Seo-jun, who lacked friends, ended up tagging along with Namgung Myeong and his circle of acquaintances.

This group consisted of Cheongsong from the Cheongseong Sect, Mu Hye from the Wudang Sect, and Eun Wi-ryong from the Jeomchang Sect. More accurately, Eun Wi-ryong had been dragged there by Cheongsong.

“Haha, isn’t this enjoyable?” Cheongsong asked with a grin.

“Enjoyable? Hardly. What’s so special about hanging out with the younger generation?” Eun Wi-ryong muttered, leaning back in his chair with a dismissive scoff.

Cheongsong chuckled at the display. “Come on, why not share some of your concerns? After all, we have the great Senior Jin Gijaecheon here with us.”

“…Did you tell him that?” Eun Wi-ryong shot a glare at Cheongsong, who showed no sign of intimidation.

“What do you think, Senior? Isn’t this guy just wasting time these days, lacking all motivation?” Cheongsong asked, exuding his usual social energy.

Seo-jun rolled his eyes. “Well, that happens sometimes.”

“See? Even Senior agrees. Why bother? Let’s be honest—martial arts are pointless. The ones destined to succeed will succeed, and those who aren’t, won’t.”

“You don’t know that until you try.”

“Oh, so you really need to climb a tree you can’t reach just to feel satisfied? Don’t talk nonsense and eat something instead.”

Eun Wi-ryong jabbed a large piece of meat with his chopsticks and stuffed it into Cheongsong’s mouth, silencing him for a moment.

Mu Hye then joined the conversation. “Don’t you want to see where the path of martial arts leads? Just imagining it is thrilling. Why turn away from something so magnificent?”

Her words, spoken in her usual masculine tone, clashed with her delicate appearance. Eun Wi-ryong frowned in response.

“Are you mocking me? That’s something only geniuses like you can say. For someone like me, it’s completely out of reach.”

“You don’t know that unless—”

“Enough! If that’s how it’s going to be, I’m leaving.”

Eun Wi-ryong shot a glare at Cheongsong. “You dragged me here against my will…”

Cheongsong swallowed the meat in his mouth and grinned. “Oh, come on. Just try to socialize a bit, will you?”

Eun Wi-ryong didn’t bother replying, instead picking at the food on the table with an indifferent expression.

Sensing the tension, Namgung Myeong decided to intervene. “Cheongsong, don’t be too hard on him. I’m sure Eun has his own thoughts. There’s more to life than martial arts, after all.”

“There’s nothing else I care about,” Eun Wi-ryong interjected bluntly, causing Namgung Myeong to awkwardly shut his mouth.

Letting out a long sigh, Eun Wi-ryong stood up. “I’ll go get some air.”

As Eun Wi-ryong walked off, Cheongsong scratched the back of his head, visibly embarrassed.

“Apologies, Senior. I thought bringing him here might help since he’s been struggling lately, but I seem to have caused you trouble instead.”

“It’s fine. It happens.”

At that age, everyone goes through something—a late-stage rebellious phase, a wandering youth, or just the inevitable turbulence of life. Seo-jun figured it was best to let it pass.

“Thank you,” Cheongsong said with a sheepish smile, clasping his fists in gratitude.

After a few light exchanges, Namgung Myeong turned to Seo-jun. “Brother, since you’re here, why not talk to some of the others as well?”

“With others?” Seo-jun glanced around the venue.

Groups of younger martial artists were scattered throughout, chatting animatedly. Among them, Chun-bong stood out, passionately gesturing as she spoke.

She seems to be having fun, Seo-jun thought with a satisfied smile. He shook his head. “I’m good. I’d rather hang out with the elders.”

“Is that so?”

Laughter broke out around the table, but it was cut short by a sharp voice that rang through the venue.

“What did you just say?”

The sudden outburst drew everyone’s attention. Seo-jun followed the sound and spotted a familiar figure.

“Isn’t that your future sister-in-law?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Namgung Myeong looked at him in shock.

