Chapter 450 : The Father Who Was Once a Son

Chapter 450: The Father Who Was Once a Son

The carriage was running toward its destination.

With his eyes gently closed, my father spoke to me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Even with his eyes closed, how could he be so sensitive to a gaze?

“Because I like you.”

Father slightly opened his eyes and looked at me.

“I’m not joking. I’m not teasing either. I really like you, Father.”

“Because I sent that person a gift?”

“No, because you wrote that person a letter.”

To Father, a root of Millennium Snow Ginseng meant nothing more than pocket change.

But a letter personally written by Father was beyond monetary value.

What moved me the most was that the gift wasn’t sent because I had asked for it.

After Im Gye left, I agonized over how I could persuade Father to help him. But before I could even say a word, Father wrote a letter, handed it to Hui, and said:

‘Have the Branch Leader deliver it personally, along with a root of Millennium Snow Ginseng.’

How could I not be moved?

“You’re the best, Father.”

Father remained silent with his eyes still closed.

He didn’t even try to take credit—how could I not love that?

And I could feel it.

This very moment, hearing the words "You're the best" from his son—Father was definitely happy.

There’s now a particular angle to his lips that only I can recognize. That slight upward curve is proof that he's genuinely happy right now.

Then, out of nowhere, Father spoke.

“It’s because of those people that this cult has endured.”

Right. Father has his own demonic path as well.

I hope his heart was properly conveyed to them. And I hope Im Gye’s father has also become the best father, just like mine.

I leaned my head out the window. Was it the refreshing breeze? The sky looked even bluer and clearer.

“The weather is really nice.”

I glanced back. Father was looking up at the sky through the window on the opposite side.

Father, how is it? Does the sky you see here feel different from the one you saw at the Heavenly Demon Pavilion?

As the carriage, which had been running alongside the river, completely veered away from it, Father suddenly spoke.

“Let’s have another fishing match at that river when we return. This time, both of us will use fishing rods you made.”

I laughed loudly. I suppose he really wanted to beat me at fishing, at least. But that didn’t mean I could just let him win. With Father’s sharp perception, could I ever lose on purpose? If I did, he’d truly get angry.

“Sounds good. Matches are always best two out of three.”

A certain resolve appeared on Father’s lips. It was the resolve to win—no matter what.

“Uncle Hui, please stop here for a moment.”

When the running carriage came to a stop, I spoke to Father.

“Would you like to take a short walk?”

Without a word, Father got out of the carriage.

“If we pass through that forest over there, there’s a beautiful waterfall. Since we’re passing by anyway, let’s take a look.”

Hui waited behind to guard the carriage while Father and I walked into the forest together.

“When did you come here?”

“I discovered it by chance a long time ago.”

It was a place I had visited before the regression. I remembered walking this path back then. I had walked this snow-covered path alone… but now, with greenery thick around us and the sound of birdsong, I walked it with Father.

Father didn’t say a word, just kept walking, but his expression as he looked around was relaxed. I also walked silently, lost in thought. The more time I spent with Father, the less awkward silence between us felt.

At the end of the beautiful forest path was a waterfall. Like a stream of silver thread pouring down, the waterfall refreshed the hearts of those who beheld it.

Swaaaaaa—

Father silently stared at the waterfall. When was the last time he had left the cult grounds to see a waterfall? It must have been a very long time ago.

“It’s nice.”

With just that one sentence, I could tell. That Father was truly pleased.

“Father.”

“What is it?”

“What was Grandfather like?”

It must have been a sudden question, as Father looked at me.

“I’m curious what kind of person you were when you were the son.”

Father’s gaze returned to the waterfall.

“I feel like there would be much to learn from the Father who was once a son.”

I didn’t know well how Father had spent time with Grandfather.

After quite some silence, Father unexpectedly spoke.

“There are times I regret when I look at you.”

I looked at Father. He didn’t explain what he meant, but I could tell—it meant he thought I was doing well.

We stared at the waterfall in silence for a long time, then turned back the way we had come.

That was the time I stopped the carriage once. Then after about half a day of travel, this time Father stopped it.

“If there’s a quiet spot, pull over for a moment.”

Hui stopped the carriage in a place with no people.

“Get down.”

Following Father, I got off the carriage. Then, the words I had been hoping to hear during this journey finally came from his mouth.

