Entering the Heavenly Dragon Archive
The banquet was over.
In the wrecked hall, Cheon Wi-gang and Cheon Seonhak faced one another.
"So… it was all part of your plan."
"Yes."
"But what happened to Muryang? Are you saying that good-for-nothing brute truly turned over a new leaf?"
Cheon Seonhak recounted everything that had happened.
From the day Muryang began running through the training grounds—to the fact that he had not rested even once since then,to how he had crossed swords with the trainees and never lost a single match.
Hearing it all, Cheon Wi-gang doubted his own ears.
"Is that truly so?"
"Yes."
"So that's why you chose to stand behind the boy."
"If he has at least one patron, they won't dare act recklessly."
When Cheon Seonhak mentioned them, Cheon Wi-gang fell silent.
"Hm…"
"Please, trust him just one last time. He has truly changed."
"Changed… I still find it hard to believe."
Naturally so.
Breaking long-held prejudice was never easy.
"I felt the same way."
"…."
"Did you see his final sword?"
"I did. It was your Reverse Scale Slash."
"I taught him that sword merely two shijin ago."
"What?"
That was not something to be taken lightly.
Cheon Seonhak's sword was special.
"He mastered your sword?"
"Yes. And what do you think that means?"
"He has stepped outside the mold."
"Exactly."
The Cheon Clan's sword arts now followed a clearly defined framework.
Yet originally, their swordsmanship had been defined by freedom.
How could one presume the heavens?
That was their guiding principle.
But freedom without restraint had caused the sword arts to splinter into countless forms—until no one could even tell what truly constituted a Cheon Clan sword.
"I still don't know what is right and what is wrong."
Right and wrong.
Cheon Wi-gang and Cheon Seonhak had arrived at different answers.
Cheon Wi-gang abandoned freedom and mastered only a fixed, predetermined heaven.
Cheon Seonhak rejected the mold entirely and pursued a free, untamed sword of the heavens.
"But that boy sought to hold a new heaven."
"A new heaven…"
Within the Cheon Clan, only Cheon Seonhak himself had ever tried such a thing.
That was why his sword was special.
No one else had ever mastered his techniques—Reverse Scale Slash included.
Even Cheon Wi-gang could only understand the principles, never truly wield them.
"To think that Muryang—whom I deemed beyond saving—possessed such talent."
"I intend to pass my sword on to him."
A sword built over a lifetime—a towering monument of effort.
Cheon Seonhak declared that he would entrust it all to Cheon Muryang.
"Do you truly believe that's possible?"
"My sword will merely become the clouds. Is it not said that a dragon ascends to the heavens riding upon clouds?"
In other words, he would become a stepping stone for the next generation.
"You place a heavy burden upon yourself."
"It is what must be done."
"Our relations with the Tang Clan may sour… but perhaps we have gained something even greater."
Cheon Wi-gang smiled faintly.
Together, the two men left the banquet hall.
"It's been a while. Let's have a drink."
"Gladly."
* * *
Cheon Muryang ran without hesitation toward the infirmary where Wolyeong lay.
Bang!
He flung the door open.
Wolyeong was lying on the bed.
"Young Master!"
Beside her, Hwahong clutched Wolyeong's hands tightly, worry filling her eyes.
Her lips and hands were tinged blue—clear signs of poisoning.
"This is the antidote."
Cheon Muryang personally fed Wolyeong the medicine.
Then he infused her with internal energy to help it spread quickly.
"H-Her color is coming back!"
Just as Hwahong said, Wolyeong's complexion rapidly brightened.
"Hoo…"
Only then did Cheon Muryang release a breath of relief.
His body trembled.
Muscle spasms wracked him.
"I'm done for…"
In that short span of time, he had pushed himself beyond his limits to learn Reverse Scale Slash.
Even his hardened body could not endure it unscathed.
"Y-Young Master?"
It wasn't just his muscles.
Reverse Scale Slash was a sword that redirected the opponent's force into one's own flow.
Which meant that the sword Cheon Muryang had to receive—was Cheon Seonhak's sword.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood seeped from beneath his sleeve.
"Hah… I overdid it."
The world spun.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
Cheon Muryang collapsed unconscious.
"Y-Young Master!"
Hwahong's scream reached him like a lullaby.
* * *
Whoooosh.
The Cheon Clan was burning.
Before the charred gates stood Cheon Muryang—no, Mumyeong.
"The Demonic Cult…"
Where they passed, not even a blade of grass remained.
A hellfire of death had engulfed the Cheon Clan.
"Countless people died…"
Why did they have to die?
So many lives were lost.
"It was all because of the eldest young master."
Until his dying breath, Mumyeong resented Cheon Muryang.
He believed it was all ruined by the mad eldest young master—who became clan head after Cheon Wi-gang's sudden death.
"I was certain of it."
And so Mumyeong died.
Yet the dead Mumyeong became Cheon Muryangand traveled fifteen years back in time.
"Something feels wrong."
A question arose.
How did the Cheon Clan end up like this?
"Why?"
They were not the greatest clan under heaven.
But they were undeniably among the Ten Great Clans.
How could such a massive clan collapse overnight—even if the clan head was no more than a figurehead?
Certainly, Cheon Muryang had invited disaster.
"He brought in the Demonic Cult."
Nothing could justify his actions.
And yet—
"Did the clan truly function independently of Young Master Cheon Muryang?"
Cheon Muryang had never held real power.
Though he possessed final authority on paper, he was nothing more than a puppet.
"Had the clan's very structure already collapsed…?"
Even though Mu-myeong had been Cheon Mu-ryang's personal guard, after the death of the clan lord he spent more time outside than within, struggling to support the collapsing Cheon Clan.
