Reincarnated Sword Ghost

Parting

After exchanging a few brief words, Yang Se-ok bowed his head and gave a martial salute.

"I wish young hero great success in the days ahead."

The others behind Yang Se-ok bowed their heads in unison.

Jeong-un returned the greeting with a simple martial salute.

Yang Se-ok offered several gifts until the very last moment, but Jeong-un refused them all.

They were various items, both large and small, meant for Jeong-un, as it was believed that he would return to the Heavenly Martial Hall right away.

For Jeong-un, accepting them would only burden his satchel with unnecessary weight.

Since there were many watching eyes, it was decided that no one would see him off past the gate.

Next to Yang Se-ok, his sister's eyes sparkled as she gazed at Jeong-un.

She was a bright woman.

Perhaps, in time, she would become even more famous than Yang Se-ok or the young clan head. Jeong-un vaguely thought so.

With that, he stepped out through the main gate of the residence.

"......"

The sun had not yet fully risen, so the shadows on the ground were still faint and blurred.

Jeong-un was preparing to walk toward the Murim Alliance's Kaifeng District to borrow a horse.

"Huh..."

A curious exclamation was quietly heard.

Jeong-un turned his head slowly toward the source of the voice.

A young man in beggar's attire was sitting, leaning against the wall, watching Jeong-un.

Of course, it was a face he had never seen before.

It felt odd for someone to greet him in such a way.

When Jeong-un looked at him quizzically, the man straightened up and greeted him first.

"My name is Punggae."

Jeong-un glanced at the man's waist. He was carrying a thick wooden staff, and next to it, a short hemp rope was tied into five knots.

'Beggar's Union.'

That was how Jeong-un gauged his identity.

But even knowing who he was did not resolve his doubts.

Why was he waiting in front of the White Stone Teahouse this early in the morning?

It was almost as if he had known Jeong-un would come out.

'Did he notice something?'

From an outside perspective, it was Jeong-un's first time stepping out since arriving here.

He had spent all his time here recuperating and recovering his body.

That wasn't entirely untrue.

Even while using the secret passage to come and go, he never missed a day of internal energy cultivation.

When concealing the truth, one must not rely purely on lies.

Mixing in just enough facts turns the story believable.

Jeong-un now knew that well.

Thinking such, he greeted the man in return.

"I am Yu Jeong-un of the Heavenly Martial Hall."

"I thought so."

Punggae smiled and nodded.

Perhaps it was his attire, but though his stance was somewhat slouched, it did not come across as disrespectful.

"Do you know of me?"

"How could I not? Even if I hadn't seen your face, your name is impossible to miss."

Punggae gazed quietly at Jeong-un's face before continuing.

"That's why I say those who draw facial sketches are useless. But that aside..."

Then, he trailed off, lost in thought.

'I'd heard he still looked very young, but... Not at all. He's very much a grown man.'

I should submit a new report. I'll need to draw the facial sketch myself. So muttered Punggae to himself, and continued aloud.

"There's no need to be on guard. I only came to greet the comet of the martial world."

"How did you know I was staying here?"

"There are only a handful of candidates for being the lone swordsman with two-stripes who stands out in the Central Plains. If not you, then at most, it'd be the newly promoted two-stripes Sword of Wudang."

"......"

The Sword of Wudang—Jeong-un also knew the man by face and name.

A senior disciple from the Wudang Sect, whose presence, as sharp as a well-forged sword, had mesmerized Jeong-un in the past.

It was still vivid how he couldn't believe defeating such a man had made him first in the special test.

'So he's become two-stripes as well.'

He thought it reasonable.

Though he never had a chance to cross swords with him, the ki radiating from his exterior alone proved his martial arts were complete and powerful.

'I wonder how he is now.'

He must have grown as strong as Jeong-un, if not more.

Jeong-un could not help but look forward to seeing what kind of swordsman he had become.

