Chapter 225: The Greatest Sword Clan in the World (2)
Seorin had raised a suspicion that I might actually be a distant blood relative of the Namgung Clan, but, surprisingly, it was denied immediately.
“That’s not it.”
“I didn’t think so either, but why are you so sure?”
“Because I’ve more or less kept track of all bloodlines within the Namgung Clan.”
“...Excuse me?”
I blinked in disbelief—he seemed like someone who knew only the sword. I hadn’t expected him to be so thorough about lineage.
Namgung Dowi spoke with a bitter expression.
“It’s been quite some time since the Namgung Clan came to be called the greatest martial family in the world. Naturally, many people have come seeking that power and influence.”
“Ah…”
“Those who come merely to learn the Namgung sword are still acceptable. We just choose someone with decent character and marry them into the actual bloodline. But most of them just covet our wealth and power. We can’t allow such people to carry the Namgung name.” “So that’s why you’ve been keeping track of how far the collateral lines have spread.”
“Exactly. But the next head after me won’t have to worry as much. Jong will be able to focus more on the sword.”
“Did something happen?”
Namgung Dowi, who had been clearing an open space by swinging his sword at rocks and small trees, looked at me like I’d just asked the dumbest question in the world.
“Isn’t it obvious? Soon, the title of the greatest martial family in the world will belong not to the Namgung Clan, but to the Tang Clan of Sichuan.”
“Hmm...”
“Don’t look so troubled. It’s true the Namgung Clan grew greatly thanks to that title. But I’m not obsessed with it. In fact, I feel freer now that I can focus more on the sword.”
“Hearing you say that makes me feel a little better.”
“Besides, even if the greatest martial family changes, the greatest sword clan is still the Namgung Clan, is it not?”
He spoke of it so naturally, as if declaring an obvious truth—like how the sun rises in the east, the moon shines at night, and Seorin is not senile.
Arrogant words, perhaps—but if anyone was qualified to speak so arrogantly, it would be Namgung Dowi.
As I nodded in silent admiration, Namgung Dowi, now standing opposite me, drew his sword.
So clean was his draw that I didn’t even hear the blade slide against the scabbard. The white blade gleamed in the sunlight.
“This should be good enough. Draw your sword.”
“I look forward to it.”
I also drew my sword. A matte black blade that absorbed the light around it, asserting its quiet presence.
For a moment, we stood face to face in silence, as if all our previous conversation had been a lie.
Yet even in that silence, we continued to speak—through aura, not words.
Two auras that resembled the sword itself clashed, collided, and sharpened one another.
Thanks to that, my senses grew razor-sharp. I could clearly feel not just Namgung Dowi but even the eyes of those watching our duel.
However, all this silent tension was ultimately overshadowed by one immense presence.
Boom—
A unique pressure radiated from Namgung Dowi—not something one could call simply “powerful” or “intense.”
It felt like facing the heavens that had descended to earth.
Until now, it had just been greetings—confirming whether I had truly reached the Flowering Stage, and whether my level was genuine.
But now, what he was emanating was no longer the aura of Namgung Dowi, the individual.
It was the aura of the Namgung Clan itself.
I had experienced it once before, and I’d already understood it intellectually.
But now that I stood at the Flowering Stage myself, it felt completely different.
In the past, it had felt distant and towering—an overwhelming presence that left you breathless. Like a sky built from swordsmanship.
But now, it no longer felt so unreachable.
The Namgung Clan’s sword was still as awe-inspiring as ever, but it no longer overwhelmed me.
I raised my internal energy and shaped it with willpower—molding it into form.
Wuuung—
Pale energy, as if awakening from slumber or sliding out of its scabbard, wrapped around my blade.
Namgung Dowi’s lips curled into a bright smile as he silently observed.
And then—
Tat!
He moved first.
The distance between us closed in a flash. A blue sword aura fell from above, straight and true.
It looked like a simple downward slash—devoid of tricks. But it was anything but simple.
Footwork that contained speed, subtle timing that disrupted the opponent’s breath, the precise movement of joints and muscles, the angle of the blade, the flow of inner energy, the focus of intent...
It was a vertical slash packed with everything a swordsman could possess.
At first glance, it could be mistaken for someone who had devoted his entire life to perfecting just one strike.
Staring straight at the fast, heavy blade, I moved my own sword.
Naturally, I left myself a sliver of margin for what came next. But aside from that, everything about Namgung Dowi had been meticulously tuned for this single strike.
Such monstrous skill… and yet, perhaps because of that, I could see how to counter it.
“Hrrmph.”
With a sharp breath, I swung my sword covered in pale white energy.
A slash stronger and wider than usual. Not as extreme as when I used a different grip against Azure Cold Serpent, but certainly more exaggerated than normal.
Namgung Dowi’s eyebrow twitched. He knew my swordsmanship well enough to understand that I always used just the right amount of force in the right place.
KWAANG!
The strike extended farther than its visible reach—by a full hand’s breadth—and crashed against his sword.
His blade, filled with decades of expertise, and the accumulated martial wisdom of all past Clan Heads, was struck.
But because that experience was built upon known parameters, when it encountered an unforeseen variable—like a slash that reached beyond its range—it couldn’t display its full power.
“This is...”
Namgung Dowi’s eyes gleamed as he stared at his sword, now buried in the ground after being thrown off course by an invisible strike.
“An invisible sword?”
“It’s not grand enough to deserve such a name.”
It’s more like a sword wind—sharp and dense enough to rival true energy.
