The Fortunate Sword God of the Zhuge Clan - Chapter 23

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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 23
“A wavering blade, you said?”
Dokgo Hyeon made no attempt to hide his anger as he fixed his gaze on Ryeong.
“Yes, that’s precisely what I said.”
Ryeong didn’t flinch from that stare.
As always, he faced Dokgo Hyeon with an expressionless countenance.
And it was precisely that which stoked Dokgo Hyeon’s fury.
“Have you ever even seen my blade? You refused me when I asked for help with my training, and now you say something like that out of nowhere. It’s absurd.”
“I saw it just now for the first time. After I dealt with those two assassins on the way here.”
Ryeong nodded slowly and continued.
“Your blade was so unstable that I could tell at first glance.”
Dokgo Hyeon’s brow creased at Ryeong’s words.
“That’s because I was in the middle of refining a technique. If I’d gone all-out from the start, I would’ve dealt with them much faster.”
“I see.”
Ryeong spoke in a tone that suggested indifference.
“When this young master finds himself in true danger, will you continue refining that technique?”
“What? No, what nonsense are you talking about? Of course I’d go all-out then—”
“So you’re saying that even while practicing through real combat, you can switch to full power the moment genuine crisis arrives?”
“Of course I can. That’s not asking too much, is it?”
Ryeong shook his head firmly.
“The body instinctively deploys the movements it knows best when faced with sudden danger. Training is preparation to achieve the optimal result in that moment. To practice in actual combat like this—the likelihood is high that the result will be nothing at all.”
“…Well, perhaps, but this is the first time I’ve fought this way. Normally I don’t fight like this.”
“If you have changed the method you’ve grown accustomed to, then something sufficiently shocking must have occurred. Perhaps a faint awakening to something new.”
Since it was the truth, Dokgo Hyeon fell silent, unable to mount a response.
“Then no matter how you try not to think about it, you’ll continue to do so. Like when someone tells you not to think of an apple, and suddenly all you can imagine is an apple.”
“…You’re right.”
Dokgo Hyeon’s expression still burned with anger, but he didn’t attempt to argue further.
Instead, he exhaled deeply and lowered his head to Ryeong.
“I showed you an ugly display. I apologize. You’re right. From now on, I won’t force my training during actual combat.”
Ryeong looked down at Dokgo Hyeon with his expressionless face.
“…My tone must have been somewhat grating, yet you acknowledged your fault immediately.”
Yet in his voice there was a note of something like surprise.
“My master taught me that no matter how angry I am, I must acknowledge what is right as right.”
For Dokgo Hyeon, anger was never reason enough to call the truth false.
And for Muhun, who had saved his life, Ryeong’s words were absolutely necessary.
It was for these reasons that Dokgo Hyeon bowed his head so readily.
Ryeong nodded as if in agreement with Dokgo Hyeon’s words.
“You’ve had a fine teacher.”
“Yes, though he’s dead now.”
“Hmm?”
“What? You didn’t know?”
…
A brief silence fell between the two at Dokgo Hyeon’s words.
“…I wasn’t trying to mock you. I just thought you knew.”
“…I was somewhat taken aback, though I didn’t dwell on it.”
“Well then, that’s fortunate. So… shall we head to Muhun?”
Dokgo Hyeon scratched his head awkwardly and started to move.
“The technique you were refining—is its core Reading the Line of Movement?”
“Huh?”
But Ryeong’s words stopped Dokgo Hyeon in his tracks.
“How did you know that? I never told you.”
“From watching your movements during the fight just now. You were clearly trying to catch the instant your opponent’s movements began.”
“Impressive. You could tell just by watching? Is that something you can do once you transcend the Peak Realm?”
Ryeong shook his head gently.
“It’s not because my realm is higher than yours.”
“Then what is it?”
“Because the martial art I’ve learned, though different in character, is also fundamentally built on Reading the Line of Movement. That’s how I recognized it immediately.”
!!
Dokgo Hyeon’s expression shifted to astonishment at Ryeong’s words.
