The Fortunate Sword God of the Zhuge Clan - Chapter 7

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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 7.
Mok Cheong-u fell silent, his face blank with shock.
Part of it was the binding around his body, but the blow to his mind cut far deeper.
‘…How did it come to this?’
This was not how it was supposed to unfold.
He should have found the Hundred-Year Hashuo that lay buried, displayed it at the assembly, and made his move.
He should have exposed to the world that the Jegal Clan had stolen the Mok Clan’s Family Heirloom, then begun his ascent among the Five Great Families.
A new Mok Clan, risen under his leadership as Patriarch!
‘And yet….’
Mok Cheong-u stared at the figure before him—a worthless whelp from the Jegal Clan who had never even learned martial arts.
‘All of this… because of that brat?’
Even though what was done could not be undone, Mok Cheong-u could not accept it.
How could a man who had spent his life ranking others by their martial prowess accept defeat at the hands of one who had never studied the art?
Yet it was an undeniable truth.
This contradiction was what kept him from speaking a single word.
“…This elder!”
Mok Hyun-chul, the Patriarch of the Mok Clan, broke the silence first, unable to contain his exasperation at Mok Cheong-u’s pitiful state.
“Say something! What in heaven’s name has happened? Why commit such an act? You truly meant to use the clan’s Family Heirloom for this? And the Jegal Clan….”
“Patriarch.”
Jegal Chun-sung cut off Mok Hyun-chul’s tirade with a single word.
“I understand you have much to say.”
Jegal Chun-sung stroked his mustache as he regarded Mok Hyun-chul.
In that instant, Mok Hyun-chul flinched.
‘What is in those eyes….’
Mok Hyun-chul could see that Jegal Chun-sung was barely containing tremendous fury.
Though they were similar in height, both standing near six feet tall, Mok Hyun-chul’s frame was far more heavily built—yet before that gaze, he felt himself shrink.
“I can understand the anger you feel, the shame, the sense of betrayal… all of it.”
Jegal Chun-sung spoke each word as if chewing it deliberately.
“But does all that anguish compare to what a father feels when his son has been struck down?”
Mok Hyun-chul withdrew a step, raising his fist in salute.
“…I spoke out of turn. If there is anything to be said, you must speak first, Patriarch.”
“I am grateful.”
Jegal Chun-sung offered Mok Hyun-chul a light bow, then turned his gaze back to Mok Cheong-u.
“So you offer no excuse? That much, at least, pleases me.”
Jegal Chun-sung scoffed, his tone dripping with mockery at Mok Cheong-u’s silence.
How could he not understand?
The man stood frozen because of the shock of what had befallen his youngest.
But he had no desire to broach that subject or extend this conversation further.
His youngest’s achievements could be commended after this matter was settled.
Above all, he wanted to dispose of this rogue who had dared strike his son within the clan’s own walls.
Then Mok Cheong-u opened his mouth, his voice hoarse.
“…Your fault.”
“What did you say?”
“It’s all your fault, you Jegal dogs!!”
Mok Cheong-u began to pour out his rage in a voice trembling with agitation.
“How dare you, who are nothing but upstarts, claim the name of the Five Great Families in this Kangho!!”
Though his body could not move a single hair, his fury radiated from every fiber.
His eyes were bloodshot, and veins stood out starkly across his frame.
One moment more of such fury and he seemed ready to cough up blood itself.
It was the final thrashing of a man who could not accept that all his plans had been unraveled by Mu Hun.
“What good is being clever without wars to show it? There’s been no war in nearly a hundred years, so what—!”
Mok Cheong-u rattled on without drawing breath, speaking at a furious pace.
“You’ve lined your coffers with that vaunted brain of yours and curried favor with the Martial World with your blood money! You cowards, you who cannot even fight honorably!”
Mok Cheong-u glared directly at Mu Hun standing before him.
“Look at that wretch! He won’t even fight face to face, just binds my feet with parlor tricks! Try loosening these bonds, go ahead—you can’t, can you? Because you’re weak!”
Mu Hun raised one eyebrow slightly.
His expression was less one of displeasure than of utter indifference.
The sight only drove Mok Cheong-u into deeper frenzy as he screamed.
