Who knows how much time had passed? Perhaps a quarter of an hour, maybe half a sijin .
Hwangbo Hye-ji stood, pale-faced and panting heavily, her sharp eyes fixed on the masked figure.
‘He’s toying with me….’
The difference in skill was overwhelming. Yet, despite that, her body bore not a single injury. At most, her clothes were lightly torn.
As if to emphasize the disparity, the masked figure’s breathing remained steady, not a single sign of exertion.
“It’s about time to end this,” he said casually.
He didn’t even bother to regard her as a threat, walking toward her with unhurried steps.
Hwangbo Hye-ji gritted her teeth.
‘Is this all I’m capable of?’
A wave of helplessness washed over her, leaving her unable to do anything but watch as the masked figure approached.
He smirked at her.
“Have you given up? Well, that’s fine. You fit right in with those pathetic orthodox scum.”
Her eyes twitched. Pathetic. He wasn’t wrong—she didn’t even feel like denying it.
But orthodox scum? That wasn’t something a wretched Black Lotus assassin had any right to say.
The Sixteen Great Houses were filled with incredible people: her granduncle Hwangbo Jun, Young Master Namgung Myung, Senior Jin Ki-jae….
Her fists clenched tightly. She recalled the ever-proud demeanor of Namgung Su-a, who would have stood tall even in such dire circumstances, speaking her mind fearlessly.
Yet the words that came to her lips were more fitting for the ever-spirited Chun-bong.
With a forceful punch and a determined cry, she yelled:
“Go to hell…!”
The masked figure flinched.
This was her chance. With all her might, Hwangbo Hye-ji thrust her fist forward, straighter and stronger than ever before.
What she poured into her strike was the steadfastness of a mountain and the dignity she yearned to embody.
The two opposing forces harmonized into one under the name Heavenly Mountain Fist.
Boom──────!
Her punch struck empty air.
Hwangbo Hye-ji’s jaw slackened as the masked figure lightly sidestepped, evading the blow with half a step.
“Impressive,” he remarked with a grin.
At the same time, his hand shot forward, shimmering with a blade-like force. The moment that glimmering energy reached her, she could vividly imagine the result—her head would be crushed like tofu.
Images of the past flashed through Hwangbo Hye-ji’s mind like a lantern.
─Mother, mother. The woman who dominated her memories had always scolded her.
The recollection flowed further back, to her childhood. The same mother who had once held her warmly.
Back then, her mother’s words had no thorns. She had always smiled when looking at her, spreading her arms wide and lifting her into a hug, humming a soft tune.
“When…,” Hwangbo Hye-ji thought, “did it all go wrong?”
What had changed her mother so?
As she sifted through her memories, she reached a conclusion. It wasn’t her fault. The oppressive structure of the family—their damned hierarchy—was to blame.
It was the external pressures that forced her mother to abandon her dreams and walk a different path.
‘If I’m given another chance….’
She would change everything. She would raise a crimson flag over the Hwangbo family, turning its very foundation upside down.
And in doing so, she would help her mother regain the warmth she once had.
Even if her mother denied wanting it, she was certain it wasn’t true. Her mother would walk the martial path again. Hwangbo Hye-ji would make it happen.
A brilliant flash.
Hwangbo Hye-ji’s eyes snapped open.
The masked figure’s hand stopped inches from her face. Slowly, he retracted it, only to thrust it forward again.
Swish!
This time, she ducked without blinking.
“Thank you, Senior Jin Ki-jae.”
“…Huh.”
While Hwangbo Hye-ji organized her newfound enlightenment, Seo-jun awkwardly stepped back, having repeatedly feigned attacks to provoke her realization.
His mind raced.
Should he deny it? No, that would be too petty. It didn’t matter if she figured it out.
Having made his decision, Seo-jun pulled down his mask. His face, which he had momentarily altered, reverted to its usual appearance.
“How did you know?” he asked, amused.
“There’s no one else who would teach me this way except you, Senior Jin Ki-jae.”
“What.”
Seo-jun scratched his head as Hwangbo Hye-ji offered him a respectful bow.
“I understand my purpose now.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I will bring a revolution to the Hwangbo family.”
“Uh… what?”
Hwangbo Hye-ji’s eyes shone with fierce determination.
“My mother changed because reality forced her to abandon her dreams. If I change the family’s reality, she can pursue her dreams again. Even if she says she doesn’t want to, I’m sure she’s not being honest. I will create a world where she can walk the martial path once more.”
“Uh… sure. Good luck with that.”
“This isn’t the time for idle chatter. Could you help me train? I need to add more weights to the iron spheres.”
“Oh, uh… okay.”
Though not exactly what he had planned, Seo-jun felt he had succeeded in helping Hwangbo Hye-ji find her resolve.
As for Hwangbo Seorin, she was in for a storm.
‘Not my problem,’ Seo-jun thought quickly.
Hwangbo Hye-ji’s words might sound like she wanted to turn the family upside down for Seorin’s sake, but in reality, she intended to force her mother back onto the martial path, whether she liked it or not.
With Hye-ji’s strength surpassing her mother’s, there was even the possibility of coercion.
Seo-jun could already envision Seorin rolling helplessly under Hye-ji’s rule.
As for the Hwangbo family… well, they’d manage somehow.
Seo-jun swiftly washed his hands of any responsibility.
Seo-jun scrapped the (what he thought were) profound pieces of advice he had prepared for Hwangbo Hye-ji.
“Trust in the one who believes in you,” or “The path your will points to is the true Tao .”
