Banyonggweol
An unnamed disciple of the Seongrim Sect shouted at the top of his lungs.
"It's him! He's the one who harmed our Sect Leader!"
He must have been secretly observing the situation from hiding, then slipped out to request aid from the Cheongseong Sect.
Huang Ryeongja, the branch master of Cheongseong Sect in Seongdo, and Jin Song, the chief instructor, were greatly taken aback by the sudden turn of events. They had thought it was just some wicked demon or rogue causing trouble, but instead, they were confronted with a familiar face.
More than that, their acquaintance with Tang Mujin was not a mere passing one.
Just a few months ago, Tang Mujin had crafted a magnificent sword for Huang Ryeongja at almost the cost of scrap iron, and Jin Song was next in line to receive a blade.
The attachment martial artists have to their swords runs deep.
Martial skill can be attained through relentless effort, but a famed sword cannot be obtained by effort alone.
A true sword of renown is a chance encounter bestowed by heaven itself.
And in the eyes of Huang Ryeongja and Jin Song, Tang Mujin was that very living miracle.
Huang Ryeongja recalled the day he had visited the Seok blacksmiths' forge and discovered a dagger that hadn't even been properly sharpened yet.
When he was told that the dagger was not the work of Seok Yajang or Seok Jiseung but of Tang Mujin, the shock still lingered vividly in his memory.
Had he known where Tang Mujin was, Huang Ryeongja might have abandoned the Seongdo branch entirely to follow him.
After waiting anxiously for more than a year, he had finally received a new sword. His attachment to it was profound, and so was his goodwill toward the one who forged it.
'…What should I do?'
Huang Ryeongja decided to calm the flustered Seongrim disciple first.
"Let's assess the situation before letting anger rule us."
"How can I possibly calm down? Our Sect Leader was mercilessly…"
"Tsk."
The sound of Huang Ryeongja, a peak-level master, clicking his tongue made the disciple freeze, belatedly realizing his place. The gulf between a third-rate martial artist and one at the peak was that vast.
Huang Ryeongja studied Tang Mujin's appearance. Something about it felt odd.
At first, hearing the disciple's claims, he had imagined an evildoer soaked in demonic energy and dripping with blood.
But Tang Mujin's gaze was as gentle and composed as ever, and not a single drop of blood stained his clothes.
Even so, Huang Ryeongja could not openly take his side. He asked,
"Young Tang, is it true that you killed the Sect Leader of Seongrim?"
"…What? No, it's not."
Huang Ryeongja gestured toward the disciple behind him.
"This man claims he saw the Sect Leader fall to you."
"…I said he might have died. I never said it was certain, Elder."
The man quickly backtracked a step. Huang Ryeongja shot him a glare, then turned back to Tang Mujin.
"We should confirm the Sect Leader's condition first. Where is he?"
"He's resting in his chamber."
"…Resting? Sleeping, you mean?"
"Yes. Please, come this way."
Tang Mujin led the three into the chamber, where the Sect Leader lay peacefully asleep.
Huang Ryeongja and Jin Song turned sharp gazes upon the disciple, who was now visibly unsettled.
"T-that's impossible…"
Ahem.
Huang Ryeongja cleared his throat, displeased, and checked the Sect Leader's state himself.
His breathing was calm, his energy channels intact, his limbs whole, not even a bruise on his body.
"No injuries at all… but it's strange he won't wake."
"I administered something. He'll awaken by midday."
He didn't seem to be lying to cover himself.
Sensing the tide turning against him, the disciple cried out desperately,
"But Banyonggweol! Banyonggweol was definitely taken away!"
By now, his credibility was gone. Huang Ryeongja asked halfheartedly,
"Is that so? Young Tang, where is this Banyonggweol?"
"In his own room."
The disciple shut his eyes tightly in despair. Huang Ryeongja pressed further.
"Is he dead or injured? Have his meridians been severed, his limbs broken?"
"No, nothing like that."
"Of course, I trust you, but since we've come this far, we should confirm his state. Please bring him here."
The four left the chamber. Tang Mujin walked a little ahead and soon returned with an unconscious Banyonggweol, slung limply in his grasp.
Huang Ryeongja carefully inspected him. His hands and feet were bound, but he bore no obvious injuries, his meridians intact, his dantian unharmed.
Only his qi flow seemed agitated, likely from mental shock.
'He must have been traumatized seeing his master subdued.'
As a martial artist of Cheongseong, Huang Ryeongja was accustomed to dismissing psychological weakness as mere frailty.
There was nothing serious here. He decided to resolve the matter with a simple question.
"I expected some grave calamity, but it seems this is nothing at all. That aside, Young Tang, why exactly did you enter Seongrim and cause such commotion?"
