Namgung myeong
'This is absurd.'
There was no need to guess who had stolen the sword.
Unless one deliberately chose not to suspect Namgung Myung, there should have been at least a few days' gap between the day he asked if the sword was for sale and the day he disappeared.
Hong Geolgae left a dry remark.
"Guess you really looked like an easy mark."
"No, this isn't about looking like an easy mark. Namgung Myung must've lost his mind. Who commits a theft that's bound to be discovered instantly?"
"Anyway, what now?"
"Go and get it back."
"You think that's possible?"
That simple question struck Tang Mujin speechless.
Rationally speaking, going after Namgung Myung was a terrible choice.
The Namgung Clan was far too great an opponent for Tang Mujin to challenge. He could even forge a sword of similar or greater quality.
And considering that Namgung Myung had blatantly stolen the weapon, there was no chance he would meekly return it when asked.
But the thought of giving up never crossed his mind. The reason was simple: because it was unfair.
Just then, Goiyi came out of the cabin and sat down beside him.
Given Goiyi's usual temperament, Tang Mujin expected him to cackle and tease. Instead, Goiyi spoke of something entirely unexpected.
"Whether you succeed or not, at least try. Once you've stepped into the martial world, better to be a mad dog than a fool."
"Elder, I know this well since I've lived as a beggar, but mad dogs get beaten to death with clubs."
"A man who bows his back without even attempting to resist is no different from a corpse, even if he still breathes. If strength is lacking, you may be defeated and robbed. But accepting humiliation becomes a habit."
Goiyi's words struck at the very part of Tang Mujin's heart that had been chafing. He leapt to his feet.
"You're right. Whether it works or not, I must at least try. The problem is—how do we even find Namgung Myung?"
"Obviously, at the Namgung Clan. By now he'll be riding hard for his family estate."
"Where exactly is the Namgung Clan? On the way to Luoyang?"
"No. It's a bit out of the way. The Namgung Clan lies in Anhui Province."
Tang Mujin studied Goiyi's expression.
To head there would mean veering far off course from the road to Luoyang. Yet Goiyi seemed unconcerned.
"Then, assuming we go to Anhui—what's the best way?"
"Getting off here and riding horses would be fastest. But neither you nor Hong Geolgae can ride, so better to stay on the boat until Anhui, then travel a little by land."
It would mean staying aboard longer than planned.
But Tang Mujin wasn't worried about the fare. He'd tended to the sailors' ailments steadily these past days. If anything, they owed him money, not the other way around.
"Still… what was Namgung Myung thinking, to do something like this?"
"Thinking? That brat probably doesn't even believe he did anything wrong."
"How can that be?"
"Don't expect disciples of great sects to think like ordinary men. Especially a naïve one like Namgung Myung. To him, the world is nothing but his clan."
Namgung Myung spurred his horse with glee.
Each time its hooves struck earth, the sword in his pack rattled. Normally that noise would have annoyed him. Today it was sheer delight.
Until recently, he had dreaded returning from his roaming of Jianghu, afraid of his father's and clan elders' judgment.
But now everything had changed. He could not wait to show them the sword.
At first, guilt had pricked him for laying hands on another man's property.
Yet after days of riding and reflection, he convinced himself this was good for everyone. For himself and the Namgung Clan, certainly—but even for Tang Mujin, who had "lost" the sword.
After all, such a masterpiece should rest in the hands of one who could truly wield it.
If such a peerless work remained with a mere physician, not even a true warrior, then surely the sword's maker would weep in the afterlife.
Tang Mujin might be upset now. But a man who cannot bear such a weapon will only invite disaster.
Fortunately, a righteous chivalrous man like himself had seized it first. Imagine if some notorious demon had found it!
Of course the demon would have slain Tang Mujin and his companions to claim it.
By taking it before that could happen, Namgung Myung had saved three lives.
'Surely this is what people mean when they say fortune and misfortune are two sides of the same coin.'
Much worse might have happened.
Suppose a mighty demon wielded this sword and slew eminent righteous heroes—then countless lives they would have saved would be lost instead.
Or if a bloodbath erupted over who should own the weapon, the tragedy would be unthinkable.
But all such horrors were averted thanks to Namgung Myung's bold decision. The sword now rested with the heirs of one of the Five Great Clans.
'This was never selfish greed.'
He felt like an unsung hero, a knight errant working in secret.
