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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: The Disciple's Oath
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“I don’t want you to simply imitate my sword.”
Seop Mugwang sheathed his sword.
The aura around him slowly dissipated.
“I will pass everything I have on to you, but you don’t need to follow everything I’ve done, exactly as I did it.”
“…”
Seolhwa understood what those words meant for a swordsman—what he was giving up. She also knew that these were not words one could say with a smile.
The reason martial artists take on disciples is that they don't want the martial arts they've cultivated their entire lives to die out with their generation.
Even if their physical body perishes, if the martial arts containing their life and spirit remain, are passed down to future generations, and furthermore, continue to be researched and developed, could there be anything more valuable than that?
Through their martial arts, martial artists exist eternally. They remain a trace in the history of the Murim.
That is what many martial artists desire.
However, Seop Mugwang was not forcing that upon Seolhwa.
“As you told me, learn the Namgung’s martial arts and my martial arts, and forge your own path in martial studies.”
“…”
“Then one day, if you meet a promising kid, you can teach him my martial arts.”
It was, quite literally, becoming one who transmits.
Not a successor, but simply one who passes it on.
“…You trust my judgment?”
“If I can’t trust the judgment of someone like you, then who can I trust?”
His words were filled with absolute trust in Seolhwa.
Seolhwa clenched her fists tightly.
She was the one who said she wanted to find her own path. So why did she not feel entirely good about it?
Was it because she had seen Seop Mugwang’s sword and the life embedded within it?
She hoped his martial arts wouldn't easily fade into obscurity, as they had in her previous life.
“If I learn your sword, Grandmaster, and create new martial arts, wouldn’t that be influenced by you, and therefore considered developing martial arts?”
“You could think of it that way, I suppose.”
“And I have no intention of merely using your sword techniques like that, either.”
For her own benefit, to use and then discard—the Pungnoe Martial Arts were a profound technique comparable to the main family’s martial arts.
“I’m not approaching my training with you with such intentions, Grandmaster. I respect your martial studies, and I want to imbue my sword with its spirit.”
“…”
“So please, accept me as your disciple.”
Seolhwa knelt before him.
Seop Mugwang’s eyebrows twitched.
He had taught her everything—footwork, body techniques, mind methods, sword techniques… but he had never formally acknowledged her as his disciple.
To Seolhwa, he was already her master because she had received his teachings, but he had not yet recognized her as his disciple.
Perhaps, underlying that intention was the reason he had just stated.
Because she was a child who would learn, but not merely follow.
Even if it was unintentional, it was subconscious.
“Well, aren’t you a decisive little kiddo.”
Seop Mugwang burst into laughter, as if dumbfounded.
“I will become your successor, Grandmaster.”
“…”
His gaze became strikingly serious.
She was a child who had stated from the beginning that she wanted to find her own path.
The reason he hadn't explicitly said he would take her as a disciple was simply that he hoped she wouldn't be confined to the framework of being a successor to his martial arts, thereby limiting herself.
Yet, as if understanding his heart, the child respected the lifetime he had dedicated to these martial arts.
She did not treat these martial arts, which contained his arduous past life, lightly.
“…Good.”
So how could he refuse the child’s words, when she offered to become his disciple?
“I accept you as my disciple.”
Seolhwa’s expression instantly brightened. Seolhwa quickly rose to her feet.
Seeing her neatly bringing her hands together, Seop Mugwang raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?”
“I learned that when forming a master-disciple bond, one performs the Gubaegijerye.”
“Hmm…”
“Please receive your disciple’s bow.”
“No, no.”
Seop Mugwang stopped Seolhwa just as she was about to bow deeply. His lips curved into a grin.
“Since we’re doing it anyway, let’s do it properly.”
* * *
Seop Mugwang, who had declared he would receive a proper Gubaegijerye, took Seolhwa to a dumpling restaurant.
Already hungry, Seolhwa frantically stuffed the food into her mouth as dumplings, thin noodles, and even Dongpo pork were ordered for her.
Then, she realized something was strange.
“Didn’t you say you were going to receive a proper Gubaegijerye?”
Seop Mugwang, who had been watching Seolhwa eat with a satisfied expression, arms crossed, nodded.
“I did.”
“Then why…”
…was she here like this?
“Why? Because it’s mealtime, of course. A kiddo who needs to grow shouldn’t skip meals. Look at you now, seriously? You still look like you’re barely ten years old, don’t you?”
