Return of the God of War - Chapter 93

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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 93. Contempt.
As Muk Yeojin left Yohui Palace and made his way back to his quarters, he suddenly exhaled a long, weary breath.
Standing before him in the courtyard was precisely the person he had hoped to avoid for some time.
“Your unworthy disciple greets you, Master.”
It was Pi Yangcheon, the Radiant Sword Master.
“Who is it.”
Despite the abrupt, inelegant question asked without preamble, Muk Yeojin grasped its meaning perfectly.
It was asking who had orchestrated the ambush on Hye Rangyeong.
Muk Yeojin held Pi Yangcheon’s gaze for a moment, then shook his head.
“I cannot speak of this to you, Master, however much others may press me.”
He had judged that Muk Iyeon might be persuaded to reveal the name Muk Geon, but Pi Yangcheon was different altogether.
The moment Pi Yangcheon learned of Muk Geon’s involvement—
Blood would rain down upon Muk Geon’s dwelling.
And indeed, so it would be.
A razor-edged aura erupted from Pi Yangcheon’s entire frame.
It was a pressure as though he might tear heaven and earth to shreds at any moment.
“Do you think I cannot uncover the truth simply because you refuse to speak?”
“No, Master. If you desired it, you would know in an instant. But please—do not.”
“Why in blazes not!”
Muk Yeojin regarded him and spoke with quiet certainty.
“Because that rain of blood will soak your robes as well.”
“……!”
It would be complicated enough if Muk Iyeon, a direct descendant of the same Cheonju, were to intervene.
But if Pi Yangcheon—who had even laid down his position as master—were to begin his sword dance, the situation would spiral beyond even Muk Yeojin’s control. The outcome was as certain as fire.
There was no reason whatsoever for him and his people to soil their hands over a wretch like Muk Geon.
This was why Muk Yeojin had taken the trouble to seek out the Master of the Yeongheung Pavilion and meet with the Yohui Palace Master.
Pi Yangcheon’s pupils wavered.
He could not help but recognize that these words sprang from genuine concern for him.
“That wretch will pay his price. So I ask you to trust me and wait a little longer, Master.”
……
Muk Yeojin felt Pi Yangcheon’s gaze soften.
Yet there was something Muk Yeojin had overlooked.
The peculiar old recluse expressed his affection for his disciple in methods as violent as they were unorthodox.
Bang!
Pi Yangcheon stamped the floor irritably and roared.
“You impudent whelp, still wet behind the ears, dare lecture your master?!”
He drew the Baekwol Sword from his waist.
“So your power has grown a touch, has it? I’ll teach you the sting of still being a child, no matter what!”
Shriek!
Before the words had finished, Pi Yangcheon thrust the Baekwol Sword forward.
The sword force that split the air carried considerable weight.
Boom!
The Heukya Sword that had already appeared in his hand caught the blow, and a deafening crack erupted.
Both Pi Yangcheon and Muk Yeojin retreated two steps each.
Their strength was evenly matched.
“Ha! This boy has skill!”
Pi Yangcheon laughed with genuine delight.
That initial strike had carried some seventy percent of his full force, yet this disciple had nullified it so effortlessly—he had not expected it.
“But you’re not done yet, you arrogant pup!”
Pi Yangcheon’s Baekwol Sword thrust forward again, seeking vital points.
Though no killing intent was woven into the strike, failure to defend would certainly leave him gravely wounded.
Whoosh!
Muk Yeojin stepped into the Bobeop, deflected the Baekwol Sword, and counterattacked using the Gungshin Tanyeong technique, surging back at his master.
Shriek!
Pi Yangcheon’s eyes flashed with intensity.
‘Fast.’
Moreover, the swift footwork concealed a dazzling illusion—the Hwangeom.
This meant the disciple was maintaining perfect control over that fearsome speed without a single wasted motion.
The Heukya Sword that had already reached inches from Pi Yangcheon’s face was wrapped in a dense, murky Qi.
Pi Yangcheon, offering no retreat, unleashed his own mighty Qi in response.
Clang-clang-clang! Boom!
Master and disciple exchanged blows for ten seconds or so.
Pi Yangcheon found himself marveling anew at every turn.
‘He’s grown stronger.’
Just weeks ago, at the final of the Cheolheol Arena, his skill had been on an entirely different level.
‘And that Qi.’
It wasn’t the Cangqiong Qi his disciple had possessed from the start.
That mysterious, ink-dark force whose roots were unknowable.
A paradoxical power—at times seeming twisted, at others radiating perfect purity.
