The Ignored Granddaughter of a Murim Family - Chapter 84

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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 84
I smiled faintly and continued speaking.
“Enough. What more is there to say? We’ve both insulted each other’s parents—we can’t simply let this pass. We’re martial artists, not gossiping merchants. Let our swords speak instead.”
“What?”
My words caught them off guard. Jang Cheol, Cheon Wi-eung, and their entire gang wore expressions of utter bewilderment.
“Is something wrong with his head? Did he just challenge us to a duel?”
Jang Cheol asked in disbelief.
“You’re seriously asking for a martial contest?”
“Yes.”
“Ha, fine! I accept!”
Jang Cheol’s lips twisted upward into a cruel smile—the very picture of a budding villain reveling in malice.
I gave him a moment to savor his premature victory, then continued speaking.
“Who will step forward?”
All eyes among the ruffians immediately turned toward Cheon Wi-eung.
“Young Master Cheon?”
Cheon Wi-eung spoke with a sneer.
“I heard you’re a cripple with no inner strength. How could you even hold a sword?”
“I never said I would fight.”
I answered with a smile.
“What?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You said with your own mouth that I’m a cripple with no inner strength. You expect a young master of the Orthodox Martial Arts Sects to boast about defeating a cripple? Surely you’re not foolish enough to harbor such thoughts?”
Cheon Wi-eung flinched in surprise and averted his gaze.
I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head.
“So you really were thinking exactly that?”
“N-no, I wasn’t!”
Jang Cheol, who had seemed disappointed moments before, looked at Cheon Wi-eung and lifted his chin again with renewed confidence.
His confidence was justified. Cheon Wi-eung stood a full head taller than either myself or Yalyu. This wasn’t a contest between adults but between children, and at our age, physical stature was absolutely decisive. No one doubted that Cheon Wi-eung would win.
Yet unlike Jang Cheol, Cheon Wi-eung glanced nervously at Yalyu, his expression tense. He absently touched the wrist Yalyu had gripped earlier—clearly remembering how he hadn’t been able to break free easily. His worry about Yalyu’s actual strength was plainly visible.
‘Yalyu certainly is strong.’
But strength alone doesn’t make a martial artist. Even if Yalyu possessed such remarkable talent that he could eventually match Namgung Ryu-cheong, he had never formally trained with sword or fist techniques. Against children who had wielded blades since childhood, he would inevitably fall short.
Jang Cheol shouted.
“So! Who will it be? The boy standing behind you?”
“Not him either.”
Both Yalyu and the gang of ruffians widened their eyes in surprise.
Jang Cheol shouted.
“What are you doing? Are you mocking us?”
“Just wait. My companions will arrive soon.”
“Wasting time won’t help you!”
“I said wait. They should be returning about now. Ah, there they are.”
The timing proved perfect. The source of all this trouble—Namgung Ryu-cheong—approached with Seo Ha-ryeong at his side. I wasn’t being unfair in blaming him; this entire area was Namgung Family Territory.
But Namgung Ryu-cheong, living alone in solitary refinement, the sole heir of the Namgung Clan making his first venture outside, the next generation’s leading figure of the Orthodox Martial Arts Sects—confined within the residence as he was….
There’s a saying: when the tiger is absent, the fox becomes king. With the Namgung Clan absent, Cheon Wi-eung of Cheon Bo Moon and Jang Cheol of Jang Ga-jang formed their own groups, strutting about as though they were the kings of this place.
So it was only right that Namgung Ryu-cheong settle this matter.
Only then would they watch their step around him and cease their foolishness in this territory.
‘Unlike me, who will soon depart, Namgung Ryu-cheong will continue to dwell here.’
This was absolutely not because I found it tedious to draw swords and brawl with children, but rather a matter of logical reasoning.
Namgung Ryu-cheong’s expression had hardened into stone. Perhaps sensing the unusual atmosphere of this place from afar, he asked the moment he arrived.
“What’s happened?”
“Perfect timing. Did you manage to buy the fragrant oil?”
Seo Ha-ryeong approached lightly.
“Yes, I did. When I arrived, the merchant was already trying to close shop. I nearly got scolded by Sa-jeo for being late. But what’s going on? Why is there such a crowd? Is there something to see?”
Something to see… yes, there is. Us.
The continued commotion had drawn not only me and the rowdy group of children but even onlookers to gather around.
Then Jang Cheol opened his mouth.
“N-n-n-n-namgung, namgung young master?”
He stammered so badly I thought he was singing.
“Namgung young master? Cheol, what are you talking about?”
Seo Ha-ryeong frowned upon seeing Cheon Wi-eung and Jang Cheol. I was startled to see the child who usually wore a smiling face now look so disgusted. But more startling was Namgung Ryu-cheong. Upon seeing Jang Cheol, Namgung Ryu-cheong’s brow furrowed slightly.
“…Jang young master?”
“Do you know each other?”
Namgung Ryu-cheong lowered his eyes briefly before speaking.
“My mother’s side—a ninth-degree cousin.”
“A ninth-degree cousin…?”
