Chapter 161

“Ordinary people say this. That holding powerful sects accountable is madness.”

“That’s usually true.”

“But in life, regardless of whether one has power or not, I believe that if a crime is committed, one must take responsibility accordingly.”

“Like spilling the blood of the Blood-Spirit Fivefold Lords across Woljin Gorge?”

“Yes.”

The Celestial Daoist’s gaze was very gentle.

“The way of the martial is not simply about seeking power, but about fulfilling the responsibilities that power brings. In that sense, your words are correct, Gongja.”

“Then does that responsibility include admitting one’s own wrongdoings?”

The Celestial Daoist picked up a Go stone and spoke.

“Hmm... What a fascinating line of questioning.”

He placed his stone on the board. I followed suit.

A moment of silence settled between us.

In that stillness—tuk, tuk—only the sound of stones finding their place echoed out.

After a long pause, the Celestial Daoist asked me.

“No matter how I think about it, I just don’t understand. What exactly are you trying to say, Gongja?”

“You truly don’t know?”

“I have a guess... but I hope it’s not that.”

“Then it most likely is.”

A curious smile bloomed at the edge of the Celestial ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) Daoist’s lips.

“In that case...”

His pupils darkened. And the world around us—things unseen—suddenly grew heavier.

“Why don’t you go ahead and say it?”

I spoke firmly and with deliberate clarity.

“If you want to play games, you should start by getting your own house in order.”

No one noticed it.

Not Commander Seong already seated here, nor the other Pavilion members nearby.

None of them showed the slightest reaction to the blade now pressed against my throat. And that was correct.

The woman beside me was at the Manifestation of Limitless Extremes—a half-step from the Grand Void Formless itself.

She was silently holding one of the Ten Legendary Swords, the Eight-Faceted Venomblade, to my neck.

But my eyes remained fixed on the Celestial Daoist.

I continued speaking in an unwavering tone.

“There are those within your ranks who act without your knowledge. And the severity of their actions gives more than sufficient justification to purge the Original Blood Sect.”

“So?”

“If one cannot even maintain order within, then playing tricks on outside forces for your own amusement... frankly, it’s unpleasant to witness.”

“...Hrrhrrhrr. I have nothing to say to that.”

And then—

“We’re in the middle of a match, but one of Elder Cheon’s own just interrupted it.”

“Hm? Hrrhrrhrr... Is that how it appears?”

The Celestial Daoist laughed—genuinely amused—and I calmly turned my gaze toward Yang Uiji.

Her eyes, filled with curiosity, astonishment, and a trace of fury, left a strong impression.

I met her eyes and quietly said,

“Why not put it away? It’s not like you’ll get to use it.”

“...Wow...”

Yang Uiji let out a strange murmur of awe, and the Celestial Daoist addressed her.

“Hrrhrrhrr... Put it away. As the young Gongja said, the game is still ongoing.”

Without protest, Yang Uiji lowered the sword and retreated.

When I turned back toward the Celestial Daoist, the aura surrounding his smiling form suddenly expanded.

No longer a mischievous old man, but the supreme master of the martial world—

A transcendent being, beyond human limitation.

His presence was something few could endure in the flesh. But it was fine.

There was no killing intent—this was merely a test.

One I could endure, and withstand.

The Celestial Daoist’s pupils traced an arc.

“You are impressive in many ways, Gongja.”

“If that is praise, I’ll accept it gratefully.”

“But you seem like you have more to say. Or is that just my imagination?”

“It’s not your imagination.”

“Hrrhrrhrr... Then please, go on. We should bring things to a close.”

Wiping away the thin line of blood from my neck, I continued.

“Elder Cheon, allow me to ask something else this time.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve received teachings from many sages. And from what I’ve learned, the martial path is not simply about pursuing strength. It is about upholding the fundamental order of the world.”

At this, the Celestial Daoist’s eyes widened.

“...Please... continue.”

“As I was taught in Confucian tradition, benevolence is not merely compassion—it means the harmony that sustains the world itself. And like in Daoist teachings, not disrupting the natural flow of all things... that, I believe, is the true path of a martial artist.”

The Celestial Daoist said nothing.

No—he couldn’t.

I had mentioned Confucianism and Daoism, but the truth was, I had learned all of this from only one person.

And that person was the Celestial Daoist himself, sitting right before me.

“The experiments recorded in the Tae-Yeong Record have deviated from all dao, all benevolence. Treating the lives of commoners like experimental ingredients—that is the act of shattering the very foundation of the martial world.”

“...”

“Am I wrong?”

“...Your words strike a chord in this old man’s heart, Gongja.”

“Yes, Elder Cheon.”

“As far as I know, you’ve taken many lives. Are you saying that among them, not a single one was a civilian?”

“There were.”

“Then should such words really be coming from your mouth?”

