Seolhwa returned to her quarters and sent word to Yu Gang before promptly beginning her preparations.

There was no reason to refuse Muryong Yeonhwa’s invitation. She was curious about Namgoong Woong’s condition as well.

“I just finished informing the Patriarch that I am relinquishing my position as Young Lord.”

Those had been Namgoong Cheonghae’s words when he visited out of the blue several days ago.

Seolhwa had already heard whispers of the purge—of Yun Solran and those who had sided with her. Gossip flowed like water in the Namgoong Clan, and Yeoyul was especially adept at collecting it.

Even so, Namgoong Cheonghae had personally explained each of their crimes and the punishment they received.

When he confessed that his former wife had been involved in that incident eight years ago, his voice and face betrayed unmistakable guilt and shame.

Seolhwa understood why he had come to her in person, despite everything.

It had been she who informed him of Yun Solran’s ties with the Black ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Dragon Division’s leader, pushing him to act.

“I did not know Yun Solran was a Blood Demon Cult agent,” she thought.

Still, when she heard the news, she had been glad she had spoken up. Ever since the betrayal at the hands of the Black Dragon Division’s commander, which left her subordinates wounded, Seolhwa had sworn never to allow even the smallest risk to remain near her.

“Even so... this all escalated far more than I expected.”

Not only Yun Solran and the Black Dragon Commander—but elders and Sword Division leaders had been swept up in it as well.

And once Namgoong Mucheon drew his sword, there had been no mercy.

This time, even Seolhwa felt the full weight of what it meant for the man known as the Sword Emperor to make a decision.

“Thank you. And... I am sorry.”

Namgoong Cheonghae had left with those final words.

The tea he never touched had gone cold, sitting at the spot where he had been moments ago.

That was the end of it. The final word regarding Namgoong Cheonghae’s family.

Word was that both Cheonghae and Woong had not left their quarters since. And yet, Namgoong Woong had accepted Muryong Yeonhwa’s invitation.

“Namgoong Woong....”

She could almost picture him clearly.

Seolhwa let out a soft sigh.

“Wow! You look so beautiful, Young Miss!”

Just as Seolhwa finished dressing, Yeoyul clapped her hands together and beamed.

“I mean, I dressed you, but... truly... truly....”

“Thank you, Yeoyul.”

Seolhwa quickly stepped away before her maid could continue gushing.

“W-Wait! Young Miss! You forgot your outer robe!”

Yeoyul chased after her, hastily catching up and draping the robe over her just as she stepped past the threshold.

Though it felt slightly cumbersome, Seolhwa accepted it without protest.

And that was when she felt it—a gaze, sharp and unwavering.

“....”

Yu Gang stood at the base of the stairs, staring straight at her.

She had no idea when he had arrived.

He was no longer in his martial robes, but dressed in clothes provided by the Namgoong Clan. His old ones had been torn to shreds during the battle at Suro Stronghold.

Now, he wore a robe of shimmering blue silk, and strangely, it suited him. To someone unaware, he could have passed for a noble son of the Namgoong Clan.

Perhaps it was his honest, clear-cut features.

“When did you get here?”

“...Huh?”

She descended the steps and approached him. Only then did Yu Gang snap out of it.

“O-oh, just now. I mean, just a minute ago....”

“I heard you went to the training grounds, even though you're still recovering?”

“My body was feeling stiff, so I just moved around a little to loosen up.”

“How about you stop tormenting the Medical Hall physicians for a change?”

“...Me? I did not torment anyone!”

“I hear the physicians are all over the place trying to track down a missing patient.”

It seemed no one thought to look in the training hall, so the entire estate had been turned upside down.

His monstrous healing rate aside, to be so eager to train again the moment he could move... He really was a lunatic for martial arts.

“Guh...”

Apparently, that part he had not realized—Yu Gang looked stricken.

“What if your wounds reopen on the way to Mount Hua? Should I leave you behind if you slow us down?”

His mouth opened slightly. He fumbled for a response, but ended up closing it and bowing his head.

“...Sorry. I will be more careful from now on.”

He must have thought it was no big deal since he felt better—but to his credit, he accepted the scolding without protest.

“That is a wise decision.”

With a faint smile, Seolhwa walked past him.

Namgoong Ryeong, waiting up ahead, shot her a thumbs-up.

“Hey, wait!”

The sudden shout made her pause and glance back.

And the sight before her, from the bottom of the stairs, was completely different from the one she had seen from above.

A towering pavilion silhouetted against a violet sky, streaked with the deepening hues of twilight and thick drifting clouds.

And in the space where the lantern lights from the pavilion and the walkway pooled together stood Yu Gang.

“You look really beautiful today.”

He spoke with a wide, sheepish grin.

His smile, backed by the darkening sky, glowed with the brightness of the lanterns themselves.