“Then… could you teach me that method?”
Without realizing it, Dokgo Hyeon had sought help—and immediately regretted it, his face clouding over.
“Ah, asking me with just words isn’t polite, is it? What can I do for you? Hmm, should I kneel…?”
“…Let’s settle down first. There’s no need for that.”
Ryeong steadied Dokgo Hyeon and continued.
“Even when I’m away, please continue to watch over this young master well. That was the reason I brought this up in the first place.”
“That’s… enough? But that’s something I should be doing anyway….”
“If you can do that work more excellently, it will be a great help not just to me, but to the main house as well. Think of it that way.”
At Ryeong’s words, Dokgo Hyeon’s face brightened.
“Then I won’t refuse! Thank you!”
Ryeong nodded quietly, then wore an expression tinged with concern.
“However, as I mentioned before, I don’t know how to teach Martial Arts formally. I have taught others, but all those who learned from me were dissatisfied with my instruction.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’ll figure it out one way or another!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Ryeong looked at Dokgo Hyeon with a serious expression.
“I told you that training exists so that the most efficient movements come naturally in crisis situations.”
“Right?”
“That means practice must resemble real combat, and real combat must resemble practice. You’re not training during actual fighting.”
Dokgo Hyeon nodded as if he understood.
“Ah, so the training will be that intense? That’s fine—I’m confident in my endurance, even if I say so myself.”
“Hmm….”
After regarding Dokgo Hyeon for a moment, Ryeong nodded slowly and moved forward.
“Once we leave this place, for the remaining seven weeks, I will help you train after this young master has fallen asleep. Will that suit you?”
“Sounds good! Thank you so much! I’ll work hard!”
Dokgo Hyeon nodded repeatedly before falling into step beside Ryeong.
As they walked toward Jang Seunghu’s house, Dokgo Hyeon’s pace was light as a cloud, buoyed by his mood.
The thought of learning from someone stronger than himself about the very technique that had blocked him—he couldn’t help but feel elated.
So elated, in fact, that he began humming and soon pulled ahead of Ryeong without thinking.
Ryeong watched the young man’s receding figure calmly.
‘His disposition isn’t poor, at least.’
Moments earlier, as he had watched Dokgo Hyeon fight, Ryeong had faced a crucial decision as a guardian.
Dokgo Hyeon’s distracted mind during the bout—the way his attention wandered even as he fought—made him unsuitable for protecting the Jegal Family’s young master.
This was what Ryeong had pointed out.
Had Dokgo Hyeon refused to accept it and grown angry, Ryeong would have excluded him from the trip in some manner and undertaken the escort to Cheongseongsan alone.
Even if it meant delaying the execution of the household head’s orders somewhat.
But Dokgo Hyeon had quickly acknowledged his mistake and apologized.
Moreover, when seeking instruction from someone stronger than himself, he had shown an effort to maintain propriety.
His technique was crude and his courtesy far from perfect, yet such effort didn’t seem unworthy.
Therefore, rather than dismiss Dokgo Hyeon, Ryeong chose to cultivate him further, to make him a capable enough guardian for Muhun.
‘We’ll see how it goes.’
Still, Ryeong was not certain that Dokgo Hyeon could endure the ordeal ahead.
Not out of contempt for him.
It was simply rare to see anyone survive the process at all.
Most who had received Ryeong’s instruction before had become crippled, unable to continue their lives as Martial World practitioners.
***
“White Tiger… you were a captain, then.”
Muhun nodded quietly, listening to Jang Seunghu’s words.
“That’s right. Even in the military, I earned some praise. Heh heh.”
Memories of those days came to Jang Seunghu, and he chuckled softly.
“But why did you leave the military? I don’t know your exact age, but ten years ago you must have been younger than thirty….”
“I was twenty-four then. Looking back on it now, I was quite young.”
Jang Seunghu paused, lost in thought.
“Why did I leave? It was a simple reason. I wasn’t cut out to be a soldier.”
“Cut out?”
“A true soldier must have no opinions of his own.”
