The Great Heavenly Sword Emperor - Chapter 13

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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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#013. The Right to Survive (1)

Left alone in the lodging after Gwang An departed, Cheon Mujgyeol sat in silence, lost in thought.
His face was blank, revealing nothing of what occupied his mind, when Cheonsingeom’s voice reached his ear.
[A harsh trial, isn’t it?]
“If I had merely wanted to test his will, I would never have set such a trial.”
[Is that so?]
“I only wished to confirm how much of what you’ve taught me over these years Buk Gung Danya possesses.”
For the past twenty years, Cheonsingeom had imparted much to Cheon Mujgyeol.
Not only the Heavenly Sword Martial Arts, but also philosophy of mind, the practical elements of real combat, and considerations to be weighed—his instruction had been vast in scope.
Buk Gung Danya might possess none of these things.
Yet it was too late to teach him from the ground up.
Cheon Mujgyeol lacked the skill to condense twenty years of learning into a short span of time.
He did not expect perfection.
He only hoped that Buk Gung Danya possessed at least some foundation, and had the ability to wield it to its fullest measure.
Cheonsingeom spoke no further.
And Cheon Mujgyeol waited quietly for the moment to arrive.

* * *

Returning to the lodging, Buk Gung Danya closed the door and stood motionless, surveying the room’s layout.
The chamber was not large, so its structure held no great complexity, yet he examined everything slowly and with meticulous care.
The placement of the bed, the position and dimensions of the window, the gap between floor and wall, the height of the ceiling, the location and height of a small cabinet—even the wall behind it, all scrutinized with precision.
After surveying the interior, Buk Gung Danya gently pushed open the door he had closed.
The hinges were well maintained; they made almost no sound.
The window was the same.
But well-maintained doors and windows were no advantage to Buk Gung Danya.
‘My belongings…’
Buk Gung Danya did not unpack the things he had brought.
Standing still, he thought for a moment, then began moving his bundles about the room in various directions.
Once he had finished relocating everything, Buk Gung Danya swept his gaze across the entire layout again.
His eyes moved back and forth as he pondered something intently.
‘This is a trial. He’s given me time. Time to prepare.’
The contract with Muk Ryeon had not been placed beforehand—it had been decided only after their meeting.
Muk Ryeon’s assassins would not come for him this very night.
At the very least, tonight had to be spent making thorough preparations.
Buk Gung Danya grasped his sword at last.
Then he positioned it along the inner edge of the bed, against the wall.
He adjusted its placement several times, ensuring he could draw it instantly even while asleep.
“Hah…”
Buk Gung Danya slumped onto the bed with a heavy exhale.
His hands were trembling.
Whether from overwhelming tension or fear, he could not say.
He stood at the threshold between life and death.
Remaining unmoved would have been the true aberration.
Buk Gung Danya clenched his shaking hands into tight fists.
‘I will endure. I will survive.’
He could not know how long Muk Ryeon’s assault would persist.
After tonight—or perhaps beginning tonight—a blue blade might come for his throat at any moment, any place, to steal his life.
Buk Gung Danya’s trembling continued through the night.

* * *

Having barely slept and spent the night awake, Buk Gung Danya left his chamber in the early hours.
The quiet grounds of Bohyeonsa seemed to calm his mind.
When the darkness was deep, this breathless silence had only amplified his dread, but now it was the opposite.
“You’re up early.”
“Yes, well. I couldn’t sleep.”
Buk Gung Danya forced an awkward smile as Gwang An approached, making conversation.
“Do you have any plan?”
Gwang An asked cautiously.
But Buk Gung Danya shook his head.
“At this point, I have no plan to speak of. When it comes, I’ll just have to manage as best I can.”
“True enough. Even with preparation, there’s no withstanding an organization like that. Muk Ryeon.”
Gwang An’s words weighed even heavier on Buk Gung Danya’s heart.
“Well, since you’re up early anyway, why not have a meal? It’s nearly time for the morning service.”
“Ah…….”
Buk Gung Danya didn’t answer readily.
Food. To live, one must eat.
Meals, which he’d ordinarily thought nothing of, now seemed terrifying.
What if Muk Ryeon had poisoned it without a trace?
Such thoughts crowded into his mind.
“Don’t worry. I’ll eat with you, and the other monks will too.”
Sensing Buk Gung Danya’s concern, Gwang An reassured him.
When he thought about it, he wasn’t eating alone—poisoning a shared meal was nearly impossible.
“I understand. Thank you.”
At Buk Gung Danya’s words, Gwang An shook his head.
“No, that’s not it. A proper meal gives you strength to endure. It’s all I can offer you, I’m afraid.”
“That’s more than enough.”
Still, Gwang An’s genuine concern for his wellbeing brought some small comfort to Buk Gung Danya.
The two moved quietly to take their meal.

