The Great Heavenly Sword Emperor - 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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#007. Traces of the East (1)

After his final clash with Jang Pafung, Cheon Mujegyeol did not return to the inn but lingered some distance from the battlefield instead.
It was less a matter of needing rest than of requiring time to gather his thoughts.
He sat leaning against a thick wooden post, the Cheon Singeom resting beside him, lost in contemplation.
‘I could have ended him then and there.’
The Cheon Singeom spoke first.
“There was no real need to kill him.”
‘There’s something else on your mind.’
At the sword’s following question, Cheon Mujegyeol maintained his silence for a moment.
After letting some time pass, he opened his mouth.
“There are things I still need to learn from him.”
‘You could have drawn out whatever you wanted right there on the spot.’
“Not now. Only after I’ve organized my thoughts and resolved my doubts can I listen properly and make an accurate judgment.”
‘Doubts?’
“Yes. Doubts that arose from today’s encounter with Mugyeongryeon.”
At Cheon Mujegyeol’s reply, the Cheon Singeom fell silent in turn.
“I arranged this meeting to gather information about Gwigok. Yet someone bearing a grudge against Gwigok appeared. I cannot tell if it was coincidence or deliberate design.”
‘Questions about Bohyeonsa, then.’
“Precisely.”
‘A temple is a natural gathering place for those who keep their silence.’
The Cheon Singeom offered a brief observation about Bohyeonsa.
Rather than reply, Cheon Mujegyeol sank deeper into thought.
The doubts kindled by his clash with the Mugyeongryeon assassins, and the final confrontation with Jang Pafung, had begun to grow into something far more substantial.
“Did information organizations exist in the past?”
‘Of course. They have always existed in every era and always held positions of importance.’
“What manner of people are they?”
‘Many kinds exist. Those who gather to sell, those who gather to hide, those who gather to weigh.’
“People not to be underestimated, then.”
‘Naturally. They appear as allies yet remain distant. When convenient, they cling close and pose as comrades. But when it truly matters, many withdraw a step.’
At the Cheon Singeom’s words, Cheon Mujegyeol found his thoughts turning to Gwang-an.
What sort of person was Gwang-an?
When they first met, he had taken him for one who gathered to sell.
But as time passed, that judgment had begun to fray at the edges.
Now he could not draw any clear conclusion about the man.
It seemed Gwang-an belonged to all three categories the Cheon Singeom had named.
As Cheon Mujegyeol found his assessment of Gwang-an reverting to its original uncertainty, the Cheon Singeom continued.
‘There was an information organization in the past. They spoke only the information necessary to obtain what they desired. To get what they wanted, they deployed everything but words.’
Cheon Mujegyeol listened quietly to the sword’s account.
‘They did not lie. They simply kept silent. But what truly made them terrifying was that they knew how to exploit the information in their grasp.’
“Those who know how to exploit.”
‘Yes. Information holders are most dangerous when they know where and how to use what they know. The moment they recognize this capacity within themselves, the instinct to seize control and manipulate the board emerges.’
To seize control and manipulate the board.
Hearing this, Cheon Mujegyeol grasped the true nature of his doubt.
Though he had met Mugyeongryeon only once today, the suspicion that the encounter was no accident was itself no accident.
‘What sort of person is Gwang-an?’
Cheon Mujegyeol’s thoughts circled back to him.
Was he a man who bought and sold information, or one who wielded it to shake the board itself?
What did they know, and how far did that knowledge extend? And what piece was he himself in their game?
He recalled Gwang-an’s every expression, every inflection, every gesture, every movement.
Once Gwang-an had learned his true identity, he had offered unwavering cooperation.
Yet looking back at their conversations, the truly important matters had never been obtained.
Whenever he tried to press further, the only answer returned was that Gwang-an did not know.
But despite claiming ignorance, Gwang-an’s expression, tone, and demeanor were nothing like those of a truly uninformed man.
He had cleverly used words to keep Cheon Mujegyeol from leaving when he threatened to depart if there was nothing to learn, yet what followed from Gwang-an’s lips had been hollow, stripped of substance.
At that time, all Gwang-an had revealed was that the coins were called Gwiwangjeon and that they were currency used by Gwigok.
‘Perhaps Gwang-an had already known the relationship between Mugyeongryeon and Gwigok.’
Indeed, would he have been ignorant of the war between Mugyeongryeon and Gwigok?
If he’d known, why hadn’t he said so beforehand?
He might have anticipated that Mugyeongryeon would move once he used the Gwiwangjeon to place a contract.
Then what was he trying to gain by bringing Mugyeongryeon and himself together, and what board was he trying to set in motion?
As such thoughts arose unbidden in his mind, his doubts about Gwang-an and Bohyeonsa only deepened.
[One who seeks to grasp the board and shake it must be careful. It is not easy to handle. Rather, one comes to believe they are the one manipulating their opponent. That arrogance, if unchecked, breeds disaster—as it did with those of old.]
“What exactly did they do, and how?”
[They provided the two factions with only minimal information. While doing so, they made those factions increasingly dependent upon them. When fatigue set in, they dispensed information at just the right moment, letting them believe they were their only hope. But it was all merely an arrogant scheme to keep them in the palm of their hand, to manipulate them at will.]
“If they were so meticulous, they must have left no trace of evidence that their plan could be exposed.”
[There is no eternal secret in this world. Once their initial intentions curdled into arrogance, flaws were bound to appear. Eventually, everything came to light, and they suffered grave ruin.]
“What was their fate?”
[Destruction of Lineage.]
Cheon Mujegyeol nodded as though he had expected precisely this.
It was a perfectly foreseeable outcome.
Having grasped information and shaken things here and there, when that very scheme turned against them, they had to bear the wrath of multiple factions alone.
In the Gangho, there could be no price but annihilation for such a transgression.
Had Gwang-an truly set the board?

