealed beneath a gauze mask, yet Muk Yeojin recognized her at once by those distinctive, piercing eyes.
More than that, an unfamiliar scent drifted from her vital energy.
It was the result of the Hwayeong Magong she had cultivated.
Though years of discipline had allowed her to contain it skillfully, Muk Yeojin was not one to miss even the faintest trace of shadow-qi lingering in the air.
What could have brought her to this Wolha Hwantam—merely a gathering to discuss paintings over conversation?
Tap, tap.
His gaze met hers for a moment before Muk Yeojin walked slowly toward the center of the room.
There, the Munbang Sawoo needed for painting had been arranged beforehand.
The guests filling the VIP chamber could not hide their expressions of rapture.
They were all devout believers in the Wolha Painter.
How they had counted the days until this moment, when they might see the Painter in person.
Some had gone without sleep for the past several nights, dark crescents now settling beneath their eyes.
Yet there was one.
Only Gwi Young maintained an indifferent gaze.
Though it was merely a matter of temperament.
Her presence here at this gathering itself was proof that she, too, held profound interest in the Wolha Painter.
Donning a white mask, the Wolha Painter—Muk Yeojin—seated himself before the Seonji and took up the Ho Pil.
Not a soul spoke to him during this time.
It was a condition the Painter had set for today.
After a moment of deliberation, Muk Yeojin traced a single stroke across the Seonji with one sweeping motion.
“Ahhh…….”
Exclamations of wonder burst forth from every direction.
A master who has reached enlightenment can discern an opponent’s skill simply by the way they grip their sword.
Painting is much the same.
Even a trivial line, when rendered by a master, bears the mark of excellence.
In that sense, the Wolha Painter before them.
The exquisite brushstrokes emerging from his tip possessed a refinement that would not be excessive to call the finest in all of Jungwon.
Swish, swish.
Though delicacies and fine liquors lay scattered about, no one’s eyes turned toward them.
Breath held still.
Everyone strove to preserve only the memory of the Painter’s elegant brushwork in their hearts.
How much time had passed in this way?
Tap.
At last, Muk Yeojin set down his brush, the coloring complete.
The finished work was a Yeongmo Do—a bird-and-feather painting.
Within it lay a vast lake rippling with cerulean light, and at the center of this great expanse perched a white crane, poised as though it might take flight at any moment.
Those who beheld it had already fallen into complete rapture.
“What do you think?”
Muk Yeojin asked, his voice altered by Eumsu.
Only then did the floodgates open, and all poured forth their impressions of the painting in a torrent of words.
Some marveled at the exquisite craftsmanship evident in each line, each shadow, each nuance of color.
Others chewed over the meaning and intention woven into the work, expressing what they felt without restraint.
Soon they had begun eagerly exchanging views among themselves, lost in the very spirit that gave the gathering its name—pleasant discourse.
It was then that Muk Yeojin’s gaze turned toward the woman standing alone, silent, her eyes fixed only on the painting.
‘Gwi Young.’
To Cheon Hwarin, she was far more than a mere bodyguard.
Just as Muk Yeojin had Bueon and Namgung Ryeongryeong had Pyoyeon.
Yet between these two women loomed an enormous barrier.
Their station in life.
Not merely the simple gap between master and protector.
Gwi Young—or rather, her true name, Jin Eun-hwa.
Her true identity.
A top-tier agent of the Jeongdo Murim League’s intelligence organization, the Tongmyeonggak.
In other words, a Sejaak.
The two had first met as watcher and watched.
Yet as time passed, that relationship had transformed.
He did not know exactly what history lay between Gwi Young and Cheon Hwarin.
But in the end, Cheon Hwarin had come to rely deeply on Gwi Young, and Gwi Young in turn had come to follow Cheon Hwarin with sincerity.
Yet the more Gwi Young’s respect for her lord grew, the less she could escape the burden of guilt.
The fact that she had approached Cheon Hwarin as a Sejaak.
Before the self-reproach of having deceived her all this time, she had crumbled.
In the end, Gwi Young had chosen to end her own life, leaving behind a letter of apology.
‘It must have been from then.’
