Taking Up the Sword (2)
Neung Ryeoun hadn't expected Cheon Muyang to go this far.
But precisely because of that, he had no choice but to grip his sword.
"You must keep your word."
"I will."
Since it had come to this, there was nothing else to do.
If he won, the incident wouldn't be pursued—so all he had to do was win.
"...."
The two stood facing each other.
Rain continued to pour down over the now-empty training grounds.
Shhhhh—
What had begun as a light drizzle had turned into a pounding downpour.
Standing amid the streaks of rain, Cheon Muyang did not waver in the slightest.
"Ghh…!"
He was supposed to be a pathetic scoundrel of an eldest young master.
And yet, Neung Ryeoun couldn't bring himself to move rashly.
'What is this… this incomprehensible pressure?!'
His instincts screamed a warning.
Don't underestimate him.
It was the same instinct that surfaced only when facing a truly strong opponent.
"What? Afraid?"
"Y-You bastard—!"
"If you won't come, then I will."
"...!"
The Cheon Gwang Sword moved.
It was nothing more than a simple swing—a horizontal slash from left to right.
'Of course!'
There was no way he couldn't block something like that.
Neung Ryeoun ignored his instincts.
How crude could an attack be?
Whoosh!
Neung Ryeoun's sword moved a beat late, but it didn't matter.
In terms of speed alone, he far surpassed Cheon Muyang.
Clang!
The two blades met in midair.
Neung Ryeoun was confident that he held the advantage in strength.
"…!"
Thud.
But that confidence was an illusion.
The rebounding force shoved Neung Ryeoun backward, and he lost his grip on his sword.
A fatal mistake.
Whoooong!
Chk!
The vibrating Cheon Gwang Sword came to rest against Neung Ryeoun's throat.
Drip.
A shallow cut opened, blood trickling down.
Neung Ryeoun couldn't move.
'I could have died in a single strike.'
Seeing the cold calm in Cheon Muyang's eyes sent a chill down his spine.
'Since when did he become this strong?'
He couldn't believe it.
How could that scoundrel of an eldest young master have become so powerful?
As Neung Ryeoun stood frozen in an awkward stance, Cheon Muyang's icy voice reached him.
"Is that how you were taught in the Cheon Clan?"
"…!"
"You said it was a fight to the death. And yet you swung your sword so carelessly?"
"Ghk!"
"Pathetic. You are not qualified to wield this sword."
Cheon Muyang withdrew his blade.
Then he picked up Neung Ryeoun's sword from the ground.
"Think about why you hold a sword at all. When you find that reason, come find me again."
"…!"
"At that time, we'll cross blades again—over this sword."
Why was it?
Even as Cheon Muyang scolded him, Neung Ryeoun couldn't utter a single word.
"I—I…!"
Unable to find anything to say, Neung Ryeoun could only stare as Cheon Muyang looked at him coldly—then turned away.
"Wolyeong."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Let's go."
"Yes."
Perhaps because his interest had faded,
Cheon Muyang left the training grounds.
Glance.
Just before leaving, his gaze shifted somewhere.
But no one noticed where it landed.
Step. Step.
Watching his retreating back, Neung Ryeoun tried to call out to him.
"W-Wait…!"
Halt.
Cheon Muyang stopped.
"Do you have something to say?"
"…!"
Neung Ryeoun said nothing.
Cheon Muyang's eyes were too deep—like an abyss.
'If that had been a real fight…'
He would have been cut down.
He was already a dead man.
"If not, I'm leaving."
Tap.
What words could he possibly say?
Neung Ryeoun couldn't bring himself to stop Cheon Muyang as he left.
And so, Cheon Muyang walked away without looking back.
Left alone, Neung Ryeoun questioned himself.
'Why did I pick up a sword?'
Doubt arose.
It was a fundamental question—why he wielded a blade in the first place.
In search of an answer, Neung Ryeoun kept asking himself, again and again.
Shhhhh—!
The torrential rain still poured down.
