Chapter 73

Iron River.

The place inside the Tang Clan where the smiths gather. Many say:

“The Tang Clan of today is possible because of Iron River.”

It occupies that much of the Clan’s heart.

How could it not.

It’s no exaggeration to say most famed blades forged in today’s Central Plains are made at Iron River.

Not only swords—any weapon they make is something you can’t easily obtain in the Central Plains, even with money.

Weapons from Iron River are divided into four grades: Bronze, Silver, Gold, Special.

Even the lowest, Bronze—if it bears Iron River’s mark, it commands a high price.

Silver is called a famed blade.

Gold ends up as prizes for special festivals like the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering hosted by the Martial Alliance—at that point, money won’t buy it.

Beyond that—past Gold into Special—

‘They say it’s literally called a divine weapon.’

A weapon you can only make by touching heaven.

Hence the name.

Warriors train like mad to temper themselves—

But even so, their greed for their weapon runs deep.

Thus, a weapon from the Tang Clan is also a certificate of sorts.

Proof that “I can shoulder a weapon of this level.”

So the gear Iron River makes is an object of longing for warriors.

“...Wow.”

In that setting, the sight before me wrung a breath of awe out of me.

“Never thought I’d live to see this place...”

KANG—! KANG—! KANG!

Harsh notes hammered my ears in steady runs, and the tip of my nose filled with a thick, metallic tang.

Not fish. Not blood.

Iron’s own scent. It was everywhere.

And that’s not all.

“Put more strength in it!”

“Focus! I said use your force straight!”

The deeper we went, the more the space filled not only with iron, but with sweat and steam.

Strange, unpleasant smells.

And yet, if you know why this place exists, you can’t take offense.

‘...This is Iron River.’

We were inside Iron River now.

One of the Tang Clan’s tightest-kept sites—and a place that draws every warrior’s fierce curiosity.

Of course it does.

For a warrior, Iron River might be a dream made real.

“Quench!”

“Don’t stop striking!”

People with skin baked a shade dark were everywhere.

Each had something in hand.

Busy using those tools to do something.

I don’t know the details, but it’s metalwork.

‘All of them are craftsmen.’

People who gave their lives to making arms.

The reason Iron River stands—and the foremost reason it endures.

Craftsmen.

KANG—! KANG-KANG!

Each of them hammered something without pause—

Or repeated some move I didn’t know.

‘Hot.’

I fanned my clothes with a hand. If I stood still, sweat welled on its own.

‘How is everyone else enduring this?’

I glanced around at the others.

Unlike me—with sweat rolling down my nape—everyone else looked oddly fine.

What? How are they that okay?

Is it just me wilting?

Why do they all look dry as bone?

I stared, not understanding, when—

[They’re sheathing themselves with inner energy.]

Yoo Cheongil yawned behind me and said:

[Lay a thin film of qi over the body to block the heat and you can bear it.]

“...”

I narrowed my eyes at the explanation.

...That was an option? No wonder Cheon Eujin and Do Hyeong beside me looked fine...

‘...Lay a thin what?’

Even if I tried, I didn’t know how.

Spread qi in a thin layer over my body?

Hearing it didn’t make it click.

So I just stood there.

The sweat came harder.

[You alright? At this rate you’ll dry to jerky. Heh.]

As sweat started coming like rain, Yoo Cheongil looked at me and quipped.

Right. I’m dying here.

‘But what else can I do.’

For now, acting fine was the best I had.

The problem—

“...Young Master Bang. Are you well?”

—was that acting fine doesn’t make you look fine.

Anyone could see sweat streaming like that was off.

So Cheon Eujin asked, concerned.

“Ah, yes, I’m fine.”

I wasn’t—but I said I was.

“However...”

Of course he didn’t believe it.

Not just him. Others were giving me odd looks too.

Why aren’t you using your qi—that stare was obvious.

Feeling that, I cursed a hundred times inside.

‘I want to use it too.’

You think I’m refusing out of spite?

If I knew how, I’d do it now.

Otherwise I might pass out. With no recourse, I just endured.

Should I make up an excuse?

I hesitated, then opened my mouth.

“Don’t mind me. Since I’m here in Iron River, I want to feel its heat and zeal firsthand.”

Nonsense. Saying I wanted to suffer for its own sake—if I heard myself, I’d ask what lunacy that was too.

“...”

TANG— TANG...

Right after I said it—

The loud hammering fell still for a beat. Then—

‘What?’

The craftsmen around us were all looking at me.

With a rather keen gaze, at that.

What is this awkward silence.

I swallowed without meaning to and looked around.

After a long look, the craftsmen all went back to work as if on cue.

TANG—! TANG-TANG! TANG!

As if nothing had happened.

What was that?

I stood there, blank at the odd turn, when—

“The young man knows his manners.”

Someone came, parting the heat.

An old man, hair white, drenched in sweat.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

‘...What’s with that body?’

In the face, an aged elder. The body—no.

A mass packed with muscle, a hammer in his hand the size of my head.

He trudged up, stopped before Tang Gyeongak, and—

“Clan Head.”

—bowed, giving proper respect.

Tang Gyeongak dipped his head in return.

