The Great Heavenly Sword Emperor - Chapter 11

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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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#011. The Last Ember of the Buk Gung Clan (1)

Cheon Mujol fixed his gaze directly on Buk Gung Danya’s eyes.
As if trying to read something within them.
His stare was relentless, searching for something invisible.
[You need to see Buk Gung Danya himself—not your own reflection in him.]
Cheon Shingeom’s voice reached him.
That was when Cheon Mujol understood.
What he saw in Buk Gung Danya was not merely a matter of will.
Through Buk Gung Danya, who shared a similar fate, he was seeing his own past self.
The day Cheon Geomjang fell.
Himself drenched in blood, trembling uncontrollably.
The helplessness of being unable to retrieve his dead father’s body, shaking violently all the while.
Though he had killed the one who followed him there by borrowing Cheon Shingeom’s power, he ultimately failed to prevent Cheon Geomjang’s ruin—a self-recrimination that had haunted him ever since.
Everything Cheon Mujol had been then—all of it—lived in Buk Gung Danya now.
And that infuriated him.
He had overcome all of it and found the will to rise again, but Buk Gung Danya was the opposite.
Without will, having cast everything away—his resignation was unmistakable.
Was this the fate of the Buk Gung Clan, those who once saved the Gangho from crisis alongside the Cheon Geom Daeje and commanded the realm?
Even if the family had fallen, he had hoped the last blood of the Buk Gung line would carry their spirit of righteousness intact.
Just as Cheon Shingeom had once said—the Buk Gung were stubborn.
Cheon Mujol, regarding Buk Gung Danya with an emotion that didn’t suit him, finally opened his mouth.
“Does learning who I am change anything? If you leave now, there will be nothing more between us.”
He meant every word.
Regardless of martial cultivation level, a person like this was a burden to keep close.
“I’ve seen what I came to see. I’ll take my leave now.”
Cheon Mujol turned away.
“Stop!”
Enraged further, Buk Gung Danya shouted at Cheon Mujol’s back.
As Cheon Mujol said, it felt shabby to do this now, but the pride he thought he’d surrendered completely was burning with its last flame.
Yet Cheon Mujol didn’t stop walking.
Still showing his back, he retraced his steps.
Shing! Snap!
The sound of a sword being drawn rang out as Buk Gung Danya charged toward Cheon Mujol.
An attack against an opponent’s back.
Something he couldn’t have imagined doing before, but in this moment, Buk Gung Danya’s mind held no such hesitation.
Whistle!
With a sharp cutting sound, Buk Gung Danya’s blade aimed at Cheon Mujol’s back.
Swoosh!
Cheon Mujol turned slowly, casually flicking the cloth-wrapped sword as if brushing away a fly.
Crash!
“Gasp!”
The sword hadn’t even touched, yet Buk Gung Danya was driven backward by an immense force and slammed hard into the cart beside him.
The impact shattered the cart, scattering its cargo in all directions.
“Ngh—!”
Buk Gung Danya staggered to his feet with a grunt, his eyes wide with shock.
Cheon Mujol stood watching him with an indifferent gaze.
“I overlook it once, out of respect for what we once were. But there is no second time. Especially not for an attack aimed at my back.”
Cheon Mujol’s voice was ice.
Buk Gung Danya pulled himself free from the broken cart’s debris and the scattered cargo, standing upright.
“Then reveal yourself.”
Buk Gung Danya’s tone had changed.
The move he’d just witnessed was impressive, but it was Cheon Mujol’s words that had struck him.
What we once were.
A thought crossed his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was true.
“You… do you have some connection to Cheon Geomjang?”
Buk Gung Danya’s voice trembled faintly as he posed the question.
It was partly anticipation, partly dread.
He couldn’t say why the fear was creeping over him, but it was there nonetheless.
Cheon Mujol regarded him in silence.
Cheon Mujol was not one to hesitate about revealing his identity, but this moment felt different.
He wondered if disclosing who he was would truly be worth it—not for Buk Gung Danya as he stood now.
Perhaps it would be kinder to let him remain ignorant, to let him live without knowing.
If there still burned in Buk Gung Danya a fierce will to restore the Buk Gung Clan, things might have been otherwise—but Cheon Mujol sensed nothing of the sort.
Yet in that moment, Cheon Mujol saw something flicker across Buk Gung Danya’s eyes.
There, small but vivid, lay longing—desperate, aching longing.
The spark of yearning that burned unquenched in that gaze stirred something within Cheon Mujol’s heart, and his resolve faltered.
He turned fully to face Buk Gung Danya.
“My name is Cheon Mujol. I am the last descendant of the Cheon Geom Daeje and the sole survivor of Cheon Geomjang.”
He revealed himself.
Had it not been for that desperate yearning he’d glimpsed in Buk Gung Danya’s eyes at that final moment, he would never have spoken these words.
Buk Gung Danya’s eyes widened with the shock of it.
A survivor of Cheon Geomjang.
Something impossible, something he had never imagined, was unfolding before him—and the world ceased to feel real.
Should he believe it?
The blow was so great that Buk Gung Danya could manage no response at all.
“Regardless of all else, I had hoped to find will in you—the will to restore the Buk Gung Clan.”
The words were few, but they cut deep.
The events of the day played through his mind like a lantern show, moment after moment.
He had brought this stranger—someone he’d only just met—to his dwelling without a shred of doubt.
To Cheon Mujol, he must have seemed like a man who had set everything down.
If he hadn’t truly abandoned all hope, he never would have acted so.
He’d told himself it wasn’t true, but perhaps the moment he’d surrendered the position of master of the Buk Gung Clan, he’d unknowingly surrendered everything else as well.
Shame rose in his chest.
So Buk Gung Danya could say nothing.
Cheon Mujol watched the changes ripple across his face, then turned away again.
He felt no lingering attachment to the Buk Gung Clan, nor to Buk Gung Danya.
“Wait! Please!”
Buk Gung Danya called out urgently.
But Cheon Mujol did not stop.
Buk Gung Danya clenched his jaw.
Then he broke into a run and cut off Cheon Mujol’s path.
“Just a moment, please!”
“Why should I?”
He had no answer.
He’d only known that Cheon Mujol couldn’t leave like this—but he’d had no thought of what to do, or how.
As Buk Gung Danya hesitated, Cheon Mujol simply passed him and continued walking.
This time, Buk Gung Danya could not bring himself to seize his arm.
Watching him depart with a profound sense of defeat and helplessness, he could only let him go.