Instead, Hye-ji threw herself into even harsher training without needing any further encouragement. Time passed, and the Yongbong Gathering’s semifinals finally began.
“Yang So-hong of the Yongho Sect!” Yang So-hong, a participant who had reached the semifinals despite being from a small sect. His opponent was...
“Geum Hui of the Divine Sword Geum Clan!” It was none other than Chun-bong, her cuteness practically radiating off of her.
The two late-stage disciples stood facing each other, bowing politely.
“I look forward to the match.”
“I hope to learn from you.”
After the customary greetings, Yang So-hong suddenly spoke up.
“Lady Geum, I have long admired you.”
“...What?”
Chun-bong blinked, clearly perplexed, as Yang So-hong stared at her intently.
The Yongho Sect, Yang So-hong’s sect, was a small one based in Honam, barely large enough to be called mid-tier. With only about ten members, it was modest even by those standards.
“I cannot help but admire your efforts to rebuild your clan after its downfall. Your determination is truly commendable.”
“Uh… thank you?”
Yang So-hong’s master, Il-pyeong, was an ordinary martial artist at the early Peak realm.
Recognizing Yang So-hong’s talent, Il-pyeong had taken him in as a disciple and taught him everything to revive the Yongho Sect: the basics of spear techniques, their signature Dragon-Tiger Spear Technique , the etiquette required in the martial world, and even the virtues of humanity.
In return, Yang So-hong gave everything he had, training with all his might. Eventually, he surpassed his master’s level, attracting disciples to restore the Yongho Sect.
“The late-stage disciples of the Sixteen Great Houses walk well-paved paths laid by their ancestors.”
“Hm...”
“But you are different. Despite the years of hardship following your clan’s downfall, you are now considered a candidate for the championship of the Yongbong Gathering.”
The Dragon-Tiger Spear Technique was supposed to embody the majesty of a dragon and the ferocity of a tiger.
But in reality, it was just slightly better than the Three Talents Sword Technique , an unremarkable martial art.
Both Yang So-hong and Il-pyeong had agonized over this limitation since Yang So-hong had already mastered it to its peak potential.
The technique could only take one to the early Peak realm. Having surpassed his master, Yang So-hong realized the inherent limitations of the technique.
If he wanted to go higher, he needed a new martial art.
But the Yongho Sect lacked the resources to acquire such advanced techniques, forcing them to rework the Dragon-Tiger Spear Technique into something entirely new.
“I had hoped that someone as extraordinary as you could illuminate the path for me.”
“Uh… what?”
“The level I have achieved is within reach of anyone who works hard enough. My own limited talent is a fact I can never escape.”
Through sheer effort, Yang So-hong had used his newly crafted technique to surpass the early Peak realm.
He had spent almost every waking moment training, believing that anyone who worked as hard as he did could reach the same heights.
To him, the reason martial artists from smaller sects lagged behind the more prestigious houses wasn’t due to lineage but because they didn’t try hard enough.
“But you are different. That is why I respected you. I believed you could become a role model for martial artists from smaller sects.”
After his rather long speech, Chun-bong thought to herself.
‘What is this guy talking about?’
He had a talent for dressing up nonsense in a way that almost sounded profound.
Lack of talent? Harsh as it might be, someone without talent couldn’t reach his level at his age, especially not from a smaller sect.
‘Then again, if I compare him to Lee Seo-jun, that might hold true.’
Indeed, compared to Seo-jun, Yang So-hong might seem talentless. If Seo-jun were in his shoes, he’d probably have ten divine techniques under his belt by now.
But Seo-jun was an outlier. Comparing him to others was simply unfair.
In short, Yang So-hong wasn’t without talent—Seo-jun was just abnormal.
And another thing...
Why was Chun-bong being called a role model for martial artists from smaller sects? The Divine Sword Geum Clan stood above even the Sixteen Great Houses as one of the Divine Clans .
“So, what exactly are you trying to say?” Chun-bong finally asked.
“I am disappointed.”
“Ah…?”
“I worked myself to the bone to get here. I gave it my all. But you? You are no different from those who rely on the prestige of the Sixteen Great Houses.”
Yang So-hong continued.
“You, too, are just another martial artist leaning on the name of your clan. Instead of truly restoring the Geum Clan’s glory, you rely on the fame of Jin Ki-jae and the Namgung family.”
He stared at Chun-bong with piercing eyes.
“What is it that you’re fighting for?”
For my brother’s gift of rare medicine?
Chun-bong scratched her head.
But Yang So-hong didn’t seem to want an answer, as he quickly resumed speaking.
“I fight to prove that anyone can achieve what I have. To show that even martial artists from smaller sects can surpass the Great Houses if they work hard enough.”
“Uh… okay.”
“You should be ashamed for walking the easy path instead of striving to achieve greatness through your own efforts.”
His words caused murmurs to ripple through the audience.
Some were moved, looking at Yang So-hong with admiration. Others, like Seo-jun, stared at him as though he were an idiot.
‘This has to be trash talk, right?’
There was no other explanation.
As Seo-jun watched Yang So-hong with curious eyes, Chun-bong suddenly burst into laughter.
“Why should I be ashamed?”
“...It seems this conversation is meaningless.”
“No, that’s not it.”
Chun-bong puffed out her chest confidently.
“I’m cute.”
“...What?”
Yang So-hong stared blankly, dumbfounded. Chun-bong grinned mischievously.
“That’s why it’s fine for me. If you have a problem with it, try being as cute as I am. Then maybe some mysterious master will fall from the sky to help you out.”
To everyone’s amazement, she wasn’t lying.