Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms
When the battle ended and Namgung Jincheon had also departed, Chu Sam and Dan Seolyeong, who had been watching anxiously from afar, hurried over.
Dan Seolyeong was horrified when she saw Namgung Myeong's wound.
"Who the hell was that crazy old man, to just slice off someone else's arm like that and walk away? If he was going to leave, he could've done it more gracefully."
"…That was my father."
"Well, your father is certainly bold. I suppose he had his reasons."
Chu Sam went among the Jeomchang survivors, checking the condition of the injured. But because Jeomchang fighters typically fought to the death, there were few wounded—mostly corpses. It made treatment quick, though it was hard to say if that was fortunate or tragic.
Tang Mujin re-examined Namgung Myeong's wound, then moved toward the Jeomchang swordsmen, intending to help with the handling of the dead.
But Wi Hwan shook his head.
"There's no need for you to help."
"But…"
Tang Mujin still hesitated. The Three-Eyed Buddha had stormed this place not because of the Jeomchang sect, but because of him.
If not for me, none of them would have died.
He could not shake off the guilt. Yet Wi Hwan's manner was calm.
"They say funerals are for the dead, but also for the living. Please leave the task to the brothers."
Only then did Tang Mujin realize. Even Wi Hwan, who had just lost his brother, showed no resentment toward him. None of the Jeomchang fighters did. For them, such deaths were far too familiar.
They were men who, once given a target, would hurl themselves forward without hesitation. Their attitude toward death was inevitably unlike that of ordinary people.
Tang Mujin stepped back and silently watched.
The Jeomchang fighters dug aligned graves, laying the dead within alongside the swords they had wielded in life. A simple, unadorned burial—befitting the austere nature of the sect.
When the funeral was over, Tang Mujin returned to his companions. Namgung Myeong, Hong Geolgae, Dan Seolyeong, and Chu Sam. The fact that none of the five had died was fortune itself.
Yet as time passed, everyone's gaze naturally turned to Namgung Myeong—and the left arm that had been severed cleanly below the elbow.
Tang Mujin once again applied pressure points around the wound. The bleeding hadn't fully stopped; now and then a drop still fell to the ground.
From Namgung Myeong's pack, he pulled a black robe and bound it tightly around the stump.
Namgung Myeong winced with pain, his complexion deathly pale. He had already lost much blood, and the injury was critical even aside from the bleeding.
Tang Mujin felt crushing guilt. It was as if he had ruined the future of a promising rising star.
If only my skills were greater… If I could have blocked the Three-Eyed Buddha on my own. Or at least held out for a few breaths longer. Then Namgung Myeong's arm would still be whole.
"I'm sorry. This happened because I wasn't strong enough."
Tang Mujin's rare solemn apology was met with Namgung Myeong's quiet reply.
"At least you realize your weakness. But it's fine. I expected this might happen sooner or later."
"You expected it?"
"Of course. It's hard enough to deal with a single first-rate master, yet you chose to travel with a whole pack of them. Even by simple numbers, it was bound to be more than ten times harder than normal."
For months now—ever since Namgung Myeong had broken through the wall to the peak level—they had repeated similar exchanges countless times.
Each time, Tang Mujin would half-jokingly throw a punch, and Namgung Myeong would lightly evade or deflect it. From banter to sparring to evasions, the rhythm had become natural between them.
So this time as well, Tang Mujin reflexively threw a punch.
But Namgung Myeong's reaction was different. It had to be. He moved his left arm—but there was nothing below the upper arm.
Tang Mujin's fist struck his exposed side without resistance. The dull impact made Tang Mujin realize too late what he had done.
It wasn't a hard blow. But Namgung Myeong grimaced in pain, clutching his ribs and sucking in his breath.
"Hhngh…"
Before Tang Mujin could apologize, Namgung Myeong exhaled heavily, again and again.
"It's… fine. Don't worry about it."
Hearing this, Tang Mujin collapsed to his knees, clutching his head.
"What… what have I done…"
While Tang Mujin stared at the ground in despair, Namgung Myeong smirked slyly.
The tangled situation, the pain of his missing arm, the sense of loss—those could wait. For now, he chose to savor the moment. He had deliberately taken the punch. And the effect was perfect.
Watching him, Dan Seolyeong and Hong Geolgae both made exasperated faces. But neither told Tang Mujin the truth. After all, it was a prank bought at the price of an arm. Namgung Myeong had earned the right to tease him for a while.
Tang Mujin, of course, had no idea.
"If only I'd been stronger. If I'd held out just a little longer, until Geolseon and the Sword Demon arrived, this wouldn't have happened…"
"You don't need to apologize. You're just a lowly first-rate—there's no way you cut off my arm. It was the Three-Eyed Buddha and my father, two transcendent masters together. In that light, this wound is an honorable one. The only problem is, since it's my left arm that's missing, people might start confusing me for my uncle's son."
