The Martial World Isn’t as Rigid as It Seems
The martial world isn’t as rigid as people think.
If you have power—especially martial strength—you are respected.
Of course, among the countless people in Zhongyuan, there are always those who care about lineage and background.
But there aren’t that many of them. Besides, if you have enough strength, you can simply crack open their heads.
And surprisingly, that’s perfectly legal.
In the world of martial arts and chivalry, the value of honor is beyond imagination.
“You bastard! How dare you commit murder in the middle of the city?!”
“That scoundrel insulted my sect!”
“Oh? Well then, good job!”
That’s just how it is.
Of course, if you take justice into your own hands, you have to deal with the consequences.
If you kill the young master of a powerful clan, it’s only natural that the clan will try to take your head in return.
At that point, the so-called "deranged murderer" has a few ways to handle the situation.
One of the most common strategies is manipulating public opinion.
— "That bastard insulted my sect, my father, my swordsmanship... So if I die, you know who did it!"
For mid-sized and smaller sects, where relationships with other sects matter, this can be a tricky issue.
Of course, they have options. They could send an assassin. They could dismantle the murderer’s argument and publicly behead him in a formal execution. Or they could just ignore public opinion altogether and hunt him down without any pretense.
How the murderer deals with these schemes depends entirely on his abilities.
(Though, in most cases, the story ends with the murderer getting killed.)
If that kind of balancing act doesn’t suit you, another option is to run away to some far-off place.
This method actually gives the murderer a relatively high chance of survival.
In the vast lands of Zhongyuan, crossing just one or two cities is often enough to disappear completely.
And if the murderer is a highly skilled warrior whose identity might be recognized even in a distant land, things actually become easier.
(At that point, outright erasing the annoying sect might become an option.)
If he can set aside his pride, this could even be considered a fairly rational choice.
The troublesome bastard is dead, so all he has to do is start a new life elsewhere.
If none of these options sound appealing, there’s also another method—
seeking refuge under a different power—
“Wait, hold on. Why are we even talking about this?”
At Chunbong’s question, Seo-jun gestured toward Bi-yeon with his chin.
“Listen and learn.”
****
To be honest, none of Seo-jun’s explanations were particularly helpful to Bi-yeon at the moment.
Especially the first example—it only applies to orthodox sects, which care about maintaining their honor.
As for the unorthodox factions? They don’t give a damn about honor or etiquette. If someone kills one of theirs, they’ll just grab a sword and go after him.
“Your goal is revenge, isn’t it?”
“Y-Yes...”
Bi-yeon nodded. His voice was small, but the determination in his eyes was anything but.
“Nobody really cares if an unorthodox sect gets wiped out... So as long as you reach a certain level of strength, it should be simple enough.”
The problem is reaching that level of strength.
Let’s be optimistic and assume that the leader of an unorthodox sect is a first-rate warrior, someone who can be considered a skilled master.
How long would it take for Bi-yeon to reach the first-rate level?
Chunbong, frowning in thought, finally answered.
“...About thirty years?”
“Be honest.”
“...Sixty years?”
“Are you sure?”
“...Maybe never.”
Bi-yeon, listening from the side, slumped his shoulders.
Seo-jun, who had reached the pinnacle of martial arts after just a year of training, shrugged.
“Ever thought about learning something else? A spear, a saber, or maybe even internal energy techniques?”
“I... um...”
Bi-yeon hesitated, but his resolve didn’t waver.
“...I want to take revenge using my sect’s martial arts.”
He knew it was an unreasonable request. He knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
He also knew that saying something foolish might make Seo-jun withdraw his help entirely.
But Bi-yeon didn’t change his words.
The martial arts of ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) the Yangrok Sect.
Even though it was an unremarkable style, to Bi-yeon, it was the very soul of his sect.
So his revenge had to be carried out using that martial art.
Otherwise, it felt like he’d be betraying his sect’s spirit—like he’d be breaking something inside himself.
“Is that so?”
Contrary to Bi-yeon’s expectations, Seo-jun just nodded without much reaction.
Then he turned to look at Chunbong, who was lounging in Namgung Sua’s arms with a bored expression.
“Hey, Chunbu.”
“What.”
Chunbong responded curtly.
She was still sulking because Seo-jun had made a teasing remark earlier, which earned her a scolding from Namgung Sua.
But after hearing the full story, Sua had felt guilty and tried to make up for it by using her ultimate technique—Mount Tai Crushing Strike (Taesan Apjeong)—to soothe Chunbong’s mood.
It must have worked, because Chunbong seemed less irritated now.
Seo-jun chuckled.
“For now, you keep training him. I’ll figure something out.”
Chunbong lazily tapped the back of her head against Namgung Sua’s chest.
“Yeah, sure. But in the meantime, maybe focus on dealing with that heart demon of yours first? If you keep ignoring it, it’s gonna be a real problem.”
“Got it.”
Not that he thought it was that serious...
But if he said that out loud, Geum Chunbong might actually develop high blood pressure at her young age.
So Seo-jun simply nodded obediently.
****
How Do You Defeat a Demon That Doesn’t Even Come From Your Own Mind?
Was this truly a heart demon? Or was it something else entirely?
Lee Seo-jun, a martial artist of the Hwagyeong Realm, answered with certainty.
"I have no idea."
So instead, he just sat back and watched as Chunbong rolled a little kid around like a ball.
