Even though the sun had set, the Tang Clan seemed even busier than it had been during daylight hours. The atmosphere felt strangely unsettled.
"Is something going on?"
"I'm not sure. Anyway, I've already arranged to have dinner with Father and my older brother tonight, so let's ask them then."
"Hmm."
I nodded, and it was just as I passed through the Outer Hall and stepped into the Inner Hall that—
I met Tang Cheong's eyes.
"…do it that way. Since the clan head will be going along anyway, pack more hidden weapons than poison, alright?"
Tang Cheong, who had been issuing orders with a grave expression to martial artists who looked twice his age, brightened at the sight of her.
"So-wol! My little sister!"
Leaving the warriors who had been listening to him in place, Tang Cheong strode over quickly with his arms spread wide.
"Rejoice! I've found out who was behind those wretches who dared to go after your life!"
"Ah. So that's…"
Tang So-wol nodded as if she understood. I, however, couldn't help but freeze in bewilderment.
That was because, from what Tang So-wol had told me before the regression, there had been no mastermind behind the ambush.
Back then, the Poison King Tang Jincheon had personally stepped forward to vow revenge, but in the end, it had fizzled out with just a few minor accomplices being dealt with.
But to think they'd found the mastermind. Something was starting to unfold differently from what I knew.
Still, there was no way the Tang Clan would point a finger at an innocent person, which meant things were diverging from my expectations at some point I hadn't anticipated…
"Ah."
I see.
Before the regression, Tang So-wol returning in a half-dead state had been a fairly well-known affair. The story of how her face had been badly scarred in the process had also spread widely.
This time around, however, while there had been a commotion within the Tang Clan when contact was lost, from the outside it would have looked like she'd simply gone on a routine journey through the martial world and come back a little early.
Even those who knew a bit more would think, at most, that she'd found herself a man and that the Poison King had personally brought the two of them back.
The only ones who knew the truth would be the Tang Clan itself, and the Beggars' Sect, whom the Tang Clan had asked for help.
In other words, the one behind it all had been caught off guard before they even knew how things had turned out.
Before the regression, news of Tang So-wol would have spread far and wide, buying them enough time to slip away.
Of course, that might not be the case. Thinking wasn't my specialty, after all. But if what Tang Cheong said was true—if there really was someone behind all this gunning for Tang So-wol's life—
Then I needed to see with my own two eyes just who these bastards were.
"Don't worry too much. These are the ones who dared touch the Tang Clan's direct line. Father has decided to move personally, so not a single one of them will survive."
Tang Cheong said this with a smile on his face, but his voice was razor-sharp. There was no one who clung to karmic debt quite like the Tang Clan.
I nodded inwardly and asked.
"Brother, can you tell me just who these bastards are?"
"Hmm? You're a party to this matter too, so there's no reason you can't know."
Tang Cheong nodded. Perhaps he was reminded that I had helped Tang So-wol. His tone was noticeably softer than usual as he continued.
"You'll hear the details from Father at mealtime, but let me give you the conclusion first… it's the Demonic Cult."
"…What?"
"Those mad bastards, obsessed with revenge and picking fights wherever they go, have crawled back into the Central Plains and dared to scheme against So-wol."
"…"
For a moment, my mind went blank.
It wasn't surprising that the Demonic Cult was looked down upon in this era. After all, from its very origins, it was an organization started by powerless commoners—people nursing grudges, pushed around by martial artists this way and that.
There was no way they could be numerous, and their martial strength was at best on par with a single sect, so who would consider them a threat?
That would have remained the case, had it not been for the unprecedented genius known as the Heavenly Demon, who reworked all of the Demonic Cult's martial arts and placed swords into the hands of vengeance-driven souls.
Yet, here the Demonic Cult was, appearing now of all times.
I didn't know why the Demonic Cult was targeting Tang So-wol. But the face of the Heavenly Demon I saw at the end—one that looked young for his martial level, clearly having undergone Rejuvenation at least once—if he had already ascended to the position of Demonic Cult Leader, then there was only one purpose.
It had to be the groundwork for an invasion of the Central Plains.
The moment that thought reached me, my jaw clenched involuntarily.
Grit.
If it was the Demonic Cult that had melted away half of Tang So-wol's face, taken her life, and even snatched away the small happiness she had barely managed to grasp at the end of her weary existence, then…
A debt must be repaid.
I forced down the killing intent that kept threatening to spill out and opened my mouth.
"Brother. That sword you promised to make for me some time ago—when will it be finished?"
"Oh, uh-hm! I heard word that it was completed just while you were away on your outing. If you go now, you should be able to receive it."
"Thank you. I'll put it to good use."
I gave a single bow of my head, then turned to look at Tang So-wol.
"Since that's the case, I'll stop by the forge for a moment. I'll come to your room around mealtime."
"Yes? Yes. As you wish…"
Leaving Tang So-wol behind as she nodded blankly, I headed for the forge I had toured once before.
***
Deep within the Tang Clan's Inner Hall, in a place hidden even among its most secluded corners, stood a spacious building and a waterwheel even larger than it.
The sound of river water—diverted through a channel built solely to power the bellows—babbled softly, tickling my ears.
To an outsider, it would have seemed a mad undertaking, but from the Tang Clan's perspective, it was the best they could do.
People often called the Tang Clan masters of poison and hidden weapons.
Not every poison art and Hidden Weapon Art truly originated from the Tang Clan, but it was undeniable that they had refined and developed them to such an extent that their influence was vast.
That was why these two pillars supported the Sichuan Tang Clan… but there was one major problem.
Poison and hidden weapons ultimately shine through their unpredictability.