“Besides! Are you even clever at all? That witless woman is still of the Jegal Clan, isn’t she?!”
When his abuse seemed to have no effect on Mu Hun, his target shifted to Lan.
“I’ve never seen a woman so easy to deceive in all my life! If I’d pressed just a little harder, she’d have handed over her own liver!”
Ran flinched at Mok Cheong-u’s outburst, her body shrinking back.
But she quickly steadied herself, her lips parting as if to speak.
“Ran. Don’t answer him.”
Yet Mu Hun raised his hand to stop her.
“Argument is only possible between those who can truly communicate. Does he seem to be in such a state?”
At Mu Hun’s words, Ran studied Mok Cheong-u’s condition for a moment, then shook her head.
“Right. But what you should be watching is his actions themselves—not his words.”
Mu Hun looked down at Mok Cheong-u and continued.
“This is the fate of a man whose will went unfulfilled, and who cannot accept that failure.”
Mok Cheong-u’s fury only deepened at Mu Hun’s words.
Yet all he could do was exhale in ragged, heated bursts through his nose.
“A man cannot live without desire, but when he becomes consumed by corrupt ones, this is what becomes of him.”
Mu Hun turned to Ran with a slight smile.
“We must not let ourselves fall into such a state, mustn’t we? Another lesson learned today.”
At his words, the corners of Ran’s mouth lifted slightly.
‘…This young master truly is remarkable.’
She lacked the courage to voice her thoughts with the Patriarch and Young Patriarch present, yet Ran felt she owed Mu Hun a debt she could never repay.
From saving her from Mok Cheong-u’s grasp to the small kindness of using the word “we” despite knowing what he already knew—every detail moved her.
‘I fear I shall never reach even the heel of this young master in all my days.’
She had known he was intelligent, but nothing had prepared her for this.
Ran lowered her head quietly, offering her gratitude to Mu Hun.
Mu Hun accepted it with a slight nod of his own.
‘Yes, I too must learn from this sight.’
Yet separate from Ran’s thoughts, Mu Hun had genuinely gleaned wisdom from Mok Cheong-u’s display.
‘The framework differs, perhaps, but how different is this from my past life?’
Mok Cheong-u had orchestrated this plot driven by inferiority toward the Jegal Clan and greed for the Patriarch’s seat.
And now, after his failure, he could do nothing but spew rage.
Yet the Mok Cheong-u Mu Hun had known in his previous life, greedy though he was, took immense pride in the Mok Clan.
And it remained true that he had stood at the forefront of wars as a martial family should.
Knowing such qualities existed in Mok Cheong-u, Mu Hun understood there was no guarantee he himself could not become the same.
Mu Hun too had sought to twist the heavens’ mandate, to overturn fate itself.
He had somehow returned to the past, but…
What if he had ended in failure?
Or if, in this life, he failed again—could he avoid Mok Cheong-u’s path?
‘The only choice is to do my utmost to prevent it.’
Not swayed by excessive ambition, but building myself higher rather than tearing others down.
To run to the very end with all my strength spent, so that even in failure, I leave no room for shame.
That was what Mu Hun had learned from the sight of Mok Cheong-u.
Meanwhile, when his venom proved ineffective against both Mu Hun and Ran, Mok Cheong-u shifted his target.
The seat that should have been his by right.
The pathetic figure who now sat there despite never winning Mok Cheong-u’s approval.
“Patriarch… Patriarch. I ask you, why did you allow such a thing?”
“….”
Mok Cheong-u began pouring his fury onto Mok Hyun-chul, the Mok Clan’s Patriarch.
“It’s your shamelessness! With such strength! With such martial prowess, and yet you sit idle! Does it not gall you?”
Mok Hyun-chul’s brow furrowed.
“Gall me? What are you saying?”
“Haven’t we lived our whole lives in the shadow of the Jegal Clan? All these years! Yet you feel no anger?”
“You old fool….”
“If I were you, I would never have stood for it! If I had become Patriarch! If I… Hack!”
Mok Cheong-u, reaching the peak of his rage, finally began coughing blood as he shrieked.
