Im Cheongsan swung his sword in a great arc. Scarlet sword-qi spread in a crescent shape, sweeping toward Pung Muhwi.

But Pung Muhwi, unflustered, swung his blade once more.

Whirlwind Sword (Seonpunggeom).

A whirlwind rose in an instant, surging in every direction—yet it was completely unraveled by Im Cheongsan’s crimson-dyed sword.

A martial art that melted even the wind itself.

That was the Green Mountain Blood-Flame Art (Noksan Hyeolhwagong).

Im Cheongsan thrust his sword forward.

SRAAK—!

Pung Muhwi’s shoulder split open in a long gash.

As he tried to counter, Pung Muhwi instantly bent backward.

WHOOOSH—!

The sword barely grazed him. At once, from the place it passed, flames began to flare up. Pung Muhwi felt it.

There was unmistakably demonic qi within those flames.

He did not care.

For a Mythic Realm warrior, manipulating nature and condensing it was no strange art.

Im Cheongsan smirked.

He had gained the upper hand.

He meant to end it here. Aura exploded from his body.

Nokwang Overwhelms Heaven Art (Nokwang Paecheongong).

From Im Cheongsan’s body, immense force erupted—a supreme technique that only the total chief of the Green Forest could wield. His sword soared upward, as though to pierce the sky.

“I am! The Nokwang! You cur!”

And he struck down.

A gigantic blade of energy came crashing from the heavens. Its overwhelming might was as if the sky itself collapsed.

And in that moment—Pung Muhwi was utterly serene.

He turned his body lightly, then swung his sword powerfully upward.

From Pung Muhwi’s blade burst sword-qi that formed a colossal typhoon.

Typhoon Sword (Taepunggeom).

KWA-A-A-A-AANG—!!

At the clash of swords, the surrounding trees of the stronghold were torn up by their roots and hurled away; the roof of /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the stronghold was blown off, and deep fissures split the ground.

Rocks were ground to powder and scattered, smoke rising thick.

Soon, the dust cleared.

Im Cheongsan, his brow furrowed, had retreated several steps. Pung Muhwi lay slammed into the ground.

Before long, Pung Muhwi pushed himself up with his hands.

Im Cheongsan frowned, as if unable to grasp what had just happened.

“...Bastard... you had a move after all.”

Pung Muhwi said nothing.

Blood streamed from the corner of his mouth, from his body as well—

But his eyes still shone.

It was not merely the will to stand his ground. It was certainty in himself.

And then—

Pung Muhwi began to move.

Thousands, tens of thousands of winds gathered as one, circling his blade. They seemed alive: at times writhing like dragons, at times soaring like birds, at times flowing like water.

The wind embraced all. The stronghold’s pillars, the floor, the ceiling—and Im Cheongsan.

Fear seeped into Im Cheongsan’s eyes.

This was unlike any martial art he had ever experienced. As though the wind itself had become sword, and the sword itself had become wind.

“...Wh—what is this...!”

The blade moved—so fluidly, so gracefully.

It was the secret art of Wind-Sword Pavilion, the Wind-God As-You-Will Sword (Pungsin Yeuigum), that even Unhwi had admired.

The wind grew sharp.

What had been gentle in an instant turned to blades, surging toward Im Cheongsan.

He swung to block.

After all, he still had the Green Mountain Blood-Flame Art.

He was certain he could melt, shatter, and rend the wind.

But that certainty broke the moment he swung his sword once.

PAAANG—!!

Im Cheongsan’s sword was knocked aside by the wind. When he tried to recover it, it was struck aside again.

His balance collapsed, his mind wavered.

Wind howled from every direction.

From above. From below.

From the sides.

Even from within his body.

In an instant—

All the wind became a storm. Pung Muhwi was suddenly at Im Cheongsan’s very face.

He struck.

SRAAK—!

Im Cheongsan’s head parted from his body and fell.

In that instant, the stronghold went silent. Even the wind subsided.

Pung Muhwi stood there, fists clenched, lost in deep thought.

Had the art he just used truly been his own—or was it his own interpretation of what Unhwi had once called the Wind-God Intent Realm?

It did not matter either way. What mattered was that he had attained realization.

Pung Muhwi turned toward Unhwi and bowed deeply with clasped fists.

“By the grace of the Heavenly Commissioner, I, Pung Muhwi, have gained enlightenment.”

His voice carried genuine gratitude.

“I could grasp, if only a little, what the Wind-God Intent Realm means. I will serve you all the more faithfully.”

Unhwi gave a quiet nod.

“Press on. And this time—you did excellently.”

Leaving Pung Muhwi, who bowed once more, Unhwi turned his eyes around.

The Cheonrakbu men had already slaughtered all the Green Forest bandits, and had long since turned to watch Pung Muhwi’s duel.