At Jang Seunghu’s words, Muhun nodded in understanding.
“You mean to execute orders from superiors without question or judgment.”
“Right—you know something about the military? Well, being from the Jegal house, you’d learn such things too. Yes, that’s what a soldier is. You learn that way, and you live that way.”
Jang Seunghu shook his head as he went on.
“I thought I was that kind of man. It seems easy enough, doesn’t it? No need to trouble yourself—do as you’re told and get paid. I thought there was nothing wrong with it.”
After a pause, Jang Seunghu’s brow creased.
“Not until an entire village has been wiped out.”
Muhun offered no reply to Jang Seunghu’s words.
Jang Seunghu continued as if unbothered.
“I killed them all—the elderly, the children—none of them resisted. The guilt was inevitable, but I told myself there had to be a reason. Otherwise, how could anyone commit such things?”
Muhun asked, his voice carrying weight.
“What reason was that?”
“The official story was that rebels were hiding there.”
Jang Seunghu laughed dryly as he answered.
“But when we dug deeper, it was just a peaceful village where an exiled official was teaching children.”
…
“He’d been exiled after losing some political power struggle. But he must’ve had real talent—the scrutiny they kept him under proved that much.”
Muhun’s silence spoke louder than any words could have.
“After I found out, everything I’d done suddenly felt meaningless. A soldier isn’t supposed to think; I was never cut out for military life. So, stupidly, I deserted. The government doesn’t concern itself with the Martial World, so I came here. And now…”
Jang Seunghu exhaled a shallow breath.
“Once I was out, I realized I had no skills for anything else, and I didn’t want to belong to anyone. But I had strength, so I drifted through the Martial World causing trouble until I became a bandit.”
Jang Seunghu’s gaze drifted to the liquor bottle Muhun had given him.
“As a bandit, I wondered what I was even doing. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard children screaming. I couldn’t sleep properly, and I couldn’t manage to die either. So I robbed people, and my temperament grew worse. I drank, fought with members, and eventually fled to this mountain with a few followers.”
“And that’s when you discovered this village, which became the Hunting Lodge.”
“Yes. That village resembled this one. I thought that by protecting this place, I might—it sounds absurd—find some form of atonement.”
Jang Seunghu looked down at Song Chil, whose body had grown cold.
“But then he showed up, and I gave this place the name ‘Hunting Lodge.’ It wasn’t hard to see through him. He’d come here to kill me.”
Muhun’s voice carried confusion.
“What do you mean? How could you have known that?”
“I wasn’t particularly high-ranking, but as White Tiger, I heard the military rumors that circulated. There was talk back then.”
Jang Seunghu continued in a grave tone.
“The Imperial Palace has an assassination unit that hunts down deserters and kills them. More than that—a group of black snakes that handles all the Palace’s dark work.”
“Black snakes…”
“Yes, there were rumors that a group called the Heuksawi existed.”
It was the first time in this lifetime that Muhun had heard that name from another’s lips, and a strange emotion flickered in his eyes.
“But that was only rumor. How did you determine that Song Chil belonged to the Heuksawi assassination group?”
Jang Seunghu shrugged as if it were nothing.
“I wasn’t the only one who deserted. Honestly, how many men could do such things and remain sane?”
Jang Seunghu exhaled another sigh.
“One of the men who fled with me opened a tavern. He had good hands, so I ate there a few times. But one day, when I went, I learned he was dead.”
Jang Seunghu’s brow furrowed at the memory.
“People said a drunk martial artist’s blind sword strike had killed him, but that man wasn’t weak enough for that. If he’d been cut down, I knew whoever wielded that blade had real skill.”
“It does seem unlikely that a trained soldier would fall to a drunk martial artist.”
“Right. So I examined the body myself. It bore the marks of a seasoned hand. Puncture wounds from Hidden Projectiles, wounds from arrows, wounds from spears.”
Jang Seunghu glanced briefly at the sword Song Chil had dropped.
“And wounds that matched his blade perfectly.”
With that, Muhun understood how Jang Seunghu had recognized Song Chil’s allegiance to the Heuksawi.