For a moment, Seolhwa thought that perhaps... it was the gathering lights that made her eyes sting.

****

“Wahaha! I heard you liked it, so I made some!”

A massive plate was set down before her.

Seolhwa blinked at the unfamiliar creation, then asked Cheongsan,

“What is this?”

“Can you not tell? It is candied fruit skewers!”

“...This is?”

“Yes! Not that hard to make, honestly! Just marinate them in syrup, wait for them to harden! I used big fruits for you since you like them!”

Just as he said, the plate was filled with tanghulu—starting from tiny grapes and strawberries to whole apples, pears, and persimmons.

She pictured that hulking man carefully assembling them, piece by piece....

With a faint smile, Seolhwa reached for the smallest grape and popped it into her mouth.

Crunch.

Do you need to circulate your internal energy just to eat this?

Is this some kind of cultivation-through-cuisine training?

With that absurd thought, Seolhwa quietly set the rest down, and when Cheongsan was not looking, discreetly spit out what she had still been holding in her mouth.

She pushed the plate far away, then let her gaze sweep over those seated around the table.

Yu Gang. Hwarin. Cheongsan and his wife. Jin Soyak. And seated beside Soyak—Namgoong Woong.

Seolhwa studied Woong carefully.

He laughed and responded to the cheerful conversation, but there was a strange weariness in his demeanor.

Whenever their eyes happened to meet, he would flinch and quickly avert his gaze—not like Hwarin, who did so out of shyness, but for an entirely different reason.

So I was right.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Seolhwa turned her eyes away.

Dinner came to a close amidst the warmth and chatter. Yu Gang offered to walk Jin Soyak back to his quarters, and Seolhwa, accompanied by Ryeong, made her way toward her own residence.

“S-Sister!”

She did not need to turn to know who was calling her. She had more or less expected it.

At her nod, Ryeong stepped aside and waited at a short distance.

Seolhwa turned to face Woong.

“What is it?”

He seemed caught off guard by her calm reaction. His face tensed with awkward confusion.

“I... um... that is...”

“If you’re here to apologize, don’t.”

Woong flinched and stepped back.

His face said it all—he was wondering how she knew.

It was exactly the response Seolhwa had anticipated.

With a soft sigh, she stepped toward him and placed both hands firmly on his shoulders.

Woong’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Woong.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Do not carry guilt over something that was never your fault. That’s not kindness. That’s foolishness.”

“B-But...”

He had heard it. That it was his mother who had been behind the incident eight years ago—the one that ruined Seolhwa’s life.

She had left her home and lived through years of hardship because of what his mother had done. How could he not feel sorry?

“D-Do you... not hate me?”

“I don’t,” she said plainly. “Not even a little.”

“!”

“To be honest, I don’t even hate your mother. Or rather, I don’t really feel anything.”

Namgoong Cheonghae had told her everything when he visited her, and she had listened, but—whether Yun Solran had been punished, disgraced, or suffered some tragic end—none of it mattered to her anymore.

“I have far too much to do.”

She still had to finish learning martial arts from Seop Mugwang. She had to finalize the Counter-Destroying Sword techniques and pass them on to the Martial Academy. There was Mount Hua to stay in contact with.

The rot had only just been cut out of the Namgoong Clan, but that alone would not be enough to steer the future in the right direction.

When the Blood Demon Cult finally rises again, the Namgoong Clan must be strong enough to fight them on equal footing—and there was still a long way to go.

“I do not have the time or the luxury to resent people for things that happened eight years ago. Just moving forward is hard enough. So do you really think I have room left to hate you?”

Woong shook his head.

“If you’ve got time to waste feeling guilty, go train your swordsmanship instead.”

“I—I have been training!” he said, stiffening with urgency.

“Then shall we spar again? Like last time?”

Woong shook his head even faster.

“Th-that... I’m still... not ready for that, mentally!”

His round eyes filled with panic, and Seolhwa let out a short laugh.

Judging by his reaction, he did not seem particularly broken up about losing his mother.

No—of course he must feel something. But more than sadness, he simply looked like someone used to holding it all in.

Even back then, it was obvious the family only favored the eldest.

How else could a child grow up to be so needlessly mature?

Apologizing, giving up—those had become his default responses.

“Woong.”

“Yes, Sister?”

“Just keep growing like this.”

Keep going, steadily, and someday, become the kind of person who can lead the Namgoong Clan into the future.

Your confidence could use some work, but that will come in time.

Before she even realized it, Seolhwa’s hand was resting on his head, gently smoothing his soft hair.

Is this how adults feel when they ruffle a child’s hair without thinking?

Looking into those wide, clear eyes, she felt the strangest urge to infuse him with energy—some spark of strength to carry forward.

“Grow up well, alright?”