“How far have you learned the Nine Calamities Demon Art?”

It was a declaration that he would begin teaching me the Nine Calamities Demon Art. I was so happy it felt like I could fly.

One word from Father would help more than a hundred days of training.

Quick-witted Hui vanished as soon as the topic of the Nine Calamities Demon Art came up. He knew he had to step away during its instruction, so he moved far away to stand guard from a distance.

“I’ve learned up to the Fifth Form, but the Fifth Form is still unstable.”

“Show me up to the Fourth Form.”

I demonstrated the Nine Calamities Demon Art from the First Form to the Fourth Form in succession, right in front of Father.

A subtle glint passed through Father's eyes as he observed.

He probably hadn’t expected my cultivation to have deepened this much, unaware of existence of the Heavenly Time Secret Art. In moments like this, I’m truly grateful that I possess the heavenly martial body. It’s because the heavenly martial body can explain such incomprehensibly rapid achievement.

But what Father focused on wasn’t only the depth of my attainment.

What drew his attention even more was that it was different.

Father’s Nine Calamities Demon Art and mine were different.

Just look at the demonic ghosts. They were completely unlike Father’s. Not just in appearance, but even in the feeling they gave off when they appeared and vanished.

Of course, that didn’t mean I could confidently say my demonic ghosts were stronger than Father’s.

This difference was what maintained the tension between Father and me. It was probably also what drove the already perfected ‘Heavenly Demon’ back into the training hall.

“There are times when, despite the extreme usage of internal energy, you must use the Fifth Form. Do you know when that is?”

“I believe it's when allies and enemies are mixed together.”

Father nodded.

“Yes, that’s right. It's precisely when you must strike down only the enemies. That’s why the Fifth Form lives and dies by its precision.”

An imprecise Fifth Form was, quite literally, a disaster falling from the heavens.

“Now, go ahead and show me.”

I drew the Black Demon Sword and stepped forward.

“Imagine enemies standing in a line, five steps apart, centered at thirty steps directly ahead.”

I visualized the enemies just as Father described.

Ten martial masters were lined up straight ahead of me.

‘I’ll kill them all with a single strike!’

After calming my mind for a moment, I unleashed the Fifth Form: Soul Severing Demonic Strike.

Shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk!

Pak pak pak pak pak pak pak pak pak!

The strikes landed roughly where I had visualized, but they weren’t accurate.

Even from a distance, Father instantly grasped the results.

“Your accuracy is still lacking, and the depth is inconsistent. The sixth and eighth are shallow, and the second and third are too deep.”

Even up close, there were only pitch-black holes on the ground, but Father had discerned everything precisely from afar. Despite ten sword energies falling at once, he recognized the differences in each one.

Father gave me a detailed lecture on the Fifth Form.

When it came to the Nine Calamities Demon Art, Father’s teachings granted me absolute understanding and insight.

Father’s guidance was specific.

I know better than anyone how difficult the Nine Calamities Demon Art is to master.

But Father’s explanation was simple. A level of clarity only someone who had reached the peak could provide.

Only a true master can explain things easily.

Father proved this timeless truth to me.

Of course, within that simplicity was the profound logic of martial arts. Those who didn’t understand that principle would actually start doubting it. Is that all? It’s this easy? In the end, to them, that simplicity would become nothing more than an empty illusion.

Father explained it simply and specifically, and I asked just as specifically.

Whenever I had questions, I asked them right then and there. Ask and answer.

That was our level of mastery.

“Now, show it again!”

Once again, Father designated the spots where the sword energies should fall.

Ten vertical streaks of sword energy came down again.

“Better than before, but you’re still far from there.”

Father explained again.

This wasn’t training that made me chew over hints and reach enlightenment on my own. Such deep contemplation was something I had to do myself—what Father was teaching was strictly the concrete part!

It was exactly like an instructor at a martial arts hall teaching a student.

Different from how he used to teach me before. It was easier and more precise now.

That’s how I could tell.

‘Father has grown during this time, too.’

It might be something I only noticed because I had grown as well. But one thing was certain—Father was stronger now than when I first regressed.

“Now, show it again.”

This time, Father walked directly to the spot where the sword energy would fall.

He looked at me from there and said:

“There’s a hostage here. There are five enemies.”

Father used wind using internal energy to designate their positions.

The hostage and the enemies were almost touching.

