I recalled the words Jin Mu-gyeong had told me a few days ago.

‘One God, Three Stars, Ten Kings.’

The great martial artists who had already become legends. In that order, it meant that the Sword Saint, Mae Jong-hak, was a transcendent master who ranked within the top five in the entire world.

Now even the Sword Saint is making an appearance.

Jin Mu-gyeong had said that the Fire King had killed a thousand followers of the Demonic Cult over four days and nights to ascend to the rank of the Ten Kings. If that was the case, just how powerful was the Sword Saint, whose name was listed even higher?

How is it that only monsters keep popping up?

It was unbelievable, but looking at Cheong Pung, I found myself nodding in understanding. You reap what you sow. A monster had raised a monster.

There’s no way a talent-hacker like him could appear so easily.

Cheong Pung was, without a doubt, a peak master. But he was only twenty years old. If he had grown up under the guidance of an immense master like the Sword Saint, it was entirely understandable.

“Ugh, uweeegh!”

…Or maybe not so understandable. How did a guy like that become a peak master?

I asked Cheong Pung, who was still dry-heaving.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, uugh!”

“So you’re not fine.”

“More importantly, I think that senior is badly hurt, blech!”

“What do you mean, senior? It’s fine. A little spit will heal that right up.”

“Really?”

Of course not.

Patting Cheong Pung on the back, I glanced around. Everyone, except for Hong Jin, was staring our way with wide eyes.

“T-the Sword Saint, Mae Jong-hak? The Sword Saint I know?”

“That half-wit is the Sword Saint’s grandson?”

“What in the world is…”

Among them, Gong Il-hyeok’s reaction was particularly noticeable. Forgetting his pain, he stared blankly at Cheong Pung before roaring.

“Nonsense! The Sword Saint has been in seclusion for over thirty years! How dare a punk like you claim to be his successor!”

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt.”

I scratched my chin and continued.

“Before you do anything else, shouldn’t you stop the bleeding? You’re bleeding a lot.”

Gong Il-hyeok’s face flushed red. He must have been embarrassed himself. To be talking about ‘a punk like you’ when his arm had just been shattered in a single blow.

“Keuk, if only I hadn’t let my guard down…”

“Then shall we arrange for a rematch once your wounds have healed? I can lend you my family’s training grounds.”

It was obvious he would lose a hundred times out of a hundred. The gap between the two was that immense. As proof, when I actually laid out the offer, Gong Il-hyeok became a mute who had eaten honey and clamped his mouth shut.

“Stop the bleeding first. Just stop the bleeding.”

“…You bastard.”

Gong Il-hyeok glared at me with murderous eyes. It seemed he had finally noticed that I disliked him, but I didn’t feel particularly threatened.

Should’ve stopped when I told him to.

If word of today’s events got out, they were the ones who would lose. Having been entangled with the Sword Saint’s grandson, even the Sect Leader of the Zhongnan Sect, his so-called uncle five times removed, would not be pleased. On the other hand, not only was I not directly involved in this incident, but I had also gained an unexpected golden connection.

I, you punk, huh? I gave the Sword Saint’s grandson a bingtanghulu, we went to a hot spring together, huh? I did it all, you bastard.

So this is how the Bingtang Coin moons[1].

As I was inwardly smiling with satisfaction, the now-bandaged Gong Il-hyeok scoffed.

“Come to think of it, this is ridiculous. As far as I know, the Sword Saint has no children, so how can he have a grown grandson?”

Cheong Pung, who had just stopped his dry-heaving, tilted his head.

“That’s not true. I’m my grandfather’s grandson.”

“It is known throughout the world that the Sword Saint dedicated his entire life to martial arts! You are clearly telling a lie!”

“No, it’s not true. It’s really not.”

Cheong Pung continued with a tearful face.

“I really am my grandfather’s grandson. A crane brought me twenty years ago.”

“……!”

“…?”

“……!”

“…?”

What the hell is this now?

As everyone’s eyes turned to him, Cheong Pung looked back at me with a confused expression.

“Benefactor, am I mistaken about something?”

“…What exactly is it that you know?”