"When I left home this evening and was returning around the hour of the boar, I felt strange presences behind me. Turning, I found six masked men."
"Mm. And then?"
"They attacked me without a word, swinging clubs at the back of my head. I subdued them, and upon cutting a mask, I found Banyonggweol's face beneath."
Tang Mujin produced the neatly cut mask.
Huang Ryeongja glanced at Jin Song. Unlike himself, who rarely left the branch, Jin Song often strolled through Seongdo and was well aware of local affairs and rumors.
"It's likely true. Banyonggweol's gang is rather infamous troublemakers in the area."
"You should have punished them earlier."
"As martial men of Cheongseong, they were too far beneath us to bother with. And around me, they kept themselves low and quiet, so it was hard to act."
Huang Ryeongja nodded in satisfaction and asked Tang Mujin,
"And then what did you do?"
"I let them go, intending to settle it later, but I couldn't rest easy, so I came to Seongrim."
Hearing the full account, it wouldn't have been strange if Tang Mujin had killed Banyonggweol outright.
Striking someone's head with a club was no small matter—at best, they faint, at worst, they're crippled or dead.
The fact that Banyonggweol wore a mask made it clear he was planning some illicit act.
And for a low-level martial artist to recklessly attack a superior was in itself a crime worthy of losing a limb.
Yet Banyonggweol lived, unscathed. This only proved Tang Mujin's benevolence and restraint.
Huang Ryeongja decided to settle the disturbance then and there.
"It seems you were caught up in troublesome affairs, Young Tang. But since the disciple thought he saw the Sect Leader fall, it's understandable he rushed here in panic. No punishment will be sought. Go home and rest."
The disciple, realizing his meddling had backfired, wore an embarrassed look as he retreated.
Huang Ryeongja also said to Tang Mujin,
"Tomorrow, I shall personally visit Seongrim and question Banyonggweol for his crimes. Tonight, you should rest."
But unexpectedly, Tang Mujin objected.
"That won't do."
"Hm?"
"Behind Banyonggweol stands Salmak."
"Salmak?"
What a sudden claim. Though Salmak was known as a filthy group of assassins, they would never accept such a fool as a killer.
And in Huang Ryeongja's eyes, Banyonggweol clearly fell short of their standards.
But Tang Mujin's voice carried a strange heat and conviction.
"Why do you believe so?"
Unlike earlier, his demeanor was no longer calm or composed. His explanation added nothing new—six masked men attacking at night, nothing more.
No tattoo of Salmak, no direct killing witnessed.
Yet Tang Mujin insisted Banyonggweol was an assassin of Salmak, that he had slain countless people.
Huang Ryeongja and Jin Song wished to support him, but even so, his leap of logic was far too great.
Privately, Huang Ryeongja was relieved the disciple had already left.
"Young Tang, that is pure speculation."
"No. He is without doubt a killer of Salmak."
His stance was oddly unyielding. Huang Ryeongja stepped back.
"…Very well. Tomorrow, I'll summon Banyonggweol and thoroughly investigate his ties to Salmak. For tonight, let it rest."
As he tried to close the matter, Tang Mujin's expression shifted visibly.
A look as though seized by extreme anxiety.
"No. We cannot spare Salmak's spawn. We must force a confession from him now and sever his head on the spot."
Tang Mujin's hand kept fidgeting with the hilt at his waist, as though he longed to cut Banyonggweol down himself.
Huang Ryeongja spoke sternly.
"Young Tang, don't make this worse. You are fated to become a physician one day—rumors of you harming others will do you no good."
"The danger is already at our doorstep. Do we truly have the luxury of discussing the aftermath? To survive, we must pluck out the root of calamity now."
Huang Ryeongja saw the tremor in Tang Mujin's eyes. This was not normal.
It wasn't just his gaze. With firm steps, Tang Mujin advanced toward Banyonggweol, as though determined to take him away no matter the cost.
But neither Huang Ryeongja nor Jin Song intended to let Tang Mujin act recklessly. Had Banyonggweol been slain the moment of the ambush, it would have been another matter. But to kill him now, belatedly, would look ill.
When they stepped in his way, Tang Mujin glared at the two with sharp, dangerous eyes. The intent to resolve matters by force was plain.
His hand toyed with his hilt, but in the end he did not draw the sword—raising his fists instead.
He wished to kill Banyonggweol, but he did not wish to harm Huang Ryeongja or Jin Song.
Huang Ryeongja did not back down. Martial artists were used to solving disputes with strength, not words.
"Jin Song. Take Banyonggweol away."
"Elder, are you planning to fight?"