For now his hands were stained, but because of him, untold innocents who might have perished would go on living—never even knowing how close they had come to death.
Time flies when one is happy. Fantasizing as he rode, the journey to the Namgung Clan passed in a flash.
"Young Master, you've returned."
"Yes."
The guards at the Namgung estate gate inclined their heads. For the heir of the clan, their manner was curt. But Namgung Myung found nothing odd in it.
Hurrying, he went to the Namgung Clan's main hall, the Hall of Rising Dragons .
As he approached, a guard stepped forward.
"You cannot enter now. The elders are in council."
"Understood."
Namgung Myung loitered outside without even unpacking.
When enough elders—law protectors, clan chiefs, and others—finally emerged, he slipped inside.
The first person he saw was his father, Namgung Jincheon. A few elders still lingered.
Namgung Myung bowed deeply.
"Father, your son has returned."
"Well enough. You've endured hardship. Go and rest."
As always, his father's tone was terse.
Usually, Namgung Myung would have felt relief and scurried off. But not today.
"Please wait a moment. I have something to show you."
"What is it?"
"A sword. You will be astonished."
From his pack he brought forth two blades wrapped in cloth and set them upon the table.
First he unwrapped the Three Peaks Sword . Its battered, ruined state was plain.
Namgung Jincheon calmly raised his right hand and slapped him across the face.
Smack—thud.
Namgung Myung sprawled clumsily across the hall floor. The scene was noisy, but no one was surprised.
Not Namgung Jincheon, not the elders, not even Namgung Myung himself.
"A truly astonishing sword indeed. When I entrusted you with the Three Peaks Sword, I told you clearly to take good care of it. Have you already forgotten?"
"I have not forgotten."
"Good. Commander Geum! Fetch the whip."
He could stomach slaps—those were routine. But not a whipping. Before the commander left, Namgung Myung frantically waved his hands.
"No, wait! Once you see this, you will surely change your mind."
He unwrapped the second blade—Tang Mujin's sword.
Compared to the Sam-Bong Sword, the scabbard and hilt of this blade were almost unbearably plain. Namgung Jincheon's brows furrowed.
Before his father's hand could rise again, Namgung Myeong quickly continued his explanation.
"It's not what it seems on the surface. Please, take a look."
Namgung Myeong drew the Danhon Sword from its scabbard. The blade was just as unadorned as the scabbard.
No black sheen of blacksteel, no clear gray luster of refined meteoric iron, no chilling aura of everlasting coldsteel.
And yet, the Sword Demon Namgung Jincheon instantly sensed that this blade was different.
He lifted the humble sword and examined its edge.
Ordinary smiths, when told to forge a sword, would simply make it thin and sharp.
But those worthy of being called swordsmiths ceaselessly pondered over the angle of the edge—sharp, yet not easily dulled.
There were infinite possible angles for a blade's edge. Thus, Namgung Jincheon's creed had always been that no "perfect blade" could exist. At least, until this very moment.
This one… is different.
Perfect. Or as close to perfection as any blade forged by human hands could ever be.
Could this be the mere coincidence of chance? Surely so. The infinite and the absolute do not so easily permit mortals to trespass upon their domain.
He tapped the blade lightly against the table. Being wood, the table produced no ringing chime, yet vibrations still passed through his fingertips.
From those vibrations, he could feel an evenness—an unbroken consistency without the slightest flaw.
"Hm."
Namgung Jincheon sat down once more. This was no weapon to be dismissed lightly.
Perhaps this sword was not born of chance at all.
Though he had never forged a sword himself, he had wielded them his entire life.
That was why they called him the Sword Demon . He knew blades better than most smiths ever would.
This was not a sword made of the finest materials. It was forged from base iron—metal fit for farm tools, or at best a lady's ornamental dagger.
A blade forged of such iron could never find its way into the hands of Namgung clan warriors. Namgung, after all, claimed pride as the foremost sword clan under heaven.
But if such base iron could be wrought into a sword surpassing the finest tempered steel, then the story changed entirely.
Namgung Jincheon swung the blade through the air.
Perfect balance. The tip bent with supple elasticity yet returned without instability.
He pressed the edge lightly against the corner of the table and pushed. The wooden corner parted cleanly away.
Low-grade material, yet craftsmanship so transcendent it defied his eye for judgment.