Of course, the farther the distance, the weaker the force becomes.
“A master of the Flowering Stage always carries their own unique essence. Yours seems to lie in range.”
“Hmm. It wouldn’t be any fun if I just told you everything myself, would it?”
Strictly speaking, he’s slightly off.
Just as the Namgung Clan’s sword seeks the infinite, Seorin’s fists seek pinpoint breakthrough, and the Black Lotus Sect Master’s spear pursues certain hit...
My sword is wielded to reach the unreachable, to cut the uncut.
Rather than controlling distance, it’s more accurate to say I slice through the concept of distance itself.
Even I don’t know what name to give it yet. I simply swing it with sincerity.
But Namgung Dowi didn’t seem to care about that.
With a thrilled expression, he readjusted his grip.
“Well said. In the end, swordsmen speak through their swords. Ah, by the way, are you no longer using bloodlust?”
“I don’t need to, so I choose not to. If you’d like, I can show a bit.”
“No need. Use that time to show me more of your sword.”
“We’ve got plenty of time to duel. No need to rush.”
His answer was as Namgung-esque as ever. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I took the initiative this time and swung my blade.
A pale white sword aura like moonlight cut through the air.
Namgung Dowi’s sword, as always, traced a path near perfect in its trajectory.
But—
Ka-duk!
“Heh!”
He let out a breath of admiration as he watched my sword aura subtly, ever so slightly, pierce into his own.
It wasn’t that my willpower had become sharper. He had simply realized that the very direction of my sword was fundamentally different.
We had each shown the other our sword.
Now there was nothing left but to clash in earnest.
Our eyes met briefly—and then our swords began to intertwine in full.
Slashing, parrying, thrusting. Blue and white sword auras clashed and gnawed at each other in a fierce stalemate.
My martial art lacks distinct forms so that I can strike only where needed.
Namgung Dowi’s sword disregards set forms not because of ignorance—but because he knows too many of them.
Speed is easy to read. Heaviness is easy to redirect. Sharpness is easy to break.
These long-standing rules began to be unraveled, piece by piece, by both our hands.
Naturally, as the exchange continued, the advantage tilted toward Namgung Dowi.
The skills I had built up couldn’t compare to the decades of legacy and discipline within the Namgung Clan. My willpower couldn’t yet match a grandmaster who’d been at the Flowering Stage for twenty years.
But that didn’t mean I was helpless.
My blade sliced through space, disturbing Namgung Dowi’s sword path, and even cut through intangible senses that weren’t meant to be sliced.
And Namgung Dowi welcomed it all joyfully—overwhelming it only just enough, savoring the duel.
This wasn’t a life-or-death fight. It was a duel meant to better understand each other’s swords.
As I had thought before, the Namgung Clan was remarkably open with their martial arts compared to others.
They weren’t as generous as the desperate Ice Palace who handed Seol Lihyang their secrets without a second thought, but at the very least, they never acted stingy toward someone sincere about the sword.
They welcomed thieves—inviting them to try, if they could steal anything.
In exchange, one day you’d find your martial knowledge woven into their sword style.
Some might dislike this—but not me.
Our moves meshed like a pre-written choreography. The joy of a duel that only a true match—not a deadly fight—could offer brought a smile to my face.
How many times had we repeated the cycle—letting go of all worries, focusing purely on the sword?
Eventually, our surroundings were filled with signs of battle. The land was scarred with cuts and the air still hummed with fading sword aura. In the distance, the mountains were draped in red sunset.
“It’s about time we wrap up today’s duel.”
“Yes. I still have one more sparring match with your son.”
“And didn’t I promise to return you to the Tang girl by nightfall? We’ll be arriving at the next village quite late.”
“Ah...”
Right. We had stepped off the road for this duel during our travels. If we didn’t want to camp outside, we’d need to hurry to find an inn.
“Then let’s finish it with this last strike.”
“Agreed.”
We both nodded and took some distance.
At the same time, a pressure unlike anything before radiated from Namgung Dowi.
It was like the heavens pressing down on my shoulders. But in truth, he wasn’t suppressing me.
I was suffocating under the sheer number of sword paths emanating from Namgung Dowi—countless trajectories from a single point.
Imperial Sword Form—a technique forged to condense all the Namgung swordsmanship, passed down by generations of sword-mad ancestors, into a single strike.
My instincts screamed—whatever move I made, I’d be cut.
It made sense. His aura wasn’t just pressure. Every line was a potential sword path that could launch at any moment.
But it didn’t matter.
I focused my will, sharpening it to a razor’s edge—to cut through not just the sword path, but the very aura of pressure.
Cut.
That alone consumed my mind as I gripped my sword tighter.
And then, as if in unison—
Ssskuk.
A faint slash.
My robe’s hem had been cut. A beat later, Namgung Dowi’s sleeve was also not left untouched.
It wasn’t a life-or-death match, but I had crossed blades with the Sword King—and held my own.
I nodded in satisfaction.
Namgung Dowi, pleased at having experienced a sword he had never encountered before, nodded as well.
A sigh echoed from a short distance away—it was Tang Sowol.
But… that couldn’t be helped.
Living like this every day would be exhausting, but now and then, throwing yourself into the madness of the sword, spending time with those who shared that passion—that was truly enjoyable.
...Well, as long as you don’t go too far. No one wants to make the same mistake as the Sword Demon.
***
They say words carry power.
A few days after we settled into the Black Lotus Sect...
Unorthodox masters began dying, one by one.
The witnesses all described the killer with the same word:
Sword Demon.