Chapter 47
The Hero’s Tournament (3)
A grand new arena had been constructed at the Martial Alliance headquarters for the Hero’s Tournament.
The stands were already packed with spectators eager to witness the upcoming main event, and the atmosphere burned with excitement.
In a specially prepared VIP section sat distinguished guests who had been invited for the occasion.
“Welcome, Lord Paeng.”
“Have you been well?”
Paeng Man-ho, the towering eight-chi-tall head of the Paeng Clan of Hebei, greeted Jegal Hyo, who had come out to receive him.
Not only he, but also the heads of the Nine Great Sects and the Six Great Clans, were in attendance.
Normally, it was the elders of each sect or clan who represented them at Alliance gatherings; seeing the leaders themselves was rare indeed.
“Ah! Lord Namgung, you’re here!”
“……”
As Namgung Hwang, dressed in light blue robes, entered the VIP section, many turned their heads toward him.
Their gazes carried different emotions.
‘To think he’d come here despite the trouble caused by the Demonic Alliance…’
‘He must be here to beg for aid to save his endangered clan.’
The Namgung Clan of Anhui Province was the Demonic Alliance’s prime target for invasion as it pushed northward.
No matter how famed the Namgung were for their swordsmanship, they could not possibly hold back such overwhelming power alone.
Thus, many believed Namgung Hwang had left his embattled home to seek help from the Alliance and other sects.
At that moment, the head of Wudang, Sage Seong Mun-jin, approached him and spoke.
“With all the unrest in the south, your heart must be heavy, Lord Namgung. You’ve made quite the arduous journey.”
“An arduous journey? Hardly.”
Namgung Hwang’s tone was calm as always, unwavering.
“I understand and appreciate everyone’s concern for my clan. But rest assured—the Namgung Clan is not so weak as to need pity.”
It was a firm, dignified declaration filled with conviction.
Namgung Hwang had not come to beg for help.
He had come to stand tall.
“If the Demonic Alliance dares to cross the river and invade the north, then my clan shall gladly stand as the bulwark that protects the righteous martial world.”
His words carried the pride of a house that had stood strong for centuries.
Those present could not help but look at him with admiration.
“We shall not let the Namgung Clan fight alone.”
“Yes, let us unite our strength and crush the schemes of those vile heretics!”
Without ever pleading, Namgung Hwang had rallied their support simply by showing his spirit and honor—just as befit the head of a noble clan.
“Lord Alliance Chief.”
“Greetings to the Alliance Chief.”
The murmuring crowd grew hushed as Mo Yong-hwi, the Alliance Chief, stepped onto the platform.
Until recently, the title of Martial Alliance Chief had been largely ceremonial.
But now, as the righteous sects united under his banner to stand against the Demonic Alliance, Mo Yong-hwi’s authority had grown substantially.
Naturally, many sought to gain his favor.
“Lord Namgung, you’ve come.”
“Alliance Chief.”
Namgung Hwang greeted him with proper formality.
Behind Mo Yong-hwi stood his grandson, Mo Yong-hu.
“How fares your father?”
“Though he retired long ago, he remains strong and healthy.”
“To think the Sword King still stands in these troubled times—that is a relief indeed.”
“……”
“Do not worry too much. The Alliance and the righteous martial world will all stand behind your clan.”
“We merely defend our home from invaders, nothing more.”
“Ha! Such reassuring words.”
Mo Yong-hwi smiled approvingly and patted Namgung Hwang’s shoulder before passing by.
But then he suddenly stopped mid-step.
“Ah, yes. I heard one of your young men made it into the main tournament. Were you aware?”
“……This is my first time hearing of it.”
“He calls himself Namgung Hyuk, a martial officer under the Alliance.”
At that name, Namgung Hwang’s eyes flickered.
It had been he himself who’d sent Namgung Hyuk to the Alliance months ago—yet he hadn’t expected to hear his name here.
“So you didn’t know. He’s achieved quite a few feats since joining the Vermilion Bird Unit.”
“Is that so.”
“To have such a promising talent in your clan must be reassuring indeed! Hahaha!”
Mo Yong-hwi’s laughter echoed as he walked off.
Behind him, Mo Yong-hu glanced at Namgung Hwang briefly.
‘Can the Namgung Clan truly survive in their dire state? …Interesting. I’ll be watching.’
As he walked, Mo Yong-hu turned his eyes toward the dueling stage.
‘Namgung Hyuk, huh? To think he’d be competing. Had I known, I’d have joined the tournament myself.’
He sighed with faint regret—then his gaze caught new arrivals entering the hall.
Wearing a golden imperial robe that only royalty could don was Princess Ansuk, accompanied by Jegal Rin.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
“I’m looking forward to the matches, Alliance Chief.”
The princess’s eyes sparkled with excitement, while Jegal Rin stood beside her, calm and expressionless.
Mo Yong-hu’s eyes lingered briefly on the princess, but soon shifted to Jegal Rin.