“Oh, she’s not? Got it,” Seo-jun replied with a teasing grin.

“It’s not like that yet!” Namgung Myeong protested.

“Ah, one of those situations. Understood.”

Despite Namgung Myeong’s flustered expression, Seo-jun’s attention was drawn to what appeared to be an argument involving Hwang Bo-hyeji.

The person she was arguing with? Eun Wi-ryong.

“So much for getting some air…” Seo-jun muttered.

Hwang Bo-hyeji’s voice rose. “If your mother’s opinion matters so much, why don’t you just let her live your life for you?”

“…Aren’t you going too far?”

“Did I say anything untrue? Your life is yours to live, not your mother’s. Do you think you’ll be able to change anything later if you just let things happen now?”

Hwang Bo-hyeji ground her teeth audibly, her fierce glare locked on Eun Wi-ryong. “Why don’t you worry about yourself? Do you think your master will just watch as you continue to slack off like this?”

“What did you just say?”

“You’re bringing shame to your master’s name! If I were your master, I’d have scolded you a hundred times already!”

“That was advice—”

“Another word of advice, and you might end up in a duel to the death.”

The atmosphere was rapidly becoming dangerous.

Seo-jun sighed. “Myeong, Myeong.”

“Yes, Brother?”

“Maybe you should step in and calm your sister-in-law down.”

“…Fine.”

Namgung Myeong stood up, unable to argue, and headed over to the confrontation.

Turning to Cheongsong, Seo-jun said, “You should probably do something about your friend, too.”

“What…?” Cheongsong looked genuinely taken aback. After a moment of contemplation, he bowed to Seo-jun.

“Senior, could I ask you to speak with him instead? He’s not normally like this. I believe he’s struggling with some inner turmoil, and your advice might be more helpful than mine.”

“Me? Wouldn’t you be better at this?”

“Normally, yes. But if it’s about martial arts, no one’s advice would carry more weight than yours, Senior.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t about martial arts.”

“Even so, Wi-ryong used to be incredibly passionate about martial arts. If he’s acting this way now, I can’t imagine it being unrelated.”

“Ugh…”

Seo-jun glanced toward the scene. Namgung Myeong was trying to calm Hwang Bo-hyeji, but Eun Wi-ryong had already disappeared from sight.

“Damn it…”

Letting out a long sigh, Seo-jun rose from his seat.

“If this goes wrong, don’t blame me.”

“Of course not! Thank you, Senior! I’ll repay this favor someday!” Cheongsong exclaimed, bowing deeply.

 

Seo-jun found Eun Wi-ryong outside the building, where the latter was practicing swordsmanship in a quiet, secluded area. His movements cut through the air with precision, but his face was twisted with frustration and complex emotions.

“Haah…”

Eun Wi-ryong exhaled deeply and thrust his sword forward.

The concentrated energy at the tip of the blade shimmered before piercing through the empty space ahead.

“This definitely isn’t the sword of someone who claims martial arts are pointless.”

The level of refinement in his technique wasn’t something achievable with half-hearted effort. This was the culmination of years of dedicated practice.

And yet, Eun Wi-ryong was clearly dissatisfied.

“Damn it…”

He cursed loudly—an uncharacteristic display for a young martial artist of the Sixteen Great Houses—and hurled his sword to the ground.

Clang!

The sharp sound of the blade hitting the earth echoed as he slumped to the ground, breathing heavily.

“What a fool,” he muttered to himself.

“Yeah, why’re you acting like such a fool?”

Startled by the sudden voice, Eun Wi-ryong looked up to see Seo-jun.

“Y-You…!”

He looked like he was about to curse but instead exhaled deeply and nodded curtly.

“What brings you here, Senior?”

“That Cheongsong guy seems worried about you.”

“That idiot… It’s nothing. You don’t need to concern yourself with me.”

“What’s not going well?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Looks to me like you’ve hit a wall. Didn’t your master give you any advice?”

