Chapter 107
Sword Dragon Namgung Jong. Today, he was in a particularly good mood.
The reason was simple. After winning the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering and receiving the epithet Sword Dragon, many had showered him with praise—or looked on with envy.
As the heir of the Namgung Clan, raised under constant pressure to always be the best, being publicly acknowledged as the best filled him with an indescribable joy.
Even his father, who always held him to strict standards, had smiled broadly for the first time in a while.
Thus, it was only natural that this year’s Dragon and Phoenix Meeting, hosted by Namgung Jong as the winner, would be held in grand and splendid fashion.
‘Excellent.’
An overwhelming spread of delicacies piled high on the banquet tables, fine liquor gathered from every guesthouse across Wuhuan City, and a room filled with promising young elites.
The pillars of the current orthodox Murim—the Five Supreme Clans and the Nine Great Sects—were here, along with those who once belonged to such groups or aspired to challenge their standing.
Additionally, many who lacked powerful backgrounds but possessed great talent and potential had gathered in small groups, chatting among themselves.
Some were deep in discussion about martial arts, while others spoke of clan businesses. Occasionally, one would try to recruit an unaffiliated talent into their fold. To Namgung Jong’s eyes, it looked like a gathering of refinement, far removed from a rowdy street tavern. He was genuinely pleased.
Of course, fights breaking out into sparring matches, or young men and women sneaking off into secluded corners after making eyes at one another—those things happened often enough that this wasn’t too different from any drinking party.
But for Namgung Jong, who had spent his life swinging a sword and was hosting such an event for the first time, he was still unaware of such nuances.
So he sat at the head table, smiling contentedly as he downed a cup of liquor.
Since it was his first time drinking, his face quickly scrunched up, but mindful of those watching him, he forced himself to wear a calm expression again.
‘Bitter. And the scent is strange. Why do people drink this stuff?’
Whether anyone knew what he was grumbling about internally, a large man approached with booming laughter.
“Hahaha! As expected of Brother Namgung! Even the way you drink is bold and vigorous!”
“I don’t recall becoming your brother, Hwangbo Gwang. Aren’t you quite a bit older than me?”
“Ah, don’t worry about the little details! Once you’ve shared a drink together, you’re like brothers, aren’t you? Here, let this younger brother pour you another!”
“No need. Not everyone’s arrived yet. I can’t be the one drunk before the guests.”
“Ah! I didn’t even consider that! Very well, we’ll drink together later then! Hahaha!”
Feigning admiration, Hwangbo Gwang retreated, but Namgung Jong’s gaze toward him remained cold.
‘Hwangbo Gwang. All muscle and no spine. A prime example of preying on the weak and bowing to the strong. I’ve heard even his own Hwangbo Clan tries to hush up his disgraceful behavior. He’s someone I’d gain nothing from befriending.’
The Namgung Clan always aimed to be the best. For Namgung Jong, being selective with those around him was a given.
So while he kept his distance from someone like Hwangbo Gwang, that also meant he was extremely open toward those who were useful or deserving to stand beside him.
“Um, are you Young Master Namgung? Thank you for inviting me to the Dragon and Phoenix Meeting. It’s been such a deligh—”
“Oh! Lady Wi Ji-Su-Lian of the Plum Blossom Sword Peak, isn’t it? I’ve often heard that the swords of the Huashan Sect are both beautiful and deadly. To see one in person—it’s truly impressive...
If it’s alright, may I speak with you for a bit about the sword?”
“Eh? Ah, yes.”
Getting especially friendly with Wi Ji-Su-Lian, one of the most promising elites of the Huashan Sect, was natural for Namgung Jong.
Of course, part of that came from his interest in Huashan swordsmanship, and partially because Wi Ji-Su-Lian’s appearance happened to be quite close to his ideal type.
In any case, as Namgung Jong continued the enthusiastic conversation, determined not to miss the opportunity—
—two people entered who had recently been the talk of the town.
Tang Sowol of the Sichuan Tang Clan. And her fiancé, Cheon Hwi.
Public opinion of Cheon Hwi wasn’t great, due to the way he had been helplessly kidnapped. But Namgung Jong didn’t share such prejudice.
‘There’s no way someone could fight back properly against a Flowering Stage martial artist.’
Having grown up watching his father, the Sword King, Namgung Jong understood all too well how terrifying someone of the Flowering Stage was.
Even he would’ve fared no better in that situation.
Rather, he held Cheon Hwi in high regard for managing to bring the Flowering Stage martial artist who kidnapped him into the Tang Clan’s fold.
And he couldn’t fully gauge either Tang Sowol or Cheon Hwi’s martial prowess. That meant, at the very least, they had reached the Peak Stage—possibly more.
That alone was enough reason for Namgung Jong to want to befriend them.
He was just about to pause his conversation with Wi Ji-Su-Lian and go greet the new arrivals.
The couple walked in, arms linked—and from Cheon Hwi’s side, an eerie pressure began to radiate.
“Huup...”
“This is...”
“No way...?”
Gasps rang out from all around. Though it wasn’t aimed directly at anyone, they instinctively knew.
Cheon Hwi’s subtle but overwhelming presence was blanketing the surroundings.
For some reason, Namgung Jong himself, as well as Wi Ji-Su-Lian beside him, felt unaffected—but everyone else couldn’t tear their gaze from Cheon Hwi.
Though he sensed something strange in the atmosphere, Namgung Jong was briefly puzzled by the lack of any oppressive pressure on himself.
“Ah.”
‘Lady Wi is a childhood friend of Lady Tang. And I’m the one who sent out the invitation as the host. I suppose he’s showing a form of respect.’
Normally, one would feel offended at someone causing a stir at their own banquet.
