Return of the God of War - Chapter 62

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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 62. I did not say this person was without guilt.
Muk Yeojin was walking through the broad corridors of the Sadocheon main headquarters.
Step, step.
There was not a moment’s hesitation in that gait.
His steps were assured, and a subtle majesty emanated from him.
Sonacho Muk Yeojin.
His fame was spreading across the Cheonha in the wake of this Cheolheol Arena Competition.
In recent days, whether in Gangbuk or Gangseo, he was unquestionably the figure most spoken of.
Had the circumstances been ordinary, several martial artists who recognized him would have approached carefully to greet him.
But in this moment, not a single soul dared entertain such a thought.
The aura he gave off was anything but ordinary—
And behind him.
Hundreds of geomgwi, perhaps a thousand, formed in the shape of a crane, following Muk Yeojin.
The whisper of Jangpo brushing the ground, footsteps echoing in rhythm, the metallic ring of weapon-hilts striking together.
All that noise rang out as solemnly as a military fanfare announcing the return of a triumphant general.
Flutter!
Remarkably, a dozen human geomgwi positioned at the edge of the formation held flagpoles as long as the hall itself.
Upon them hung Palace Flags bearing the character for “sword”—elegantly brushed—symbolizing the Sword Palace, one facet of the Sadocheon Six Palaces.
Those who understood what it meant for a palace to advance under its flag trembled in astonishment.
No Retreat.
Unbreakable Through Hundred Trials.
This night.
It was a vow—No Retreat in Battle—that even if the Sword Palace were reduced to ash, they would annihilate the enemy before their eyes.
‘What on earth is happening?!’
‘A sortie? Did he say war?!’
‘Who is the opponent? Baekdo? Mado? Wait—shouldn’t we be fleeing Sadocheon?’
In an instant, confusion swept through the crowd.
Because Muk Yeojin and the geomgwi maintained an aura as sharp as the Divine Sword Sacred Blade, people dared not draw near.
Yet they did not flee far either.
Curiosity gripped them.
Where were these people headed? What was their purpose?
Meanwhile.
From the summit of Manyeon Palace, which overlooked the Sadocheon inner grounds, the Gungju of Sadocheon, Muk Umyeong, watched the spectacle unfold.
‘The youngest again.’
Whenever he sensed commotion these days and turned his gaze toward it, at the center without fail was his youngest son, Muk Yeojin.
The corner of Muk Umyeong’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.
Now even he found himself genuinely curious—what sort of trouble would unfold this time?
And what advantage would the boy seize from it?
Zing.
As he drew his inner sight upward with a mighty true energy rising from his Danjeon, his eyes glowed with a faint white radiance.
‘Ho.’
Muk Umyeong let out a low murmur of appreciation.
‘Quite impressive.’
Among the geomgwi, there were no mediocre ones.
Even if their individual skill varied, they were not people who bent their will.
With hundreds of such warriors gathered, the presence they radiated was utterly commanding.
And yet, look there—a young martial artist not yet in his twenties.
Standing at the very front, leading those fierce beasts, he showed no sign of being overshadowed.
Indeed, was he not radiating a momentum that dominated them instead?
‘How intriguing.’
Hegemon’s Qualities.
Such a thing could not be achieved simply by wanting it, nor learned by studying.
It was born into a person.
……
By this point, the corners of his mouth, which had been twitching slightly, had already curved upward into what could be called a smile.
He murmured softly as he gazed at Muk Yeojin, who had reached his destination far away.
“Yeonghung Pavilion…… The third one, is it? Indeed.”
* * *
Hwang Chung, the First Pavilion Master of Yeonghung Pavilion, quickened his pace with a grave expression.
‘All the geomgwi assembled…… But why is it so quiet?’
Not a sound reached beyond the wall.
Yet that very silence only swelled Hwang Chung’s unease.
Crash.
Hwang Chung burst through the doors of Yeonghung Pavilion, arriving at the entrance.
Behind him, I Geon and the inspection officials trailed in his wake.
In moments, every face had gone deathly pale.
No more than a dozen paces away.
Before them stretched hundreds of warriors, arrayed like a folding screen.
All of them stared toward Yeonghung Pavilion with eyes so cold and lifeless that no emotion could be glimpsed in them.
‘Can these truly be the eyes of one who draws breath……?’
There was no trace of emotion—the very feelings any human should possess—in those gazes.
Though Hwang Chung had steeled himself on the walk here, his entire body felt frozen.
As a man of letters rather than a warrior, such a situation was wholly foreign to him.
And yet.
Hwang Chung had not risen to his position as head of Yeonghung Pavilion by luck alone.
He swallowed his trembling thoughts and stepped forward with deliberate confidence.
Then he called out to the one standing foremost.
“Youngest Young Master! What in heaven’s name is this?”
Muk Yeojin paid him no mind.
He too stepped forward, and opened his mouth to speak.
“A pleasure to meet you, Acting Gungju of Sword Palace. I am Muk Yeojin.”
Just those words.
Yet with them, Hwang Chung understood his opponent was no common man.
Muk Yeojin was merely the child of Gungju Nangung Yeongryeong. Officially, he had no connection to Sword Palace whatsoever.
Hwang Chung had pressed precisely that point.
By calling him “Young Master,” he sought to undermine any standing Muk Yeojin might claim.
But by declaring himself Acting Gungju on the instant, Muk Yeojin had rendered Hwang Chung’s move null and void.
‘A formidable one, this. Underestimate him for his youth, and I’ll lose my head.’
In truth, it was welcome. He had gauged his opponent before any real negotiation began.
Hwang Chung spoke again, this time in measured tones.
“Hwang Chung, head of Yeonghung Pavilion. What is the meaning of this outrage, Acting Gungju?”
