The Return of the Namgoong Clan's Granddaughter-Chapter 169

Seolhwa— that child has left.

The girl who had returned on her own feet left the clan again on those same feet.

Could I have stopped her?

Would it have been right to stop her?

Even now, I do not know the answer.

“Haa...”

Namgoong Mucheon rubbed his weary eyes and leaned back in his chair.

From the wide-open window came the shouts of the inner hall warriors training.

“Shall I close the window if it is too noisy?”

The Chief Steward, following Namgoong Mucheon’s gaze, asked as he looked toward the window.

“No. Leave it open.”

Ever since Seolhwa had visited, the window had remained open.

Though he knew she would not return for some time, he could not bring himself to close it—just in case she might one day reappear in a rush, driven by urgent need.

Understanding that sentiment, the Chief Steward looked at him with a bitter gaze.

“Are you thinking of the young lady?”

“...I worry whether she is wandering hungry somewhere. I should have given her more money.”

“Did you not send gold bars to her residence upon her departure? You also said you would send communication once a month, so she should receive it.”

“By the time we meet again, she will have grown beyond recognition, will she not?”

“Children at that age tend to grow up quickly.”

“I will not even be able to embrace her.”

“Did you not wish for her to grow faster than fate itself?”

“That was a foolish remark.”

“As I thought.”

“...”

“...”

“Somehow, the clan feels quiet.”

“It truly is.”

“Makes me miss the Stormwind Sword.”

Namgoong Mucheon raised an eyebrow and looked at the Chief Steward.

“You bickered endlessly when he was around. Now you miss him?”

“He was rather amusing. The problem was he talked too much nonsense.”

Namgoong Mucheon let out a low laugh.

But silence returned soon after.

The absence of one who had been with you for a long time was always bitter and hollow.

“...Do you not intend to tell the young lady about the Stormwind Sword’s situation?”

“She does not yet know, does she.”

“Still...”

“Mugwang will overcome it. I believe that.”

“...Indeed.”

Namgoong Mucheon shifted his gaze to the paperwork stacked on the table.

The work he had been handling while sacrificing sleep had, before ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ he knew it, become fairly organized.

“Three or four years...”

Tapping the desk softly, Namgoong Mucheon rose from his seat.

“Summon the Elders, the Hall Masters, and the entire Martial Division. The location will be the Grand Martial Arena.”

“What shall I say the reason for the summons is?”

“Training.”

The Chief Steward, who had also risen, halted in place.

“...Pardon?”

“From today on, I will personally lead martial arts training for the main clan’s martial force and leadership.”

The Chief Steward’s jaw dropped.

The Clan Head? Personally lead martial training?

“The Elders and Hall Masters are no exception.”

Five years. Seolhwa had estimated that the Blood Demon Cult would become a great power capable of dominating the Central Plains in five years.

She had been among them, and she was a child capable of cold judgment—her assessment was likely accurate.

‘To stand against them, we need to prepare. That is why I must leave the clan.’

“My granddaughter is fighting tooth and nail out there—how could the elders of this clan remain at ease?”

“Then you truly...”

“From this day forth, the main clan will devote everything to cultivating strength. The days of peace and prosperity are over. Tell everyone to put on their martial robes and get out.”

“...Will they come out?”

“If they do not...”

A cold blue light flickered in Namgoong Mucheon’s eyes.

“What will those wretches do about it?”

“...I shall deliver the message.”

Tap.

Namgoong Mucheon exited the office ahead.

The Chief Steward swallowed dryly and looked down at himself.

How long had it been since he had last worn martial robes?

He had trained sporadically, but his body was no longer what it had been.

A long sigh escaped him.

“...Truly, the golden days are over.”

With a slight limp, the Chief Steward began walking.

****

Seolhwa recalled the battle with Huiwol.

That moment when she had nearly died, ensnared in the Silver Thread, she had briefly imitated Seop Mugwang’s martial art.

When Seop Mugwang, under the influence of Namgoong Mucheon, unleashed his swordsmanship, it felt as though heaven and earth themselves were howling.

The terror she had felt in that moment—when the thunderous energy surged across the sky and tore through all directions—still had not left her.

In that instant when death loomed before her, Seolhwa had mimicked it, even if only faintly.

Yet rather than centering it on thunderous energy, she had based it on the energy of the heavens and layered thunder over that.

Huuuuu—

‘I agree with the notion that thunder is the weapon of the heavens.’

That was what Seop Mugwang had said when he guided her through harmonizing the two energies.

Seolhwa believed that sentiment captured the essence of both forces.

Though, truthfully, when he had said that, he had likely envisioned thunder rampaging across the backdrop of the sky.

‘But I... I am Namgoong.’

Therefore, the foundation had to differ from the start.