Namgung Jincheon's one question was: why would a craftsman of such skill use base iron to forge such a masterpiece?
A memory stirred.
Mandala .
He recalled the monks he had seen in his youth in Tibet.
They spent days, even weeks, painstakingly creating mandalas with colored sand—vivid depictions of countless Buddhas whose names he never knew, yet whose images remained seared in memory.
But when a mandala was completed, the monks themselves destroyed it.
They gathered the sand and scattered it into the river, to remind themselves of life's impermanence, having already fulfilled their purpose of spiritual discipline.
Namgung Jincheon thought this sword was akin to such a mandala.
Perhaps some blacksmith sought enlightenment before his forge.
A mandala wrought of nothing but sand.
A peerless sword wrought of nothing but base iron.
Unlike the mandala, however, this blade had found its way into his hands before it could be scattered to nothingness.
He gripped the plain blade and looked at the Sam-Bong Sword.
In a flash, he swung. The Sam-Bong Sword, already marred with cracks, split cleanly in two.
"Patriarch!"
The elders cried out in shock. None among them was unfamiliar with the Sam-Bong Sword.
But moments later, their eyes all turned to the plain sword in Namgung Jincheon's hand—its edge still flawless.
Placing the blade upon the dais, Namgung Jincheon looked at Namgung Myeong.
"You have brought a new divine sword into Namgung's house. Where did you obtain it?"
Of course, Namgung Myeong could hardly say, I stole it from a physician aboard a ship.
Instead, he relied upon the image he had always dreamt of presenting to the martial world.
"I saved a man in peril, and he gifted me this sword, saying it was an heirloom of his household."
"A fortuitous encounter, then."
With a wave of Namgung Jincheon's hand, the steward approached and bowed low.
"You called, Patriarch?"
"He has acted with righteousness and gained a rare fortune. Such a day must be celebrated. Prepare a banquet to last ten days."
"As you command."
Namgung Myeong could hardly believe his ears. He had grown used to his father's hand striking his cheek, but not once in his life could he recall receiving praise.
And now his father was declaring a ten-day banquet in his honor? It was unbelievable.
Overjoyed, Namgung Myeong left Deungnyong Pavilion. Today, the world itself seemed beautiful.
When Tang Mujin's party neared Namgung Manor, they sensed a peculiar air.
The whole village was buzzing, and martial artists could be seen everywhere.
Goiyi instantly understood the situation.
"They're holding a banquet."
"A banquet?"
"His first journey into the martial world went well, so they're celebrating. If the village is in an uproar and warriors have gathered from all around, then this Namgung Myeong is no side-branch child. He's almost certainly the son of Namgung Jincheon himself, the clan head."
At that moment, Hong Geolgae chimed in with an eager look.
"I'll be off to scrounge a meal. Call me if you need me."
Lately, traveling with Tang Mujin had kept Hong Geolgae from begging as usual. Even when eating good food, he seemed restless. Now, with an opportunity at hand, he was quick to disappear.
In an instant, Tang Mujin and Goiyi were left alone.
Tang Mujin pondered deeply. How could he enter Namgung Manor and retrieve his sword?
But Goiyi did not share his hesitation. He simply strode toward Namgung Manor.
"What exactly are you planning? Do you even have a strategy?"
"From the look of things, the banquet is nearing its end. Figure out what to do once we're inside."
"Wouldn't it be better to wait until the banquet is over? If we ruin the festivities, we'll only earn their enmity."
"Namgung Jincheon is one of the Six Sovereigns, a man at the pinnacle of the transcendent realm. Whisper the wrong thing in a dark corner, and you could lose your head without a trace. Safer to speak when there are witnesses."
Coming from someone like Goiyi, who clearly had a history of troublemaking, the reasoning was disturbingly convincing.
Yet there was something Tang Mujin still struggled to accept.
"He's the head of the famed Namgung clan. You mean to tell me he'd kill a man simply because he displeased him?"
"I've never spoken with Namgung Jincheon at length, so I can't say what kind of man he is. But assuming that a swordsman famed for slaughter is a saint? That would be foolish."
Before long, the two stood before the grand gates of Namgung Manor.
The gate guards approached them.
"You appear to be martial men. May we have your names?"
"Tell them that Physician Yi Chung and Physician Tang Mujin have come seeking a stolen sword."
Goiyi had chosen the path of direct confrontation.