“Agh…! The Dan Yang Divine Art is the supreme cultivation method under heaven, and the Bi Hwan Dan Cheon Dao Method is the supreme sword technique under heaven! And yet…!”
“Quite the talker, aren’t you.”
It was Mu Young who cut him off.
“Shut your mouth! What business do you have interrupting your elders, you whelp?”
At Mok Cheong-u’s shout, Mu Young scratched his head as if bored.
With such languid movements from the thin-faced young man, one might have mistaken him for a pampered idler.
“Well, that’s what they all say. That the main branch is half-rate because they’re short on martial arts, so they rely on Trap Formations and Mechanisms.”
“Exactly! So how dare you….”
“But most people don’t actually know that.”
Slice!
“Wait… Clan….”
Mok Cheong-u could not sustain his rage any longer.
More precisely, his lips still moved, but no sound emerged.
‘…What now?!’
Mok Cheong-u couldn’t grasp what had happened, yet the answer was simple.
Mu Young had severed Mok Cheong-u’s throat, rendering him incapable of speech.
“One capable enough to cut down a man who spills such drivel to my face.”
Whoosh—thud!
Mok Cheong-u’s head rolled lifelessly to the ground.
“Trap Formation, Mechanism, Martial Arts—none of these are things for the likes of you to speak of.”
The cut had been so swift and clean that blood did not yet seep from the wound.
Mok Cheong-u never even noticed.
“This is precisely why the Main House ranks among the Five Great Families.”
Mu Young sheathed his blade as though it were nothing of consequence.
Not a trace of blood marked the steel, so there was nothing to wipe clean.
Mok Cheong-u, who had revered strength and scorned the Jegal Clan, met his end—fittingly—by a Jegal blade.
“Mm…!”
Mok Hyun-chul, who had been about to thunder a rebuke at Mok Cheong-u’s profanity, instead swallowed a bitter sound.
Of course, he had never intended to spare the man’s life.
The gravity of his crime left no room for mercy.
Coveting the Patriarch’s seat and hiding the Clan’s Family Heirloom with another house?
And of all houses—the Jegal Clan?
There was no possible way to let him live.
Yet even so, Mok Hyun-chul had not expected the Mok Clan’s elder to be cut down without so much as a lengthy interrogation.
And by the Young Patriarch’s unilateral decision, no less.
Mok Hyun-chul glanced sideways at Jegal Chun-sung, but the Jegal Patriarch offered no reaction.
It signified both his respect for the Young Patriarch’s judgment and his own full accord with it.
‘…Then there is no help for it.’
Though it was Mu Young’s unilateral act, Mok Hyun-chul as Patriarch of the Mok Clan could not escape responsibility for it.
What words could he possibly offer under such circumstances?
Beyond Mok Cheong-u’s life, the Mok Clan would need to surrender any number of its rare elixirs and territorial holdings in Hobok to earn forgiveness from the Jegal Clan.
‘The Young Patriarch’s Martial Arts have already reached such a realm.’
Mok Cheong-u was not the strongest among the Mok Clan’s elders, yet he had transcended the first rank.
Mu Young had severed his throat at a speed his eyes could not follow.
Even with his body bound, his vision had been unimpaired.
It could only mean he had reached the Peak Realm.
At merely twenty-four years of age.
‘What a foolish deed this elder has committed.’
Had he asked if it was unfair?
It was not unfair.
Mok Hyun-chul himself was not a man of boundless ambition, yet neither was he entirely free of it.
Had the Jegal Clan truly possessed only superior intellect as Mok Cheong-u claimed, Mok Hyun-chul would have labored to elevate his own house to the ranks of the Five Great Families.
Yet the reason he had not was simple.
‘The Jegal Clan is strong.’
The Young Patriarch’s martial prowess was indeed remarkable, but what truly inspired fear was Jegal Chun-sung himself.
Mok Cheong-u, having never fought alongside him, would never have known.
Even without Trap Formation or Mechanism, the commanding presence he displayed as Patriarch of one of the Five Great Families.
‘And beyond that….’
Today’s events had even reversed the reputation of the sickly second son.
He had perceived Mok Cheong-u’s scheme faster than anyone and countered it flawlessly.