Punggae wore a sly smile and said,

"In any case, it's an honor to meet such a famous figure of the Central Plains. I merely wanted to make my presence known to a hero who will soon rule the martial world, so please be at ease."

With that, he naturally lifted his feet from the ground and took a step closer, smiling all the while.

At first glance, his movement was casual—just the candid approach of a close friend.

Hooong—

For a split second, Jeong-un quietly watched him.

It wasn't an ordinary step.

It was filled with internal energy.

While his movement wasn't meant to initiate an attack, there was undoubtedly the trace of footwork martial arts.

The energy that had been shrouding Punggae instantly flowed down to his feet.

Naturally, Jeong-un also took a step forward.

Just because the opponent's energy didn't feel aggressive didn't mean he should stand defenselessly.

Thud.

It was a move from the footwork he had recently perfected—one he had named the "Powerless Steps".

He gently stirred his true ki.

Fwaaa!

"......!"

Punggae's eyes widened. The wave of vital ki raging from his own feet instantly subsided.

It had clearly resulted from the other's single step.

The problem was, he couldn't sense any energy from the opponent's foot at all.

'What on earth...?'

His own vital ki had been completely returned to nothingness.

Was that even possible?

It was as if someone had relaxed their internal energy throughout their own meridians—a remarkably natural feat.

To not only overwhelm him in internal power, but also to so delicately handle and nullify energy was on an entirely different level.

'It's not like he's debating with words...!'

And so, with nothing more happening than the distance between the two shrinking by one step, as Punggae stood speechless, mouth open, Jeong-un calmly said,

"You've certainly made an impression."

"...?"

"Then, until we meet again."

With that, Jeong-un turned his back.

Punggae could only manage a stiff nod as he watched him leave.

As Jeong-un walked away, he thought,

'Not bad.'

How many people could so nonchalantly demonstrate such footwork with a calm expression?

And there hadn't even been the hint of aggression.

Had he done nothing, it would have felt like no more than a light breeze brushing past his hair.

Only someone with extremely delicate control over their internal energy could do this.

Thinking back to the way weaker fighters fill their every move with force, performing stiff martial arts, Jeong-un could now appreciate just how deep Punggae's understanding of the internal arts was.

'How many more like that are in the Beggar's Union?'

No wonder the sect held a place among the Nine Great Sects and One Union.

The Central Plains was vast, teeming with martial artists as numerous as the stars.

Yet, the Nine Great Sects and One Union was a gathering of those on a different level entirely.

There must be many like Punggae among them.

'I should keep striving.'

The young man who had taken a great step forward only the night before quietly muttered to himself.

* * *

Zhu Weiyeon was an especially unique figure among the Zhu clan.

The imperial clan, by virtue of their noble birth, was strictly controlled and confined.

Because their surname carried so much power—and fear of rebellion—it was forbidden for them to become government officials.

Their very birth was treated as something set apart.

Especially, the District Head was a powerful official responsible for vast territories.

Never in the past, nor ever in the future, would a royal member hold such a post.

And yet, Zhu Weiyeon was the District Head of Kaifeng District.

When his grandfather, who had been a commandery prince, became implicated in treason due to a few careless words, their royal status was stripped away.

He never enjoyed the privileges of his name.

However, this allowed him to take the civil service examination and make full use of his talents.

The shackles were off.

He became the only person among those bearing the Zhu clan name to gain the District Head post through his own merit.

Of course, the current emperor's favor played a large role here—he installed Zhu Weiyeon in the office despite much opposition.

Yet, competence and character were different matters.

He possessed unique internal energy, and the Zhu name gave him symbolic status, creating an unusual position for himself.

Thus, he wielded far more influence than a common District Head.

But he knew his place.

Attracting too much attention would risk accusations of treason and death, as befell his grandfather.

He resolved always to live quietly.

So, he turned his attention to wealth.

Using his position, he amassed a vast fortune.

Even after losing his royal status, he still considered himself above ordinary people.