Yet it cradled his disciple like a perfectly tailored robe, supporting him in every way.
But Pi Yangcheon’s wonder did not end there.
‘He’s changed.’
Every sword technique Muk Yeojin wielded—including the Geuktu Sinshin Sword he had taught him—had transformed.
That could mean only one thing.
‘He’s taken a completed art and reborn it, infused it with his own understanding of the sword?’
It was beyond remarkable. It bordered on the uncanny.
Typically, a martial artist of that age would struggle merely to walk the path his elders had laid.
Yet his disciple had already mastered that path entirely, and was now carving out his own—forging his own Way of the Sword.
Bang!
The Baekwol and Heukya swords—those two brother blades traced in crossing arcs—clashed and rebounded, pushing each other apart.
Among the beautiful petals scattered by the sword wind, Pi Yangcheon caught his breath, sheathed the Baekwol Sword, and spoke quietly.
“You killed Na Pyeonggi, then?”
“Yes.”
“He was strong?”
“Impossibly strong.”
Pi Yangcheon’s eyes narrowed.
“Stronger than me?”
Muk Yeojin smiled faintly.
“Well, what’s the use in comparing a man to one already bound for the underworld? But if I must choose, I’d place my wager on my master.”
“You brat! Keep mocking an old man and you’ll regret it!”
Yet beneath his bluster, a smile he could not hide bloomed across his face.
The master took it for flattery.
But the disciple’s words were no mere flattery.
It was undeniable that in many respects Na Pyeonggi stood a tier above Pi Yangcheon as a martial artist.
Yet possessing high skill and being formidable in battle are two entirely different matters.
Pi Yangcheon possessed a composure and seasoned judgment that Na Pyeonggi lacked.
‘If the warrior who had stood before me, Iyeon, and Tiannu that day had been Pi Yangcheon the Eternal Sword, not the Hundred-Hand Demon-Slayer Na Pyeonggi…’
The outcome would have been too grim to contemplate.
Click.
In the silence that followed, Pi Yangcheon slowly sheathed the Baekwol Sword.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky.
In truth, his visit to Muk Yeojin today had another purpose.
After a long stretch of quiet, he exhaled deeply.
Not long ago, his dear friend’s daughter, Hye Rangyeong, had been ambushed.
Had it not been for Muk Yeojin, he would have borne her corpse back to his friend’s home.
And in the father’s anguished cries and bitter rage at losing his daughter first, could Pi Yangcheon have held onto his sanity?
That was why.
He had come to Muk Yeojin today to speak these words.
“Yeojin.”
“Yes, Master.”
Pi Yangcheon did not even look at him as he spoke.
“……Thank you.”
Muk Yeojin smiled.
A thousand eloquent platitudes could not match the weight of those three syllables from the mouth of the swordsman Pi Yangcheon.
Muk Yeojin’s answer was this:
“Is that all?”
Pi Yangcheon burst into hearty laughter.
“When you have time, come to my dwelling. I’ll pour you a cup of wine aged three hundred years.”
“That’s more than generous repayment.”
“You’re a fool.”
The moment he finished speaking, Pi Yangcheon turned to leave.
Muk Yeojin’s low voice followed him toward the door.
“It’s Muk Geon.”
Thud.
Pi Yangcheon’s footsteps halted for a moment, but that was all.
He simply resumed his pace and added a comment as if nothing had been said.
“You’ll have to buy the side dishes with your own money.”
There was no point pondering what “side dishes” meant in his words.
Muk Yeojin murmured after the receding figure.
“I’ll prepare something that suits Master’s palate perfectly.”
* * *
Two days later.
Muk Yeojin was summoned to Yohui Palace by the Yohui Palace Master.
Upon entering the Palace Master’s chamber, the Yohui Palace Master sat to one side, brush in hand, painting.
“Would you mind waiting just a moment? I’ll be done soon.”
“Of course.”
Yet despite her words of “soon,” she remained absorbed in the painting without speaking a single word for a full two Double Hours.
The wait that had begun in the late afternoon stretched on until the sun had set.
Summoning someone only to leave them standing for so long.
Under normal circumstances, such treatment would have bred resentment.
But rather than offended, Muk Yeojin felt a strange sense of ease settle over him.
The very fact that she would resort to such transparent games was proof enough that she saw him as a threat worthy of caution.
“I apologize. You must have been waiting a long time.”
“Not at all. My mind has been restless of late, but thanks to you, I’ve had a valuable moment of peace. If anything, I should thank you.”