The Mok Clan had discovered the Hundred-Year Hashuo was missing only days later.
When that boy first noticed it, none could say.
One thing was certain: he had not been given much time.
The scheme itself had been orchestrated by Jegal Chun-sung, but the verbal pressure on Mok Cheong-u and his confinement within the Trap Formation were entirely this boy’s doing.
Crushing a weaker opponent through force and drawing a stronger opponent into a board of one’s own design to suppress them.
There was no need to say which required greater skill.
Not yet of age, and already possessed of such strategic acumen?
‘That boy may well become more fearsome than the Young Patriarch.’
If the two brothers who would become the real power of the Jegal Clan in the future remembered today’s events and harbored thoughts of revenge against the Mok Clan….
‘…such a thing must never come to pass.’
Mok Hyun-chul, imagining that chilling prospect, quickly recovered his composure and spoke.
“Clan Patriarch Jegal. First, I offer my deepest apologies for today’s incident. My own inadequacy as Clan Patriarch prevented me from even noticing the elder’s actions.”
Jegal Chun-sung regarded Mok Hyun-chul steadily, then nodded.
“I accept your apology, Clan Patriarch Mok. But I trust you understand that words alone are insufficient.”
“Of course.”
Mok Hyun-chul had prepared three trade rights to offer as compensation.
Though the losses were substantial, they were things that could somehow be recovered.
But Jegal Chun-sung spoke first.
“Were I to follow my heart, I would demand your clan’s Family Heirloom.”
At those words, Mok Hyun-chul’s shoulders jerked sharply.
The Family Heirloom meant the Hundred-Year Hashuo that Mu Hun now carried.
Ordinarily such a demand would be absurd, but Mok Cheong-u’s foolish first strike had given it justification.
If the Jegal Clan so wished… there was nothing preventing them from taking it by force.
“That is… I cannot….”
“However, I am no brigand. I have no intention of laying hands upon another clan’s heirloom.”
Mok Hyun-chul felt relief, yet simultaneously realized he had fallen into a trap.
Now that Jegal Chun-sung had appeared to relinquish his claim to the heirloom, the Mok Clan dared not propose compensation of their own first.
“Later, I shall send someone to demand what I wish. Your younger brother seems greatly shaken—we wouldn’t want a corpse rolling about outside his room, would we?”
Mok Hyun-chul exhaled inwardly.
It was a kind of declaration: he would think carefully and then seize the very best thing.
‘I clearly saw it was a joint effort—the younger brother restraining him while the elder severed his neck.’
These thoughts Mok Hyun-chul could not voice aloud. He nodded slowly instead.
“I understand. As for this elder’s—rather, this man’s corpse, our clan will….”
“Take it. What use would our clan have keeping it?”
Jegal Chun-sung gave permission for the body’s removal, then added in a firm tone:
“But take heed. Should such an incident occur again, I cannot answer for what this Clan Patriarch might do.”
At Jegal Chun-sung’s blunt warning, Mok Hyun-chul flinched slightly before responding.
“Naturally. Should it happen, there would be nothing good about our clan having more… I shall see you at the next gathering.”
There was nothing more to discuss at the gathering.
The disappearance of the Family Heirloom had been the greatest matter of concern, yet the elder responsible for the incident had turned to ash, and moreover, the Mok Clan had suffered the loss of assets besides.
The situation was already overwhelming enough to bear.
Mok Hyun-chul longed to take his leave.
“Then I wish you safe travels on your return journey.”
Mok Hyun-chul found even Jegal Chun-sung’s parting words menacing. He exhaled faintly and instructed his retainers to collect Mok Cheong-u’s head and remains.
The retainers recoiled in shock, but upon hearing the details of the incident, they too sighed and completed their grim task.
Mu Hun returned the Hundred-Year Hashuo to Mok Hyun-chul.
In Mok Hyun-chul’s hands, the hashuo felt unusually heavy.
After the Mok Clan departed swiftly, only four remained at the Estate: the three members of the Jegal Clan and Ran.
“Now then….”
Jegal Chun-sung’s gaze had softened somewhat, yet still burned with anger as he looked at Ran.
“A traitor to our clan must receive proper punishment.”