She would add the Thunder and Wind Divine Sword to the sword of Namgoong.

To the sweeping movement that seemed to engulf the world, she would add the explosive surge of the Thunder and Wind Divine Art.

Chachachachachak—!

Seolhwa’s movements slashed through the air.

Having spent much of her life studying Namgoong’s martial arts—and having lived as an assassin—combining two sword arts was not difficult for her.

However, she shortened the steps of the footwork to suit her body, and adjusted the timing of each swing accordingly.

Shhshhshhshhk—!

The sound of air splitting and space being carved echoed endlessly through the cave.

Tssst—! Chaak!

Seolhwa’s footwork engraved itself onto the ground, while the traces of her sword qi were etched into the air.

In her eyes, red energy and the white light of thunder flickered and churned.

The glint in her gaze as she swung her sword radiated vivid, unmistakable life.

With each swing, faster and stronger, her steps grew lighter and her movements more fluid.

Before long, the energy cloaking her sword had grown thick and dense.

What began as sword qi gradually intensified as her technique solidified, spreading outward into sword force.

Shhshhshhshhhk—!

She was moving so fast it was nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye.

Sweat poured from her skin, only to evaporate from the heat radiating off her body, forming a faint haze of steam around Seolhwa.

‘Just a little more, just a little more...!’

Chachachaaak—!

If I go just a bit further—just one more step...!

Huuuuk—Chaaaak—!

“Haah... huff...”

A ragged breath burst out of her.

Still gripping her sword, Seolhwa bent forward, gasping, her breath caught beneath her chin.

A single drop of sweat rolled down and fell from her jaw.

[Impressive.]

The Imoogi approached her side.

[That sword art just now—who taught it to you? It was too light and swift to be Namgoong’s style.]

“Ha... haa... I... huff... did not learn it....”

[You did not learn it? That sword technique just now?]

“It... just now... I made it up.”

[What did you say?]

She had recalled her movements and energy flow from the battle, drawing the sword path and moving her body accordingly.

It was built on the solid foundation of Namgoong’s martial studies and Seop Mugwang’s guidance.

[You truly created it yourself?]

“Yes.”

[Then what is the name of that sword technique?]

“The name?”

[You created it—so surely you must have named it.]

Seolhwa looked down at the hand holding her sword.

A name for the sword technique she had created.

The names of Seop Mugwang’s creations were Flowing Thunder Heaven-Wind Sword and Skyborne Galloping Thunder Sword.

Though she had blended Namgoong’s energy into it, this sword technique carried the nature of thunder and lightning more strongly.

In contrast, Seolhwa’s sword art was a balanced fusion of heavenly energy and thunder energy.

Though she had meant to base it on the heavens, once the sword began to swing, she could not omit the thunder.

A sword art harmoniously forged from two forces. In that case, the name should be—

“Cheonroe.”

[Cheonroe?]

“Heavenly Thunder Divine Sword.”

[Cheonroe Shingeom (Heavenly Thunder Divine Sword)—a fine name.]

A faint smile tugged at Seolhwa’s lips.

It was not yet perfect, but it was the first martial technique she had created entirely on her own.

There remained the task of building a supportive inner art that would let her cultivate both footwork and the Cheonroe Energy effectively, but it was still a joyous milestone.

However—

‘I felt like... just a bit more, and I could have grasped something.’

She had swung her sword endlessly toward something just beyond her reach—so close, yet slipping away—and in the end, her scattered breath kept her from touching it.

What was that, exactly?

‘Was that... what it means to reach Mu-a—No-Self?’

A parching thirst.

The longing of a martial artist who had failed to reach a moment.

[There are things that can only be seen when you steady your breath. You possess a martial talent beyond any I have seen—but you are also more impatient than any of them.]

At the Imoogi’s quiet counsel, Seolhwa straightened her back.

Slow steps carry one a thousand li.

The phrase Ubo Cheonri spoke of a slow ox's pace covering vast ground. What mattered was not haste, but having the strength to go a thousand li even without rushing.

‘Slowly. Let me try again.’

Rather than chasing after a lofty realm, she would lay down firm foundations.

Slowly, properly.

Huuuuu...

Taking a deep breath, Seolhwa resumed her stance.

From her body, crimson energy began to rise, flickering like a shimmering heat haze.

****

Ryeong blinked blankly, kneeling before Seolhwa.

While cultivating alone, she had been called and had hurried to the inner depths of the cave where Seolhwa trained.

Thinking something urgent had happened, she had rushed in—only for Seolhwa to stare silently at her without a word.

“Do you need anything, my lady?” 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

“Ryeong.”

“Yes, Lady Ryeonju.”

“Be my na haza.”

“...Pardon?”