The World’s Greatest Junior Martial Brother - Chapter 15

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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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Cheonha Jeil Sajae (15)
Square within a square within a square
“Please overlook it if the Old Clan Head says things that make no sense.”
Dang Jong-o drew in a breath.
“And I’d appreciate it if you let it slide when he brings up something completely out of the blue.”
Twenty years had passed since he handed over the clan leadership, yet Dang Cheon’s influence over the Tang Clan remained absolute. As a result, not only his children but his grandchildren as well called him Old Clan Head and treated him with reverence.
“That isn’t what he truly means, though.”
Guards bristling with sharpened vigilance stood at every turn throughout the Tang Clan, watching for intruders.
Dang Jong-o accepted it as a matter of course and walked past without a second thought.
‘Semi-wartime guard?’
He had heard that the Murim Alliance was split into two factions and locked in confrontation.
The clash between the Six Gates and Seven Families.
On the Nine Sects’ side, six sects had stepped forward, excluding Shaolin, Wudang, and Huashan. Among the martial clans, the existing Five Great Families had been joined by the Tang Clan and Geomgak.
Until now, the Nine Sects and One Clan had held the reins of the Murim Alliance, but the Five Great Families, led by the Tang Clan and Geomgak, rose up against them, and the two sides began to eye each other with suspicion. This is the clash of the Six Gates and Seven Families.
Of course, this rivalry was only possible because the Demonic Cult had fallen.
With the enemy they had both regarded as a common threat destroyed, what remained was a struggle over the spoils.
‘Thirteen years ago, the Tang Clan was not this hostile.’
As Jin Muok watched the guards’ sharp, tense aura, Dang Jong-o added, as if making an excuse.
“Of course, the Old Clan Head is mostly perfectly fine.”
He was talking in circles, but the meaning was plain: Dang Cheon’s mind came and went.
‘Hmm.’
A crease formed on Jin Muok’s nose, and Dang Jong-o drew in a breath, his expression saying, ‘You’re quick to catch on.’
“To be honest, the Old Clan Head sometimes shows signs of delirium. Only occasionally, mind you.”
So it was dementia.
“When the delirium comes, the Old Clan Head seems to forget himself, forget our Tang Clan, and even lose track of the years.”
The melancholy in his eyes was enough to stir something in Jin Muok’s chest.
He cares for his grandfather this much. At least Old Master Dang Cheon has been blessed with a devoted grandson.
“But the Old Master is only seventy years old…”
Generally, reaching seventy was considered rare since ancient times, which is why it is given the name ‘gohui’ (rare age). In other words, very few people live to be seventy.
But for martial artists, the situation is different.
Martial artists begin each day with Unggi Josik, and since they train with all manner of weapons and movements close to artistry, they boast physical stamina far beyond that of ordinary people.
The same goes for mental health.
While ordinary village elders, once past sixty, fade into the back room and while away their days entertaining their grandchildren, the veteran martial figures of the Jianghu remain remarkably vigorous.
Dang Cheon is no different.
When Jin Muok last saw him, he had been vigorous and full of energy, belying his fifty-eight years.
And that Dang Cheon has now lost his mind? It’s only been thirteen years.
‘This was the man who drank for three days and nights straight, then tugged at my sleeve begging for one more cup.’
As Jin Muok recalled his last drinking session with Dang Cheon and tried to suppress the melancholy, Dang Jong-o let slip a single sigh of a remark.
“I hope he’s lucid today.”
Having led Jin Muok to a room where the faint scent of medicinal decoction drifted out, Dang Jong-o bent down to meet his eye level.
“Like I said, the Old Clan Head is…”
“We greet Young Master Jong-o!”
“We greet you!”
The guards posted at the room saluted Dang Jong-o with a fist-in-palm bow, showing full respect.
“Brother, you’re hard at work today.”
Dang Jong-o commended the guards who stood watch over Dang Cheon’s room. The Tang Clan, by principle, aspired to a single bloodline, so most of them were relatives.
The one guarding Dang Cheon’s room was a man named Bang Jiuk, Dang Jong-o’s first cousin on his mother’s side.
“And who’s this?”
Bang Jiuk noticed Jin Muok standing dumbly beside Dang Jong-o.
“Ah.”
Dang Jong-o turned to look at Jin Muok.