“We exchange what we have discovered and what you have discovered. We combine these pieces as we go.”

Gwang-an’s words came back to him.
Did they truly have information they had discovered independently, or sought to discover?
Rather, it seemed far more likely that they intended to extract the information they wanted through him.
Moreover, he found his suspicions turning toward the idea that there was information they knew but had not disclosed.
If Gwang-an had indeed set the board, what was that board, and how far did it extend?
Would it profit him, or would it be poison?
Cheon Mujegyeol’s mind began to turn over these complexities.
“I should clamp down on them before the board is fully set.”
[That would be the best course, if it were possible. But these are not easy men to deal with.]
“I understand. I can sense it dimly even now.”
This was where the difference lay between Cheon Mujegyeol and Gwang-an.
Gwang-an was a knowing man, seasoned by experience, worldly-wise.
But Cheon Mujegyeol was strong yet inexperienced.
He had spent twenty years beneath Cheongeomjang, only now emerging into the world as a fledgling.
Though he had learned much from Cheon Singeom, he lacked the absolute experience needed to apply such knowledge in practice.
And so it felt not easier, but harder.
[What do you intend to do?]
“I intend to shake him.”
At Cheon Mujegyeol’s answer, Cheon Singeom, who had fallen silent, spoke again.
[What if he is merely pretending to be shaken?]
“That cannot be.”
Cheon Mujegyeol seemed confident.
At his firm reply, Cheon Singeom posed another question.
[What if he has already set his board?]
“Then it will be overturned.”
Again, there was conviction in Cheon Mujegyeol’s answer.
He was organizing his thoughts piece by piece.
What manner of man was Gwang-an?
There was no need to reach a conclusion now.
Unlike before, he himself would shake Gwang-an and observe him.
But his principles must be rigorous.
To bridge the gap left by his limited experience, he must face him with strict principles and a solid plan.
“First, I will suspect everything about him.”
[Do not believe too readily. It is fundamental.]
Do not accept things at face value; assume the worst and harbor suspicion.
Only then could he coolly and logically align the pieces as they emerged in conversation.
“I will conceal what I have, just as he does.”
[That too is fundamental.]
Cheon Mujegyeol recalled the manner of conversation Gwang-an had employed all along.
Used properly, it would certainly prove useful.
“And I’ll be the one asking questions.”
Looking back over his conversation with Gwang-an so far, every crucial question had come from Gwang-an.
Though it had seemed like Gwang-an was answering what Cheon Mujegyeol wanted to know, he’d deflected each time with hollow replies, then steered the conversation elsewhere.
That couldn’t happen again.
Cheon Mujegyeol himself had to ask the piercing questions.
If Gwang-an tried to evade once more with evasive answers, Cheon Mujegyeol would need to press him—hard enough that escape became impossible.
And Cheon Mujegyeol had a weapon he could rely on.
A Muwi stronger than anyone’s.
Even Gwang-an would find it difficult to dodge pressure when a blade capable of severing his throat at any moment hung within arm’s reach.
Then he would watch Gwang-an’s answer and reaction.
What he said, how he differed from the Gwang-an of before—in what ways, and how.
If Cheon Mujegyeol’s pressure worked according to this principle, he could seize control of the dynamic between them and keep it for himself going forward.
‘Then I won’t see what he’s saying—I’ll see what he’s hiding.’
[Yes. Information isn’t heard; it’s read. More truth hides in silence than words, and in the eyes more than the face.]
Cheon Singeom reinforced his thought.
Cheon Mujegyeol nodded.
Whether Gwang-an was playing some deeper game, he didn’t know—but he intended to shake the table from the side, not from within it.
[Have you settled it?]
Cheon Singeom, who had waited while Cheon Mujegyeol gathered his thoughts, asked.
“Yes. The rest I’ll judge when we meet in person.”
He ruled out premature judgment.
He would face Gwang-an as if they were strangers, as if meeting for the first time, and judge based on observation alone.
It was proof of how unnervingly composed and rational Cheon Mujegyeol had become.
[I have nothing more to offer. I’ve talked more than usual today.]
Cheon Singeom too felt the steadiness and cold reason in Cheon Mujegyeol’s resolve.
Cheon Mujegyeol rose from his seat, Cheon Singeom in hand.
[To Bohyeonsa instead of the inn?]
“Is there any reason to delay?” Cheon Mujegyeol said as he turned his steps toward where Bohyeonsa lay.
It was late in the night.
Bohyeonsa would be as quiet as ever.
But Cheon Mujegyeol, walking toward it, might well become a fierce storm that shatters that silence.
What lay hidden behind the subtle fragrance of incense and the quiet that cloaked Bohyeonsa?
To confirm it, Cheon Mujegyeol’s steps toward Bohyeonsa were resolute.

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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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