Fabre in Sacheon’s Tang Novel - Chapter 484

Chapter 484
The office of the Dianchang Sect Master was austere and unadorned, a space that perfectly matched its owner’s title, “The Merciless Sword” (Mujeonggeom). A lone sword lay upon a low desk, the room’s only other furnishings being a round table with chairs for receiving visitors and a lantern that had burned halfway down. The atmosphere was bleak to the point of severity—yet the man who occupied it stood in stark opposition to his surroundings.

The Merciless Sword, Jo Bi-ja, leader of the Dianchang Sect, was an elderly man whose features were remarkably soft and kind. This gentleness was not merely in his expression. The moment he saw Geombong, he rushed out barefoot to hug her with overwhelming joy. When she explained that I was both her savior and her friend and that she had invited me to Dianchang, he greeted me with that same radiant warmth.

“Your benefactor? Would this be the young master from the Tang Clan?”
“Yes, Master. However did you know?”
“The Martial Alliance provided a thorough account of the incident in which you were wounded. If this is he, then he is undoubtedly your benefactor. When a disciple’s benefactor is present, he must be accorded the highest respect!”
“Yes, Master!”

Despite his fearsome name, he was clearly a man of deep warmth and affection. That same kindness was evident as we drank tea and talked. While Geombong relayed the tale of their experiences, his face clouded with clear displeasure at the mention of Cheong-yu Sojeo piercing her back. Yet when she described our various adventures and strange encounters throughout the Central Plains, he simply listened with a gentle smile, his attention never wavering.

He reacted much like a grandfather happily listening to his granddaughter’s travel stories. Observing him, it became obvious—his nickname was entirely unsuitable. Shouldn’t it be the Kind-Hearted Sword, not the Merciless Sword? The title suggested a man who wielded his blade without feeling, but his amiable and tender demeanor could not have been more different.

“…And that is how we finally returned.”

Just as Geombong concluded her lengthy story in the sect master’s office, Jo Bi-ja, in that same genial tone, inquired:
“My, my. You have endured quite the ordeal. So, after all you have seen and done, does the world of martial arts appear different to you now?”
“Without a doubt, Master. I have achieved the third star level of Hou Yi Shoots the Sun, the highest technique of the Sun-Piercing Sword Method.”
“Is that so!? Now that is a reason for celebration! You did not neglect your practice—you are still the Geombong I know.”

Lately, she and Chang-ryong had been practically inseparable—so when exactly had she found the time for martial cultivation? Did the two of them engage in some form of partnered training? There were rumors that dual cultivation at night could accelerate progress. I had heard of a Daoist technique called “Shuangxiu,” where men and women trained together by balancing yin and yang energies to advance their cultivation—a practice that sometimes ventured into decidedly adult territory. Had those two secretly experimented with something like that?

As I was lost in these thoughts, the leader of Dianchang took Geombong’s hand and said,
“Now, I wish to examine your condition.”
“My condition, Master?”
“Indeed. I need to assess your current level of cultivation and determine if your muscles and bones sustained any lasting harm. We must be certain there are no lingering effects. You will also need to visit the Medical Hall—I will inform them.”
“Master, checking my cultivation is one thing, but my body is completely healed. The Lord of the Beast Palace himself used Yosang Arts on me.”
“Naturally, the Beast Palace would have provided excellent care. But you must understand—your body is now central to Dianchang’s future. Symptoms can sometimes return after treatment, so a full examination is essential.”
“I understand, Master.”

His voice was heavy with concern. Everyone smiled softly at this exchange, and immediately after, the Merciless Sword elder turned to me and bowed his head once again.
“Young master, our Dianchang Sect is deeply in your debt.”

He had already thanked me before, yet here he was, a man far my senior, bowing his head to me again. Startled, I waved my hands in protest.
“Please, I did nothing that warrants such gratitude.”

Truthfully, when Geombong was run through, it was my foster father and grandfather who saved her. Our subsequent journey was undertaken because our goals happened to align. I did cover some expenses—clothing, meals, travel funds—but it was a trivial amount.

The elder, however, shook his head at my words and gave Geombong’s shoulder a pat.
“No. After hearing Geombong’s account, I am certain of it.”
“?”
He wore a look of absolute conviction. As I tilted my head in confusion, he continued:
“I read the letter from the Martial Alliance. Had you not chanced upon that place at that very moment, Geombong would have perished in a distant land, her body never recovered. You brought her and your spiritual beasts all the way to the border, where the Lord of the Beast Palace and the Heavenly Poison Deity could effect a rescue. Without you, she would never have reached them.
The Blood Cult had cast its Heaven’s Web, and the Five Venoms were hunting you. How could the mere three of you, part of the Three Peaks of the Five Dragons, have possibly escaped such a net?”

He was asserting that, based on the Alliance’s letter and Geombong’s story, I was indeed her rescuer. Thinking about it now… he had a point. It was all a series of coincidences, but sometimes coincidence twists into fate. Besides, if an elder insists, who am I to disagree? Furthermore, Geombong’s journey into the martial world was for her cultivation—and in martial arts, experience is paramount.

“And experience is the most vital component of martial arts. Hearing your tales convinces me that such rare and mystical adventures expand a martial artist’s horizons more than anything else. A frog in a well sees only the circle of sky above, but a frog in the forest beholds an entirely different world. Geombong’s advancement in cultivation is entirely thanks to you.”