“This is Jin Muok, the beloved disciple of the great hero Northern Gale Jin Muok. He’s the boy the Old Clan Head has been looking for.”
The moment Dang Jong-o finished speaking, Bang Jiuk strode forward, stepping right up in front of Jin Muok.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Body
(Soushen: body search)
search, it is.”
“Didn’t I just tell you this boy is the one the Old Clan Head has been looking for?”
Dang Jong-o protested sharply, but Bang Jiuk and the guards were already patting down Jin Muok’s body.
“That has nothing to do with it. From today on, anyone who wants to see the Old Clan Head, not just this boy, must go through the body search procedure.”
“Me too?”
“There are no exceptions.”
“Hah.”
Faced with the guards’ stone-hard refusal, Dang Jong-o let out a dry laugh, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Whose order is this? Surely it isn’t my father’s?”
The one Dang Jong-o referred to was his father, the current Clan Head of the Tang Clan, Dang Junkyu.
As one might expect, since Dang Junkyu was Dang Cheon’s legitimate son, he had inherited the position of Clan Head from him.
‘Dang Junkyu, huh. He was no easy man.’
Jin Muok recalled his first meeting with Dang Junkyu.
Back then, Dang Junkyu held the formidable status of Clan Head of the Tang Clan, yet he had dismissed the servant girls and poured the wine for Dang Cheon and Jin Muok himself, all while probing for news of the Murim Alliance. He was an ambitious man.
The banquet dragged on for over three hours, yet Dang Junkyu didn’t take a single sip of wine.
‘Right. A man like Dang Junkyu would try to control the entire situation in the Tang Clan. Even his own father.’
Bang Jiuk’s silence was his answer to Dang Jong-o’s question.
“We only follow orders, so please set your anger aside.”
“There’s no reason to be angry with Brother.”
Dang Jong-o smiled bitterly, went through the motions of being searched, and then placed both hands on Jin Muok’s shoulders and pushed him forward.
“Can we go in now?”
Dang Jong-o brushed off the guards, who begged forgiveness for their rudeness with their eyes, and stepped into Dang Cheon’s room alongside Jin Muok.
“Old Clan Head, it’s your grandson.”
Silence.
The darkness, where not a single ray of light entered, returned no echo at all.
The gloom seemed ready to swallow everything whole. It was less eerie than it was empty, but Dang Jong-o continued speaking as calmly as if he were used to such moments.
“And I’ve brought the last disciple of Jin Muok, the Northern Gale Hero, whom you were looking for, Old Clan Head.”
Ssshk!
The darkness, which had been layered endlessly and sinking ceaselessly, suddenly stirred as if a dragon were coiling within it.
Whoosh—!
The room brightened like dawn breaking.
‘Hm?’
Even in the dark, Jin Muok had sharpened his Eye Power and roughly sensed what was in the room, but now he beheld an unexpected sight and furrowed his brow.
“You’re at your painting again today, I see.”
Just as Dang Jong-o said, Dang Cheon was painting. Beside the painting, he was busy hanging densely packed annotations whose meaning was impossible to grasp.
Not satisfied with the mountain of paper, he had covered the floor and walls with paintings from end to end.
Dang Cheon, who had been turning the room into a mess, suddenly raised his head.
“Muok?”
“No. This boy is the last disciple of the Northern Gale Hero, Jin Muok, as he was—”
“Enough of that nonsense!”
Dang Cheon shouted and stepped forward.
“Muok came back alive like this, so what’s all this talk about disciples!”
Ha…
Dang Jong-o sighed inwardly.
Well, look at this old man.
Jin Muok fixed his gaze on Dang Cheon.
“You there! Why did it take you so long to come back!”
Staggering unsteadily up to Jin Muok, Dang Cheon was no longer the man he had been thirteen years ago.
His white hair was a tangled mess, and his eyes looked drunk on something. The eyes of a madman with white hair. His once immaculate appearance was disheveled and sprawled, making him look like nothing more than a beggar.
“What’s this strange rag you’re wearing? Are you trying to play some trick on me?”
Jin Muok said nothing. Dang Cheon roughly gripped his shoulders, but he swayed like duckweed, drifting wherever he was shaken and stopping wherever he was stopped.
‘My time stopped ten years ago, in Sipman Daesan. Where is yours trapped?’