But Namgung Jong felt differently. Rather, he was slightly pleased. It felt as though Cheon Hwi was recognizing and respecting him as the winner of the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering and the host of this meeting.
Namgung Jong was, by nature, a positive person.
As he twitched the corners of his mouth in amusement, it seemed Tang Sowol noticed her fiancé’s antics and sent him a discreet warning. Cheon Hwi reined in his presence.
But that didn’t mean it vanished completely.
It simply no longer extended outward—yet the chilling pressure still clung around Cheon Hwi’s frame. Only after the storm passed did Namgung Jong get a proper look at him.
He looked quite young. Unlike Tang Sowol, who had clearly passed her coming-of-age, Cheon Hwi didn’t even seem to have reached twenty.
But youth did not equate to inexperience.
Though his outfit was neat, it wasn’t stiff with newness. It bore clear traces of battle—his usual clothing, well worn.
The sword at his waist was impeccably maintained, a constant reminder that it could be drawn at any moment.
He carried the air of a veteran who had lived through the martial world for decades.
And that presence he had exuded earlier—though Namgung Jong had never experienced it directly, he knew that everyone gathered here today was a prodigious elite of the orthodox Murim.
To have overpowered them all, even briefly—that alone proved Cheon Hwi was no ordinary man.
But what drew Namgung Jong’s attention the most—
—was Cheon Hwi’s gaze.
‘He’s supposed to be from a vagabond background...’
Even if he’d spent several years in the Tang Clan, adapting to such formal banquets wouldn’t be easy.
The opulence alone was overwhelming, not to mention the reputations of those present.
Yet Cheon Hwi didn’t seem to care at all, gazing around with indifference.
They were clearly human eyes—yet it felt as if one were looking into a blade reflecting light.
And then, by chance, their eyes met.
Namgung Jong understood.
“Ah.”
In those eyes, there were only two kinds of people.
Those he could cut, and those he couldn’t.
Like a blood-hungry wolf. Or a sword always ready to test itself. That overwhelming impression hit Namgung Jong head-on.
Bloodflame Sword Demon.
An epithet too ominous and grand for a young elite—but because it had been publicly endorsed by the Black Lotus Sect Master, no one dared to object.
Rumors said Cheon Hwi had singlehandedly annihilated a sword sect and even slain a Sub-Perfection-level martial artist.
Though most dismissed it as exaggerated nonsense, with some even assuming the epithet was given in mockery by the Black Lotus Sect Master.
‘Foolish talk.’
What Namgung Jong saw in Cheon Hwi was the real thing.
This encounter would surely shift others’ opinions as well, slowly but surely.
Namgung Jong nodded inwardly in admiration.
‘I’m glad I got the chance to meet him today.’
Like the elders of his clan, Namgung Jong aspired to become the greatest swordsman in the world. Though it was still a distant goal, he knew that well.
Someone like Cheon Hwi would undoubtedly help him on that path.
Suppressing the ambition that flared within him in just that brief moment, Namgung Jong smiled at Wi Ji-Su-Lian, who was now staring dumbfounded at the pair.
“It was a pleasant conversation, Lady Wi. But it seems new guests have arrived—I’ll take my leave.”
“Ah... yes. I’ll come with you. I wanted to greet Sowol anyway.”
So together, they made their way toward Tang Sowol and Cheon Hwi, crossing the banquet hall.
When they arrived—
Though no sound was heard, Tang Sowol was clearly mouthing something rapidly—probably a voice transmission.
Cheon Hwi, on the other hand, wore a sullen expression, grumbling quietly. The sharp aura from earlier had vanished.
It was clear: he’d been scolded by his older fiancée for needlessly showing off.
Just moments ago, Cheon Hwi had seemed powerful but dangerous. Now, he looked just like any other young man his age.
“Hah.”
Namgung Jong gave a short laugh and opened his mouth to speak—
“Welcome—”
“Hold it right there, little brother!”
“Even if he was invited by Brother Namgung, don’t you think that was incredibly rude? This won’t do at all! I, Iron Fist Hero Hwangbo Gwang, younger brother of Brother Namgung, shall personally teach this junior a lesson!”
“?”
Hwangbo Gwang had stepped in, loudly berating Cheon Hwi before Namgung Jong could speak.
For a moment, Namgung Jong looked dumbfounded, unsure of what was happening. Then Hwangbo Gwang grinned at him.
“......!”
Only then did Namgung Jong realize—Hwangbo Gwang was trying to curry favor with him by acting tough.
He tried to stop him, not wanting unnecessary trouble. More importantly, their levels were simply too different.
Cheon Hwi hadn’t even tried to suppress anyone. He had merely let out a sliver of his presence.
That alone had briefly overwhelmed the elites gathered here.
But perhaps Hwangbo Gwang had mistaken that for Cheon Hwi’s full strength. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t fathom someone so young being at such a level.
Like a rampaging boar, Hwangbo Gwang charged in.
“Stop, Hwangbo Gwang. It’s true there was a disturbance, but there was no killing intent. That doesn’t warrant—”
Namgung Jong reached out to grab Hwangbo Gwang’s shoulder to stop him—
“Uaaagh!”
The moment he touched him, Hwangbo Gwang screamed like someone had slashed him and collapsed.
He clutched his neck—and a moment later, a wet stain spread between his legs.
Namgung Jong’s expression contorted.
“Now it looks like I’m the one who scared Hwangbo Gwang into wetting himself.”
He clicked his tongue internally.
In front of him, the true culprit—Cheon Hwi—smiled faintly.
“Thank you for the invitation. But... the smell is a bit much. Would you mind if we moved elsewhere to continue this conversation?”
Faced with that brazen comment, all Namgung Jong could do was nod.