And within it, Neung Ryeoun stood motionless.
'No… what was it that I even wanted to confirm?'
Neung Ryeoun hated Cheon Muyang.
But over the past month, Cheon Muyang clearly hadn't been the scoundrel Neung Ryeoun remembered.
'Did I want him to remain a scoundrel forever?'
Perhaps he had.
Whenever he mocked Cheon Muyang, it made him feel as though he were something special.
'What in the world have I been doing?'
And so Neung Ryeoun remained there, unmoving in the rain.
"..."
That was when—
A gaze observing both the departing Cheon Muyang and the remaining Neung Ryeoun shifted.
Wolyeong suddenly stepped in front of Cheon Muyang and bowed her head deeply.
"I-I'm sorry, Young Master. I shouldn't have stepped in… but seeing them mock your efforts, I just lost control. It wasn't like me. I'm sorry."
It truly wasn't like Wolyeong.
In Cheon Muyang's memories, she had always been a woman who maintained her composure no matter what.
But—
He didn't dislike it.
Wolyeong had stepped forward for his sake.
"There's nothing for you to apologize for."
"…What?"
"You stepped in for me, didn't you?"
"Ah…."
"You remember what I said, right?"
Wolyeong vividly recalled Cheon Muyang's words.
'I can endure insults directed at me. But I will not endure insults directed at those who stand by my side.'
Flush.
Wolyeong's face turned red.
"That's exactly what I meant."
"..."
"I won't tolerate anyone insulting my people—no matter who they are."
Wolyeong lowered her head.
Perhaps because the rain concealed it,
tears welled up for no clear reason.
"Young Master…"
Wolyeong never thought Cheon Muyang had changed.
'You've come back.'
He had simply returned to the Cheon Muyang she remembered from the past.
Her emotion had barely settled when a heavy presence suddenly flowed in from somewhere.
"Can you take responsibility for those words?"
Wolyeong's heart dropped.
Whoosh!
Her head snapped around reflexively—
But Cheon Muyang had already turned fully to face the owner of the voice.
"Yes, Uncle."
Cheon Seonhak.
He was Cheon Muyang's uncle, the overall commander of both the Cheonryong Sword Division and the Cheonbong Sword Division, and one of the three pillars supporting the Cheon Clan.
He was also the warrior Mumyeong had trusted and followed the most in his previous life.
'I never thought we'd meet like this, Commander.'
Even after Cheon Muyang—the infamous scoundrel—had become clan head, the Cheon Clan hadn't collapsed immediately.
That lingering prestige owed much to Cheon Seonhak's presence.
And so, Cheon Muyang felt deeply moved.
Of course, Cheon Seonhak did not.
"Uncle, you say…"
Cheon Muyang treated him with proper respect.
But Cheon Seonhak did not return it.
"I never thought you capable of such courtesy."
Coldness radiated from Cheon Seonhak.
And it was only natural.
To him, Cheon Muyang was nothing more than a hopeless scoundrel beyond redemption.
'That's why Young Master Cheon Muyang feared Commander Cheon Seonhak in particular.'
Even a scoundrel could only act like one toward those over whom his status held sway.
Against someone whose power and authority exceeded his own, that behavior meant nothing.
'Strong against the weak, weak against the strong… I suppose.'
Cheon Muyang cursed Cheon Muyang inwardly.
What else could he do?
It was the truth.
"I have been ignorant and failed to pay my respects, Uncle."
Cheon Seonhak occasionally guided not only the Cheonryong and Cheonbong Sword Divisions, but even the trainees' training.
That was why he sometimes appeared at the very training grounds Cheon Muyang ran every day.
"I heard you haven't missed a single day of running the training grounds this past month."
During that entire month, the two had acted as if they didn't even know each other.
Cheon Seonhak's appearance here was completely unexpected to Cheon Muyang.
"Yes. That is correct."
"What wind blew you this way?"
"I am merely fulfilling the duty of being the Cheon Clan's eldest young master."
"How laughable. To hear you speak of duty."