After finishing his meal safely and returning to his room, Buk Gung Danya carried a weight of anxiety with him.
Fearing he might die before Muk Ryeon even appeared, he drew his sword and left the room.
Outside, he heard a commotion unlike before.
Buk Gung Danya welcomed the sound.
Commotion meant people. Many people.
A place assassins most wished to avoid.
In that regard, Bohyeonsa’s fame as a temple seemed a blessing beyond measure.
Buk Gung Danya drew his sword in the small courtyard before the Lodging.
The most fundamental element to withstand Muk Ryeon’s assault was martial skill.
To leave Muk Ryeon, pass the Trial, and walk forward with Cheon Mujgyeol, martial skill was indispensable.
Whish!
Buk Gung Danya swung his sword lightly to loosen his body.
A sharp cutting sound rang out.
Encouraged by the promising tone, Buk Gung Danya’s mood lightened as he continued to swing.
Whish! Whish! Whish! Crack!
His blade extended straight and true, the strokes heavy with weight.
Only a few swings, yet the solidity they contained was unmistakable.
Buk Gung Danya’s smile faded as he swung with renewed focus.
Martial skill trained in desperation—to survive, to endure.
Urgency rang through every stroke.

* * *

‘Is that the Hyeonjung Swordsmanship of the Buk Gung Clan?’
Someone watched Buk Gung Danya swing his sword.
It was Cheon Mujgyeol.
Cheon Mujgyeol was not simply watching Buk Gung Danya.
He was observing the swordplay he deployed.
Hyeonjung Swordsmanship was the foundational blade art of the Buk Gung Clan—flawless in form, perfectly balanced in offense and defense.
Though a foundational technique, it was difficult to master, and perfecting its form demanded the greatest effort.
Cheon Mujgyeol watched in silence, his presence concealed.
‘The form is excellent, but his body cannot keep pace.’
As Cheon Mujgyeol murmured to himself, Buk Gung Danya’s movements shifted.
Thump! Thump!
The sword energy itself was different.
It bore a far heavier blade stance than the Hyeonjung Swordsmanship.
What Buk Gung Danya displayed was the Cheonak Swordsmanship, a higher art than the Hyeonjung.
Cheon Mujgyeol’s expression as he observed was utterly expressionless.
But this time, the watching did not last long.
Soon enough, Cheon Mujgyeol turned away.
‘He still doesn’t understand what truly matters.’
Cheon Mujgyeol murmured to himself.
How to fill the gaps in his martial arts—that was what Buk Gung Danya needed to grasp as essential. But regrettably, Buk Gung Danya, not yet enlightened to this truth, merely threw himself into training.

Dusk. The moment darkness settled over the land.
It was an ideal time for assassins to move.
The noise of day had faded away, and a terrible quiet was beginning to descend once more—the kind that pulled fear up from the depths.
Buk Gung Danya, who had devoted the entire day to training, entered his quarters quietly and sharpened the blade of his alertness to its finest edge.
As the light streaming into the room grew dimmer, his heart contracted smaller and smaller.
He ought to maintain his boldness, to stay composed—but his body would not obey.
His hands began to tremble again.
No—this time his entire frame was shaking.
Buk Gung Danya reached quietly for the sword he’d placed beside where he sat on the bed.
Then he let his eyes move back and forth between the tightly shut door and window.
There was no way inside except through the door or window.
Besides, the room was small—the window not large, the door only wide enough for a single person to pass through.
Unless they tore the building apart entirely, a group could not easily force their way in.
Buk Gung Danya imagined assassins bursting through door and window, and rehearsed his own movements in his mind’s eye.
It seemed the only way to ease even a fraction of the tension he felt.
“Hah…….”
Without realizing it, Buk Gung Danya exhaled a long breath, letting slip even a small portion of the overwhelming weight and tension he carried.