Ironically, that had made things easier on his mind. Back then, he had harbored neither doubt nor suspicion.
There's something I didn't know.
There was clearly something more.
Because Mu-myeong had placed all his resentment upon Cheon Mu-ryang, he began to realize that perhaps Cheon Mu-ryang was not the true root of everything.
What that "something" was, he had no way of knowing.
Thud!
He saw the moment Cheon Mu-ryang's sword pierced through Mu-myeong.
'....'
Why was it?
Seeing it now, from a third-person perspective, he noticed Cheon Mu-ryang's face—twisted with terror.
Soon after, Cheon Mu-ryang himself was beheaded.
Even at the moment of death, his eyes were filled with fear—fear of something, or someone.
What were you so afraid of?
Crack!
He knew this wasn't reality.
And so, this world—constructed from Mu-myeong's memories—shattered like glass.
Flash!
The world broke apart.
And through the fragments, unfamiliar memories flowed in.
Young Master….
They were fragments of Cheon Mu-ryang's memories.
It seemed to be shortly after the succession ceremony, when he had become clan lord.
"Young Master, you would do well to remember who made you the clan lord."
It was a voice he couldn't identify.
Yet the fear Cheon Mu-ryang had felt was conveyed to him vividly.
Who are you?
He had to find out.
Mu-myeong began to wonder if he had viewed Cheon Mu-ryang only through the prejudice of calling him a brute.
Perhaps… the Young Master himself… had been driven into an extreme corner.
Maybe the reckless behavior that never changed—even after becoming clan lord—had been nothing more than desperate struggling to survive.
Were you that desperate? Desperate enough to bring in the Demonic Cult?
Cheon Mu-ryang's fear seeped into him.
What could one even call such a thing?
Had Mu-myeong come to understand Cheon Mu-ryang?
Could it be called assimilation?
He didn't know.
And so Mu-myeong's consciousness sank once more into the abyss.
Then he heard Wol-yeong's voice.
"Young Master?"
"Ugh…."
Cheon Mu-ryang opened his eyes.
A familiar ceiling came into view.
Beside him was Wol-yeong, her eyes brimming with tears.
"How much time has passed?"
"You were unconscious for a full day."
"A day? I ended up getting some unexpected rest."
Cheon Mu-ryang pushed himself upright.
Blood rushed through him, and dizziness washed over him in an instant.
"Ugh… I guess I should rest one more day."
"I heard you fought because of me, Young Master."
Hwa-hong must have told her.
"Ah."
"Why would you do that?"
Upon hearing that Cheon Mu-ryang had antagonized the Sichuan Tang Clan for her sake, Wol-yeong burst into tears.
"I told you before."
"...."
"If anyone touches what's mine, I won't endure it—no matter who they are."
How could she forget?
She never could.
"And that special dish you prepared—really delicious."
Tear.
Wol-yeong smiled.
Yet tears flowed along with that smile.
Feeling awkward for no reason, Cheon Mu-ryang coughed and changed the subject.
"I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?"
"Oh! I'll prepare something right away!"
Wol-yeong stepped out for a moment.
Feeling the lingering ache in his muscles, Cheon Mu-ryang rose from his seat.
The memories he had seen in his dream were still vivid.
"Young Master, this is not revenge on your behalf. But I wish to know—the reason the Cheon Clan fell so futilely in the past."
Clench!
He tightened his fist.
Whose will had it been?
Perhaps Cheon Mu-ryang's own will still lingered.
"But not yet."
He was far too weak for now.
He had to become strong—so strong that no one could dare touch him.
"I must become stronger. Stronger than anyone."
Creeeak.
The door of the infirmary opened.
But instead of Wol-yeong, it was Cheon Seon-hak who entered.
"How amusing. I, too, wished to make you stronger than anyone. It seems our intentions aligned nicely."
"Uncle, I want to become strong."
"I will give you my sword."
"...!"
"But you must create a sword of your own—one that surpasses mine. That shall be your foremost task."
Cheon Mu-ryang knew it.
This was his only chance.
And a turning point—one that would let him walk a path different from the past.
"Yes."
Perhaps he saw the resolve filling Cheon Mu-ryang's eyes.
Cheon Seon-hak smiled.
He, too, was looking forward to it.
Cheon Mu-ryang tried to rise immediately.
Cheon Seon-hak stopped him.
"Enough. I'll give you three days. You must recover completely by then."
Grin.
Everything Cheon Seon-hak said was a wager.
As always, Cheon Mu-ryang accepted it.
"One day. I'll rest for just one day."
"One day… Very well."
Cheon Seon-hak took something out.
"Take it."
Whoosh!
It was a wooden token.
"This is…?"
"Didn't you say you wanted to enter the Cheonryong Archive? That's your pass. Even so—will one day truly be enough?"
"...."
One day was short.
It seemed he had already lost this wager.
"Please give me two days."
Cheon Seon-hak laughed.
"If you can manage that, then try."
"...?"
"But when you enter the Cheonryong Archive, and when you come out—you must be clearly different."
It was a cryptic statement.
Without further explanation, Cheon Seon-hak turned and left the infirmary.
"Thank you, Uncle."
He likely couldn't hear it anymore.
Cheon Mu-ryang bowed deeply.
"The Cheonryong Archive…"
He would become strong.
He reaffirmed it once more.
"Young Master! Here you go!"
Wol-yeong returned with porridge.
He didn't particularly want to eat, but he shoveled it down for the sake of recovery.
After resting for about two more shijin, Cheon Mu-ryang sprang to his feet.
"Young Master? Where are you going?"
"To the Cheonryong Archive."
"...!"
Cheon Mu-ryang smiled as he left the infirmary.
"Today is the beginning."
"I'll be cheering for you!"