TSBIRBV Ch 323

Chapter 323. The White Lotus Cult (6)

“What?”

Namgung Un’s eyes widened. He could hardly believe his father’s confession.

The head of the Namgung Clan—one of the Ten Great Swordsmen under Heaven—might have seemed easygoing at times, but he was a man Un deeply respected. His father was frank and good-natured, never flaunting his title as clan head.

Even after losing an arm and being forced to completely change his fighting style, he’d still risen to become one of the Ten Great Swordsmen. That wasn’t something talent alone could accomplish.

He was nothing like the arrogant young lords from tales who, driven by jealousy, chased glory.

And yet… Father once threw himself into a deathtrap out of envy and pride?

That wasn’t something one could dismiss as a mere youthful mistake. It was recklessly irresponsible—especially because he hadn’t gone alone, but had led other young warriors into danger as well.

Namgung Un’s shocked silence made Akcheon smile faintly.

“What? Can’t believe your amazing father was once a hotheaded fool too?”

“…More like… you sound like a completely different person.”

Akcheon chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

“I didn’t want to admit it either. I was called a peerless prodigy from the moment I was born. Drank elixirs like water. The very day I learned the Imperial Sword Form, I tried to perform it—and broke my arm because my young body couldn’t handle the movement. Everyone called me a genius.”

The middle-aged man rested his chin on one hand, smiling languidly.

“But… not once did I ever defeat him, Un-ah.”

Not once.

The words struck Un’s chest with the weight of a hammer.

Je Haryang…

Hearing that name from his father’s own lips made it feel heavier—almost suffocating. The vague fear he had always felt toward that man deepened into something greater, an unshakable sense of awe.

Even his father, hailed as the brightest prodigy of the Namgung Clan, had never defeated him. How could someone like Un, still so young, ever surpass such a man?

Yet another thought grew quietly inside him.

But even if it feels impossible… should I stop trying?

He remembered Je Haryang’s appearance that day—the moment the man had appeared while Un was trying to rescue Yegyeol. The memory of that overwhelming power, the crushing helplessness as he knelt and handed over the one he wished to save, still haunted him.

Since then, every time he held a sword, he’d realized that what he truly feared… was his own fear.

The misunderstanding with Yegyeol had since been cleared, but the nightmares hadn’t left.

What if it happens again? What if my weakness costs someone their life?

From that moment, his sword had stagnated. A blade that couldn’t be swung with resolve could never advance.

Remembering the incident in Seonyeong Fortress, Un noticed that his hand was trembling again. He quickly hid it inside his sleeve, relieved that his father hadn’t seen.

I must overcome this.

He clenched his fist.

I have to move forward.

He wanted to remain a true warrior—one who lived and acted by chivalry. For that, he needed the guidance of someone who had once fallen before him.

Un looked at his father, eyes searching for an answer.

“Do you… still feel tormented by those memories, Father?”

Akcheon chuckled softly at his son’s earnest tone.

He had noticed for some time that Un was struggling, running into some invisible wall. Seeing him now, finally seeking help on his own, filled him with a quiet satisfaction.

To witness one’s child grow was one of life’s rarest blessings. And to see a son like Namgung Un—one who always pushed himself toward perfection—begin to shed his shell again… what might he become this time?

“Ah, inferiority,” Akcheon said with a faint smile. “It’s easier to conquer than you think. All it takes is a shift in perspective.”

He lifted a finger, gesturing lightly.

“Tell me, Un—does acknowledging that someone is stronger than you mean that you are weak?”

“…I’m not sure.”

“You’d lose to your father if we fought, right? But out there, in the vast martial world, Namgung Un is known as one of the strongest of the young generation—winner of the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly.”

The proud father’s grin widened. He was clearly enjoying himself, bragging about his son so openly that Un flushed in embarrassment.

“When you measure yourself against others, it’s because you don’t truly know your own standing. You look outward because you lack certainty within. But the answers you seek from others will always disappoint you—because there will always be someone stronger, faster, or greater than you. Always.”

“…”

As silence stretched, Akcheon laughed gently.

It wasn’t a lesson that could be understood just by hearing it. It had to be realized firsthand.

“I took far too long to understand that. Don’t make the same mistake.”

He reached out and ruffled Un’s hair.

Though it felt childish—being treated like a boy when he was already grown—Un merely straightened his disheveled hair and pressed his lips together. He was determined to digest his father’s words, no matter how heavy they sat in his chest.

Then—

Crash!

A loud commotion burst from beyond the paper doors.

Something—perhaps a table—flew, followed by a woman’s shriek and the pounding of footsteps down the hall.

And then, a drunken roar.

“Do you know who I am?!”

“This isn’t a brothel, sir!” someone shouted back.

Even without looking, they both knew what kind of scene was unfolding.

“Hah…”

Akcheon sighed deeply, instantly grasping the situation.

