Chapter 13

The foundation of Circulating Qi begins with Exhalation and Inhalation. It is about expelling old energy and taking in good energy. It was breathing, it was ingestion, and sometimes, it was reading. I sank deep within my body and spent a long time contemplating what I had received and expelled.

Namgung Jeong-yeon knew that he did not consider himself Michael Ernhardt.

A day, a month, a year, and so ten years passed, yet it was always the same.

In a way, it was natural. The memory of death was not very clear. I knew it was sometime in the third year after the outbreak of the War of Righteousness and Evil, a year I did not live to see.

When I mashed sand-mixed barley rice into a ball and put it in my mouth, when I caught a field mouse to test well water for poison, when I woke with a start less than fifteen minutes after staying up for seven days and nights, and wiped my flushed cheek, in all those moments, Jeong-yeon struggled to discern whether he was alive or dead.

Most of the time, it seemed he was alive, but

at other times, he thought he was dead.

Martial artists are strong. They were people who learned how to wield swords. They became so adept at slaughtering people.

Commoners, living day by day, bled even from the hands of burly Black Road thugs.

A Third-rate martial artist could crush and kill such a group of Black Road thugs. A Second-rate martial artist easily killed ten Third-rate martial artists. A First-rate martial artist, in turn, killed a hundred such Second-rate martial artists in an instant.

No matter how strong someone was, a stronger person would emerge in the world. The good old days of being grateful for the vastness of the Martial World and embracing a Noble Spirit had long passed.

Jeong-yeon knew that the applause he received when he punched a group of Black Road thugs at the age of ten was not much different from the applause he received when, at forty-two, he severed the necks of members of a Demonic Arts group like a flash of lightning. He had learned that this was Chivalry.

However, what he cut down was, in the end, still human. He saw a commoner, whom he had painstakingly saved and sent back to the village, become a bandit after losing his wife and children. In an era where one was killed if evil was not vanquished, Jeong-yeon severed the bandit’s arms. He knew the man would not live long.

Was that justice? Was that chivalry?

It had been a long, deep Inner Demon.

Even before being reborn, he often had nightmares.

In his dreams, Namgung Jeong-yeon became a bug, or a butterfly. He became a crane looking down from a high green mountain, or a beggar crying in front of a begging bowl in a village. Around that time, others knew better than he did what he should do.

The Five Great Clans were sects bound by blood. In the Namgung Family, everyone except the maternal relatives bore the Namgung name. Namgung Jeong-yeon, along with others of his generation, received the character ‘Yeon’ (perform) as part of their given name.

‘Yeon’ meaning ‘to flow far,’ ‘to connect.’ It was a name given with the intention that no matter where one went, they would not sever the ties that bound them. With the outbreak of the War of Righteousness and Evil, half of the many ‘Yeon’s who had achieved First-rate, if not Peak, status, died.

He pulled the young ones, who called him Uncle, Uncle, behind him.

In truth, he wanted to protect them. He did not want to lead them to their deaths. Those barely half his age were the children of his cousins, the children of his younger cousins, and his own disciples whom he had personally raised. They were like his own children.

Leading those precious ones, he marched onto the battlefield again. It was the command of the family head. It was the will of his ancestors who had bestowed upon him the Azure Sky and the even vaster firmament, the Changcheon Muae Sword. He could not disobey, and so they died in droves again.

If told to go east, he went east.

If told to go west, he went west.

If told to die, he died.

And so, after dying, he awoke as if from a dream to find two Colored-Eye Persons, younger than his own nephew, calling themselves his father and mother. Having lived his entire life for survival, he did not know how to die.

Listening carefully, the man who called himself father was a timid fellow who didn’t know how to treat the wife and child he suddenly gained at a young age, constantly worrying. The woman who called herself mother, having been raised preciously, suffered from the initial cold treatment, losing the taste for life.

He kept them from fleeing, and they began to live well together.

It was heartwarming, yet his heart felt hollow. His nephews could have had five children each and lived happily together, but the fact that those vibrant lives had flown away so emptily left him with a lingering resentment.

Now that he was old, he found himself doting on his grandchildren, and his fear of abandonment resurfaced. What would he do if he lost these children too?

In truth, Namgung Jeong-yeon had lived his life without much study, only looking at what was immediately in front of him and wielding his sword. He had barely bothered to check his name on the Martial Arts Alliance roster, so what could he have known before the War of Righteousness and Evil was declared with such a resounding voice?

If he had known, he would not have been so complacent.

He picked up his sword because he did not want to lose them again. He decided he would protect them with his own hands, as he could not bear to lose all the gentle and innocent ones again.

The highest realm he knew was Hwagyeong. He wanted to become a Hwagyeong. He believed that only then could he survive. Even as his underdeveloped body screamed, he ran and drew his sword. He came out into the world to understand what he needed to understand.

However, this world was also too vast.

He was an ignorant martial artist. He knew only a few lines of poetry, which he would hum when the mood struck him; that was the extent of his education in etiquette and music. He only remembered a couple of phrases from Confucius and Mencius. What he had consistently learned, practiced, and honed was only his sword. Only killing. But whom would he kill to save whom?

Could the Number One Sword of Wudang defeat the Heavenly Demon?