‘No matter how beautiful the royal flower may be, it’s useless if I can’t pluck it. For me, only Jegal Rin will do.’
Mo Yong-hu dreamed of leading the Great Mo Yong Clan to glory—and for that, he wanted a perfect woman to bear his heir.
From the moment he first saw Jegal Rin, a woman of unmatched beauty and intellect, he had marked her as his future.
The problem was…
“Lady Jegal, how have you been?”
“……”
Even when greeted, Jegal Rin’s demeanor remained cold and distant as ever.
Her unchanging indifference cut at his pride like a blade.
‘How long do you intend to keep up that haughty attitude!’
He had endured for years—but his patience was wearing thin.
Perhaps sensing his heated gaze, Jegal Rin turned her head slightly—
“Begin the main round of the Hero’s Tournament!”
—but Mo Yong-hwi’s declaration resounded first, and her attention shifted toward the arena.
And suddenly, one face appeared in her mind.
‘He’ll surely be here… Namgung Hyuk.’
Why did she think that?
It wasn’t even certain—but she couldn’t shake the feeling.
Normally, she would have dismissed such irrational thoughts.
But this time… she didn’t.
“It’s begun.”
Inside the tent where the finalists waited for their matches, Namgung Hyuk could sense the flow of qi outside—the first match had started.
‘I wonder who my first opponent will be.’
Would it be Baek Ja-un, seeking revenge?
Or perhaps Mo Il-pung or Yang Mi-ryeong from the same Vermilion Bird Unit?
‘Maybe even Venerable Hye-yeon.’
Whoever it was didn’t matter.
He would win.
And reach the finals.
That was all that mattered.
“Namgung Hyuk, it’s your turn.”
As his name was called for the third match, Namgung Hyuk stepped out of the tent toward the arena.
“Do your best!”
Hearing Princess Ansuk’s cheering voice, he glanced toward the VIP seats—
and there, he saw Namgung Hwang.
‘The Clan Head is here too?’
He had thought Namgung Hwang would be too occupied with the clan’s dire situation to attend.
But if he was here, things might be different.
‘After the tournament, I’ll see him. This time, I’ll get the truth about Father.’
Step.
Namgung Hyuk climbed onto the stage.
From the opposite side came his opponent—
a pale man with limp, seaweed-like hair, wearing green robes.
‘That man…’
He remembered seeing him briefly during the second round.
Those green robes—he must be from the Sichuan Tang Clan.
‘Then this must be Tang San, the man Red Mask mentioned.’
Tang San of the Venomous Scorpion Hands.
Little was known about him outside Sichuan, except that he was the Tang Clan’s young master and a specialist in poisons.
“Namgung Hyuk of the Namgung Clan.”
“…Tang San of the Sichuan Tang Clan.”
His voice was as gloomy as his appearance.
With drooping shoulders and unfocused eyes, he hardly looked like the heir of a great clan.
‘So the Tang heir hasn’t changed at all.’
‘Tsk, such lack of spirit.’
Several VIPs shook their heads inwardly.
Even among the righteous sects, the Tang Clan of Sichuan was often looked down upon for its use of hidden weapons and poison—techniques seen as cowardly.
And even within the Tang Clan, Tang San was an outlier—
a reclusive man obsessed solely with venom.
The modern Tang Clan prized hidden weapons over poison, yet their young master was consumed by it.
“The Tang Clan didn’t attend the meeting, did they?”
“To send only their young master here—what are they thinking?”
While most of the Nine Sects and Six Clans had gathered under the pretext of observing the tournament—and to discuss the coming war with the Demonic Alliance—Tang Clan’s patriarch, Tang Wol-gang, had declined, citing poor health.
Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been an issue.
But now…
‘He accepted the invitation from the Demonic Alliance yet didn’t show up here… Could it be?’
‘Surely not. Even if their ideals differ, the Tang Clan is still one of the Six Great Clans.’
Still, the Tang Clan’s absence was troubling.
Meanwhile—
‘I’ve never fought someone who uses poison before.’
Namgung Hyuk spread his stance slightly and raised his sword, eyes fixed on Tang San.
Tang San merely stood with his arms hanging, unmoving.
‘Does he even intend to fight?’
His lax posture only heightened Namgung Hyuk’s wariness.
And then—the match began.
Swooo—
Namgung Hyuk began to gather his qi, his aura swelling.
“Whoa!”
“Incredible!”
Those unfamiliar with him gasped in awe, while those who knew him merely watched in silence, their eyes sharp.
Ta-tat!
Namgung Hyuk dashed forward—closing the distance in an instant.
He was now close enough to strike.
One slash, and it would be over.
But—
‘…!’
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks and leapt backward.
The audience murmured in confusion at his abrupt retreat.
‘No farther. That way lies death.’
Namgung Hyuk had trusted his instincts—the same survival sense honed over a lifetime and beyond.
And he was right.
Had he taken even one step closer,
he would already have been breathing in Tang San’s invisible poison.