* * *

Some distance beyond Buk Gung Danya’s new quarters, Cheon Mujol slowed his pace.
“Come out.”
At his word, Gwang An emerged from the shadows.
“You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“Do you know you have a rather unpleasant habit?”
“An unpleasant habit?”
“You could tell me everything from the start, but instead you engineer situations like this.”
At Cheon Mujol’s words, Gwang An smiled.
“Encounters between people are always best when they don’t feel orchestrated. Didn’t you gain much from it?”
“Gain? I think you mean I lost—I failed to gain what I sought.”
“Eliminating the unnecessary is itself a gain.”
Cheon Mujol shook his head slowly at this.
As Gwang An fell into step beside him, he asked a question.
“You seemed more emotional than usual today. Why was that?”
To Gwang An’s question, Cheon Mujol simply continued walking without reply.
“Perhaps you’ve been projecting your own past onto Buk Gung Danya?”
Cheon Mujol stopped dead in his tracks.
His footsteps ceased.
“It seems my guess was correct,” Gwang An observed.
Cheon Mujol turned to look at him.
“If that’s the case, I’d suggest meeting with Buk Gung Danya a few more times.”
“I don’t see the necessity.”
At Cheon Mujol’s unwavering reply, Gwang An exhaled softly and continued.
“Didn’t you yourself not endure the same trials?”
“I never gave up. Buk Gung Danya has let everything go.”
“Yes, that’s true. But those who face the same circumstances don’t always meet the same fate. And there’s one crucial difference between you and him.”
As he spoke, Gwang An’s gaze fell upon the Cheon Shingeom in Cheon Mujol’s hands.
“You had the Cheon Shingeom. Because you possessed it, you could inherit the teachings of the Cheon Geom Daeje, and through that power, you never abandoned hope. But Buk Gung Danya had no such thread of hope to grasp.”
Cheon Mujol listened in silence.
“For Buk Gung Danya, you might become his Cheon Shingeom. First, offer him hope—just once. If nothing changes even then, you can give up without regret.”
Cheon Mujol fell silent, lost in thought.
The image of Buk Gung Danya he’d observed throughout the day.
Would giving him hope truly change anything? That doubt lingered.
Yet the memory of his desperate gaze at the very end remained etched in Cheon Mujol’s mind.
“Very well. I’ll meet with him several more times.”
“A wise decision.”
Gwang An replied with a faint smile.
“Since you’ve made this commitment, I’ll arrange the next meeting. Let’s return for now.”
Cheon Mujol nodded and resumed his walk.