“Seriously…” she thought.
As Seolhwa’s eyebrows drooped in a frown, Seop Mugwang let out a chuckle. Then, his expression grew serious.
After confirming that Seolhwa had finished her meal to some extent, he spoke, his smile gone.
“Have you given any thought to what I asked you?”
What he asked?
After a moment of thought, Seolhwa recalled Seop Mugwang’s question from a few days ago.
‘Why do you wield a sword, I asked.’
Why wield a sword?
To answer that, he had said, one must first know oneself.
But Seolhwa still didn’t know who she was, or what kind of person she was.
However, through her training with Seop Mugwang over the past few days, there was one thing she had definitely learned.
“I like swords.”
Seop Mugwang’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“You like swords?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you like them?”
“When I wield a sword, I don’t think of anything else, and I like that. I like that I can focus solely on the sword.”
Without time to worry about preparing for war with the Hyeolgyo or reforming the Namgung, when she wielded a sword, she only thought about the sword itself.
How could she be faster, sharper?
How could she wield a more incisive, more powerful sword?
How could she gain the upper hand, efficiently evade, and exploit weaknesses?
What if she took one step first? What if she waited for one breath? Diagonally, horizontally, vertically, thrust, or deflect?
“It’s also fascinating how simple movements combine to form complex equations, and those equations come together to complete a principle.”
What begins as merely wielding a sword, when it reaches a single principle, becomes a swordsman’s secret art.
“It’s also interesting to learn the thoughts, philosophies, and struggles of the swordsmen embedded in the principles created that way.”
Each sword technique is like a martial arts text, concentrating the thoughts and struggles of those who created and developed it.
The movements of the feet and body when wielding the sword. Even a fleeting breath.
Nothing is used without meaning.
Swordsmen created necessary martial arts like footwork, body techniques, and breathing methods for the completion of their sword techniques, and these created martial arts, when harmonized, formed the history of the sword.
“It’s good to be able to learn about the history that our predecessors so fiercely forged… And it’s even better to be able to learn the sword of such a person.”
Seop Mugwang’s martial arts were a living history.
Not martial arts left in books, but his history, which he himself forged.
“Those things… I think those are what I like.”
Seop Mugwang looked fondly at the child, who was speaking such admirable words while gazing down at her small hands.
He knew that the child enjoyed her training.
During training, he often caught glimpses of the child’s childhood laughter.
He had hoped she would realize it herself, and though it was a short time, the child had accomplished it splendidly.
So how could he not feel proud of her?
“Then, what was it like before?”
“Pardon?”
“Before you returned to the family, what was in your heart when you wielded your sword?”
“…”
Seolhwa was speechless.
The child couldn’t answer for a long time. It wasn’t because she didn’t know the answer.
Seop Mugwang waited for her for a moment, then nodded.
“You can answer that when you’re ready.”
“…Killing…”
“Hmm?”
“…It was killing.”
Seolhwa neatly placed her utensils down and gripped the table with both hands.
It used to be a word that wasn’t difficult to say, but for some reason, now it was hard to utter, lingering on her tongue.
“Before I came here…”
She forced open her constricted throat and spoke.
“Killing was… the only reason I wielded a sword.”
If Hyeolma ordered it, if it interfered with the cult’s grand ambition.
The death Seolhwa spoke of was her karma, accumulated layer upon layer in her previous life.
It was the resentment of those who had died by her hand.
“I…”
An inexplicable heat welled up around her eyes.
No, not just her eyes, her whole face felt hot.
Her vision blurred, and the world before her eyes became hazy.
“I…”
Her throat felt tight, and no sound would come out. Her hands, gripping the table, tightened.
She couldn’t lift her head, so she bowed it.
Soon, something pattered down between her small hands.
“I was… a bad child…”
The light brown tabletop was stained a darker shade of brown.
Each drop of dark brown spread, one by one, widening its domain.
Seolhwa hated seeing it.
She knew she was crying, but she didn’t want to cry.
She couldn’t understand why she was crying over such simple words.
What had she even said? What profound words were they?
Emotions were truly bothersome. Uncontrollable changes were terrifying.
It would have been better if her emotions had completely vanished in her previous life.
Rather than show such a pathetic sight.
Seolhwa bit her lower lip hard.
Since she didn’t know how to stop crying, that was all she could do.
Thump.
“…?”
Seolhwa looked down at the soft object that had bumped against her mouth.
It was a dumpling, as big as her fist.