“I believe I have every right to say them.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I drew a clear line between martial artists, those who entered the martial realm, and those who had no connection to it whatsoever.”

“...Hmm... Is that so?”

“If you doubt me, feel free to investigate further.”

The Celestial Daoist held my gaze. I returned it.

It was true—I had killed civilians. But never once had I killed someone entirely innocent.

Civilians who had entered the martial world, and civilians untouched by it—

If one believes those two to be the same, I have nothing to say. But the Celestial Daoist does not see them as the same.

Neither do I.

At last, the Celestial Daoist’s expression changed—just slightly. A flicker of something passed through it, but I caught it.

It was a decision.

What decision, I could not say.

“One last question.”

His eyes sharpened.

“You mentioned Taehwa Stream, yes? What did you do with the corpses there?”

“Do you think I brought them?”

“If you did, then show them to me. I’ll judge with my own eyes.”

I shook my head.

“You won’t be able to.”

“Any reason why?”

“Because I didn’t bring them.”

“...Hm...?”

“I held a funeral for them there. I burned them all. There’s no evidence left.”

“Why did you do that? If you had brought that child’s corpse and the Tae-Yeong Record, everything might’ve gone your way.”

“I just didn’t want to.”

“...You didn’t want to...?”

“They suffered until the moment they died, victims of twisted desires. If I were to use their corpses even in death, how would I be any different?”

The Celestial Daoist’s eyes opened wide. So did Yang Uiji’s beside him.

“...Gongja... you’ve made this old man reflect upon himself today.”

At that, Yang Uiji sharply turned her head.

She had likely never once seen the Celestial Daoist like this in her entire life.

Neither had I—only twice, ever.

Today made it the third.

“They say the martial path is a lonely one, but even in that loneliness, there are principles that must be upheld.”

“Agreed. Elder Cheon, you are the Sect Master of the Original Blood Sect and the supreme master of the martial world. One who holds both titles must bear their weight—and take responsibility for their words.”

“...You scold me, Gongja.”

Hrrhrrhrr...

As the Celestial Daoist laughed, I quietly said,

“The martial world doesn’t move by one man’s will. It’s more like a painting—every move interwoven to create the full image.”

“A painting, hmm...”

“If I were to remove a stone from this Go board, what would you do?”

“...Ho?”

I reached out and picked up one of the stones.

It was positioned on the edge of black and white—a pivotal stone that affected the entire board.

“If this stone were to move on its own, it would violate the order of Go, would it not?”

“Of course.”

“But what if the stone had been placed incorrectly from the very beginning?”

The Celestial Daoist looked at the stone in my hand and replied,

“Then it should be returned to its rightful place.”

“That is precisely what I’m doing right now.”

A smile spread across his lips.

It was a smile of comprehension—and acknowledgment.

“...You are truly a peculiar stone, Gongja. Unlike anyone I’ve met in all my years.”

“I’m simply walking the path laid before me.”

“Then the most fascinating part is where that path will ultimately lead.”

With another chuckle, the Celestial Daoist placed a stone on the board.

“What do you think of this move?”

It was an unexpected placement.

At first glance, it looked reasonable—and its true value would emerge several moves ahead. But it wasn’t perfect.

“The world is wider than the Go board. And the stones upon it are countless. But only when each stone holds its place in harmony does it have meaning.”

The Celestial Daoist’s eyes deepened.

“The move you just made, Elder Cheon—if I may speak freely—I believe it to be a foolish one.”

“Foolish?”

“Yes. Within five moves, you may break five white groups—but by the tenth move, twenty black groups will be destroyed.”

“Your vision is vast.”

Staring at the Celestial Daoist, I continued quietly.

“Everyone chooses their own path, and must bear the consequences of that choice. That is the true meaning of dao. Even if you were to take my head today, I would not hold a grudge.”

“...”

“Will you play that move?”

The Celestial Daoist urged me to read its meaning—and I did.

He let out a hollow chuckle.

“You thought I’d kill you?”

“I was prepared to lose an arm, at least.”

The Celestial Daoist paused for a moment, gazing at me.

“You’re mistaken.”

“I am?”

“You have the soul of a true martial artist. How could I lay a hand on someone like you?”

He tapped at the board with his finger.

“A stone thrown in jest... but now it must bear the consequences. I am deeply moved by you today, Gongja. Which is why—I will not play this move.”

The Celestial Daoist fell briefly silent, then looked at me again.

“How about we resume the game next time on a fresh board?”

“I am always ready.”

Hrrhrrhrr... “And this Tae-Yeong Record—may I take it with me?”

“Of course.”

The Celestial Daoist gazed at me for a moment, then smiled softly.

“I’ve never broken a board this way before... but I’ll return soon.”

“I’ll be waiting, Elder Cheon.”

“Since I was the one who broke the board, I should bring a worthy gift next time. Will you accept it?”