"Gyaaah! No! I said just swing the sword!"
...Or maybe not?
Now that he thought about it, Chunbong seemed to be struggling more than Bi-yeon.
‘Maybe that’s his real talent.’
Because when it came to swords, Bi-yeon had absolutely no talent whatsoever.
Nor did he have any talent for handling qi. And switching to another weapon wasn’t going to make things any better.
To put it bluntly—he had no aptitude for martial arts at all.
Seo-jun chuckled to himself as he lay sprawled across Namgung Sua’s lap, watching the spectacle unfold.
Namgung Sua glanced down at him with concern.
“You’re sure your body is okay?”
“Yeah. As long as I don’t use Honwon, I’m fine.”
For now, at least.
Seo-jun closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle sensation of Sua’s fingers running through his hair.
Then he turned his gaze back toward Bi-yeon.
‘At least he’s trying hard.’
Contrary to Chunbong’s expectations, Seo-jun wasn’t particularly frustrated watching Bi-yeon struggle.
Chunbong had assumed that the "world-defying genius who defied even the heavens" would explode in rage just from witnessing such incompetence.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
And really, it made sense.
For Seo-jun, everyone was frustratingly slow.
To him, martial arts were simple—so much so that he had long since accepted that nobody could truly keep up with his way of thinking.
Instead of wondering, "Why can’t they just do it?", his thought process had simply evolved into, "I guess people just can’t."
Since nobody had ever understood him anyway, it made no difference whether Bi-yeon did or not.
“Can I ask you something?”
Namgung Sua’s voice pulled Seo-jun from his thoughts.
He instinctively nodded.
“Yeah. Ask as many things as you want.”
“It’s about Taekcheon Talent Assessment.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
Seo-jun lifted his head slightly, meeting Sua’s gaze.
Then—
“Oh, right.”
He suddenly remembered.
It was that stupid name he’d come up with at Sua’s request.
Realizing that, Sua chuckled.
“I mean the ‘Namgung Talent Detector.’”
Ah. That thing.
Also known as Taekcheon Talent Assessment.
It was a ridiculous martial art technique that measured a person’s compatibility with the Namgung Clan’s supreme art, Namgung Ilmaek.
Seo-jun had just casually tossed it their way, but for the Namgung Clan, it had become a tool of immense importance.
Seo-jun finally nodded in understanding.
“What about it?”
“How does it even work? I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I just can’t wrap my head around it. Is talent really something that can be measured?”
“Oh, that? Well... to be precise, it’s not really ‘talent’—it’s more like compatibility.”
Seo-jun explained.
The Namgung Talent Detector, or Taekcheon Talent Assessment, wasn’t actually measuring talent.
It was checking how well a person’s natural traits aligned with Namgung Ilmaek.
For example, it analyzed:
In simple terms, it worked like a chemical reaction.
If a person possessed a certain level of compatibility, the technique would activate and glow blue, releasing energy from their eyes in a visible reaction.
If there was no compatibility, the energy would simply dissipate unseen, making it seem like nothing happened.
“So... it’s measuring compatibility with Namgung Ilmaek?”
“...Well, actually, I guess you could just call that talent.”
Seo-jun rephrased his thoughts out loud.
After all, wasn’t talent just another way of saying "how well someone fits a certain skill"?
It was the same thing, just with different wording.
So then, what about Bi-yeon?
His body wasn’t suited for martial arts as they existed in the current world.
But just like how height and body shape create different advantages and disadvantages, wasn’t it possible that Bi-yeon was naturally suited for something else?
In that case... what exactly is talent?
By this logic, nobody is truly without talent.
It’s just a question of whether their abilities are useful in this era or not.
“Hmmm...”
Seo-jun fell into deep thought, recalling his fight against Sword Maniac.
Back then, he had pulled multiple conceptual elements from his subconscious and manifested them as domains.
But in reality, they hadn’t been as overwhelming as he’d expected.
Why?
If he had deployed three separate domains at once, shouldn’t his strength have tripled, or at least doubled?
His absurdly intuitive mind, honed by his monstrous talent, instantly found the answer.
"It was still me who created those domains."
"I was still the one controlling them."
Even though he had expanded three domains, he had still been balancing them together as one system.
In the end, it wasn’t much different from his usual Ideal World.
The Sun, Moon, and Sky—excluding those fundamental elements, nothing had truly changed.
Of course, there had been some increase in power, but that was all.
In hindsight, it would have been far more effective to combine his domains with his puppet.
Though really, both were equally ridiculous options.
Expanding multiple domains at once was insane.
Creating an autonomous being capable of independent thought was even crazier.
Neither had ever been done in the history of the martial world.
The only reason such absurd feats were possible was because Lee Seo-jun’s talent defied reason itself.
“Then... what am I bad at?”
If talent was just another word for compatibility, then just like how physical traits come with both strengths and weaknesses—
Seo-jun had to have a weakness too.
“Seo-jun, something you’re bad at?”
Namgung Sua, who had been deep in thought, finally arrived at a conclusion.
She hesitated for a moment, then spoke carefully.
“...Does that even exist?”
“...Ah.”
Seo-jun realized his mistake.
He’d asked the wrong person.
****
This time, he went to someone more qualified.
“Something I’m bad at?”
Pae Jin-gwang shrugged.
“You want me to list all of them right now? I dunno if we have enough time.”
“...Damn it.”
Seo-jun scratched his head in frustration.