“Then… why didn’t you drive him out at that time?”
Jang Seunghu’s laugh was bitter.
“By then, he’d already been here for six years.”
…
“So I told myself—he’s given up. He’s chosen to live here, leading the Hunting Lodge with me. That’s what I decided to believe. But it wasn’t true, was it?”
Muhun slowly shook his head at Jang Seunghu’s words.
“Forgive my boldness, but I suspect you didn’t truly think that.”
“What?”
“If you’d genuinely believed Song Chil felt that way, you would have told him about your own past. And you would have asked him directly: Are you Heuksawi? Did you come here to kill me?”
A shadow passed across Jang Seunghu’s face.
“That’s…”
“You never fully trusted Song Chil. But you couldn’t drive him away either. My suspicion is that your guilt—the guilt that still torments you—prevented you from doing so.”
Jang Seunghu’s expression shifted to one of surprise.
“How did you know that?”
“Because if you’d truly atoned through all you’ve done here, there would be no reason to tolerate Song Chil. Since you couldn’t, even knowing his nature and purpose, you accepted his presence as Heavenly Punishment, didn’t you?”
Muhun’s voice carried absolute certainty.
“You believed the debt could never be repaid. That you were finally paying the price.”
Jang Seunghu stared at Muhun for a moment, then laughed softly.
“Cancel that—you’re no ghost. You’re the kind that makes ghosts run for the hills.”
Muhun smiled faintly at Song Chil’s words.
“I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“It is a compliment. And you’re right too. Yes, I thought… this was something that should have happened long ago. So when that bastard tried to bring his blade down on my face just now, I deliberately didn’t move.”
Jang Seunghu stared into empty space for a moment.
“I still hear the children’s screams. If I took that blade… wouldn’t it become easier? That’s what I thought.”
Muhun regarded him in silence for a time, then spoke.
“No, that would not be atonement. It would be nothing but escape.”
“What?”
“Look around this place — the Hunting Lodge depends entirely on your strength. If you disappear, and Heuksawi and Song Chil’s followers vanish with you, what do you think becomes of those who remain?”
“…They’d be absorbed into another stronghold…”
“Precisely. But do you think the people of the Hunting Lodge — who are mostly children and elderly — would receive fair treatment in another stronghold?”
Muhun shook his head.
“The chances are nearly zero.”
Jang Seunghu opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.
He understood the truth of what Muhun was saying.
“Those screams ringing in your ears, the memory of that day — you must bear all of it and live on with the Hunting Lodge.”
Muhun continued, his voice firm with conviction.
“That is the only way you can truly atone to the victims of that day.”
Jang Seunghu held Muhun’s gaze for a long moment, then lowered his head.
After that, the two fell silent for some time.
Only the cries of owls and crickets from outside filled the space where they sat.
Presently, Jang Seunghu lifted his head and looked at Muhun again.
“…You’re right. Atonement for the sins I’ve committed — no one else can do it for me.”
Though subtle, there was a clear difference in the light behind his eyes.
Muhun offered a faint smile.
“Indeed it is so.”
“And from now on, I should teach proper Martial Art to children like Han Cho.”
Muhun nodded in agreement with Jang Seunghu’s words.
“So you wish to cultivate the strength to defend the stronghold even in your absence.”
“Yes, though I have no intention of becoming some bandit garrison or anything like that… this place, the Hunting Lodge, will become a village that can defend itself.”
Jang Seunghu clenched his fist, his resolve hardening.
“Until now I’ve only protected it. But someday, when the Hunting Lodge becomes strong enough to stand on its own even without me, then… well, I’ll think about that when the time comes.”
Jang Seunghu lifted the corner of his mouth in a thin smile.
It was the first genuine smile Muhun had seen from him since they began their conversation.
“Thank you. Not only for saving my life, but for making me confront the coward I was trying to ignore.”
Muhun let out a hearty laugh.
“Facing that and living with it is no easy path. To receive thanks for pushing you toward such an uncomfortable road — it’s a strange feeling indeed.”
