Chapter 44
“Good heavens, I thought my ears were going to bleed.”
Returning from the clan’s main hall, Unyeong dropped heavily into a chair, muttering under her breath.
“Young miss, you shouldn’t speak like that. The elders only worry about you,” the nanny scolded as she set down a cup of tea.
Unyeong narrowed her eyes, ready to retort.
“Still, did they have to go on without end like that…?”
“That’s what happens when you make them worry in the first place. You put yourself in danger, of course they’ll scold you.”
It seemed her nanny wasn’t finished. The lecture threatened to go on, so Unyeong put on a pitiful face and pleaded.
“Nanny, please, enough. I’ve already heard plenty from Grandfather and Father. My ears are full. I’ve had enough worry for one day.”
“…Very well, I’ll stop.”
Since morning, Unyeong had been dragged into the main hall, where the elders’ endless worries droned on for what felt like an eternity.
How Seol Dojin had explained things, she didn’t know, but no one had questioned her directly.
Dojin had simply repeated what he had seen. Whether they believed it or not was left to the elders.
As for what she herself had felt upon meeting that bird in the Eye of the Void—it was far too difficult to explain. Even if she tried, who would believe it?
Whenever Seol Wonpyeong finished speaking, Seol Jadan picked up where he left off, and then it was back to Wonpyeong again. The cycle of scolding seemed endless.
It was an ordeal she hoped never to repeat.
And this, even though they had already confirmed by visiting the Eye themselves that there was no immediate danger. If that was them holding back, then she truly never wanted to know what “unrestrained” sounded like.
— Keep the egg for now. Should it ever hatch, then we’ll decide what to do.
Thus, the egg became her responsibility. No one seemed to believe it would ever hatch anyway.
Unyeong stroked the smooth surface, murmuring,
“My poor brother must have had an even harder time yesterday…”
She sipped her tea, now lukewarm, and sighed. Dojin had endured all that scolding alone.
“I’m sure he did,” the nanny replied.
Unyeong shivered. She had never been seriously scolded before, so she had no immunity to it. It was exhausting.
I’ll have to treat Brother better. Make him stronger—truly stronger—so that I can repay this guilt.
“Young miss,” a quiet voice called.
“Yes?”
Sogyo slipped in through the door.
“Master Jeagal and Master Namgung have come to see you.”
“Oh, is that so?”
She had been meaning to visit them herself, so their request was most welcome.
Smiling, Unyeong rose from her seat, not forgetting to pick up the neatly prepared envelope.
Well then… time to go play the genius once more.
Her steps toward the reception hall were light—so light it seemed she might float away.
Meanwhile, the vast main hall was left with only Seol Wonpyeong and his son, Seol Jadan.
“What do you think?”
At last, after a long silence, Wonpyeong spoke. His voice was heavy.
“What Dojin claimed to have seen is no lie. That child only reported exactly what he witnessed.”
Jadan nodded, replying without hesitation. His father wasn’t asking out of doubt but to confirm that they were of one mind.
“Indeed. He’s always been honest.”
“Yes. And Father yourself confirmed it yesterday, did you not? The poison was gathering there.”
“…Yes. That it was.”
Wonpyeong’s tone sank. The memory of the Eye of the Void gnawed at him still.
He had tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep after what he’d seen.
The sight of the Eye collecting poison had been nothing short of staggering. And the formation—he had never seen such a thing in all his years.
To hear of the colossal bird within only unsettled him further.
Should he rejoice at finding traces of their ancestors?
Not at all.
In that Eye, Wonpyeong had felt his spirit break. It was as though everything he had lived for was denied in an instant. Perhaps it would have been better never to see that mysterious void at all.
Such is the way of the human heart.
When things remain vague, one can cling to faith. But once the hollow truth is laid bare, conviction collapses.
A tormenting doubt gnawed at him:
Have I, have all of Seol House, been guarding this land only for that bird?
The thought that the entire clan served merely as the formation’s keystone made his mind grind to a halt. Questions swirled, yet none could be answered.
He was left shaken, hollow, suffocated—like wandering lost in fog.
“…I….”
After a long pause, his low voice broke the silence.
“…I resent our ancestors.”
“Father!”
Jadan’s eyes widened in shock.
Never before had his father spoken so weakly of their clan and forebears. To Jadan, his father had always been like a mountain. The weight of those few words was crushing.
“Perhaps it is weakness. But do you think our ancestors never struggled with such thoughts?”
Jadan held his tongue, listening.
“They must have felt the same. They guarded this place simply because it was the founder’s will. Nothing more.”
His words rolled through the hall, heavy and echoing.
“If only they had passed down everything clearly. Now, after seeing it with my own eyes, doubt has taken root. I cannot help but feel resentful.”
Jadan said nothing, and Wonpyeong went on.
“I was only a guardian. I lived only to protect. But now… I don’t even know what it is I’ve been protecting. Whether I’ve guarded it well at all….”
His gaze sank with regret.
All his life, he had never looked another way. He had chosen restraint—guarding just enough to keep peace.
He had the talent to expand Seol Trading Company far beyond what it was, yet he deliberately held back.
Thus he protected Hong’an County and the Seol household quietly, unnoticed.
Even when he saw Jadan wandering, he pretended not to notice, perhaps forcing upon him the same duty of protection.
And when he saw young Dojin standing uneasily in the Eye, he could do nothing but shut his eyes.
He could no longer tell even the child simply to be silent and endure.
That was why he scolded Dojin and Unyeong so harshly—because they had courted danger, because they had not reported it at once.
“That cannot be the end of it, Father.”
Jadan finally spoke.
Wonpyeong turned to meet his son’s eyes.
“Master Jeagal may have discovered the formation, but that alone is not the end. He sought it out, yes, but he did not ask for help.”
Jadan’s tone was urgent. He could not sit idle while watching his father crumble before his eyes.
Looking upon his father’s face—aged as though by decades in a single night—he had no choice but to fight that despair.
“…That is how you see it?” Wonpyeong asked at last, after a long silence.
“Yes.” Jadan clenched his fists. “We only need to uphold the will once more. If we guard it so that they must come, so that they must ask for our aid, then all will continue.”
“…Ha.”
In contrast to his father’s broken spirit, Jadan’s eyes burned with fervent hope. That contrast alone brought a faint laugh to Wonpyeong’s lips.
His son still had time—plenty of it.
“Why not use this chance to spread Seol House’s name far and wide?”
Jadan’s voice grew stronger.
“To rise as a true martial clan would not be a bad path. Seol’s Heaven-Net Divine Art and Heaven-Net Swordplay are peerless techniques. Even sharing the swordplay’s basics with the household guards would strengthen us.”
His words tumbled forth, no longer restrained, passion pouring out like a flood.
“Heh. Yes, that would be good too.”
Wonpyeong chuckled, broad and genuine.
Perhaps Jadan had long carried these thoughts in his heart. Perhaps that was how he had endured all this time.
Wonpyeong’s eyes glistened red.
“The Seol Trading Company can grow as well. We could spread that delicious powder Young-a concocted throughout the land.”
“Ha ha ha ha! Not bad at all.”
“Dojin… he takes after me, lacking talent for commerce. In time, perhaps it would be best if Young-a took charge of the company instead.”
“Yes, she truly does have a gift for it.”
Jadan kept speaking, and Wonpyeong simply nodded and smiled.
Unwittingly, events were already flowing just as Unyeong had planned—toward the making of Seol House as one of the greatest clans under heaven.
As the saying goes: A hair’s breadth can change a thousand miles.
Small differences lead to great transformations.
