This meeting ended much faster than the last one.

It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything to discuss—rather, the Abbot decided to cut the meeting short at a certain point.

“We’ve made some progress in preparing for the Demonic Sect, so for now, let us resolve our internal matters first,” the Abbot announced.

He gestured toward Chun Yang’s Great General, Ju Cheol-yak, and Lee Seo-jun, who was attending as a Namgung Clan elder.

“Everyone here should already be familiar with the previous incident. First, the imperial family must issue an apology for insulting the Gold Sword Clan.”

Ju Cheol-yak’s brow twitched.

“That matter doesn’t warrant an apology from the imperial family.”
“In that situation, Jin Gi-jaecheon could have decapitated the Third Prince.”
“If he had, he wouldn’t have survived, either.”

The general’s brazen confidence drew uneasy glances from around the room.

One of the elders from the Wudang Sect furrowed his brows and spoke up.

“If a direct descendant of your clan acted so disrespectfully, offering an apology or acknowledgment would be the proper course of action.”
“Does Wudang bow its head for every transgression of its disciples?”
“At the very least, one could offer words. A disciple who errs should apologize.”
“I was under the impression that the Third Prince already apologized.”

Ju Cheol-yak turned his sharp gaze toward Seo-jun, who had been silently listening with his arms crossed.

Seo-jun smirked.

“I don’t recall receiving any apology.”
“I’ve heard that the Third Prince apologized, and you responded by assaulting him.”

An apology?

Seo-jun’s memory flashed vividly.

‘You better watch your tongue from now on.’
‘…Yes.’

Suppressing a laugh, Seo-jun replied, “That wasn’t an apology. That was him trembling and nodding in fear.”

“Are you saying the prince should have knelt before you?”
“If I had my way, you’d be the one kneeling, you rude bastard.”

“You speak like a common thug. No wonder they call the Gold Sword Clan’s daughter a wench.”

Wow.

The insult left Seo-jun momentarily breathless.

His vision swam with anger, but the sheer intensity of his fury made his mind strangely calm.

‘Should I watch my tone?’

While he didn’t care about his personal dignity, it would be problematic if this conversation tarnished the reputation of the Gold Sword Clan or the Namgung Clan.

Of course, this situation was an exception.

“I don’t see the point in being polite to a worm. The imperial family must really know their place, bowing to ants in their path.”

“Jin Gi-jaecheon, please calm yourself,” the Abbot interjected.

This time, Namgung Hyuk stepped forward.

“Abbot, this is not just an issue for the Gold Sword Clan but also for the Namgung Clan. I, Namgung Hyuk, will not stand by while the imperial family insults an elder of the Namgung Clan.”

The Abbot turned to the Namgung Clan’s young master, Namgung Myung, with a questioning look.

He was silently asking if this stance represented the Namgung Clan’s official position.

Namgung Myung hesitated briefly under the weight of his many seniors’ gazes, but then he nodded firmly.

“The Namgung Clan is built on family. We do not abandon our roots.”

The Abbot next turned his gaze to Ju Cheol-yak.

“What will you do?”

“…I find this incomprehensible. What grudge does the Namgung Clan have against the imperial family to make such absurd accusations?”

The Abbot’s frustration was palpable, but he held back a sigh.

This wasn’t something that could be resolved through words.

While Ju Cheol-yak didn’t directly represent the imperial family’s will, he was still a royal by blood—a nephew of the Emperor.

If this escalated, it could cause infighting among the Sixteen Prestigious Clans, something that absolutely could not be allowed in these times.

Ideally, a single decision-maker could resolve the dispute, but the equal standing of the Sixteen Prestigious Clans made such resolution difficult.

Since the Leader of the Alliance showed no interest in mundane human affairs, it was up to the involved parties to settle it themselves.

“Abbot,” Seo-jun spoke up, drawing the Abbot’s attention.

“This isn’t going to be resolved through words. Let’s just settle this with a proper match.”

To the Abbot, this was a welcome proposal.

He also believed Ju Cheol-yak had gone too far. There were limits to one’s pride.

Feeling apologetic, the Abbot sent Seo-jun a telepathic message.

[Are you sure about this? If you lose, the situation will become far more complicated.]
[It doesn’t matter.]

Seo-jun’s sharp gaze pierced Ju Cheol-yak.

[Because I’ll win. Even if we fight ten thousand times, I’ll win every single time.]

*

Preparations for the duel proceeded quickly.

Ju Cheol-yak, who was confident he wouldn’t lose, accepted without hesitation.

The Abbot recommended that the duel take place quietly within Shaolin Temple to prevent martial arts techniques from being exposed and to spare the loser some of their humiliation.

Losing in front of a crowd and becoming the subject of gossip would be far worse than accepting defeat privately.

“There’s no need for that. It’s better to settle this publicly so everyone can see who’s in the right,” Ju Cheol-yak declared.

He wanted a public duel to judge the traitor who dared insult the imperial family.

While he understood that the Third Prince’s remarks might have been provocative, it was unacceptable to openly humiliate the imperial family.

In his eyes, the situation was simple: beat the traitor in front of everyone and restore the imperial family’s honor.