The chance to watch a life-and-death clash between masters at such close distance was rare.

Especially such a fight where one was certain to die—this was truly priceless.

All were in awe of Pung Muhwi, and so came to regard Unhwi, whom Pung Muhwi trusted absolutely, with a fresh respect.

Unhwi, who cared nothing for their thoughts, slowly rose.

“You all worked hard.”

Everyone awaited his next words.

“This stronghold may have been abandoned, but knowing Im Cheongsan’s nature, his treasures are surely here. Gold, jewels, spirit pills, manuals—whatever you find, it is yours. I give you half a ke. Search and we return to Seongjak Province.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Cheonrakbu men rushed off to ransack the stronghold, while Pung Muhwi, uninterested, sat down to cultivate his qi.

Night deepened.

***

In the silence, Commander Seong asked me,

“May I ask one thing?”

“Ask.”

“Why did you yield? Normally, Young Master, you would have stepped forward yourself.”

It was a reasonable question.

Whenever I had to step forward, I always did.

Who the opponent was—that was never important.

That was the role the head must play.

“Because there is something more important left.”

“Something more important?”

Commander Seong tilted his head, but there had been reason enough to yield Im Cheongsan to Pung Muhwi.

I had not voiced it yet.

I said quietly to Commander Seong,

“Lately, you’ve been hurrying yourself a great deal.”

“...Ah... is that so?”

He had tried to hide it as best he could, but now it was time to bring it up.

“Is it so hard on you?”

“...It is not hard.”

“Then why do you reproach yourself so?”

At the sudden questions, Commander Seong’s eyes widened.

“Why... do you say such things?”

“I’ve told you before—I do not care if you are a warrior of Ipshin Realm, or a commoner.”

“......”

“Your being at my side alone is of great help to me. More than that, you often read my thoughts before I do.”

Commander Seong scratched his head.

“I’ll take that as praise.”

“It is praise. To be afraid of every step I take is only because you know what results those steps may bring. If that isn’t praise, what is?”

Just before, Pung Muhwi and Im Cheongsan had fought as if to the death, displaying their martial arts.

Pung Muhwi’s in particular had been striking. Whether he was a genius or not, I could not say, but to hear of the Wind-God Intent Realm and interpret it on his own—such judgment could only belong to one more than a mere talent.

He had surely attained realization.

It had not been the leap to the Cheonin Realm, but it was still a step forward.

Commander Seong had watched their duel with clenched teeth—that spoke for his state of mind.

I understood.

Why he rushed.

Why he felt uneasy.

I knew it all.

“You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you.”

“...What do you mean?”

“Those who raised their realm playing Go with me, those who did so with my direct help, those who gained realization from something I said. They were not few, and you saw all of them.”

“...That’s true.”

Countless times, we had discussed martial studies.

I had given realization, again and again.

Directly, indirectly, I had created opportunities for breakthroughs, and ceaselessly offered guidance.

The problem was—

Despite all that, Commander Seong still remained in Ipshin Realm.

At first, I hadn’t known.

Even until recently, I hadn’t noticed.

Partly because I had too much else on my mind—but also because the answer lay so close at hand.

That was my failing.

And so now, I meant to give him that help.

“You said the Lord of Baeksul Wiyoungdan gave you his personal martial art?”

“Yes. He passed me a martial art he had created himself.”

“Why do you think he gave it to you?”

“......”

“And he said the one to lead Baeksul Wiyoungdan after him was none but you. Have you thought why?”

Commander Seong’s gaze wavered.

He stood in silence, unable to answer.

“He fully believed in you. He saw your strength, your path forward, that you had the makings to become the very soul of Baeksul Wiyoungdan. That belief was his gift—not doubt in your ability.”

I looked a moment at Commander Seong’s bowed head, then went on.

“Since coming to my side, you’ve seen countless people raise their realm because of me. It must have made you uneasy. Why not me? Why am I still standing still? And watching me clash with giants like Muksehoe, you must have felt driven by the compulsion to grow stronger to protect me.”

I spoke softly.

“I’ve told you over and over, just being at my side is of great help. Yet it seems you never fully believed it. Even when I myself say I have been helped by you, if you think you have been of no help—how can I be at ease?”

“Young Master...”

“So long as you cannot believe in yourself as you are, no realization will matter. What the Lord of Baeksul Wiyoungdan gave you was not a martial art. It was realization.”

“...Realization?”

“Believe in yourself. Something like that.”

A cold wind blew, yet the conversation deepened.

“You think you must grow stronger to protect me. Like a father guarding his son. But, Commander Seong, I believe it is more important that you guard yourself wholly, than that you guard me. To trust yourself, to realize what you already have. That is all you need right now. Muksehoe? To grow stronger than them? You already possess something none of them ever will.”