Chapter 21
‘So that’s what it was.’
The memory surfaced belatedly.
Or rather, I only just realized it.
Yuguk.
The reason he kept feeling so strangely familiar.
The moment I brought Yuguk to the family estate and faced Geum Danmok, it finally hit me.
Just as Danmok resembled me, Yuguk too resembled someone I once knew.
More precisely—
‘That fool who used to trail after Jincheon… his name was Rock… no, Yumaeng, wasn’t it?’
Yumaeng was one of Jincheon’s few close friends.
If Jincheon was a wild colt that no one could predict, then Yumaeng was like a bear.
‘A man who carried such firm convictions and stubbornness that he seemed slow-witted.’
That was why his nickname was “Rock.”
A solid man who reminded you of an unbreakable boulder. But since he was still young back then, they called him “Rock” instead of “Boulder.”
“Danmok, you…!”
As I looked at Yuguk’s bear-like face, shocked at seeing Geum Danmok alive when he was thought dead, I wondered—
If Yumaeng had grown older, wouldn’t he have looked just like this?
And conversely, Yuguk must resemble Yumaeng in his younger days.
‘To think that bear left descendants.’
If Yuguk really was Yumaeng’s descendant…
If his blood truly carried on—
Then perhaps I could trust him.
“Since you’ve come, don’t just stand there. Come in. You must be weary from your long journey. Let us first wet our throats before we talk further.”
I snapped out of my thoughts as I saw Danmok warmly welcoming Yuguk.
There was no point in lingering here, only to interfere with their conversation.
“I’ll let you two speak.”
So I quietly slipped outside.
I could feel Yuguk’s gaze on my back as I left, but he didn’t try to stop me.
Not that I would have stayed even if he had.
“Still… this master of the house, I can’t help but doubt whether he’s really a mere merchant.”
He didn’t say it outright, but it was obvious Danmok didn’t want to drag Yuguk into this mess.
Even with danger at his own doorstep, he thought of his friend first.
Some might call that frustrating, but I found it admirable.
Those who only chase immediate gains can never grasp the bigger picture.
“They say some merchants don’t leave behind profits but people.”
Such merchants were called “great merchants.”
Even martial artists dared not treat them lightly.
For power of people often outweighed the power of gold.
I knew that myself, so I couldn’t deny the truth of it.
“Not yet, though.”
To be clear, I wasn’t saying Danmok was already such a man.
If he were, even someone like Gu Junhoe wouldn’t dare spread his schemes so openly.
I merely glimpsed a possibility.
“Not that I’m expecting much.”
Still, I decided to watch.
If Danmok rose to become a great merchant, and if the Geumhwa Trading Company grew stronger, it would aid my own goals as well.
But if the opposite happened?
If it only hindered me—
“Then all I can do is hope it doesn’t come to that.”
They say if a monk dislikes a temple, he can just leave.
But I had no intention of leaving.
“This is my home. Where else would I go?”
If I were a monk, I’d rather change the temple itself.
Just as the Huashan Sect was the home of the Divine Sword,
this Geumhwa Trading Company was now my home.
So Danmok had to succeed.
At the very least, he must not become an obstacle.
“As for Danmok, I don’t think he’ll be the problem.”
Danmok didn’t worry me much.
What worried me instead—
“Was his younger siblings.”
It wasn’t that they were wastrels or troublesome.
Nor that their relationship with this body was bad.
On the contrary, that was the problem.
“They’re too close. Much too close.”
I didn’t even need to dig into old memories.
The desk drawers stuffed full of letters said enough.
Every one of them filled with concern and longing.
All written by the siblings of this body.
And that was the dilemma—
How was I supposed to treat them?
It wasn’t only my problem.
The original Geum Jamun had struggled with the same issue.
In another drawer lay unsent replies he had written over the years.
Signs he had tried to cut ties in case something befell him.
The original Jamun had at least a reason to keep his siblings away.
I had none.
Even so, I wasn’t overly concerned.
“Worrying won’t change anything. Meeting them will show me the answer.”
Whether I remained their brother as Geum Jamun,
or became nothing more than a stranger—
I would know when the time came.
Before I realized it, I had reached the training yard.
Chwaang!
I drew my sword, shaking off my thoughts.
Now was not the time for thinking, but for moving my body.
“In the end, to get what I want in this jianghu, strength is essential.”
Which meant I had to become much stronger.
Not just me, but the Demonic Calamity Sword in my hand as well.
“Let’s begin.”
I thrust the blade forward.
Its gray sheen caught the sunlight, radiating a sharpness that seemed ready to cut through anything.
It was already worthy of being called a fine blade, but to call it a divine sword? That was questionable.