A storm-like pressure surged from Cheon Seonhak.
It looked as though he might draw the sword at his waist at any moment.
"Speak. What are you scheming?"
"…I believe I already answered that."
Cheon Muyang's entire body trembled.
He hadn't trained enough yet to stand against Cheon Seonhak's pressure.
But though his body shook, his eyes did not waver.
'Commander Cheon Seonhak is a true warrior. Empty words won't work on him.'
He wasn't someone who could be swayed by smooth talk.
"..."
"I do not trust you."
Cheon Seonhak's distrust of Cheon Muyang was beyond imagination.
And so, instead of questioning Cheon Muyang—
He turned to the maid who served him.
"What is your name?"
"W-Wolyeong, sir."
"I see. Then you answer me. What is this scoundrel eldest young master plotting? And do not dare speak falsehoods."
Whoooong!
Cheon Seonhak did not draw his sword.
Yet his pressure alone felt sharp enough to cut a man down.
"I have no desire to draw my blade."
It was a clear warning.
Tremble.
Wolyeong's slender body shook violently.
In an instant, her lips turned pale.
This was not pressure a mere maid could withstand.
It was the presence of an absolute being—something incomparable to Neung Ryeoun's sword.
Crunch!
Cheon Muyang was about to step forward by force.
That was when—
"Th-The Young Master… for the past month, you've always been smiling."
"Smiling?"
"Yes. Whenever you were running the training grounds, you were always smiling."
"...."
Glance.
Cheon Seonhak's gaze shifted toward Cheon Muyang, if only for a moment.
'Huh. Was I?'
It seemed he'd been smiling without realizing it.
'Honestly, it was because it was so hard.'
Perhaps even after reincarnating, he had followed the former clan head's teaching—when it's hard, smile instead.
Wolyeong continued.
"And even when people around you mocked you, you acted like you didn't hear them. If it had been the old Young Master, you would've gotten angry or run aw— I-I'm sorry. You would've left the training grounds."
Cheon Muyang simply shrugged once, telling her it was fine.
Flinch!
Of course, as a warning not to act rashly, Cheon Seonhak's pressure tightened further around Cheon Muyang.
"But the Young Master never got angry even once, n-nor did you run away. Instead… for the first time, you drew your sword—for my sake."
Cheon Seonhak's pressure remained.
Yet somehow, Wolyeong felt as though it had slightly eased.
"I believe in the Young Master."
"Believe…."
There wasn't a shred of falsehood in those words.
Because he knew that, Cheon Seonhak said nothing.
After a brief silence, he suddenly spoke to Cheon Muyang.
"I hear you tried to enter the Cheonryong Library."
"Yes. I lacked the qualifications, so I couldn't enter."
"What martial arts do you know?"
"Only the Cheonyang Divine Art."
If he had learned the Cheonyang Divine Art, it meant he knew only its associated basic techniques.
In other words, his standing was the same as any trainee aspiring to become a formal warrior of the Cheon Clan.
"Two months."
"…?"
"I will give you two months."
Two months.
Cheon Muyang vaguely grasped Cheon Seonhak's intent.
"Within two months, defeat the top trainee."
Smile.
It was always like this.
Cheon Seonhak used to give Mumyeong tests in exactly this way.
And every time, Mumyeong had made those tests even harder.
"No."
"...."
"One month will be enough."
"One month, you say?"
"Yes."
Cheon Seonhak nodded.
"Very well. We'll do that."
With those words, the pressure that had surrounded them dissipated.
"I'll be watching."
Cheon Seonhak left.
Shhhhh—
The torrential rain still poured down.
Yet Cheon Muyang's body burned hot.
"This won't do. I need to run."
"Y-Young Master!"
"Going back to the training grounds would be awkward, so I'll just run around the estate."
"Do your best. I'll prepare warm water."
"Alright. Thanks."
Wolyeong left first.
Then, to cool his overheated body, Cheon Muyang ran freely straight through the pounding rain.