The moment when the smile vanished from Cheon Hwarin’s face.
It would have been the turning point when those emotionally turbulent eyes she’d seen this afternoon became shrouded in profound emptiness.
Of course.
That was the Cheon Hwarin far more familiar to Muk Yeojin.
But.
He turned his head slowly.
His gaze drifted to the full moon beyond the window.
Somehow he sensed that Cheon Hwarin must be gazing up at that same moon at this very moment.
The corners of Muk Yeojin’s mouth, hidden beneath the white mask, lifted ever so slightly.
‘Well, that artless, innocent smile she wore today… it wasn’t altogether disagreeable.’
So I shall do all I can to protect that smile, Cheon Hwarin.
Muk Yeojin adjusted his white mask and stepped closer to Gwi Young.
“A white crane may appear graceful and serene on the surface, yet beneath the water it never ceases its frantic paddling to keep from sinking. The moment it stops, it will plummet into those dark depths and perish.”
Gwi Young gazed long upon the white crane in the painting, letting it sink deeply into her eyes.
Perhaps in this moment she was projecting onto that bird her own silent struggles to survive as a Sejaak?
After watching her for a time, Muk Yeojin handed her the finished painting.
“Would you not receive this, young lady?”
Gwi Young’s eyes widened in surprise.
“…… How could I accept such a thing?”
Instead of answering her question, he offered something entirely unexpected.
“The lake that serves as the painting’s background is a place called Jangbaek Lake, some twenty ri from here.”
With only those words spoken, Muk Yeojin withdrew from the room.
Gwi Young gazed blankly at the entrance where he had vanished, then carefully tucked the painting into her bosom.
Though those around her clamored that they would purchase it for hundreds of thousands of taels, she heard none of it.
* * *
Cheongyeokyeon.
A private estate reserved solely for the most distinguished guests of Sado Cheon.
The last time its gates had opened was two years ago, when the Governor-General of Guangxi came to visit.
That alone spoke volumes about how weighty the doors of Cheongyeokyeon truly were.
Yet the station of Lesser Sect Master of Cheonma Singyou was more than sufficient to undo every lock and bar that existed within Cheongyeokyeon.
Click.
Cheon Hwarin greeted Gwi Young the moment she returned to her quarters from Ogyuk Yunru.
“Back?”
She was in the midst of training, wielding a Daedo that must have weighed twice her own body.
Even after swinging the heavy blade without pause for two hours, her breathing remained perfectly even.
Thud!
Cheon Hwarin planted the Daedo in the ground and brushed her palms together.
“This is practically the first time, isn’t it? You asking to go somewhere for a bit. I don’t know what it was, but why’d you come back so early instead of lingering longer?”
Gwi Young bowed respectfully.
“It was sufficient time. I am grateful for Your Highness’s consideration. I shall return to my guard duties at once.”
“Forget it. This is Sado Cheon’s main stronghold. The demonic armies of the sect wouldn’t dare approach unless they were prepared for total annihilation. And besides, the Heavenly Master himself has guaranteed our safety.”
In that instant, Cheon Hwarin’s gaze swept left and right.
“Nine, ten… twenty… twenty-six martial masters of the Danju rank, and… one of Majohn caliber.”
The protection of Cheongyeokyeon currently fell to Ju Gok and his subordinates.
“With this force, even if the Cheonmu Sibi Jwa came calling, we’d be more than adequate. So go on inside and get yourself some proper sleep. The bedding here is quite fine.”
But Gwi Young was resolute.
“That is not possible.”
Cheon Hwarin heaved a deep sigh.
“Then come and have a late meal with me. All that sword work’s left me hungry.”
“I shall have food brought at once. But I must beg you to withdraw the command that I join you. How could a guard eat at the same table as her master?”
Cheon Hwarin regarded the bowing Gwi Young for a moment, then abruptly turned away.
“Do as you please.”
“…… ”
Soon Gwi Young’s presence faded silently from the room.
Cheon Hwarin muttered softly to herself.
“Stubborn woman.”
* * *
The next day.
Those who stepped into Janghyeon Hall couldn’t help but gasp in astonishment.