“It may not be easy, but it’s the path I must walk. So gratitude is only right.”
Jang Seunghu groaned and rose from his seat with difficulty.
“My, you should still be finding it hard to move…”
“It’s fine. I can manage. Besides, words of thanks alone are meaningless, aren’t they?”
“What? What do you mean?”
Barely upright, Jang Seunghu dragged his unsteady legs toward a cabinet.
He retrieved something from it and tossed it to Muhun.
Thunk.
“A Bandit’s Warrant. Show that, and you’ll never have to pay passage fees at any stronghold.”
Muhun laughed at the sight of the wooden tablet inscribed with the word “Bandit.”
“…Thank you. To receive this without even being part of the Bandit ranks — well, you see all manner of things in life.”
“Ha, how long have you lived to speak like such an old man?”
Jang Seunghu chuckled at Muhun’s words and scratched his head ruefully.
“Still, I can only offer something like this to my benefactor. I feel like I should give you something more…”
“There’s no need. I didn’t help expecting…”
Muhun stopped abruptly mid-sentence as he tried to console Jang Seunghu.
“…Sir, if I may not be imposing, might I examine your cabinet for a moment?”
“Hm? Suddenly?”
Jang Seunghu wore a puzzled expression, then shrugged.
“Help yourself. There’s nothing of value in there anyway, so take whatever catches your eye.”
“Thank you.”
Muhun bowed respectfully and slowly approached the cabinet.
Jang Seunghu removed the Bandit’s Warrant and left the cabinet door open.
Thanks to that, Muhun could see every object inside the cabinet.
To an ordinary eye, it would have looked like a worthless collection, just as Jang Seunghu claimed.
But Muhun withdrew a single stone from the cabinet—a pebble tinged with faint blue.
Seeing this, Jang Seunghu asked with evident curiosity.
“Ah, you’ve taken a liking to that stone? I’ll admit the color is rather lovely. But that’s all there is to it, isn’t there?”
“Would it be permissible to ask about the origin of this stone?”
“Hmm? That thing?”
Jang Seunghu answered as though it were nothing of consequence.
“A few years back, I caught a tiger that was attacking the lodge. Found this stone inside its body. I was curious whether it had any special properties, so I had it examined—but everyone said it was just a stone. No doubt the beast had swallowed it along with whatever else it fed on.”
“You discovered it within the body of a tiger that was attacking the lodge….”
At those words, Muhun became certain this was indeed the object he had suspected.
To Jang Seunghu and ordinary martial artists, it would be nothing of value.
Yet to Muhun, who understood the art of Formation-work, it possessed worth that far exceeded even precious rarities.
‘Not quite what one would call a Spirit Stone—yet this is unmistakably a stone infused with the terrestrial essence of the Great Fang Range.’
In a mountain as vast as the Great Fang Range, such occurrences were rare but not unknown.
Beasts that dominated mountains, like tigers, instinctively made their lairs at the vital points where a mountain’s terrestrial essence surged most powerfully.
The longer such a beast lived, the more the essence of the vital point mingled with the consumed prey, hardening like stone.
All the more so if it had fed on humans bearing inner will.
When centuries passed in this manner, the hardened crystallization would become imbued with mystical power and be called an Inner Elixir or Spirit Stone.
Of course, in this stone’s case, the tiger had not lived long enough for such a transformation—it did not qualify as a true Spirit Stone.
‘Yet it retains value nonetheless.’
A Spirit Stone functions as a form of spiritual tonic, greatly elevating the inner power of one who consumes it.
But a stone that has merely crystallized without becoming a true Spirit Stone bears no connection to such elevation of inner power.
Still, the terrestrial essence it contained had use—those versed in Formation-work could harness that essence to activate a formation without the need to draw it, or to draw one while vastly amplifying its potency.
‘Naturally, it could serve equally well for dismantling.’
And did Muhun not have a formation in need of dismantling?
The formation protecting the Pale Jade Spring, wrought by the grand nature of Cheongseongsan itself.

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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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