Seol Jungcheon’s eyes gleamed.

“You’ve never used Seolgung’s power in any of this. Is that still the case?”

“Yes.”

“...I heard you saved Muryeon. He said something to me—that he can understand it, but he still can’t accept it.”

“It wasn’t anything deep. I still don’t know what my eldest brother truly feels.”

Seol Jungcheon’s expression grew deeply complicated.

No, it was regret.

“This pathetic father... I seem to be placing too much burden on you.”

Unwi smiled faintly.

“It’s fine. I’m alive for this very reason.”

“...Unwi.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t overdo it. If there’s something I, as Lord of Seolgung, must do—tell me, anytime.”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“...Hm?”

“You must ascend to Honwondokjon. Only when you reach that realm can I carry out what’s in my head—without having to constantly look over my shoulder.”

Seol Jungcheon paused for a moment to process the meaning—then his eyes widened.

“...You’re saying... everything you’ve done so far... was while holding back?”

“Yes.”

“....”

“Are you alright with that?”

“...Of course I’m not, you brat.”

And in that moment, one of the doubts Seol Jungcheon had been harboring in his heart was fully confirmed.

He needed the clear answer.

“When will it happen? The time when Gun Mugyeol and Kang Cheonwoo ascend to Honwondokjon?”

Unwi was rushing. That was clear.

He was full of intention to raise Seol Jungcheon’s cultivation as fast as possible—and it wasn’t just to cleanse Seolgung’s interior.

No, it wasn’t.

Unwi never played a move in Go with only one intention.

There was always more than one meaning behind it.

Seol Jungcheon’s suspicion had been precise. And Unwi replied quietly.

“To my memory... Gun Mugyeol ascends in half a year, and Kang Cheonwoo by the end of this year—in other words, in about eight months.”

The balance of power among factions is crucial.

As long as cultivation levels are similar, balance holds. But if one side’s level grows disproportionately higher, the balance collapses, and friction inevitably follows.

He must ascend to Honwondokjon.

That was what Seol Jungcheon, as Lord of Seolgung, had to accomplish.

“Let’s play Go.”

“Father.”

“Speak.”

“If you rush too much, things that could have worked out might not.”

“...Hmm...”

“Be at ease. Hesitation dulls the blade, but resolve sharpens it.”

Seol Jungcheon’s eyes opened wide.

“I ask only this—do not fear greatness. Inner stillness will summon the storm. Whether or not it is your fate, Father, it is the path you must walk.”

With a calm mind, Seol Jungcheon retrieved the Ice Sky Go Board from the folding table.

Unwi asked,

“Would you like the first move?”

Gazing at Unwi’s reverent posture, Seol Jungcheon picked up the black stone and placed it down.

Tok.

The match had begun.

***

The atmosphere in Jeokan was heavy with tension.

To be frank, the martial artists of Jeokan had held firm trust in Lee Jagyeom.

If Lee Jagyeom said to act, they would follow without a sliver of hesitation.

Everything he attempted had succeeded. Whatever the scheme, it brought results.

Who was it that brought the Three Flowers of the Three Valleys?

It was Lee Jagyeom.

On top of that, Jeokan was a coastal city.

They made absurd profits through smuggling, and the local specialty—Blood Plum Blossom—could be turned into poison, liquor, even tea. This had generated massive wealth.

Naturally, the martial artists of Jeokan had no reason not to follow Lee Jagyeom.

But today, for the first time, that trust shattered.

“You fucking bastard...!!”

Lee Jagyeom smashed the table and walls before him. This was not the cold strategist they knew.

“Raaaagh—!! Seol Unwi!! You goddamned fucking son of a bitch!!”

Boom! Crash!

Everything around him was reduced to rubble. Even parts of the building collapsed.

Martial artists nearby scrambled to evacuate.

Lee Jagyeom’s fury was beyond imagination.

But that wasn’t the reason the martial artists’ trust had faltered.

It was because of the fifty severed heads scattered across Jeokan’s main road.

Before that, it had been one hundred fifty.

Before that, just mangled corpses—traders torn to shreds.

In the last four days, nearly three hundred lives had been lost.

Why?

How had it come to this?

Because Lee Jagyeom’s strategy had failed.

And not just once—multiple times.

He had been outmaneuvered again and again by Seol Unwi.

Now he had lost his usual sharpness.

“That little shit played me? That worm dared... DARED!!”

The martial artists of Jeokan waited for his rage to settle.