The foundation is what matters—this is true of all martial arts. After all, the development of martial arts comes from the repeated cycle of countering and countering the counters.
However, the Tang Clan's poison arts and Hidden Weapon Art are overly vulnerable to being countered. In the first place, it could hardly be any other way.
If you know what poison is being used, you can simply prepare the antidote in advance. And if you know what hidden weapon is being thrown and how, merely being cautious makes it much easier to respond.
That is why the Tang Clan clung to secrecy.
While truly rare poisons and medicinal ingredients were sometimes purchased from outside, most were produced and compounded in-house at the Ten Thousand Poisons Hall—so much so that it was difficult for outsiders to even deduce the formulas.
It was for this very reason that they diverted river water into the compound to turn waterwheels and operate bellows.
Had they built their forge by the riverside like other blacksmiths, there would be a risk of hidden weapon information leaking out. But operating the bellows without a waterwheel would leave the furnace's heat unstable.
Someone had come up with the idea there. After all, the compound was spacious—why not simply dig a channel at one corner to let river water flow through?
Carving out a waterway strong enough to turn waterwheels must have been a monumental undertaking in itself, but the Tang Clan's wealth made it possible.
…Or so Tang So-wol had proudly told me last time.
What impressed me, however, was something else entirely.
Technology, by nature, develops through exchange. Even martial arts have the odd custom of sparring matches as a legitimate practice.
Yet astonishingly, the Tang Clan maintained its seclusion while building a level of skill that defied all comparison.
Assassin Valley—an assassin organization so ancient its roots were unknowable. Would you believe that even they had to yield a step to the Tang Clan, whether in poison or Hidden Weapon Art?
Among these, hidden weapons were often cases where, apart from martial achievement, the sheer intricacy of the weapon itself was its power.
Take, for example, the Soul-Chasing Flying Butterfly—I'd never seen one myself, but they said it fluttered through the air like a butterfly, tracing unpredictable paths while spraying poison as it went.
Then there was the Invisible Steel Wire, a steel thread drawn so thin it was all but invisible to the eye.
And hidden weapons that burst forth with gunpowder and no discernible preparation motion—the Ink Smoke Needle Barrel was one such example.
Before the regression, Tang So-wol had mainly used poison arts not only because she was born with the Poison Spirit Constitution and possessed a genius-level talent for them, but also because, after the Tang Clan's Extermination, it had become difficult to reproduce the clan's secret hidden weapons. That was what she'd told me.
I arrived at the forge with high expectations. Through the wide-open door, a wave of searing heat rushed out to meet me.
My breath caught in my throat for a moment, and at the same time, the clamorous ringing of metal echoed from every direction.
A chunk of iron, just pulled from the furnace and glowing red-hot, took a blow from a hammer and shed sparks like tears. A little further off, I could see elderly smiths carrying half-shaped hidden weapons deeper into the workshop.
They were probably finishing them somewhere in the back.
I could come and go freely this far thanks to Tang So-wol's guided tour, but the places where the complex hidden weapons were finished and the precious ones were stored were said to be permitted only to the direct bloodline of the Tang Clan.
I spoke to a young apprentice who was bustling about doing odd jobs.
"Got a moment?"
"Ah, yes! And… who might you be…?"
The kid answered briskly, then asked back cautiously. He looked about my age, and I was wearing a silk green robe meant for going out, so he must have been taken aback.
"I heard the sword the young head prepared for me was finished, so I came by."
"Ah! You're the one who saved the young lady! Please wait a moment! I'll go tell my master!"
The apprentice bowed his head and scurried off somewhere. He stopped in front of a burly middle-aged man and began saying something while waving his arms wildly.
There was some distance between us, and the constant ringing of the hammer made it hard to hear, but… I could guess he was talking about me.
At first, the middle-aged man brushed off the apprentice's words as if they were familiar, but then he flinched and turned his head to look in my direction.
He set down the hammer he was holding, disappeared somewhere, and returned carrying a sword I hadn't seen before.
I couldn't be certain since I hadn't seen the blade itself yet, but just from the hilt and the scabbard, it looked like a fairly fine sword.
The blacksmith, staring at me with his deep-set eyes from right in front of me, spoke.
"Your killing intent is thick."
"Is it that obvious?"
"When a person gives off an aura like a sword, most martial artists say their killing intent runs deep."
"I was holding it back, so I'm a little surprised."
"I've spent my whole life striking with blades. Even if it isn't aimed at me, I can still recognize a sword that hasn't been sheathed or hidden behind someone's back."
The blacksmith said this as he handed me the sword.
"It's made of Hundred-Times Refined Steel. Would you like to draw it?"
"Sure."
I drew the sword I'd received, focusing on the sensation in my fingertips.
A hilt that was easy to grip and hard to lose, a scabbard that released the blade without resistance. The silver-glinting edge reflected my face, and the sharply honed blade was satisfying.
A sword made not of any special material, but simply of quality iron struck again and again.
That is why this sword also reveals the blacksmith's skill at a glance. It seems this blacksmith is a truly outstanding craftsman.
If the materials had been a little better, it would have been enough to be called a famous blade.
"A fine sword. I had heard that the Tang Clan has many excellent blacksmiths, but I didn't expect a sword of this quality to come out in such a short time."
"Just because one is a martial artist of the Tang Clan doesn't mean one never uses a sword. I'm glad it pleases you."
The blacksmith gave a faint smile. He asked in a casual tone.
"So, what will you cut first with this sword?"
"My enemies. The wretches who dared to move against my betrothed."
"I see. The young lady's…"
He nodded and twisted one corner of his mouth into a smirk.
"For a first opponent to cut down, there's none better."
I couldn't agree more.