CLS-Chapter 162

Chapter 162 

The incident was caused by Wei Yan-ho, but the ones who truly faced chaos were the Luoyang Magistrate and the Supreme Heavenly Righteous Alliance.  

Why, you ask?  

Because on that fateful night, nearly a thousand armed martial artists broke through the city gates and stormed in.  

Hm?  

You say it was Wei Yan-ho who broke the gates?  

What nonsense have you heard?  

Wei Yan-ho is an Imperial Censor. Not just any censor, but one personally entrusted with the Golden Sword, a symbol of authority bestowed by the Imperial Censorate. For such a censor to be chased by ruffians—how grave a matter was that?  

Hm?  

You ask if a censor outranks a magistrate?  

Of course not. Even if a censor holds investigative authority, they cannot claim higher status than magistrates who wield military power—unless a crime has been committed. That’s only natural.  

But think about this:  

What if an Imperial Censor bearing the Golden Sword were to meet tragedy in Luoyang? What would happen next?  

Naturally, the wrath of the Imperial Censorate—specifically, Yi Wang-ya—would rain down upon Luoyang.  

Of course, a magistrate of Luoyang’s stature would have considerable influence, but even that has its limits.  

So, how could the Luoyang Magistrate not be furious?  

And that fury was directed squarely at the Supreme Heavenly Righteous Alliance.  

Why?  

Good heavens, my friend.  

You claim to study martial history, yet you don’t know this?  

While the authorities and the martial world generally maintain a non-aggression pact, how could the government ignore martial artists attempting to murder an Imperial Censor?  

Moreover, this was Luoyang.  

The alliance had been tolerated in the city under the pretext of maintaining order, yet its martial artists ran amok like locusts. No wonder the magistrate was livid.  

And so, the alliance struggled to clean up the mess.  

Hm?  

What was Wei Yan-ho doing during all this?  

Wei Yan-ho?  

What kind of question is that?  

Of course, Wei Yan-ho was…  

Well.  

Yes, that’s right.  

…Asleep.  

Then who handled the aftermath?  

Well, that would be…  

* * *

Gong Mu-jin’s expression was deeply peculiar.  

The Supreme Heavenly Righteous Alliance—a dominant force of the era, supported by factions like his own Huashan Sect.  

As the alliance’s strategist, even someone of Gong Mu-jin’s standing rarely had the chance to meet such a figure. In some ways, the alliance’s strategist held more influence than the leader of Huashan itself.  

Gong Mu-jin swallowed hard as he faced Zhao Xian, the “Divine Strategist” and the alliance’s chief tactician.  

Zhao Xian was renowned as a sage and a genius. He was also known for his icy composure—legend said he hadn’t batted an eye when his elite forces were annihilated during the Demon Cult’s uprising, immediately issuing new orders without hesitation.  

‘No one has ever seen him make this face before.’

Yet Gong Mu-jin was witnessing the Divine Strategist’s expression twist in an utterly bizarre manner. How many in the world could claim to have seen Zhao Xian like this?  

“So…”  

Zhao Xian’s voice trembled slightly—no, that couldn’t be a mistake.  

“Everything you’ve said is true?”  

“Yes.”  

Oddly, Gong Mu-jin felt guilty, though he’d done nothing wrong.  

Zhao Xian’s gaze shifted to Seo Mun Da-yeon beside him.  

She nodded frantically, unable to speak.  

‘This is unbearably awkward.’

Normally, a junior member of the Flying Swallow Pavilion like her would never meet the strategist in her lifetime—unless she were a Demon Cult spy being interrogated.  

“So…”  

Even the legendary Zhao Xian seemed unable to process the situation, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth.  

“He sold it?”  

“…Yes.”  

“The Treasure of the Sword Emperor?”  

Yes, I understand how you feel, Honorable Strategist. 

But what can we do? That’s the reality.  

“To be precise, he didn’t sell it. He allowed them to copy it.”  

“You’re telling me… he let them transcribe the peerless manual of the greatest martial artist in history… for *two nyang of gold*?”  

“Yes.”  

“This is—!”  

Zhao Xian couldn’t continue. Gong Mu-jin struggled to suppress his laughter.  

His feelings were complicated.  

While he pitied Zhao Xian’s bewilderment, he was also delighted that one more person had joined the ranks of those suffering because of Wei Yan-ho.  

‘Misery loves company.’ 

“This… this is absurd…”  

Zhao Xian exhaled, looking utterly lost.  

“At this rate, in ten years, the streets will be flooded with copies of the Greatest Sword Under Heaven.”  

Of course, owning a manual didn’t guarantee mastery. As Baek Mu-han once explained to Wei Yan-ho, no single manual could encapsulate the essence of martial arts. They were merely guides.  