Muk Yeojin answered with a smile on his face.
“This morning, I heard that Yeonghung Pavilion had taken one of my innocent kinsmen into custody. I came to bring them home myself.”
Hwang Chung’s brow twitched slightly.
“……Yeonghung Pavilion does not arrest innocent persons.”
“Is that so?”
At his words, Muk Yeojin let out a short, derisive laugh.
It was a laugh that spoke for him—as if to say, does a man of understanding truly resort to such threats?
“How curious. According to the report I received, the one taken away had committed no crime worth mentioning.”
Hwang Chung spoke with finality.
“Whether guilt exists or not is for us to judge once the investigation is complete.”
Muk Yeojin shook his head.
“I have already looked into it myself. There was no crime.”
“As I said, that falls under our jurisdiction…….”
Before Hwang Chung could finish, Muk Yeojin’s expression froze—turned glacial.
The change was startlingly swift and seamless.
So much so that not only Hwang Chung, but the inspection officials arrayed behind him went pale as bone.
“I did not say this person had committed a crime.”
At the same moment.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
Muk Yeojin and the Geomgwi released their killing intent in a surge.
The force emanating from hundreds of warriors rippled outward, pressing down upon the space itself.
Cold sweat streamed down Hwang Chung’s back.
‘A show of false strength. No matter how reckless he seems, threatening Yeonghung Pavilion would gain them nothing.’
But in the next breath.
Muk Yeojin stepped forward once more and spoke in a low murmur, shattering Hwang Chung’s complacent thoughts into pieces.
“All of you—Draw Sword.”
Shring.
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when every single Geomgwi drew their blades in perfect unison.
The moment steel cleared its sheath, the cold, empty eyes of the Geomgwi transformed entirely.
Their eyes gleamed with the hunger of beasts starved for blood—a savagery that chilled the air.
Hwang Chung trembled.
‘……He’s drawn his sword?’
To brandish a blade before them meant something far more than mere intimidation.
Especially for Geomgwi—it was tantamount to a declaration of war, a pledge to settle this to the death.
Hwang Chung’s eyes met Muk Yeojin’s.
In that instant, Hwang Chung glimpsed something in those eyes—a madness akin to a slaughterer drunk on carnage.
Only then did Hwang Chung grasp how gravely he had miscalculated.
‘I……I read him all wrong.’
He’d arrived with every Geomgwi from Sword Palace in tow.
Hwang Chung had assumed it was merely a stratagem—a display of force to seize control of the conversation.
Both reason and common sense dictated as much.
At least, that was how the world had always worked in his experience.
But now he understood that every judgment he’d made was nothing but surface-level delusion.
What he’d taken for granted was the critical blunder.
His opponent was neither rational nor reasonable.
If the numbers went against him, this man truly intended to level Yeonghung Pavilion to ash together with his Geomgwi.
‘The man’s mad. Insane. And I tried to outmaneuver a madman with strategy—what blindness!’
Hwang Chung bit his lip.
‘A dilemma of advance or retreat.’
If he now admitted Muk Yeojin’s innocence, Yeonghung Pavilion would be finished.
What power could authority hold once it bowed before force?
After today, every faction would resort to violence to settle matters at Yeonghung Pavilion’s doorstep.
But if he held his ground, clinging to authority?
The blades of the Geomgwi would paint this mansion in blood.
Yeonghung Pavilion did have Inspectorate martial artists at its command.
Yet the Pavilion’s power stemmed not from martial prowess, but from the authority of inspection itself.
The martial strength of the Inspectorate fighters couldn’t compare to the Geomgwi—not even remotely.
In other words, whatever choice he made now, Yeonghung Pavilion’s fall was sealed.
Of course, if they employed the methods of the Slaughter Scheme, Sword Palace wouldn’t escape unscathed either.
Such an act could even be construed as treason—a grave matter.
But look at those demons before his eyes.
They had nowhere to retreat.
Their pupils burned with a single resolve: to reduce Yeonghung Pavilion to charred cinders.
The Palace Flags billowing at either side proved it beyond doubt.
‘Hwang Chung. If only you’d thought clearly from the start. If you’d thoroughly assessed your opponent before meeting alone, there might have been a way out.’
Belated regret flooded through him.
Where had it all gone wrong?
Hwang Chung found the source at once.
‘The fatal mistake was treating Sonacho and the Gungju as undisciplined beasts and needlessly provoking them with crude tactics.’
He’d never imagined that single rash judgment could summon such catastrophe in a single day.
Yet Hwang Chung assessed the situation with what rationality remained.
Yield to force or resist it.
‘The former means life; the latter, death.’
But whichever he chose, Yeonghung Pavilion’s fate was already decided.
For Hwang Chung, there was effectively no difference between the two paths.
Yet in that moment, a third option crystallized in his mind.
‘If I take my own life here, it’ll throw everything into chaos. That might buy us time. The rest……the Gungju will find a way to manage.’
The time spent deliberating was brief, and the time it took to move was briefer still.
As Hwang Chung reached for the Hidden Blade at his chest—
“Stop!”
A clear, pleasant voice rang out from within Yeonghung Pavilion.
Hwang Chung’s head snapped around reflexively.
A young man of perhaps twenty was approaching slowly, draped in a scholar’s thin robe of simple cut.
His features were bold and defined, his bearing dignified; yet beneath lay a subtle aura of authority that couldn’t be concealed.
Hwang Chung cried out.
“The Gungju?”
The Gungju of Yeonghung Pavilion.
The third son of Sadocheon’s Cheonju.
Muk Hyeonam.
Muk Hyeonam spoke with a bitter smile.
“Brother admits defeat, little one. Come inside—let’s talk this through.”

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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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