Eun Wi-ryong glared at Seo-jun as if contemplating whether to verbally lash out.

Seo-jun briefly considered smacking some sense into him but decided against it.

“What’s your problem? You need to talk if you want others to help.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little rude for someone we’ve only just met?”

“I’m allowed to be rude. If you don’t like it, become a transcendent.”

Eun Wi-ryong’s glare faltered, his shoulders slumping as if the fight had drained out of him.

“Of course you’d say that, Senior. You’re a genius. You wouldn’t understand the struggles of someone like me, stuck in a tiny pond.”

“Funny. You made it to the Round of 16, didn’t you? Pretty sure others see you as a genius, too.”

“After training in the Jeomchang Sect since childhood, failing to reach that level would be disgraceful. I might as well drown in a shallow dish of water.”

“Good grief.”

Seo-jun clicked his tongue, delving into his memory.

“Jeomchang Sect… isn’t their Four Sun-Shooting Sword Art famous?”

“That’s correct.”

“‘Shooting the Sun’ sounds pretty impressive.”

“Only a handful of Jeomchang martial artists can actually achieve it. It’s not as simple as it sounds.”

Eun Wi-ryong dusted himself off and picked up his sword. He stared at the blade’s nicks and scratches with a complicated expression before sheathing it with a sigh.

“Well, I’m done here. You should enjoy the banquet, Senior. I’m heading back.”

“You brat.”

“It’s fine. I’m just a Jeomchang guy, after all.”

Seo-jun stared at him, wondering whether he should knock some sense into the younger martial artist. Sensing the tension, Eun Wi-ryong instinctively took a step back.

“W-What are you doing?”

“‘A frog in a well sees only the sky,’ but even a frog knows the sky is vast,” Seo-jun remarked.

“…What nonsense are you spouting now?”

The idiom “A frog in a well” referred to someone with limited perspective. Seo-jun’s remark seemed to double down on the idea.

Eun Wi-ryong glared at him, but Seo-jun merely smirked.

“If you’ve captured the sun in your sights, why worry about how big the world is? Just pierce the sun with your blade.”

“That’s… nonsense.”

“Then forget it. I’ve said what I wanted to say.”

“Right…”

Eun Wi-ryong turned and walked away, glancing back a few times. Seo-jun was watching him with an enigmatic expression.

“Knows the depth of the sky? How could a mere frog possibly know that?”

 

Back at the Jeomchang Sect, Eun Wi-ryong greeted his master upon returning.

“Master, I’m back.”

“You’re back earlier than expected,” replied Eun Yu-do, pouring tea with practiced ease.

“The banquet wasn’t much, so I left halfway through.”

“You boring boy.”

Eun Yu-do clicked his tongue and handed a cup of tea to his disciple.

As Eun Wi-ryong took the cup, Eun Yu-do remarked, “Something seems to be troubling you. Your eyes give it away.”

“…I just heard some strange words, that’s all.”

“What words?”

“Nothing important.”

“You cheeky brat.”

Eun Wi-ryong stared at his master for a moment before asking, “Master.”

“What is it?”

“Do you have any regrets?”

“Now, what nonsense are you trying to say?”

“Having a useless disciple like me must trouble you.”

“You brat. If you know that, then do better.”

“…It’s not that simple.”

Eun Wi-ryong sighed heavily, and Eun Yu-do watched him with a calm gaze.

“Don’t sigh. You’ll scare away your good fortune.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you know why I took you as my disciple?”

“Because you said I showed potential.”

“Exactly.”

Eun Yu-do sipped his tea and added, “Regardless, we’re bound now. A parent doesn’t abandon their child just because they’re disappointing.”

“Plenty of parents do that,” Eun Wi-ryong retorted.

“Rotten kid. Just take the point.”

“Yes, Master.”

Eun Yu-do chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re my disciple. I’m not going to criticize you over martial arts. If there’s something else you want to do, then do it.”

“Can I really do that?”

“Why not? That’s the path of the Dao.”