The Yohui Palace Master’s eyes flickered at his unexpected response.
But it mattered little.
Muk Yeojin’s gaze remained fixed on the completed painting.
“A Garden of Insects and Plants.”
“……It’s nothing much, really.”
“Your modesty does it injustice. The delicate control of ink gradation and your masterful command of negative space—this is truly a masterwork worthy of the Transcendent level.”
The Yohui Palace Master blinked.
“You know quite a bit about painting, don’t you, Yeojin?”
“I’ve merely dabbled with brush and ink, nothing more.”
Interest flashed across the Yohui Palace Master’s face.
“Would I be able to see your work?”
“My skill is far too humble to display…… but then, if the employee refuses the patron’s request, that simply won’t do, will it?”
The Yohui Palace Master smiled meaningfully.
Muk Yeojin walked toward the writing desk and picked up a brush.
“This is a Ho Brush, meticulously maintained. By the quality alone, I’d say this was crafted by a master artisan from Hangzhou—is that correct?”
The Yohui Palace Master gasped.
“That you’d know such things…… I’m all the more eager to see Yeojin’s painting now.”
“Great expectations make for great disappointments. This is rather daunting.”
Yet for all his words of hesitation, his hand movements were remarkably fluid and graceful.
Swoosh.
The moment Muk Yeojin settled into position and raised his brush, the Yohui Palace Master’s shoulders tensed.
‘What——?’
He had merely grasped the brush, yet her skin prickled with an inexplicable sensation.
It was like standing before a master swordsman in his ready stance—that unmistakable pressure of a lethal threat.
But that was only the beginning.
The moment Muk Yeojin began to sweep his brush across the Seonji Paper without hesitation, the Yohui Palace Master’s eyes widened.
‘Exquisite…….’
It was not the painting itself, but each individual movement of the brush that took her breath away.
The Yohui Palace Master found herself transfixed, drawn into the unfolding work.
She had captivated countless others in her lifetime, but being captivated herself was a sensation entirely foreign to her.
After half a Double Hour had passed in this way.
Upon the pristine white of the Seonji Paper, a landscape of embroidered beauty and stunning majesty now sprawled before them.
Tap.
The sound of the brush being set down echoed through the chamber.
In that moment, a trembling voice emerged from behind him.
“Yeojin…… this technique, this style of brushwork…… are you, by any chance, related to the painter known as Wolha?”
Muk Yeojin met her gaze steadily.
“May I ask why you mention that person?”
“He is someone I respect. As Gungju of Yohui Palace, I shouldn’t say such things, but when I look at the paintings of the Moonlit Brushmaster, human joy and sorrow feel like infinitely worthless desires. It’s truly striking.”
Muk Yeojin scratched the back of his head.
A flicker of discomfort crossed his features.
The Moonlit Brushmaster, Muk Yeojin, had never held such grand intentions when painting.
“So what is the relationship between the Young Master Yeojin and the Moonlit Brushmaster? Did you perhaps study painting under him?”
“Well… you could say that.”
It was an ambiguous answer, but it seemed to satisfy her.
Her expression brightened at once, and the Yohui Palace Master made an unexpected proposal.
“Let’s make a deal.”
“A deal, you say?”
“I’ll give you whatever the Young Master desires. In return, arrange a meeting with the Moonlit Brushmaster.”
“Is that truly enough for you?”
“What seems trifling to others may not be so trivial to me, would you not agree?”
Muk Yeojin regarded her in silence.
He had expected her to struggle considerably in unfurling the bundle and revealing its contents.
But to his surprise, she opened it wide of her own accord and spread everything inside across the floor before him.
“What do you think? Young Master?”
For Muk Yeojin, this was an offer he had no reason to refuse.
Meat had practically pressed itself to the tip of his mouth.
All he need do was savor and swallow.
And yet.
The answer Muk Yeojin gave fell far short of the Yohui Palace Master’s expectations.
“I refuse.”
She flinched.
“…Why?”
“You said you despise those who, overconfident in their own abilities, walk knowingly toward ruin, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“I despise those who wear a false face beneath a true one.”
In that instant, a chilling Yogi erupted from the Yohui Palace Master’s frame.
Muk Yeojin continued undisturbed.
“You do not wish merely to meet a painter, do you?”
The Yohui Palace Master’s eyes wavered.
As Muk Yeojin held her gaze, he spoke with calm resolve.
“If you truly want something, you must cast aside not only the silk mask upon your face, but the one that guards your heart—and meet me with both unveiled.”

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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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