It was still like a newborn, barely taking its first steps into the realm of sacred artifacts.
To reach maturity and beyond, it needed time.
But I intended to shorten that time.
Not with my old methods, but inspired by the Life-Death Transmission.
And further, by the experience of saving Baekho.
“I’ll pour my energy into you now.”
It was different from before, when I merely exposed a weapon to energy little by little.
This was more direct, more efficient.
In truth, I had already known of this method for a long time.
“Endure. If you don’t, you’ll shatter like I did.”
This was the same as the blacksmith’s hammering that had mended me in Huashan.
Because I knew firsthand how dangerous it was, I warned it—
and the Demonic Calamity Sword responded.
Uwoong-woong!
The sword’s resonance was deep, but not fearful.
If anything, it trembled with anticipation.
“You’re fearless too, I see.”
I chuckled, reminded of my younger self.
Truthfully, I wasn’t too worried.
Unlike the craftsman who struck the Divine Sword until it broke, unable to hear its voice,
I could hear this sword.
‘Hurry, do it.’
Even now, I listened to its urging voice as I summoned divine power.
I split the process into three stages.
‘First, the First Star of the Violet Dawn Divine Art.’
The sacred energy of the Violet Dawn filled the blade.
A fierce aura burst forth.
Then came the Second Star. The energy grew stronger.
Finally, the Third Star.
Uwoooong!
The sword let out a long arc of sword qi.
And that was it.
No sign of change.
But I wasn’t surprised.
‘As expected.’
If simply imbuing it with energy were enough to forge a sacred artifact,
then every head of Huashan should have produced one.
Yet the sect had only ever borne me, the Divine Sword.
It meant only one thing.
‘It’s not enough to just pour power into it.’
I recalled the physician who created the Life-Death Transmission,
the blacksmith who tried to save me,
and the time I saved Baekho.
What was the difference between them and the past sect leaders?
Certainly, ability played a role.
But more fundamentally, it was about how one treated what one possessed.
‘Not only divine power, but spirit—and will—must be instilled.’
That was the key to change.
And what it required above all was an unwavering will.
The physician created his art to heal patients.
The smith wielded his hammer to save me.
So I too had to be clear about what I intended for this sword.
Thus I thought carefully about what I wished for the Demonic Calamity Sword.
And the path it should walk.
“Do not be bound. Soar freely.”
I had no desire to force anything upon it.
The sword would have its own path.
I only wished for it to experience widely,
to find and forge its own meaning.
For that, what it needed now was one thing—
“Vastness.”
A great vessel.
A vessel large enough to contain the world itself.
So I swung the sword, envisioning that vastness.
As a physician sets needles,
as a smith strikes his hammer.
Casting aside forms and techniques.
Emptying my mind of stray thoughts, leaving only spirit and intent.
‘Difficult.’
It was harder than I had imagined.
Similar to treating Baekho, yet different.
Unlike a tangible dantian, vastness was abstract, harder to grasp.
Each step, each swing, drained my spirit.
It felt like I had run into a wall for the first time.
The problem was clear.
It wasn’t the sword’s fault. It was mine.
‘Having much isn’t always good.’
Emptying myself was harder than I thought.
Too much had accumulated in my soul across the long years.
‘Sometimes being too capable is its own problem.’
I smirked, facing my past.
It was like standing before a great tower I had built over ages.
And in front of that tower, I realized I needed to be more honest.
‘Emptying it all at once is impossible.’
Even as the Divine Sword, I couldn’t do that.
For my past self was just as brilliant as I am now.
‘But given time?’
A day? Two?
No, even a lifetime might not be enough.
Emptying is harder than filling.
And when what’s filled is only the most refined essence, it takes longer still.
So I changed my thinking.
‘Perfection is nice, but not necessary.’
I wasn’t perfect, so how could I demand it?
So I emptied the hardest thing first—greed.
Once I discarded that, the rest flowed easily.
I stripped away everything unnecessary.
The tower crumbled, leaving only a single massive sword before me.
I let out a breath, half a sigh, half admiration.
‘…It’s me.’
It was my history.
And the history of Huashan itself.
The Violet Dawn Divine Sword.
The first thing I did before it was apologize to the Demonic Calamity Sword.
‘I’m sorry.’
The moment I wielded this sword, the Demonic Calamity Sword would be irreversibly influenced.
It might even lose its identity, becoming something else entirely.
Even the mere fragment before me carried overwhelming presence.
I had two choices—
to stop here, or to press on.
But as I had said, I never meant to force anything on the sword.
So I decided to stop.
Yet at that very moment—
The Demonic Calamity Sword pulled my hand forward.
And I heard it laugh.
‘After showing me that, you want me to stop?’