"Yes."
With that curt reply, he addressed Tang Mujin.
"Young Tang, I won't injure you too badly. Like the Sect Leader, you'll simply sleep until tomorrow midday and wake with a clear head."
Huang Ryeongja did not draw his sword. Instead, he assumed the stance of Shattered-Monument Thousand-Hand Palm.
Though Cheongseong Sect's palm arts were considered weaker than others, they were more than sufficient to subdue an opponent a few levels below.
He struck first with an outstretched palm. It looked almost casual, but the gesture carried enough force to smash through a stone pillar.
Tang Mujin did not retreat, swinging his arms to ward off the strike and counter. There was no killing intent toward Huang Ryeongja—but neither was there the slightest hint of yielding.
No, killing intent existed—it simply wasn't directed at Huang Ryeongja, but toward Banyonggweol. It only grew thicker with each passing moment.
Palm and fist collided again and again, the intensity of the clash making one forget no blades were drawn.
After ten exchanges, even Huang Ryeongja grew unsettled. He had thought to suppress him easily, but Tang Mujin's skill was formidable.
The depth of his palm arts rivaled the Shattered-Monument style, and his insight was anything but shallow.
"Is this Shaolin fistwork?"
Tang Mujin's movements bore the hallmarks of Shaolin: techniques that valued flow and circulation over single decisive strikes, circular Buddhist patterns, and occasional half-palms interspersed between moves.
And, curiously, the subtle aura of Pasa Hyeonjeong—righteous force dispelling evil.
"Strange. His mind seems unstable, yet his palm strikes radiate orthodox Shaolin virtue."
Even more troublesome was the dark energy that clung to his palms.
It wasn't poison meant to kill, yet its influence on the fight was undeniable.
Even so, defeat was not in question. The gulf between them was too wide. The real problem was whether Huang Ryeongja could subdue him without leaving wounds.
"This won't be easy."
Jin Song dared not intervene, keeping his distance. To attack alongside Huang Ryeongja against Tang Mujin would have looked disgraceful, especially since Tang Mujin's skill, though great, was not above the elder's.
The ominous energy swirling around Tang Mujin's body was also troubling—Jin Song lacked the mastery to drive it away mid-battle.
As the stalemate dragged on, Huang Ryeongja caught sight of a figure approaching behind Tang Mujin.
A tall, well-built youth in a dark ash-gray night-robes, his movements light and sure—clearly versed in martial arts.
At first, Huang Ryeongja thought he had come to aid Tang Mujin. But then the youth raised a finger to his lips, signaling silence.
He crept closer, biding his time behind Tang Mujin.
"Haahp!"
Huang Ryeongja pressed harder with a burst of fierce strikes, drawing Tang Mujin's full attention.
When Tang Mujin was wholly engrossed, the youth slipped behind and chopped the back of his neck with a knife-hand.
Tak!
A light blow—but enough. Tang Mujin collapsed unconscious.
So silently had the youth moved that even as he fell, Tang Mujin seemed unaware of what had happened.
Huang Ryeongja exhaled in relief. The youth clasped his fist in salute.
"Forgive me for intruding so rudely."
Of course, Huang Ryeongja was not petty enough to take offense.
"No, I thank you. Whoever you may be, your aid was invaluable."
Unlike him, Jin Song recognized the youth.
"You are Young Tang's friend, are you not? If I recall—Young Master Myeong? I heard you have been staying together at the Tang family's clinic."
"That's right."
"…Will this not cause strife between you?"
For in a sense, Namgung Myeong had betrayed his friend by striking him from behind to aid outsiders.
But Namgung Myeong only shrugged lightly.
"It's fine. When a friend loses himself, waking him up is what true friends do. Besides, Elder, you looked ready to draw your sword any moment. Was it not better to end this without bloodshed?"
Huang Ryeongja gave a short cough.
Indeed, Namgung Myeong was right—had blades been drawn, the fight would have ended in injury, if not worse.
Jin Song, now grasping the situation, bowed again in thanks.
"Wise judgment. When did you arrive?"
"Not long ago. I was out admiring the moon when I noticed the fight and stopped to watch."
Jin Song lifted his gaze to the sky.
The stars were bright, but the moon was a mere sliver—not the best night for moon-gazing.
Namgung Myeong added quickly,
"I prefer the crescent moon to the full."
The world is vast, and such preferences are no oddity. Both Jin Song and Huang Ryeongja nodded.
For a moment, the three simply looked at the unconscious Tang Mujin and Banyonggweol, unsure how best to resolve matters.
But leaving them here was clearly unwise.
In the end, they carried the two back to the Cheongseong Sect's Seongdo branch.
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