At that same moment, Cheon Mujgyeol sat in the Dharma Hall where he ordinarily met with Gwang An.
Gwang An poured tea and set the cup before him, and Cheon Mujgyeol lifted it in silence.
Glug, glug.
Gwang An poured another cup.
Then he placed it across from Cheon Mujgyeol.
“No wine instead of tea?”
“To seek wine in a temple, sir—how unexpected of you.”
“Bah! A mere shell playing at holiness.”
The one grumbling was Jang Pa Pung, a leader of Muk Ryeon.
It was an unexpected turn that he—who had departed as though he would never cross paths with Cheon Mujgyeol again—sat here now.
Jang Pa Pung, his expression displeased, glanced sidelong at Cheon Mujgyeol.
“Last time you spouted mad talk about crushing the Dongbang Clan. Now it’s a contract on Buk Gung Danya.”
Slurp.
Even at Jang Pa Pung’s words, Cheon Mujgyeol answered with cool composure.
“It is no concern of yours, is it?”
“Of course not. None at all. We took the contract, and once it’s completed, we collect our payment—simple. And yet I cannot help myself but speak.”
Jang Pa Pung regarded Cheon Mujgyeol with eyes full of curiosity.
“I am simply dying to know what possessed you to place such a contract.”
“That, too, you ought not seek to know.”
Cheon Mujgyeol spoke with finality.
It has nothing to do with Muk Ryeon. Do not attempt to learn. Do not wonder.
A line drawn clearly, unmistakably.
“Cold, aren’t you,” Jang Pa Pung muttered.
“I am engaged in work that sentiment must not touch,” Cheon Mujgyeol said, meeting his gaze.

“It’s not Buk Gung Danya I’m talking about—it’s me. Even so, we’ve crossed paths a few times now. Don’t you think that’s rather cold?”
“Surely the nature of our acquaintance doesn’t warrant such familiarity?”
At Cheon Mujgyeol’s question, Jang Pa Pung murmured, “Well, I suppose you have a point,” and sipped his tea.
“Besides, there’s simply too much I cannot tell you.”
“What?”
Jang Pa Pung’s eyebrows twitched as he pressed the matter.
“How am I to trust you with everything?”
Cheon Mujgyeol’s question left Jang Pa Pung at a loss for words.
His face reddened, and his voice rose sharply.
“Are you saying I’d go running to the Dongbang Clan with this?”
“How would I know?”
Cheon Mujgyeol’s words sent Jang Pa Pung’s anger flaring rapidly upward.
The one caught in this predicament was Gwang An.
‘What in heaven’s name is this man’s intention?’
Gwang An couldn’t shake the feeling that Cheon Mujgyeol was deliberately provoking Jang Pa Pung.
Cheon Mujgyeol had clearly stated earlier that whether Jang Pa Pung informed the Dongbang Clan or not made no difference to him.
Yet what he was saying now contradicted that entirely, didn’t it?
Gwang An decided that Cheon Mujgyeol must have some hidden purpose.
“What do you take me for!”
“Is it so unreasonable to wonder? You and I have met only three times today.”
Cheon Mujgyeol’s words were, objectively speaking, sound.
Though his reasoning was fair and left little room for rebuttal, Jang Pa Pung—wounded in his pride—couldn’t easily settle his emotions.
“Damn it! Why is there no wine?”
Jang Pa Pung vented his frustration on the empty cups.
Meanwhile, Cheon Mujgyeol finished his tea without the slightest tremor of emotion, then set down the empty cup.
“It seems the real trial has begun.”
Cheon Mujgyeol spoke the words as though in passing.

* * *

Crack!
Splinter!
The moment Cheon Mujgyeol’s words left his lips.
The door to the lodging where Buk Gung Danya remained shattered, and a dark figure burst inside.
‘Here they come!’
Buk Gung Danya gritted his teeth and swiftly drew the blade at his side, slashing upward.
Ring!
Buk Gung Danya deflected the assassin’s opening strike cleanly.
The luggage he’d deliberately repositioned tangled the assassin’s path of advance.
Buk Gung Danya’s sword and the assassin’s Short Dagger clashed, striking sparks that flickered briefly before the heavy darkness reclaimed the space.
As cruel fortune would have it, the night sky was thick with clouds.

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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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