Even after the joke, Tang Mujin's face didn't ease. He had no idea how to react.
Namgung Myeong chuckled softly.
"If you feel that guilty, make me a new arm later."
"A prosthetic? I could make one. But what use would it be?"
If anyone could, it was Tang Mujin and Dan Seolyeong. Tang Mujin's craftsmanship was unmatched, and Dan Seolyeong was a genius at devising and constructing strange mechanisms.
They had plenty of experience too. In building Mok Inhang, they had made countless wooden arms already.
But such a limb could never move like a real arm. It wouldn't grip a sword properly; it would just hang awkwardly.
"Doesn't matter if it can't move. Heaven always leaves a path open, and sometimes misfortune turns into blessing."
With that, Namgung Myeong sprawled out on the ground. But for all his bravado, it would take a long time before he grew accustomed to the emptiness of his missing arm.
***
That night, Hong Geolgae faced Geolseon.
"Master. I am Hong Jusang, from Jueul Village. My teacher told me to seek you out and learn martial arts under your guidance."
"And who is your teacher?"
"Elder Daepunggae."
"Daepunggae? Hm. Did Paengcheon take on a disciple?"
Geolseon trusted Daepunggae.
At first, he only paid attention because it was unusual for a Daoist from Kunlun to join the Beggars' Sect, but Daepunggae turned out to be a man of considerable ability.
Daepunggae could read the heavens and had a keen eye for people. He was, quite literally, a jewel within the pouch—a talent so brilliant he could not remain hidden even if he wished.
If such a man had accepted a disciple, then this Hong Jusán fellow must surely possess remarkable talent as well.
Yet Geolseon could not fathom why Daepunggae had chosen Hong Geolgae as his disciple.
True, the young man had achieved quite a bit at an early age. But that was all. His attainments and physique were not bad, but there were plenty of beggars of roughly the same caliber.
"He doesn't look like the kind of material fit to be heir-apparent."
Each previous Sect Leader had their own way of selecting a successor. The one before last had simply chosen a beggar he liked. The last Sect Leader had chosen one with outstanding martial talent.
But Geolseon had yet to decide. The position of successor was too weighty to be chosen rashly.
The Heir was the Sect Leader's successor, the second-in-command of the Beggars' Sect. Beyond that, it was a position that could determine the future of the entire sect in the next generation. Thus, it required careful consideration.
Still, it wasn't as though the post could remain vacant forever, so Geolseon had chosen another path.
Instead of naming a single heir, he taught small portions of martial arts to several promising individuals, waiting to see if any would stand out above the rest.
Whenever he did so, the technique he taught was always the same.
"I'll show you the first form of the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms—The Dragon Repents . Watch carefully and learn."
Geolseon lowered his stance and slowly rotated his arms.
Moments later, a sound like a drumbeat burst forth as the air exploded outward.
***
The next morning, Geolseon departed without hesitation.
"If fate wills it, we'll meet again. Should that happen, I'll teach you the next form."
"Thank you, Sect Leader."
Hong Geolgae bowed respectfully with clasped fists, seeing him off.
Once Geolseon was gone, however, Hong Geolgae's face grew exceedingly grim.
The previous night, Geolseon had displayed the form of The Dragon Repents. It was an incredibly powerful rising technique, but there was one immense problem: Geolseon had shown it only once.
Hong Geolgae wanted to ask him to demonstrate again, but he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. That was because Geolseon's eyes had been filled with certainty.
The certainty that said: "I showed you once, so of course you've mastered it."
To make such an assumption possible, one would need not just outstanding talent, but genius of the highest order.
The problem was that Geolseon truly was such a genius—while Hong Geolgae was not.
A heavy pressure weighed down on his chest. Searching far and wide just to meet Geolseon suddenly felt like an act of utter foolishness.
What filled Hong Geolgae's head now was not a desire to see him again, but rather a desperate hope never to meet him again.
If they did cross paths once more, Geolseon would almost certainly want to see his progress with The Dragon Repents. Hong Geolgae would flail about, awkwardly imitating the form, and Geolseon's face would inevitably twist with disappointment. Hong Geolgae dreaded that disappointment more than anything.
As he sighed, Namgung Myeong, walking beside him, asked:
"Why the long face?"
Hong Geolgae was about to make an excuse but changed his mind. Compared to Namgung Myeong, who had fallen into an even more pitiful state, his own troubles felt trivial.
"The truth is…"
But Namgung Myeong's reaction was strange after hearing the story.
"If you didn't get it from watching once, should I show you again?"
"Huh?"
"Yesterday, I pretended to be asleep while watching."
Namgung Myeong stopped walking, lowered his stance, and slowly rotated his arms.
It wasn't the divine, transcendent Dragon Repents as Geolseon had shown it, but setting aside the absence of his left arm, the movements were shockingly similar.
Finally, Namgung Myeong thrust his right arm forward.
With a sound like a drum being struck, his energy split the air.
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