In the span of a single night, the splendid banquet hall had vanished without a trace.
In its place, a dozen martial platforms had been erected.
They were prepared for the Cheolhyeol Festival, which would begin today.
Those hoping to participate in the tournament gazed eagerly at the bracket posted on the wall.
It was the matchup chart.
Muk Yeojin examined his own bracket in a corner of the hall.
‘Third match of the Bing bracket, then.’
Meanwhile, Cheon Hwarin was fifth in the Jia bracket.
The format was simple: the first-ranked competitor from the Jia and Yi brackets would face off, with the winner advancing to the finals, while the winner between the first-ranked competitors of the Bing and Ding brackets would similarly advance.
In other words, for him and Cheon Hwarin to clash, they both had to reach the finals.
Soon, Hwang Lang Daiju, the martial artist overseeing the tournament, ascended the platform.
“The rules will proceed as they did in past Cheolhyeol Festivals. Any competitor who deliberately attempts to kill or cripple their opponent will be disqualified and held accountable for their actions.”
Of course, those rules had rarely been enforced in the past.
But there was a crucial difference this time.
The past Cheolhyeol Festivals had been triggered by a certain merchant who ran underground martial betting—the organizers had exerted no real control.
But today’s festival was hosted by none other than Sado Cheon himself.
The weight of the word “accountability” that the martial artist had just spoken carried an entirely different magnitude.
Without delay, the matches commenced.
Muk Yeojin advanced effortlessly through the first and second rounds.
The same held true for Cheon Hwarin.
Since the Cheolhyeol Festival itself had originated from the rivalry between Cheon Hwarin and Muk Yeojin,
each sect and clan in the central plains had sent primarily younger disciples and rising talents of comparable age to the two of them.
This was why the tournament came to be known as the Small Cheolhyeol Festival.
In any case.
‘Those two certainly carry themselves differently from the rest.’
Muk Yeojin turned his attention to the Yi bracket’s martial platform.
There, two spear masters—
Jeok Cheon and Wi Yeon were locked in fierce combat.
Whiiiish.
Clang. Ting.
“You filthy rat!”
“That’s my line! How long do you plan to keep running?”
Ting-ting!
As warriors from clans with deep-seated enmity, they knew each other’s martial techniques intimately, acutely aware of every weakness.
Moreover, their skills were so evenly matched that deciding a victor seemed impossible.
It was natural that no quick conclusion would come.
But there was one thing.
Wi Yeon held a slight advantage in stamina over Jeok Cheon.
As the match stretched well past the hour mark, Jeok Cheon’s spear point began to waver.
Soon enough.
“Ugh!”
Wi Yeon’s spear shaft struck the opponent’s thigh with crushing force.
A sickening crack—bone breaking—and Jeok Cheon collapsed.
The match was over.
But.
“Die, you worthless dog of Jeok!”
Frenzied with victory, Wi Yeon drove his spear point, wreathed in energy, toward the fallen man’s chest.
Witnessing this, Muk Yeojin shook his head.
Wi Yeon’s actions were far too reckless.
And as expected.
Boom!
“Ahhhhgh!”
Spitting blood, the figure sent flying was none other than Wi Yeon himself.
The moment he attempted to violate the rules, Hwang Lang Daiju intervened instantly, striking him down.
“I repeat: any competitor who deliberately attempts to kill or cripple their opponent will be disqualified and held accountable for their actions.”
Wi Yeon, though victorious moments before, now suffered severe internal injuries.
No doubt about it—he would need years of recovery to fully mend.
It was after witnessing such a spectacle.
Naturally, from that point forward, no one dared breach the rules again.
‘Hmm. Quite formidable blade strength. Is this one from the Salsu school? The footwork is exceptionally light.’
The participants’ skills proved more exceptional than anticipated, which made for compelling viewing.
Yet if one were to single out the figures who truly commanded attention, two stood apart.
The first was undoubtedly Cheon Hwarin, and—
‘That one, then.’
Crack!
Thud.
His opponent crumpled under the Ilseom Dopung.
In merely ten exchanges, he had claimed victory and resheathed his blade.
It was Muk Byeongho, Hyerang Young’s son.

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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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