At Jegal Chun-sung’s words, Ran started violently.
Yet she was not ignorant of the crime she had committed.
“…Whatever punishment you impose, I… I will accept it gladly….”
Her voice trembled, but Ran met Jegal Chun-sung’s gaze without flinching.
“Do you know what penalty befits the crime you have committed?”
“….”
Ran hesitated, unable to answer at once.
But soon, having steeled her resolve, she nodded.
“One who betrays the clan… should, should face execution.”
“Correct. Whatever circumstances may follow, that is the law of the Martial World.”
Ran was afraid.
She did not want to die.
She wanted to protest that she had been deceived, to beg for mercy however she could.
Yet the final image of Mok Cheong-u from moments before kept returning to her mind.
The way he had raged, unable to accept his own failure, venting his fury.
The way he had blamed others as if he himself had done no wrong.
The man who had claimed to be her father—his final appearance had been utterly hideous.
He did not wish to die, yet if death was inevitable, he could not bear to face it so ignominiously.
“Should we not refuse to end like this?”
Was this not what he had learned alongside Mu Hun today?
“It is so. I cannot deny it.”
And so Ran accepted his crime unflinchingly, ready to meet his fate.
“Though I have no right to ask, might I entreat you—would the Young Patriarch be willing to take my head?”
“What? Me?”
The sudden request caught Mu Young off guard, yet Ran had his reasons.
Mu Young’s blade work just moments before had been utterly invisible to Ran, and even Mok Cheong-u seemed not to have noticed its speed.
By that measure, if Mu Young were to strike, perhaps there would be no pain.
Such was the calculation behind his request.
“If my plea was out of line, I beg your forgiveness. It is a foolish wish—to die without suffering, should death come.”
Mu Young did not answer, only letting slip a hollow laugh.
Jegal Chun-sung gazed down at Ran, then spoke.
“Far more the bearing of a true martial artist than before.”
“I—thank you…?”
To receive praise on the eve of death left him uncertain whether to accept the compliment.
“Mu Hun of the Jegal Clan.”
At Jegal Chun-sung’s call, Mu Hun rose and cupped his fist in salute.
“I am here to listen.”
“I entrusted this matter to you, and you have resolved it admirably.”
Jegal Chun-sung praised Mu Hun, stroking his mustache with evident satisfaction.
“Yet this is not the end. Only when the criminal has received his punishment can we truly say this affair is concluded.”
“You speak truly.”
“Therefore, I would entrust you with the final resolution of this matter.”
Jegal Chun-sung regarded Mu Hun with eyes alight with curiosity.
“You shall determine what sentence this attendant receives.”
Mu Hun cupped his fist and nodded slowly.
“I shall do as you say.”
Mu Hun walked forward and looked down at Ran.
Ran lifted his eyes to meet Mu Hun’s gaze.
“Attendant Ran, your crime is indeed grave—one that demands your life. Is this not so?”
At Mu Hun’s weighty words, Ran bowed his head once more.
“Yes… it is.”
Ran had accepted his fate.
Though unintended, it was certainly he who had buried the Hundred-Year Hashuo before Mu Hun’s door.
It was Mu Hun who had uncovered it and brought the truth to light.
And it was Mu Hun who stood to suffer the greatest harm.
A judgment from such a man was one Ran could accept.
Mu Hun gazed at the bowed Ran for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle and spoke in gentle tones.
“Ran, do you know how long you have served as my personal attendant?”
At the sudden question, Ran’s eyes widened as he looked at Mu Hun.
“Ah, how long? I suppose… about ten years?”
“Yes, it has not quite been ten years, but it has been a long time nonetheless.”
Ran wore a bewildered expression.
He could not fathom why Mu Hun was bringing this up now.
“In all that time, you have delivered water and medicinal broth to me each morning and evening, never once late.”
Mu Hun walked slowly around Ran as he spoke.
“And when my cough grew severe and I coughed blood, you were there to wipe it away—three hundred and eighty-two times.”
“That… that is many indeed.”
Though it paled before what lay ahead, the number was great in Ran’s present reckoning.
“When I burned with fever so high I could not reach the privy, you carried me on your small back—one hundred and sixty-seven times.”