I sighed and spoke.
“What’s that? That makes you and me strangers.”
“…?”
“Strangers, I said.”
“Pffft!”
Seo Ha-ryeong, whose brow had been deeply furrowed, burst into laughter as though struck by an unexpected blow. Namgung Ryu-cheong glanced at her as she laughed, clutching her belly. In the end, it was I who received his glare.
Namgung Ryu-cheong muttered.
“This is truly irritating.”
Seo Ha-ryeong asked, her voice still tinged with laughter.
“What are you doing here with them?”
“He—Jang young master—suddenly called me lowborn. So I said his father’s mouth was even more lowborn. Why say more? I told him to settle it with swords.”
At my brief summary, Seo Ha-ryeong’s expression shifted dramatically. When she heard the word lowborn, her face contorted in displeasure; when I said Jang young master’s father was lowborn, she gasped in shock; and finally, her expression cleared of all mirth as she looked upon Cheon Wi-eung’s group.
Namgung Ryu-cheong was similar. His sharply narrowed eyes gleamed with cold intensity.
I shrugged and continued.
“But I have no sword, and my body isn’t in condition for a duel, so I waited for you.”
I turned to look at Jang Cheol.
His pallid, drained face was somewhat curious. Even if the Namgung Clan’s reputation was lofty and Namgung Ryu-cheong famous as a prodigy of the age, boys his age typically wouldn’t believe it until they witnessed such prowess firsthand.
Yet Jang Cheol’s face—drained of all color, tinged with an ashen blue—looked as though he’d already been beaten senseless once before.
Cheon Wi-eung strode forward and shouted as if to reassure him.
“What’s so impressive about the Namgung Young Master? Jang Cheol, why are you so frightened? I never took you for such a coward!”
Yes. Cheon Wi-eung’s reaction was the normal one.
At his words, the rest of the group seemed to relax slightly, their nervous laughter breaking through. I clicked my tongue inwardly at the sight. Fools like these needed a blade thrust in their faces just to snap to attention.
Namgung Ryu-cheong stepped forward. A part of me—the soul bearing modern Korean sensibilities—protested what I was about to make him do, but this was a world where the concept of children’s rights didn’t exist.
A world where a ten-year-old could wield a genuine steel sword without the slightest objection.
Namgung Ryu-cheong drew his blade with practiced ease. When we’d set out together, I’d watched him secure his sword and felt uneasy, wondering what business a child had with a weapon….
But now, seeing his back, I felt nothing but reassurance.
“I am of the Cheon Bo Moon….”
Namgung Ryu-cheong cut off Cheon Wi-eung’s introduction.
“Not interested. Come.”
His rudeness—the kind that would normally draw sighs—earned spontaneous applause when he was on our side.
‘Huh, that was actually kind of cool?’
Seo Ha-ryeong’s expression shifted slightly as she looked at Namgung Ryu-cheong.
‘But somehow… it feels less like admiration and more like jealousy?’
In the meantime, Cheon Wi-eung, insulted, thrashed about and drew his sword.
“You bastard! Just because you’re from the Namgung Clan, you think you’re something? A coward who hides in his family estate and never ventures out!”
Cheon Wi-eung was at least thirteen or fourteen. Namgung Ryu-cheong was ten. Cheon Wi-eung was taller by about a head, but judging by the inner power visible in his golden eyes, Namgung Ryu-cheong held a slight edge.
‘Wow, Namgung Ryu-cheong’s been eating well and growing strong.’
His inner power surpassed that of a martial family disciple older than himself.
This difference was the true strength of a clan. Unaware of this reality, Cheon Wi-eung launched his attack with unwarranted confidence.
I was taken aback.
‘Normally, with this age difference, wouldn’t the older person yield the first strike to the younger one?’
It was the height of pettiness, unworthy of those claiming to follow the Orthodox Martial Arts Sects.
Cheon Wi-eung’s sword was a heavy blade. He brought it down from above in a straightforward strike, but the force behind it was beyond what you’d expect from a child his age.
Even rotten fish is still fish—the sword technique of one trained properly since childhood. It was power that would be difficult for a child of similar build to defend against.
But if it couldn’t be blocked… then it didn’t need to be. Namgung Ryu-cheong didn’t twist his body dramatically. He simply tilted his shoulder ever so slightly and slipped past the blade.
“…Insane.”
A sigh? An exclamation?
It resembled the way my father evaded sword strikes.
‘He’s already mimicking something he’s only seen a few times….’
Goosebumps prickled across my skin at such talent.
First strike, second strike, third strike.
After parrying three blows, Namgung Ryu-cheong clenched his left fist. The trajectory of where it would strike was visible to the eye.
‘The solar plexus.’
A fist brimming with amber-hued inner power struck true with a dull thud, driving directly into Cheon Wi-eung’s solar plexus.
“…!”
Cheon Wi-eung couldn’t even cry out, doubling over and crumpling to the ground.
Clang. Instead, the sound of Cheon Wi-eung’s sword clattering to the floor rang out loudly.
“….”
“….”
“Next.”

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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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