“That cranes deliver babies. I was told that babies are chosen by the heavens, and when the time is right, a crane brings them.”

“Who told you that?”

“My grandfather.”

“Ah.”

Now the story makes sense. Seeing that their surnames were different, the Sword Saint must have adopted him from somewhere… Cheong Pung had grown up alone in the mountains with his grandfather since he was too young to remember. He would have just accepted whatever he was told as the truth.

“Cranes don’t bring babies? Then am I not my grandfather’s grandson?”

“Ah, well, you see…”

With a heavy heart, I continued. Cheong Pung was twenty years old. Now that he had come down from the mountain, it was time for him to learn about the world, one thing at a time.

“For a baby to be made, there are three stages. Ovulation, fertilization, and implantation. Try saying it.”

“To you, benefactor?”

“Why would you say it to me? Are you crazy? I meant for you to repeat it out loud.”

“Yes. Ovulation, fertilization, implantation…”

However, my ambitious sex education lesson had to be cut short before it even began.

“You little whelps! What do you think you’re doing in front of a great senior of the martial world!”

The owner of the growling voice was, of course, Gong Il-hyeok. With the help of the other two members of the Three Hands of Zhongnan, who were basically his lackeys, he had even managed to put a splint on his arm and was now glaring at us.

“A country bumpkin from the frontier and an idiot who relies only on brute strength dare to ignore a disciple of the great Zhongnan Sect?”

Cheong Pung’s eyes widened.

“Am I the idiot?”

“Probably.”

“Then does that make you the country bumpkin, benefactor?”

“Thanks so much for clarifying.”

I let out a deep sigh. The man was old enough to know better, but it seemed he still hadn’t grasped the situation. Was it because his faith in the Zhongnan Sect and his five-times-removed uncle was too strong?

“My, my, our senior here has quite the foul mouth.”

“What did you say?”

“I can let it slide for me, but what are you going to do if what this friend here says is true?”

“True? If it were, Lee Poong would surely have recognized him.”

Lee Poong? Why is Lee Poong being brought up?

I looked at Lee Poong with a questioning gaze. His face, which had been frozen as if he had seen a ghost, finally spoke.

“I am a lay disciple of the Huashan Sect. Until ten years ago, I was at the main mountain.”

Gong Il-hyeok added with a jeer, “This friend was quite successful among the lay disciples. That is, until he was defeated by me in a friendly duel with our main sect. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right. I stayed at the Zhongnan Sect for two days for the duel, but I ate something bad and fell gravely ill.”

“That story again. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence? That only those who were scheduled to duel you suffered the same fate.”

“…So, you still can’t admit your defeat?”

“No, I admitted it long ago. In fact, thanks to you, I learned what kind of place the martial world is, so I consider it a cheap price to pay for the lesson.”

At his calm reply, Gong Il-hyeok’s eyebrow twitched.

“Enough with the magnanimous act and answer the question. Have you ever seen that idiot at Huashan?”

“Before that, let me ask you one thing. Do you still think I left Huashan because of you?”

“Of course. What excuse do you have, running away from Huashan less than two months after the duel?”

“It’s true that I was in despair for a while… but you’re wrong.”

Shaking his head, Lee Poong slowly continued.

“About a month after that day, my Master suddenly said he had somewhere to go. The place he took me to was where the Sect Leader and all the high-class members of the main sect were gathered.”

“Did they hold a consolation party for a lay disciple? The Huashan Sect is more generous than I thought.”

“They are generous indeed. They even included a failure like me in the important event of going to see our Grandmaster[2] at the mere age of ten?”

“……!”

“……!”

A silent shock spread through the crowd. Gong Il-hyeok stammered, “T-that’s impossible. As far as I know, the Plum Blossom Sword Arts can only be performed by at least a first-rate master…”

“In the martial world, things you can’t even imagine happen from time to time. Scheming in a friendly duel is nothing compared to that.”

Lee Poong gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“After meditating facing a wall for over a month, I realized. There was no reason for me to remain there. That is why I left the Huashan Sect. What do you think, isn’t it amusing?”