“First time I take my son out in ages, and of course this happens. Completely kills the mood.”

He stood with a groan, muttering to himself about how every place seemed to have at least one such fool.

People liked to say that the lower classes caused trouble, but in Akcheon’s experience, it was the so-called ‘nobles’ who were worse.

“‘Do you know who I am!’” he mocked under his breath. “That phrase has become a national pastime.”

He imagined gathering every arrogant fool who’d ever shouted it and thought, not without dark humor, that it would make for an impressive multigenerational gathering of degenerates.

He pressed a cup into Un’s hand.

“Stay here and guard my drink while I go discipline a few misbehaving idiots.”

Rather than answering, Un looked at the cup—then drained it in one gulp. The burn of the liquor hit him instantly, but it also sharpened his thoughts.

“I’ll go with you.”

“…Will you now?”

Akcheon raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. He turned and slid open the door with a sharp bang. His voice, imbued with internal energy, boomed through the corridor.

“The head of the Great Namgung Clan is drinking here! Who dares make such a ruckus?!”

The hallway was chaos.

Tables shattered and embedded into the walls. Spilled dishes smeared the floor. Priceless porcelain bottles lay in shards. A servant’s robe was torn; a courtesan’s cheek was swollen. And in the middle of it all stood a drunk man, suddenly pale with fear.

“So it’s you,” Akcheon said evenly, running his hand over the hilt of his sword. “And whose son are you to be shouting so loud?”

The killing intent radiating from him made the drunken youth shrink like a whipped dog. Someone hiccupped nervously in the background.

The mess didn’t last long.

Once the drunk realized who he had provoked, he fell to his knees, groveling for forgiveness. He paid not only for the damages but for everyone’s drinks before bolting out the door in terror.

Left behind was a fresh plate of side dishes, offered in gratitude by the courtesan. Un sighed quietly.

“Why the long face?” his father asked.

Un hesitated, then spoke softly.

“That man… he never apologized to the courtesan or the servants he struck.”

“Hm.”

Akcheon rubbed his chin.

“After seeing enough of these things, I’ve learned that standing up for the victims only makes the bullies worse.”

“Why is that? It makes no sense that reason doesn’t reach them.”

Looking at his son’s upright face, Akcheon couldn’t bring himself to say it. That the drunk hadn’t seen those servants as people at all.

He wanted to raise his son well—but also, perhaps, to keep him untainted.

So he muttered, as if in drunken rambling,

“Because they’re fools. They only understand power when it crushes them.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t associate with such people. Don’t even try to understand them. Some pits, once you look into them, you can never climb back out.”

Akcheon let out a weary sigh.

By the time they left, his father was tipsy enough that Un had to help him into the carriage himself, despite the attendants nearby.

Just as the door was closing, Akcheon paused. He peered into the dark alley beyond and murmured, almost to himself,

“Wait a moment…”

Un followed his gaze—and froze.

“Hm? Strange…” Akcheon tilted his head. “I could’ve sworn I saw someone who shouldn’t be here.”

“You’ve had enough to drink, Father. Let’s go home.”

Un pushed him gently back into the carriage.

“Perhaps,” Akcheon murmured, settling back. “Still… if it was really him, I’d have been glad to see him.”

Un said nothing. He climbed in, shut the door, and told the driver quietly,

“Take us back.”

If the person his father had seen was truly who Un suspected…

He lowered the carriage’s curtain all the way down.

“A subjugation squad?”

Yegyeol repeated, relaying what Peng Muguk had told him.

He had expected Haryang to worry or object—but the man’s reaction was unexpectedly approving.

“A team of young warriors directly organized by the Martial Alliance, hm? That sounds promising.”

“I thought you’d disapprove—since it’s dangerous.”

Haryang chuckled.

“But my disciple did win the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly, didn’t he?”

Ah. So that’s it.

The broad, contented smile of a master filled with pride made Yegyeol realize just how sincerely Haryang had embraced his role as teacher.

He had never once bragged about his own achievements—his repeated victories at the Assembly, his audiences with the emperor, the times he’d slain demons that terrorized entire provinces.

But the mere mention of his disciple’s success lit his face with quiet joy.

Yegyeol felt a warmth he hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling—to be looked at like that.

“Do you trust the Martial Alliance, Master?”

The blunt question made Haryang tilt his head slightly.

“The Alliance itself? Not quite. But I do trust the Nine Great Sects and the Five Noble Clans who’ve entrusted their disciples to it.”

His dark eyes weren’t cold—but they weren’t warm, either.

“If an accident occurs, they’ll do everything to contain it. A serious injury or death would spark a massive conflict, after all.”

His tone carried no emotion—just the calm recitation of fact.

“Especially you. You’ve already suffered unfair treatment once. They won’t touch you again. Whatever their true feelings, the appearance of fairness must be maintained.”

The man’s faint smile was immaculate—flawless, like a blade polished to mirror brightness.