“Yes, yes…”
Ran continued to nod, his expression still dazed.
“And when I badly wrenched my leg, you supported me—eighty-four times.”
“Yes, that is… so.”
“Yet not once did you utter a word of complaint. Rather, you comforted me with a smile.”
“That was…”
To Ran, it had all been natural.
He had never counted such moments.
It was his work, and he believed it was his way of repaying the debt owed to the great family that had taken him in.
Above all, conversations with Mu Hun, who was far more clever than himself, were always a pleasure.
And so—
“It may have seemed easy for you. But not everyone finds it so simple.”
Just after Ran left, the new attendants who came to replace her clearly struggled with the work.
For that reason, he had not doubted the word that Ran had departed because the labor was too arduous.
How many people in the world could find it easy to serve a sickly, high-ranking master?
Mu Hun circled around Ran, then stood before her once more.
“Your crime is grave, and I cannot grant you forgiveness….”
Mu Hun continued, still wearing a smile.
It was an entirely different smile from the one he had worn when looking down at Mok Cheong-u.
“You saved my life. How could I take yours?”
Mu Hun nodded solemnly and spoke as if pronouncing a decree.
“Ran. From this moment forward, you are no longer a servant of the Jegal Clan. Gather your things and leave these grounds.”
The order of banishment fell from Mu Hun’s lips.
But that was all it was—mere exile.
It meant her life would be spared.
“…My… my lord….”
Tears streamed down Ran’s face as relief at having survived mingled with gratitude toward Mu Hun.
“I… I am grateful… I shall never forget this kindness… sob! Never!”
Ran wiped at the tears pouring down her cheeks and bowed repeatedly to the young lord.
‘If I had my way, I would not send her away at all. But such is the law of the Martial World.’
Mu Hun turned to Jegal Chun-sung and bowed in apology.
“Forgive me, Father. The debt I owe this girl is considerable, and I had no choice.”
It was an apology for prioritizing his own sense of righteousness over the law.
Jegal Chun-sung covered his mouth and cleared his throat.
“One forgets a grudge and is merely human; one forgets a kindness and is less than a beast.”
Jegal Chun-sung turned and walked away slowly.
“So I cannot say your decision was wrong.”
Mu Hun smiled, watching his father’s retreating figure.
“Well done, Mu Hun. You were no joke today, were you?”
Mu Young tapped Mu Hun’s shoulder playfully from beside him.
“That may be so for me, but surely your Martial Arts skill was more impressive? I didn’t even perceive most of it.”
Both his decisiveness and his Martial Arts prowess were befitting of the Jegal Clan’s Young Patriarch.
He had known Mu Young was a prodigy, but there had been few opportunities to gauge just how skilled he was at this age.
So he had only harbored vague suspicions, but Mu Young’s true strength far exceeded even his imagination.
“Ha—if a martial master cannot cleanly cut through even a bound opponent, how could he call himself a warrior? And it was you who bound them in the first place. This is hardly something worthy of praise.”
Though Mu Young demurred, his pleasure at receiving his brother’s compliment was evident in his grin.
“Ah, and don’t mind Father’s manner of departure.”
Mu Young turned his head to watch Jegal Chun-sung’s receding form.
“He’s just putting on airs. I saw him smile earlier, Father.”
Jegal Chun-sung covered his mouth with his hand, but he could not escape the eyes of Mu Young, who had reached the Peak Realm.
Mu Hun nodded, affirming Mu Young’s words.
“I know. That is the sort of man he is.”
“So I’m saying, even when it’s just us….”
“I hear everything, you rascals.”
At Jegal Chun-sung’s remark, the two brothers, who had been chuckling, fell silent with a shared gasp.
Yet Jegal Chun-sung did not deny what they had said.
“Jegal Mu Hun.”
“Yes, Father.”
Jegal Chun-sung, having turned around, called to Mu Hun and spoke in a gentle voice.
“Come to the Patriarch’s residence after evening. I must commend you for your accomplishment.”
Mu Hun smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, Father.”
Ran had survived.
The renown of the Jegal Clan had not diminished; rather, it had gained considerable advantage.
With Mu Hun at its center, receiving a reward was only natural.

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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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