* * *

After Cheon Mujol departed.
Buk Gung Danya could not sleep, consumed by self-recrimination.
He hadn’t even unpacked—his belongings still lay scattered across the courtyard.
‘Have I lost this once-in-a-lifetime chance?’
It was possible that learning Cheon Mujol was the sole survivor of Cheon Geomjang and an heir to the Cheon Geom Daeje would change nothing.
Yet it might have been an opportunity to attempt something, anything, in a future otherwise barren of hope.
The thought that he’d let it slip away tormented him, and he writhed in agony.
Unable to sleep, eyes open through the night, Buk Gung Danya lay in the empty room, sighing endlessly.
That was when it happened.
“Are you awake?”
Roused by the unfamiliar voice, Buk Gung Danya scrambled to his feet and hurried outside.
He opened the door with a flicker of hope, but the figure standing in the courtyard was a stranger’s face to match a stranger’s voice.
“Who are you?”
Hope dissolved swiftly into disappointment, and his voice grew hollow.
“I am a monk of Bohyeon Temple, named Gwang An.”
“I have nothing to offer. Please leave.”
Buk Gung Danya replied wearily and turned to go back inside.
“Cheon Mujol is currently staying at our Bohyeon Temple.”
At the name Cheon Mujol, Buk Gung Danya’s eyes flew open wide.
To hear that name here, now—he hadn’t expected it.
He spun around quickly.
“Is that truly so?”
“Of course. It was I who learned of the Buk Gung Clan’s circumstances, the appearance of the Buk Gung heir, and the date of his arrival, and saw that the information reached him.”
Buk Gung Danya’s eyes wavered.
This man before him was no ordinary monk.
But who Gwang An was mattered little.
“Cheon Mujol was resolved to abandon you for good.”
At Gwang An’s words, Buk Gung Danya swallowed hard, tension gripping his throat.
“Though I managed to persuade him, whether the current Buk Gung Danya can truly sway Cheon Mujol’s heart remains uncertain.”
“I can! I will sway him!”
Buk Gung Danya replied with desperate conviction.
“Anyone can claim such things with words.”
“Or perhaps you could offer me some way to turn his heart in my favor?”
At Buk Gung Danya’s words, Gwang An shook his head.
“All I can do is arrange a meeting between you both. Anything beyond that is beyond my reach. The more one sees of Lord Cheon, the harder he becomes to understand.”
At Gwang An’s words, Buk Gung Danya clenched his teeth hard.
This was an opportunity that had come like a stroke of fate.
He could not let it slip away.
“I understand. Arrange the meeting. By whatever means necessary, I will turn his heart toward me.”
Buk Gung Danya answered with a resolute will burning in his eyes.
“Very well. Come to Bohyeon Temple in five days’ time. I will prepare the meeting.”
Gwang An bowed with palms pressed together to Buk Gung Danya, then turned to leave.
“Five days.”
Buk Gung Danya’s heart grew impatient.
Five days. Precious little time.

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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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