“I’m fine with that,” Seo-jun agreed.

The exposure of martial arts techniques?

At the Supreme Master level, revealing a few techniques wouldn’t make much of a difference.

If someone couldn’t manage such exposure, they wouldn’t have reached that level in the first place.

And so, it was decided. The Yongbong Gathering would be postponed for a day to host the duel.

The terms were as follows:

If Ju Cheol-yak won, Seo-jun would kneel and apologize for his disrespect toward the imperial family.

If Seo-jun won, Ju Cheol-yak would kneel and apologize for insulting the Gold Sword Clan.

Seo-jun also made it clear that if he lost, the apology would come solely from him—not from the Gold Sword Clan or the Namgung Clan.

Ju Cheol-yak, not wanting to escalate the matter further, agreed.

For someone of their caliber, kneeling in front of a crowd was more humiliating than death itself.

And so, the day of the duel arrived.

The representatives of the Sixteen Prestigious Clans discussed the match as they waited.

“Do you think this young man will be broken by the weight of it all…?”
An elder from the Wudang Sect expressed his concern.

Red-faced Beggar clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“This situation is ridiculous. The person who deserves an apology has already been decided.”
“Well, I can understand the Abbot’s stance, but…”
“It can’t be helped. If that young man wins, this will all be resolved.”

Red-faced Beggar turned his gaze toward the Namgung Clan’s representatives.
Pae Jin-gwang, arms crossed and face grim, furrowed his brows under the scrutiny.

“What are you staring at?”

“What’s your take on this, Fist King?”

“The imperial family wasn’t always this brazen, but that bastard is particularly rude.”

“I meant the duel. Who do you think will win?”

“If he fights with the intent to kill, our kid will win without a doubt.”

Red-faced Beggar scratched his head, his movement so vigorous that flakes of dust began falling, prompting the Wudang elder to quickly step back.

“And if it’s not a fight to the death?”

“Even then, our kid will win.”

“You make it sound like the Great General is no easy opponent…”

“Your opinion will change once you’ve seen him fight. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I could beat that kid.”

Pae Jin-gwang recalled Seo-jun’s demonic transformation. If Seo-jun used that technique, the Fist King was certain he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Even if Seo-jun didn’t resort to that, the fight would still be close.

“Is the young man truly that strong?”

“If the Fist King holds him in such regard…”

“Still, given his youth, it can’t be to that extent. Surely, there’s some exaggeration.”

All eyes turned toward Pae Jin-gwang, their skepticism evident.

The Fist King snorted dismissively.

“What are you looking at?”

His response was curt, but since everyone knew of his close ties to Jin Gi-jaecheon, they refrained from commenting further.

Moreover, Pae Jin-gwang’s martial rank and reputation were intimidating enough to discourage any argument.

Red-faced Beggar let out a sly laugh.

“Well, it would be nice if the imperial family’s arrogance took a hit. These days, even the beggars in Beijing struggle to get a meal.”

“Maybe that’s because even rich folks are trying to mooch meals off others,” Pae Jin-gwang retorted.

“Senior, that’s supposed to be a secret!”

“What of it, you brat?”

“And what does that even mean?”

“This is why old people are hopeless… It’s a phrase the youngsters use these days.”

“Huh. Fascinating.”

*

Seo-jun prepared for the duel, taking a moment to compose himself.

“Jeez.”

He was idly poking Chun-bong’s cheeks.

“Hey, this isn’t getting out of hand because of me, right?”

Seo-jun opened his eyes and scoffed.

“Of course not. It’s that guy’s lack of manners that brought us here.”

Frankly, Seo-jun wouldn’t have minded letting the Third Prince’s incident slide.

After all, Chun-bong had already humiliated him, proving how absurd his claims were.

“But honestly, even if that bastard loses, he’s probably going to run his mouth again.”

Seo-jun stood up.

Namgung Su-a, who was nearby, handed him his sword.

As Seo-jun tied it to his waist, Namgung Su-a gently took his hand.

“What will you do then?”

“I’ll make sure he can’t say a word.”

Smiling faintly, Namgung Su-a stepped back as Seo-jun headed toward the duel platform.

“Go beat him up, Lee Seo-jun.”

Hearing Chun-bong’s encouragement from behind, Seo-jun chuckled.

“Of course. I’m Gold Chun-bong’s big brother, after all.”

Standing atop the platform, Seo-jun surveyed the crowd.

A light breeze made his black martial robes flutter.

Walking toward the center of the stage, Seo-jun channeled his internal energy.

Whoosh—!

Golden patterns began to shimmer and spread across his black robes.

The golden aura radiated an ethereal brilliance, forming a distinct shape.

A dragon.

It was a divine skill, conjured entirely from internal energy.

The golden dragon etched against the black fabric resembled the imperial family’s robes, but Seo-jun couldn’t care less.

Whether it was a black dragon on gold or a gold dragon on black, from now on, it would all symbolize the Gold Sword Clan.

“I am Lee Seo-jun, an elder of the Namgung Clan and the inheritor of the Gold Sword Clan’s legacy.”

His eyes shone with a golden light.