Could that monstrous being be killed and eliminated?

If that were the case, would his rear be safe while he swept away and slaughtered all his enemies before him?

The mere eight pages in his hand contained a fragment of the world. As he read and reread them, Namgung Jeong-yeon lost his way once more.

Now, his father seemed like his grandson, his mother like his granddaughter, his younger siblings like his great-grandchildren, and the Knights of his family like his disciples. As he familiarized himself with the hundreds of Westerner faces he met in his rebirth, and memorized each of their names one by one, Namgung Jeong-yeon felt a rising anger within him. It was the Inner Demon that had never left him.

A boy, an old man, no, tears streamed from the boy’s sapphire-blue eyes like beads, wetting his tightly clenched fists as he sat in the lotus position beside the bed.

It was an unripe fist. No large features could be found on his still youthful body.

The Namgung Jeong-yeon of his past life was a giant. He grew to six feet tall without a single Spiritual Medicine, and accumulated this century’s worth of internal energy through sheer effort.

He was not a Rising Star plucked from mountains and fields, but rather born abruptly under a kind-hearted father who knew only how to smile warmly, and a mother who was simply sweet and naive.

His father, who had worn the Namgung robes for a long time, entrusted him to relatives to ensure his son lived a better life, visiting him three days a week.

He remembered being this size then, clinging to his father’s embrace, suddenly afraid of hitting people. The scent of his father, who wiped his tears and argued that the other person was the bad one and it was not his fault at all, was vividly recalled.

He wanted to ask the person who had passed away long ago, if it was still not his fault, if he could bury himself in that embrace…

Then,

the door burst open.

Startled that he hadn’t sensed the other’s presence, he snapped his head up. Even if not yet at full Peak, he was at the First-rate realm. He wondered if he had been so distracted that he couldn’t recognize the person who casually opened the door without even bothering to hide their presence, and a chill ran down his spine.

Then, a boy with messy, rose-red hair, resembling his name, sighed, “Sigh,” and slumped down next to Namgung Jeong-yeon, or rather, next to Michael Ernhardt.

His carelessly extended hand ruffled his dry, pinkish hair. The action, familiar from having many younger siblings, was done as if nothing were amiss, as if he were his father, his senior uncle, or his master.

“You need to know that the world doesn’t only have things you’re good at.”

His voice, as he blurted it out, was filled with youthful innocence. Dumbfounded, he was lost for words.

As he blinked, not understanding what had just fallen before him, tears welled up and flowed down his fair cheeks. They dripped down below his chin.

Shayden sighed again, a loud “Sigh.”

“So what if you can’t remember a name? In life, you’ll rarely meet people like Professor Agridgent. Everyone who knows you, besides me, knows you can’t remember people’s names. We’ve all known since you were eight that you always say ‘Danbi’ before calling Demian. Do you even know that guy’s nickname is Danbi?”

“…”

“If homework is hard and you can’t do it, just hand in a blank sheet. You entered two years early. You can also leave two years late, two years earlier than others. I learned this while taking the heir training: the Ernhardt family is incredibly wealthy. You’re richer than me just by breathing, you idiot.”

“…Hic.”

He knew the meaning of the hand that ran through and ruffled his hair, and occasionally massaged his shoulders and patted his back.

The old man, who had just moments ago been on the battlefield, losing his beloved family and watching tens, no, hundreds, thousands die, spilling his guts and crying out in anguish, had become a child who refused to eat and cried in his room because he didn’t want to take a difficult exam.

The fifteen-year-old boy, who thought he was a full-grown man and wiped the tear-streaked cheeks of the fifty-something child, grumbled.

“But, there are people who use their brains and people who use their bodies. You said you wanted to make wizard friends, right? Their brains are sharp, so keep them close and have them memorize names and spells. You look cool wielding a sword with your eyes shining, so it’s probably fine to keep calling Demian ‘Danbi.’ That guy actually likes it deep down. Oh, but do you even remember Demian…?”

“…”

“…Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t. I’ll introduce you later. I heard he’s in the management department. Anyway, so wash your face and let’s go eat. You’re not scared of sleeping alone, are you?”

“…”

“Oh, why are you crying again? Just cry here. I’ll bring you a sandwich. Eat that, and tomorrow we have to run again from the morning. Last time, you know… you were trying to change your sword art and couldn’t, and your mouth was all pouty. Ask Professor Sanson to teach you again, even if you have to cling to his pant legs. Got it?”

The sandwich, slightly mashed from being tightly held, didn’t taste like much. It felt rough and dry in his mouth, like sand-mixed barley rice. After chewing and swallowing, he found it amusing that his stomach rumbled, finally feeling hungry.

Come to think of it, it was the same back then, in his past life. He remembered the taste of the fist-sized rice ball he finally received after enduring hunger by yielding to his nephews on a battlefield before his death. After taking a bite and swallowing, his stomach rumbled, and he remembered the sad memory of hastily chewing and swallowing the sand-mixed barley rice, his throat tightening again.

Feeling like he had gained another grandchild, he vigorously chewed and swallowed the sandwich. The next day, he intended to wake up at the usual time and run in the Martial Arts Training Ground, circulating his Qi.

He resolved to think only after he became a Hwagyeong.