The Clan Head bowed.

I ran the numbers in my head.

‘A man the Tang Clan’s Clan Head bows to within the Tang Clan.’

And the place is Iron River.

Follow that thought and you land on the old man’s identity.

“I am—”

Before he could introduce himself, I stepped in.

“Honors to the Iron River Chief.”

“Mm?”

Since I spoke first, the old man looked at me.

“You’re Elder Tang Jicheol of Iron River, are you not.”

He was the Iron River Chief.

The Iron River Chief is the practical holder of Iron River’s reins today.

Beyond the three Special-grade pieces made by the Poison Sovereign—

He’s the one who made the Special-grade sword now borne by the Wudang Sect Leader, one of the Ten Great Sects.

The Pine-Grain.

‘...It’s hardly an exaggeration to say every current Gold piece passes through his hands.’

Since the Poison Sovereign’s death, the near-sole craftsman who might still produce a Special-grade arm.

That was Tang Jicheol, Iron River’s Chief.

“Oh-ho.”

Tang Jicheol regarded me with interest.

“You know me.”

“How could a man who uses a sword not know Elder.”

Truthfully, I didn’t—until recently. I crammed the key figures before coming.

“Heh-heh. Is that so.”

Maybe the cramming paid off. Tang Jicheol chuckled, pleased.

Then, eyes narrowed, he asked me:

“You’re the one? The man they say is Elder Yoo’s heir.”

“...I am.”

“Elder Yoo,” huh. That was a new flavor of address.

[He’s grown old.]

Whether they truly knew each other or not, Yoo Cheongil clicked his tongue at Tang Jicheol with a hint of fondness.

“I see. Indeed...”

Tang Jicheol nodded at my reply. It gave me a strange feeling.

‘He believes it.’

Most would look at me like—why is this guy the Sword Saint’s heir—but Tang Jicheol didn’t.

That was a bit unexpected.

As I was filing that away—

“Then I’ll guide you. Follow me. Ah.”

Tang Jicheol turned and spoke:

“Only the young man there comes. The rest of you, take a look around.”

He pointed at Cheon Eujin and Do Hyeong.

They both moved to protest at once, but—

“We have matters to discuss regarding Full Moon’s repair and Elder Sword Saint. Please understand.”

Tang Gyeongak added. Only then did the two stop.

It was reason enough not to refuse.

Having come this far, I had only one thing to say to them.

“...I’ll be back.”

I didn’t actually say “for now”—I just followed Tang Jicheol ahead.

After a short walk, we arrived at a large door within Iron River.

Tang Jicheol took the ring and heaved.

Screeeech—!!

With a raucous cry, the door swung open.

From the slight gap spilled a brutal cold.

Once it opened wide, Tang Jicheol and Tang Gyeongak went in.

I stepped in after them.

‘...Hah.’

The moment I entered, I swallowed a breath of relief.

I’d nearly been soaked to the bone—inside was blessedly cool.

Relieved, I let my eyes sweep the room.

‘What is this place?’

What is this for? To think a chamber this cold sits inside the furnace of Iron River.

And—

‘That’s Full Moon.’

At the room’s cold heart stood a table—and on it, the Sword Saint’s ruined beloved blade.

Full Moon.

‘Why is it here?’

If they meant to repair it, why bring it here, of all places.

I was studying it when—

“Clan Head, do we have enough cold iron?”

Tang Jicheol asked Tang Gyeongak.

“Yes.”

“Then short end, ten days; long end, a fortnight.”

Tang Jicheol answered offhandedly and went to Full Moon.

Hearing that, I remembered what I’d forgotten.

‘Right—made of cold iron.’

Cold iron you can’t even compare to ordinary steel.

Full Moon was forged from it; naturally, repairs would need cold iron too.

‘And he stepped up to repair it under those terms?’

Thinking that through—it was staggering.

Cold iron you can’t buy with money anymore.

‘Even if the Blue Moon Sect’s footing the bill...’

What did they even pay. And to accept it as a commission at all—that was something.

While I sorted that, watching Full Moon—

“Young Master Bang.”

Tang Gyeongak spoke to me.

“The Tang Clan will begin repairs on Full Moon, per the Blue Moon Sect’s commission.”

“Yes, I understand.”

I’d heard as much already, and there wasn’t much to chew on.

Because—

“However, I have something to say to you that is separate from that.”

I already knew he had something else for me.

The lead-in was just that—a lead-in to the point.

“To me, sir?”

I played dumb, and then—

“This is a commission not to a warrior of the Blue Moon Sect, but to the Sword Saint’s heir.”

Tang Gyeongak told me, face as unreadable as ever.

“A commission regarding the former Clan Head’s secret archive. And also—”

“...”

I wasn’t very surprised.

I’d expected as much.

Only—

“If you accept and resolve it, I will grant you one Special-grade weapon from the archive.”

“...Excuse me?”

That last part stunned me. If I ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) take the commission and solve it, he’ll give me a Special-grade piece from inside?

Just hearing it made my skin tingle.

“Heh.”

So I told Tang Gyeongak straight:

“No.”

“...Then you refuse the... hm?”

At my answer, the air in the cold room grew even colder.