So, our misadventures while chasing that Fabre character had apparently contributed to her martial progress. Experience is indeed crucial—much like one’s first time. They say once a monk tastes meat, not even the temple’s fleas are safe. My thoughts began wandering into inappropriate territory again, so I quickly reined them in and offered my thanks.
“You honor me too greatly, Elder. I am at a loss for words.”

I responded with an embarrassed expression, and the elder answered with a warm smile. Once the gratitude was settled, he asked me,
“Now then—Geombong mentioned earlier that you had a request for our Dianchang?”

He must have recalled the brief comment Geombong made while hugging him earlier. I had assumed he’d forgotten. But since he raised the subject, I retrieved the letter I had been carrying.
“Indeed. The Tang Clan’s Venom Elimination Squad has business in Dali. I have come to seek your permission.”

From what Hwa-eun and the Squad Leader had told me, securing this approval was of critical importance. Dali was territory under the jurisdiction of the Dianchang Sect. The merchants and common people there lived under the sect’s protection. Apparently, much like gangsters from my previous life, they even collected a form of protection money—but for a reason.

Martial artists in this world existed beyond the reach of ordinary people. Even a third-rate villain from the dark path was untouchable by civilians, and the truly wicked, those who fed on human essence or life force, were like walking calamities. Being under the protection of a righteous martial artist was considered essential for survival in a world governed by martial power. In return, sects that accepted such funds took full responsibility for managing their territories.

They eradicated bandits, punished evildoers, patrolled like soldiers, and even mediated local disputes and civil complaints. Now that I considered it, even Shaolin’s request to apprehend a fraud was part of this same system. But if someone were to operate in another sect’s territory to capture a criminal? It could provoke a direct confrontation with the ruling sect. Hence, requesting permission was absolutely necessary. If suspicious outsiders began stirring up trouble, the local sect would be justified in retaliating.

“If the Tang Clan’s Venom Elimination Squad is involved, this cannot be a trivial matter.”

The Merciless Sword’s face grew somewhat solemn as he reviewed the letter I presented. After a moment, he looked at me and spoke—posing a question and immediately answering it himself.
“Surely… everything within this document is true? No, of course it is. You would not have brought it otherwise.”

He then called out toward the door.
“Is anyone there!?”
“You called, Master?”

I flinched at his suddenly thunderous voice. The one who hurried in was Seonhak, the disciple who had welcomed Geombong earlier. If I remembered correctly, he was the youngest of the sect master’s direct disciples.

To his question, the Merciless Sword issued a command.
“It appears some scoundrels are selling counterfeit versions of the medicine created by the benefactor of Dianchang, right here in Dali. Go down to the city and discreetly apprehend those who are sullying our sect’s honor.”
“Yes, Master!”
“Wait, we can manage it ourselves—”

It was a direct order for his own disciples to catch the criminals on our behalf, so I tried to refuse, stating it wasn’t necessary. But the Merciless Sword elder shook his head.
“You should rest here in Dianchang. As this matter is within Dali, it is quicker for us to act. Our presence in the city will raise no eyebrows, but outsiders would be immediately conspicuous. Most of Dali’s inhabitants are from ethnic minorities, after all.”

That was true—the majority of people in Yunnan were from minority groups. Their clothing was different, their appearance distinct. No matter how plainly the Venom Elimination Squad dressed, they would still attract attention.
“Then, I leave the matter in your hands.”
“Very well. Seonhak, inform the senior disciples—”
“Master, a word.”

Just as the Merciless Sword elder was about to give another order, Seonhak stepped closer and murmured something into his ear. As Seonhak whispered, the elder’s expression darkened slightly, and he gave a nod.
“I understand. Leave that matter to me. Focus on fulfilling the benefactor’s request.”
“Yes, Master!”

Shortly after, shouts came from outside as Seonhak gathered the disciples and ordered them to depart for Dali. Once the brief commotion subsided, the Merciless Sword elder, smiling warmly once more, spoke.
“You must all be weary from your travels. Proceed to your quarters and rest well. I will ensure a fine meal is prepared for you.”
“Thank you, Sect Leader.”
“Thank you, Elder.”

Just as we concluded our extended pleasantries and began to rise from our seats—
A voice, cold and utterly unlike the warm and gentle tone from before, sliced through the air.
“You. Remain here.”

The voice was so icy and sharp that everyone turning to leave froze and looked back. Chang-ryong stood there, his face pale.
“M-Me? You mean me?”
“Yes. You.”

When I shifted my gaze to the Merciless Sword elder, the kindly old man was gone. In his place stood a cold-blooded patriarch, the sort of man who would not shed a single tear even if stabbed.

*Wow. Hwa-eun’s cold demeanor is nothing compared to this.*
That stare felt like it could freeze one’s heart. For the first time, I understood why he was called the Merciless Sword. Hwa-eun’s icy glares sometimes felt like a stern warning. But this… this was different. This was the look of a man who could cut a person down without a moment’s hesitation.

It was so cold that the earlier kindness now felt like a mask.

That youngest disciple must have tattled on him just now. On the way here, I’d had a short conversation with Chang-ryong, and it must have slipped out that he was Geombong’s lover. That information undoubtedly reached the Merciless Sword’s ears through Seonhak’s whisper. Well, snitching was practically the duty of the youngest disciple.

From the atmosphere, it seemed the elder was not going to let this go. Chang-ryong was in profound trouble.

*Rest in peace, Chang-ryong. If only you’d been more capable, you might have been welcomed as a son-in-law, like me.*
I silently offered my condolences in my heart.