Moreover, not everyone could become a supreme master even with the best training. Some would rise to greatness, while others would never make a name for themselves.  

So, perhaps it wasn’t worth worrying about…  

“But still!”

No!  

This was going too far!  

People should think before they act! How could he just scatter it like this?  

“What was he even thinking?”  

“According to him, he earns money, they get the manual, and no blood is shed—so everyone wins.”  

“Grrr…”

Technically, he wasn’t wrong.  

In a way, this young man had neatly resolved a problem the alliance couldn’t.  

But who knew what calamity this leaked manual might bring? It was like dropping a bomb on the martial world.  

After a long silence, Zhao Xian suddenly looked up and asked:  

“Where is this young man now?”  

***

The sunlight was warm, the bed soft.  

Wei Yan-ho was savoring his long-awaited rest.  

‘So peaceful…’

How long had it been since he’d felt such tranquility?  

This was the first proper break he’d had since entering the Sacred Hand Hall months ago.  

Most people, suddenly idle after a busy life, would grow restless—but Wei Yan-ho was a man who could enjoy perfect relaxation whenever he had the chance.  

And now was no exception.  

Curled up in bed, wrapped snugly in blankets, he realized:  

This was heaven.  

So comfortable he almost worried he’d die of bliss, Wei Yan-ho reveled in the rare peace.  

Knock knock!

A sound at the door.  

“Mmm…”  

Wei Yan-ho frowned slightly and glanced at the door. Few knew he was here—this was a temporary residence provided by the alliance.  

Among those who might seek him out…  

After a moment’s thought, he spoke. If Gong Mu-jin had come to pester him, he wouldn’t have knocked.  

“Come in.”  

The door creaked open.  

“Hm?”  

To his surprise, it was Seol-hwa, holding a large tray.  

“What brings you here?”  

“Meal time.”  

“Ah!”  

A warm smile spread across Wei Yan-ho’s face.  

Food. Glorious food.  

Wasn’t the essence of human life to eat, sleep, and repeat?  

Wei Yan-ho’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the meal in Seol-hwa’s hands.  

If there was one thing that had changed most about him since meeting Baek Mu-han, it was his appetite.  

Once, he’d believed sleep could stave off hunger, but after five years in a cave surviving on moss, he’d learned the true glory of human cuisine.  

But…  

The blankets were so warm.  

Though he knew he should get up, his body refused. This was the result of overexertion—the grueling journey from Muhan to Luoyang had taken its toll.  

As Wei Yan-ho hesitated, Seol-hwa glanced at him, then stepped inside and set the tray by the bed.  

“Hm?”  

She picked up a dumpling with chopsticks and brought it to his lips.  

“Huh?”  

Wei Yan-ho stared at the dumpling with mixed feelings.  

This was…  

Lying still while food was delivered to his mouth—wasn’t this the dream of every lazy soul?  

Every sloth had surely thought, at least once, how wonderful it would be if food just floated into their mouth.  

Of course, he *could* use energy manipulation to move food, but that was a thousand times more effort than using his hands.  

And now, this dream was unfolding before him.  

But…  

‘This feels… strange.’

It almost felt like surrendering his dignity as a human.  

Then again, wasn’t feeding oneself the most basic act of adulthood?  

“Mmm…”  

As Wei Yan-ho agonized, his mouth opened slightly.  

It wasn’t like he’d do this every day.  

Opportunities for such laziness were rare. Just this once, he’d close his eyes and accept it.  

Decision made, Wei Yan-ho opened his mouth, and Seol-hwa wordlessly fed him the dumpling.  

“Mmph…”  

As he chewed, Wei Yan-ho realized a universal truth:  

The tastiest food is what others prepare for you, and even tastier is what others feed you. He didn’t know why Seol-hwa was doing this, but who was he to question free meals? If offered, he’d accept…  

Slam!

The door burst open, and Gong Mu-jin stormed in, eyes wide.  

His gaze landed on Wei Yan-ho—burritoed in blankets, only his head poking out—being hand-fed dumplings by Seol-hwa.  

Their eyes met.  

Thud!

Seol-hwa shot up, bowed hastily, and fled like lightning.  

“Seol—!”  

Before Gong Mu-jin could call out, she’d vanished.  

“Huh? Was the bathroom urgent?”  

Wei Yan-ho tilted his head, puzzled, as Gong Mu-jin grinned.  

Sshhk!

“Hm? Why are you drawing your sword?”  

Gong Mu-jin lunged at him, still smiling, and roared:  

“Stay away from my disciple, you bastard!”  

A master’s love for his student knows no bounds.