Because the emperor personally recognized him, he often escaped even the worst cases of corruption.

Despite lacking nothing, he was deeply satisfied seeing the silver coins accumulate.

Perhaps he saw this as compensation for losing his noble status.

The Murim dark path sects of Kaifeng District were no exception.

He never refused the silver coins they offered, always accepting every bit they brought.

Then, for some reason, most of those sects were annihilated.

He sent people to investigate, but it was impossible to pin down who was responsible.

They said it was an outsider.

Moreover, the killer vanished straight after.

"Idiots."

That was what Zhu Weiyeon muttered.

It had become a source of irritation every morning lately.

He rose from his wide bedding and approached the table.

Oddly, he had woken earlier than usual.

Normally, a servant would have awakened him.

Clink.

For once, he poured himself tea.

His throat was dry.

Maybe it was simply waking early.

He felt an odd thirst.

Flick.

Just then, Zhu Weiyeon's robe fluttered with a strange breeze.

"Are you Zhu Weiyeon?"

"...?"

Zhu Weiyeon's hand stopped mid-motion.

A voice had come from behind. He had thought he was alone in the room.

'When did—?'

Just as he turned his head, an icy voice rang out again.

"If you don't want to die, don't turn around."

"... Die? Me?"

A mirthless laugh colored Zhu Weiyeon's voice.

It was as though he had heard absurd nonsense.

"Who sent you? Beijing? Or perhaps those reckless Murim clans?"

"Think as you wish."

Zhu Weiyeon's thoughts raced.

Who might have sent an assassin against him?

Even so, he resumed pouring tea, calmly filling his cup.

It was the movement of someone confident no one could harm him.

"State your demands and leave. I'll consider them and give you an answer later."

"......"

There was silence from behind.

Zhu Weiyeon smirked inwardly, thinking his visitor a rather clumsy fellow.

It was the first time an assassin had come for him—for there'd never been a reason.

He had always acted with utter prudence.

Though a little greedy, he never went so far as to earn the emperor's ire.

He was satisfied with what he had, finding joy only in piling up wealth.

He maintained a fitting relationship with those in the martial world.

In fact, he found them a bit contemptible.

Noble status for commoners who flaunted their violence.

But he hid it well. Staying close was mutually beneficial.

'Yet they've sent an assassin after me?'

Who, and why?

He felt more intrigued than afraid.

He calmly waited for the next words,

and as he once more brought his teacup to his mouth, the assassin behind him spoke:

"How very composed. That's rare for a man plotting treason."

"......!"

Crash—!

The teacup slipped from Zhu Weiyeon's hand and shattered.

He had just heard words that must never be spoken.

His face twisted in an instant.

With movements as swift as the wind, he spun around.

He was a martial artist too.

Of course—he'd systematically trained his energy since childhood.

He had no doubt he would soon see his attacker.

Thud.

But it didn't happen.

As he tried to turn around, his body froze up.

In a flash, his paralysis point had been struck.

'How...?!'

Zhu Weiyeon was quick-witted.

For an opponent's hand to move faster than his reflexes—the person was undoubtedly a master far above himself.

"Any more foolish moves, and I'll just kill you and go. That suits me too."

"...!"

"Don't test my patience."

The words were utterly ruthless, yet Zhu Weiyeon could not speak.

The emotionless voice provoked an unknown dread. He really might be killed.

The voice continued,

"You, together with the dark path here, tried to start a rebellion."

"That's—!"

"You know those dark path sects were killed recently?"

"You killed them—?"

"You seemed quite friendly with them."

That part was true.

But rebellion?

Ridiculous.

"A few booklets were found at their dwellings. They detail, under your command, the secret gathering of wealth and soldiers. There's also a full record of all the silver you received. I have those books."

"That's absurd."

"I think so, too. Which is why I won't judge you myself."

"...?"

"I intend to send them to Beijing."

Zhu Weiyeon's mind went blank.