“Go. Rescue them.”

“I thought you'd be standing where the hostage was.”

“Why would I?”

“Well, isn’t that the usual thing? ‘I believe in you. So I’ll stand in the hostage’s spot. If you fail, I die.’”

Father spoke firmly.

“How could I trust you?”

Then he even stepped a few more paces farther away.

I couldn’t help but laugh, because I knew he meant it—not as a joke.

I calmed my mind and pictured the situation. These weren’t just random martial artists. They were true masters, surrounding the hostage.

Swords pointed at the hostage’s neck.

Only one chance.

Shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk shuk!

Pak pak pak pak pak pak!

And then Father announced the result.

“All enemies are dead.”

Just as I was about to cheer—

“The hostage is dead, too.”

I ran toward the spot where the hostage had stood. As Father said, sword energy had struck that area too. Six streaks had fallen, not five. It was a mistake from still not being able to fully control the number of sword strikes.

Looking down at the hole where the hostage had been, I mourned.

“Seo Daeryong, I’m sorry.”

I smiled, picturing Seo Daeryong saying, “Why me?” I mean, I couldn’t kill Lee Ahn, right? There’s still the Left Arm, you know? I’m the right arm! His voice practically echoed in my head.

“Still, better than before.”

Just as I had felt it, Father, too, clearly sensed that things were different from the time I had first learned the Nine Calamities Demon Art. We were growing together.

“Well, of course. Look who's teaching me.”

We got back into the carriage.

“There’s an inn in the village we’ll be arriving at soon. They’ve got a skilled head chef. It’s a place I’ve always wanted to take you. Since I couldn’t save the hostage, dinner’s on me!”

*         *         *

Joo Hyangwol had been having nightmares for the past several days. For someone who didn’t usually dream, the fact that she was this shaken was entirely because of today’s promise.

“My lady, it’s time to get ready.”

The attendants came in carrying clothes.

They were ornate and beautiful garments, but Joo Hyangwol took out a clean martial robe from the wardrobe.

“I’ll be wearing this.”

“The family head specifically requested you wear this outfit.”

When Joo Hyangwol shot them a cold glare, the attendants lowered their heads. They only acted like this because they knew she wouldn’t back down otherwise.

“Mother knows I’ll be going out in a martial robe. So you don’t need to worry about getting scolded.”

Just then, a woman’s voice came from outside.

“That’s why I came myself.”

The woman who opened the door and entered was Lim Sohwa, Joo Hyangwol’s mother and the head of the Joo Clan Sword Family.

“Wear that outfit.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Joo Hyangwol stared directly at her mother.

Was she asking that because she truly didn’t know? Or was she pretending not to know?

“Do you not understand how important today’s meeting with Young Master Hwang is?”

You’re the one who doesn’t understand what you’re saying right now, aren’t you? What does that gaudy palace dress have to do with today’s meeting? If you think it does—really think there’s a connection—

These words rose all the way to her throat.

—Do you truly want to sell your daughter to them?

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. It was the kind of thing you’d regret the moment it left your mouth.

Five years ago, after her father passed away, the Joo Clan Sword Family’s fortunes declined rapidly. Her mother became the family head, but she could never fill the void her father left. That had been the mistake. She should have handed the position to someone better suited and stepped back.

In the end, for this reason and that, the martial artists of the sword family began to leave one by one. Now, only those who had respected her father remained, barely keeping the lineage of the clan alive.

Then recently, the prosperous Hwangdo Trading Company proposed a partnership with the Joo Clan Sword Family. Today was the day of that negotiation.

And her mother knew.

She knew that the Young Master Hwang attending today’s negotiation had feelings for her daughter. He had chosen her as the negotiating partner. Her mother’s choice had been that flamboyant palace dress.

‘If you had told me to wear a martial robe on a day like this, then I would’ve worn that palace dress. Why do you keep hurting me like this without even realizing it!’

She herself was prepared to hurt her mother. But even when the wound was self-inflicted, her mother would still be shocked, hurt, throwing a tantrum, calling for her dead husband—

That image came to mind again and again, making it impossible to speak.

And so, with all those tangled thoughts in her heart, when she arrived at the inn that was the meeting place, there was already a commotion at the entrance—between the martial artists of the Hwangdo Trading Company and a young man.

“Why won’t you let me in? I must get in today!”