The losses suffered by Ilmun, Samga, and Ijang were catastrophic.

Some sects had lost their heads; others had lost division lords or core fighters.

It was then—

Lee Jagyeom roared,

“Gather every martial artist we have!!”

His eyes were burning—literally blazing.

“Tonight, we erase Yangryeong from this world!”

***

Tok. Unwi placed a white stone on the board.

And after that, neither he nor Seol Jungcheon made another move.

Half a point—margin of five and a half.

“I came pretty close, didn’t I.”

Unwi smiled.

“You’ll be able to come even closer next time.”

Seol Jungcheon let out a hearty laugh. Truly, Unwi’s skill at Go never failed to impress.

They had spoken of many things over the board.

The logic of heaven and earth. The nature of humankind.

What it means to be a martial artist.

They debated countless topics, exchanged countless answers based on their perspectives.

From each answer sprang new questions, which gave birth to new answers, and again new questions.

Even so, Seol Jungcheon’s cultivation had not changed.

“Seems it’s still not the time.”

“Father.”

“Speak.”

“I’m certain.”

Unwi’s smile was warm—immeasurably so.

“If once isn’t enough, then try twice. If twice doesn’t work, then three times. Keep playing Go with me. We can even spar without internal energy. But if you grow impatient, you’ll fail at what could have been done. So please—don’t worry.”

He was too mature for his age.

At that moment—

“Young master, a report just arrived from Jang Seok. The delegation corpses have passed Geumgwangjin.”

Geumgwangjin was a small village near Jeokan, about two shichen away on foot.

Given the speed of the top-grade carrier pigeon Unwi had personally gifted Jang Seok, there was about one and a half shichen remaining until the severed heads reached Jeokan.

Hearing the voice from outside, Seol Jungcheon looked at Unwi with a trace of concern.

“By now... I think I know what it is you’re trying to do. Are you certain about this?”

“I’m fine, Father.”

At Unwi’s firm reply, Seol Jungcheon silently nodded and put away the Ice Sky Go Board, rising ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ from his seat.

“My, my... This late-night rendezvous makes me feel like one of those rich scoundrels sneaking into a brothel behind his wife’s back.”

Just as he made that offhand joke, Seol Jungcheon’s eyes suddenly widened.

The joke echoed in his head.

“What is it, Father?”

“Ah... Just remembered something you said earlier while we played. That line—‘Empty, yet formed; formed, yet hollow.’”

A glint of realization passed through Seol Jungcheon’s eyes.

He stood in silence for a moment, organizing his thoughts.

“It’s strange. I chased after such complexity to reach the Realm of the Martial Divine, and yet... the answer was in the mundane.”

Unwi smiled.

“Sometimes, while climbing a high mountain to glimpse the moon beyond the clouds, we forget there’s a moon reflected in the pond at our feet.”

Seol Jungcheon nodded. It wasn’t full enlightenment, but it felt like something blocked had begun to clear.

“Next time... shall we have a drink instead of Go?”

He smiled as he said it, and Unwi nodded.

Go was the best medium, yes—but to insist Go was the only way to pass down enlightenment would be to limit one’s own reach.

Unwi believed that human beings possessed limitless potential.

“I’ll prepare the wine.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you in fifteen days.”

With that smiling expression still on his face, Seol Jungcheon’s physical form dissolved and vanished.

And the smile that had lingered on Unwi’s lips disappeared as well.

It was time to return to Yangryeong.

Now that the delegation’s heads had reached Jeokan, Lee Jagyeom would realize what had happened—and erupt in rage.

Lee Jagyeom had always thought himself clever. But when he realized he wasn’t—

When he realized he had been dancing in someone else’s palm this whole time—

He would no longer be able to think rationally.

Lee Jagyeom would surely lead Jeokan’s martial force and march toward Yangryeong.

It would take, at most, seven shichen.

He would arrive in Yangryeong before sunrise.

And only then would he realize—far too late—just how grave a mistake he had made.

A voice broke through Unwi’s thoughts.

“Uh... Young master...? May I come in? You’ve been silent so long, I was worried something happened...”

“Chief Seong.”

“Ah, yes. Young master.”

“Come in.”

The door opened.

Wearing his military robe, with a long sword strapped to his left and three throwing knives on his right—Chief Seong looked nothing like the usual officer.

He was now a sword.

A well-forged blade.

“The stage I mentioned before—today, it will be set. Are you ready?”

Chief Seong smiled faintly.

“Of course, young master.”

Today, an awful lot of blood would flow.