The impact of Lee Poong’s story was intense. Everyone, including me, silently stared at Cheong Pung. I suddenly remembered the conversation I had with him at the Crimson Flower Pavilion last night.

‘I think I was ten. One day, dozens of people came in a group and started making a scene. I remember my grandfather shouting at them to get lost before he set the mountain on fire.’

‘Ah, so that’s why you keep moving…?’

‘Yes, thankfully the mountain is large, so we’ve been successfully avoiding them for ten years.’

Until then, I had no idea. I never would have guessed that the people who came and ‘made a scene’ ten years ago were the leaders of the Huashan Sect, and that the Sword Saint, Mae Jong-hak, was Cheong Pung’s grandfather.

And what he called ‘making a scene’ must have been very different from a child’s perspective.

Who would dare make a scene in front of the Sword Saint? They’d be asking for death. And the Sword Saint threatening to burn down his own sect’s mountain is not ordinary, either.

In any case, on that day when Huashan, the Fiery Mountain, almost became a real volcano[3], Lee Poong had met the young Cheong Pung and despaired at his genius.

It’s understandable. A first-rate master at ten years old.

There were plenty of rising talents who couldn’t reach the first-rate level even after turning twenty. In fact, two of the scions of the Five Sects of Shanxi present here were still lacking to be called first-rate masters. And yet, to achieve that level at the mere age of ten.

Could Jin Mu-gyeong have done it?

Just as that question popped into my head, Gong Il-hyeok shrieked as if having a seizure.

“Proof! Where is the proof that he is that child?”

The scions of the Five Sects of Shanxi, who had been trying so hard to look good, the amusedly observing Hong Jin, and even the other two members of the Three Hands of Zhongnan, all frowned as if on cue.

“There is no proof. All I have is my memory.”

“Right. Even mountains and rivers change in ten years, so am I to believe your paltry memory?”

“No, to be honest, I’m not entirely certain myself. How that little child grew up to be what he is today.”

Lee Poong, after his calm reply, suddenly drew his sword. Staring into the blade that radiated a cool energy, he asked Cheong Pung.

“Young Hero. How much of the Huashan Sect’s martial arts do you know?”

Cheong Pung replied with a bewildered expression.

“Huh? But I’m not from the Huashan Sect.”

“Not from the Huashan Sect…”

“No. My grandfather just taught me this and that, saying it would be good to learn.”

“Then let me ask. The Six Harmonies Sword Arts, the Plum Blossom Sword Arts, the Supreme Purity Sword Arts, the Supreme Unity Illusory Palm Arts, the Falling Blossom Chasing Shadow Palm, the Mountain Flower Illusory Hand… how many of these do you know?”

“All of them.”

“Heh, all of them. All of them, you say.”

Letting out a hollow laugh, Lee Poong offered the sword in his hand to Cheong Pung.

“Could you perform the Plum Blossom Sword Arts?”

“My grandfather told me not to show my martial arts to others.”

“One form, no, just one stroke is enough.”

After hesitating, Cheong Pung took the sword.

“Then I’ll just show you a little.”

As soon as the words were out, a change occurred.

Swaaaaaa.

Sword energy? No. From Cheong Pung’s head to his toes, from his entire body, a tangible purple aura flowed out in wisps. It was an energy of the ultimate Yang, so hot it could burn one’s breath just by being near it.

“The Purple Mist Divine Arts[4]…”

Just as Lee Poong let out a cry of elation, Cheong Pung’s sword tip drew a beautiful arc.

Shhhk—

Like a plum blossom falling at the end of its season, a single streak of sword energy split the massive table in two. The food, the plates, and even the sturdy table.

“Ah…”

A gasp escaped my lips without me realizing it. Breaking something is easy. But Cheong Pung’s sword energy was so sharp and clean that if the table hadn’t collapsed the next moment, I wouldn’t have even noticed it had been cut.

CRASH!

As the table, split in two, collapsed, Lee Poong assumed a posture of utmost respect and cupped his fist.

“The Huashan Sect’s lay disciple, Lee Poong, greets Martial Uncle[5] Cheong Pung.”