Dang Jong-o, judging that Jin Muok had frozen in confusion as he gazed vacantly at the ceiling, cautiously stepped in.
“Old Clan Head, this boy isn’t Jin Muok, the Northern Gale Hero. He’s that man’s last disciple.”
Dang Jong-o calmly explained, but Dang Cheon let his grandson’s words go in one ear and out the other as he kept shaking Jin Muok.
“Hm? Speak up. Why are you looking so wretched?”
“I’m saying this boy is a disciple…”
“A disciple, you say?”
Dang Cheon looked back and forth between Dang Jong-o, who was explaining again, and Jin Muok, before finally rising with a wobbly sway.
“So he really is a disciple.”
Drooping shoulders. A vacant face.
Dang Cheon staggered back over to the corner of the room and crouched down.
“Well, now.”
Dang Jong-o scratched his head as Dang Cheon visibly lost his spirit.
Still embarrassed at having shown Dang Cheon’s unsightly state in front of a stranger, and sorry for putting him in such an awkward spot, Dang Jong-o finally spoke, his expression giving both away.
“I hope you can understand…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Jin Muok grinned.
“I can tell you’re a decent man, so there’s no need to make excuses. Just leave this place to me and go on ahead.”
“Leave it to you? The Old Clan Head isn’t in his right mind, you know.”
“I said it’s fine.”
Waving Dang Jong-o off, Jin Muok stepped toward Dang Cheon.
“I’ll soothe the old man’s temper by reminiscing about Northern Storm Gale. So you go and look after our senior brother.”
“Hmm?”
“I know a thing or two about Northern Storm Gale, you see.”
It was phrased as a request, yet it sounded more like an order. He was supposedly Baekri Unhak’s junior brother, but his bearing belonged to someone a generation above even his senior brother, if not more.
What he means is a request, but it somehow sounds like an order. They say he’s Baekri Unhak’s junior brother, yet his manner is that of someone a generation above not just his senior brother, but above even him.
‘So that’s why he called him a monster?’
The one line Namgung Ildo had shouted hoarsely the moment he regained his senses.
Monster.
Dang Jong-o silently watched the back of the small, cute monster, far less imposing than he’d imagined, before turning away with a thin, wire-like smile on his lips.
“Well then.”
He said he would return in about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, and left the room, but Jin Muok wasn’t listening to him.
“Let’s see now.”
Jin Muok glanced at Dang Cheon scribbling something in a corner, then looked around the room, now a complete mess.
Thirteen years ago, Dang Cheon’s room had been brimming with refined taste.
With rare orchids and elegant ink paintings, and furnished with simple yet spotless fixtures that completed its dignified air, Dang Cheon’s room had been a garden in its own right.
That was thirteen years ago, mind you.
But now, this place held nothing but crumpled trash tossed carelessly about, messy scribbles, and an old madman with his hair let loose.
“Where on earth did he sell off all those orchids and paintings he used to treasure so much…”
As he turned his gaze over the scribbles on the wall, lost in thought, Jin Muok tilted his head.
Huh?
‘Did I see something wrong?’
Tilting his head once more, Jin Muok cast his eyes back to the wall.
An endless repetition of countless squares and strangely perfect circles. No matter how he looked at it, it was clearly just scribbling from which no meaning could be drawn.
This?
Jin Muok took a step back from the wall, widened his eyes, and focused.
Shimmer.
A riot of squares, circles, and triangles, squirming and shifting.
This time, rather than his eyes, he opened his mind, and through Jin Muok’s synesthesia the shapes on the floor and the symbols on the wall came pouring in as if about to spill over.
Square within square within square within square within square within square.
Circle prying into square prying into square prying into square prying into square.
Triangle piercing square piercing square piercing square piercing square piercing square.
Kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa.
Every square that had devoured the circles and triangles tangled and intertwined, fusing into a single, unified square that rose into the middle of the sky.
‘This, this is!’
Then that square, now become a sky, shattered at some point like grains of sand and scattered across the earth.
Yes, there was no doubt about it!
“Manchun Hwau!”
The words burst from Jin Muok’s lips on their own, and behind him came a frenzied remark.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
The moment Jin Muok turned his head, Dang Cheon shouted with unwavering conviction.
“I knew it! You really are Jin Muok!”

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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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